Tower Of The Dead: A Zombie Novel by J.V. Roberts Page A

be on the way soon.”
    “You’re not coming with?”
    “Oh no, no, I’m not. I reckon this is my home. I’m going to sit right here and watch my TV.”
    “Paul, they said airstrikes could be on the way, you can’t stay here,” Tasia joins my pleas.
    Paul nods. “Yep, I heard the same thing.”
    “And yet you’re staying?” I ask.
    “And yet I’m staying,” Paul responds with a smile, his cheeks flushing red as he backs away from the hole.
    I hold out my hand. “You take care of yourself, Paul.”
    “You do the same.” He waves us towards the hole in the floor. “Now go on, get out while you can.”
    I’m the first in, sitting on the jagged edge, legs dangling, listening for any hostile noise. I hear muted voices, but nothing that sounds like it’s coming from the room below me. Nothing that indicates anyone is awaiting my arrival. “Hold these for me and then hand them down if you would.” I hand off the gun and hatchet to Paul. I say a silent prayer and push myself over.
    The pile of debris doesn’t make for a smooth landing. My feet slip out from under me and I roll down the small hill of wood and metal and dust. I find myself face down on the floor, covered in powdered plaster. I come up to my knees and take a quick glance around the room.
    I can still hear the muted voices.
    I can hear footsteps in the hall.
    No bullets.
    No one yelling for back up.
    It appears my entry has gone unnoticed.
    I jump to my feet and shake myself off. “Gun and hatchet,” my voice is a raspy whisper as I stand on the tips of my toes and strain to reach the weapons that Paul is dangling above my head. I set them at my feet and reach out to receive Alisa as Paul gradually lowers her into my arms. After that, it’s Tasia’s turn.
    With everyone safely on the ground, we bid Paul farewell and begin to make our way through the seemingly empty apartment. We don’t talk unless we have to, using whispers and one word sentences to express ourselves; everything else is communicated through hand signals and facial expressions.
    I’m cooking along at a decent pace, the girls are staying close. We’re moving into the hallway and towards the living-room. I still don’t have any idea how we’re going to make it back to the stairwell; there’s an army of Golden Boys blocking our path. But just as that thought begins to swell in my head, a potential answer reveals itself in the living room.
    “Wow!” Tasia breathes in my ear.
    “Wow is right.”
    It’s the Golden Boys’ weapons cache. There are guns upon guns scattered across the floor. It’s obvious they’d come through earlier to arm themselves; it’d probably been shortly after the shit hit the fan. There are tipped over boxes of ammo and empty magazines strewn about. But despite that, there’s still plenty of hardware to go around.
    “We can definitely use this stuff.”
    It’s mostly AK-47’s and handguns; there are a few rickety-looking revolvers in the crowd.
    “Take this.” I hand Tasia one of the AK’s and two magazines to go along with it.
    “I don’t know how to shoot this,” she says, pointing the rifle towards the ceiling and turning it in her hands.
    “Neither do I.” I’m still of the mindset that if those punk ass thugs can do it, so can I.
    She sighs and sticks the extra mags in the front of her waistband.
    “Here, back up.” I hand her a pistol and take one for myself. “Tuck it next to the mags, just don’t shoot yourself; keep that finger far away from the trigger.”
    I remove the hatchet from the chest pocket of my coveralls and extend it to Alisa. “You hold onto this.”
    She frowns at the blood on the blade. “I don’t want to have to hurt anyone else.”
    “Hopefully you won’t have to, but I can’t promise you anything.” I lift her head up by the chin. “Listen, right now you need to be brave. There are folks out there that want to hurt us, you know that, right?”
    She nods.
    “Sometimes being brave means you have