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

to hurt people that are trying to hurt you. And it’s not because you want to or because you enjoy it, it’s because you want to survive, you want to protect yourself, you want to protect the people you love.” I hold up my rifle in front of her face and pull the lever, chambering a round. “I don’t want to have to use this. But when we go out that door, chances are, there will be folks that will try to do harm to you and your mom. The only way to stop them will be for me to hurt them. I don’t want to. I won’t enjoy it. But nothing is going to take you away from me or me away from you.”
    “I understand.”
    “Do you?”
    “Yeah,” she nods rapidly, her fingers closing tight around the handle of the hatchet, “I do.”
    “Good, now let’s get out of here.”
    I go to stand but she grabs me by the sleeve. “Dad, wait.”
    “Yes, sweetie?”
    “Thank you for saving me.” She wraps her arms around my neck and I can feel myself begin to choke up a little.
    “Oh, baby girl, you don’t have to thank me for that. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. Besides, I couldn’t have done it without your mom.”
    She quickly releases me and her arms coil around Tasia’s waist. “Thank you, Mom.”
    “Aw, anything for you, baby.”
    I stand and give Tasia a quick peck on the lips. “Ya’ll ready?”
    “Ready as I’ll ever be,” Tasia says.

7
     
    They make it look so easy in the movies. The good guys storm the enemy compound, creeping along unseen until they find the perfect position to lay their ambush. When they strike, their bullets always seem to travel with a godlike precision, putting the enemy down silently without alerting the others; rinse and repeat until the mission is complete.
    Maybe the it factor is that they’re trained military.
    Or, maybe, it’s that they’re bullshit figments of Hollywood’s imagination machine.
    Whatever the case may be, there’s nowhere for us to go.
    No perfect target.
    No perfect position for us to lay our ambush.
    I lean from the doorway to find the hall crammed with close to a dozen Golden Boys. All of them are armed to their golden grills. They look war-torn. The bullet-riddled bodies of their fellow gang members are lifeless at their feet.
    “Man, this is fucked up!” One of them says.
    “We heard you the first fifty fuckin’ times you said that, bruh. Give that shit a rest.”
    “Nah, man, nah! You didn’t have to put your own brotha down! You don’t know what I’m goin’ through, mothafucka!”
    “Yo, man, chill the fuck out! We all goin’ through it! We just gotta keep this shit together.”
    “This is some evil, satanic bullshit, bruh, for real.”
    “We don’t know what this shit is, so ya’ll just shut the fuck up, stay cool.”
    I lean back inside and place my forehead against Tasia’s. “There’s no other way. We have to go through them. You ready for this?”
    Tasia gives a nervous, little laugh. “Do I have a choice?”
    What’s one more war? All three of us already look like we’ve been through a couple; beat up, bumped up, covered in blood that’s not our own.
    “Alisa, you stay put till we come get you, got it?”
    She nods and scoots back deeper into the apartment, clutching the hatchet to her chest.
    Me and Tasia lean from the doorway; I’m standing and she’s crouched below me. We take aim and I’m the first to fire. My rounds land in the back of the Golden Boy closest to me, face planting him. After that, I can’t really follow where my bullets are going or who I’m hitting. But there are wounded screams and men on the ground, so I know I’m doing something right. Tasia is firing too, but she’s letting off small bursts and getting roughed up by the recoil. I reckon we’ve put down close to half of them with our first barrage. There are maybe four or five left and they’re taking up cover around the corner near the stairwell entrance and inside nearby apartments.
    I notice that two apartments up, on the