Rise of the Dead Read Online Free Page B

they infected with something?”
    “I don’t know, lady.” Marco hisses.
    “Does anyone know if there is another way out of here?” asks a short guy wearing long sleeves of tattoos down the length of one arm.
    “We can go out the exit on the other end of the building,” says a kid with a pair of those enormous headphones wrapped around his neck.
    “No one is going anywhere,” Marco says firmly. For a few moments, the group of terrified survivors falls silent again.
    The short man slams a tattooed fist on the desk. “You can’t keep me here, man. I have a right to go defend my home and my family,” he growls.  
    “My husband is still out there,” cries a heavyset woman in an eggplant blouse.
    The people crowd the desk, raising their voices. Marco tries to speak over the chorus of panicked questions rising like a tidal wave before him, but eventually he takes his gun out and holds it up until the mob falls quiet again. Initially, Marco used his badge to take charge of the situation. Now, he had to resort holding back the fears and panic of everyone at gunpoint. You don’t need to be a genius to see things were getting out of control here. Marco winces from the pain in his leg but manages to stand up. 
    “All of you, back up.” The cop holds the gun in his hand like a stop sign; the barrel pointed at the ceiling. A little reminder to everyone that he still has it. His eyes are like a couple of road flares that warn everyone away. “Just stay back. Sit down and stay calm. No one is going out there right now.”
    For the time being, Marco keeps everyone under control. The people back away from the desk. A few of them huddle near the betting counter, whispering quietly and glancing sidelong at the injured cop. A police uniform is something most people are conditioned to respect. Some people already need to be reminded at gunpoint. It can’t last, I think. None of this will last very long at all.
    The sound of running feet heading towards us echoes across the airy building. For a second, I worry the dead are inside. I stare down the long building and wait for the source of the sound to appear.
    Frank, the security guard, emerges from behind a betting counter carrying a red bag with FIRST AID in thick white letters across the side. Another uniformed guard trails behind him that I presume to be Joey. He is just a kid, with shaggy black hair poking out from the rim of his navy blue security cap. He fumbles with a noisy, black duffel bag in one hand and a couple of flak jackets in the other. A couple of sunburnt groundskeepers in green jumpsuits and four aging cleaning women, bring up the rear.
    “Joey grabbed two spare Glock twenty-ones from the security office,” says Frank, breathing hard. He pauses to gasp for air. Finally, he coughs out another sentence fragment. “About 2000 rounds of ammo.”
    “Any nine-millimeter rounds?” asked Marco.
    Frank hands the first aid kit to Danielle, then takes the duffel bag from Joey, drops it on the desk and shakes his head, still panting. Frank seems to scrutinize Marco after the question about ammunition for his gun. Marco just avoids his gaze. Instead, he watches Danielle as she rifles through the contents of the medical kit.
    “So,” Frank asks Marco. “What’s the plan?”
    “We keep everyone in here alive, and we keep out anyone that’s dead.”
    “Holy shit,” blurts Joey. The kid has made his way over to the windows and his jaw drops when he glimpses the scene outside.
    “Stay away from those windows, kid,” calls Marco. He unzips the duffel bag and pulls out one of the guns. The cop swiftly loads a magazine and sets the gun on the desk. He draws the sidearm from his holster and tosses it in the bag. Marco glances around at the faces of the other survivors, finally settling his focus on me. He removes another gun from the bag.
    “Blake,” he says. He waves me over to the desk with the hand holding the gun. “You ever fired a gun?”
    I had never even