Life After The Undead (Book 2): Death to the Undead (9 page)

“You
bit–”

I
pressed the
button again,
and
his body
stiffened.
He
rolled
to the
side, his back
toward
me.
I
seized the
moment
and
grabbed
his
right
arm. I
took the
cuffs out of
my
sling
and
slapped
one
end
around
his wrist, the
other
hung
free.
He
took deep,
ragged
breaths
and looked
over
his shoulder
at
me,
a
smile
snaked
onto his lips.

“How
are
you
gonna
get
my
other arm?”

Without
saying
a
word,
I
unlocked
his door, slamming
the
metal
into his
back.
He
arched
as
the
pain
ricocheted
through his spine
and
he
groaned.
I
hit him
again,
and
he
rolled
on his
stomach,
out of the
way.
I
hit
him
with
another
jolt of
electricity. After
30
seconds,
I
stepped
into his
cell
and
grabbed
his
left
wrist.
With one
hand,
I
had
him
cuffed
and ready
for transport.
He
huffed
and
wheezed
on the
floor.
He
tried
to
gnash
his teeth at
me, to
roll
over
and
get
the
upper
hand, but his body
wouldn’t
cooperate.
I
sat
on the small of his
back
and
patted
him
between
his shoulder
blades.

“You
brought
this all on
yourself,
just
remember
that.
I
was
willing
to take
it easy
on
you.”

I
set the
taser
next to
him,
and
heard
the
footsteps
coming
down the
hall. I
stepped
out of the
cell and
faced
Quinn
and
Pam.

“Anyone else
want
to take
the
hard
way?”
I
taunted.

In
reply,
hands poked
through
the
cell
doors,
their
fingers
intertwined
and
ready
for
cuffs.

The
plan
was
to transport the
prisoners
in the
back
of
a
semi.
It
wasn’t
ideal, but we
didn’t
have
any
other
choice.
There
were
only
four
of us,
and
15
of
them, and we
didn’t
have enough
vehicles to
make
sure
they
were
comfortable.
The
trailer
had
a
bar
that
ran
along
the
floor,
normally
used
as
a tie-down
for cargo.
We
placed
some
blankets
down,
then
wrapped the
cuffs
around
the
bar.
I
know it sounds pretty
cruel, but no one
wanted
the
prisoners
rushing
us when we
opened
the
door.
It
was
for
our
protection
as
much
as theirs.
We
cut
some
holes in
the
ceiling
of
the
trailer
so they
could
have
light and
fresh
air.
We
weren’t
overly
cruel.

Liet
was the
only
one
who
wasn’t
riding
in the
back.

He
would
have,
but
he
insisted on
acting
like
a
child,
kicking
and
screaming
and
calling
us all the
names he
could
think of.
Eventually,
we
just
had
to drug
him,
give
him some
sleeping
pills to
get
him to shut up.
If
the
prison
system
and
government
had
still
been
up and
running,
our
actions
would have
been
viewed
as
cruelty.
Lucky
for
us, the
government
was
long
gone,
and
they didn’t
have
to
deal
with
Liet.
We
didn’t beat him, just
drugged
him.
You
have
no idea
how
much
more
pleasant
it
was
with him
unconscious.
It
was almost
heavenly.

From
there,
we
laid him
in
the
sleeper
cab.

Quinn
and
I
drove
the
truck with the
prisoners,
while
Pam
and
Tanya
took a
fuel
tanker.
Poor
Tanya.
She
looked like she
was
going
to lose it.
Not only
was
she
still mourning
the loss of
her
father,
she
was forced to
head
into the
West.
The
cesspool
of zombie
creation.

She
only
knew
what
The
Families
told
her
about
the
place,
that she
would die
instantly
out
there.
She
wore
her
fear
on her
pale
face.
I
grabbed
her arm
before
she
climbed
into the
cab
of the
truck.

“I
know it
doesn’t
mean
much, but
you
will be
just
fine
out
there.”

She
swallowed
thickly
and
nodded.
“I’m
sure
I
will.
I’ll
have
you
guys
to back me up.”
She
tried
to
force
a
smile.

“It’s
bad,
but it’s not as bad
as
they
told
you
it is.” I
thought
back
to Quinn
and
my
first
trip out, how he
tried
to
make
me
feel
better.
“As long
as
you
use
your
head,
you’ll
survive.” I
handed
her
a
silver
1911.
“This helps,
too.”

She
took the
gun
and
stared
at
it for
a
while. I
was
about
to turn
and
head
to
my
truck
when
her
voice
stopped
me.

“I’m
sorry
I
blamed
the zombie
attack
on
you.”

I
turned back to
her.
“It’s all
right.
I
completely
understand
why
you
would think
that.”

She
looked up,
her
eyes
red-rimmed,
tears
threatening
to
fall.
“No,
it’s not all
right.
You’ve
been nothing
but
nice
to
me.
You
trusted
me
when
you
didn’t
have
to.
I’ve always
been
mean to
you.
From
the
beginning.
You
were
so
strong,
so
confident.
I
was
scared. Always
scared.”
She
lowered
her
gaze.
“I
hated
myself
for
that.
For
not being
able
to wonder
about
the
zombies.
For
not
wanting
to.”
She looked
up,
and
a
tear
found
its way
down
her
cheek. “When
you
came
back,
I
thought,
‘This
is
my
chance.
Now
I
can
do
something.’
But
in the
back
of
my
brain,
I
didn’t want to
act.
I
still
wanted
to
pretend
like
the
zombies
didn’t
exist.
That’s
why
I
blamed
you. It
all
became
too
real.”