9.0 - Sanctum Read Free Page B

in the middle of the winter.”
    I didn't want to argue pointlessly, so I pointed at the dark shape across the field.  "Are those airplane hangars?"
    "Looks like it,” said Murphy.  "They don't have airplanes here, though.  Tanks.  Humvees.  MRAPs.  Strykers.  All kinds of support trucks.  And helicopters."
    Of course .  “This is where the Survivor Army got their helicopters, I’ll bet.”
    “You think?”
    “You’re being sarcastic, aren’t you?”
    “You think?”
    Jesus.  I took one more look around and said, “C’mon.”  I ran across the street, aiming roughly in the direction of the nearest buildings.  Murphy followed.

Chapter 3
    We had to take care as we waded among the carcasses.  Plenty of skulls lay ready to turn an ankle when stepped on by anyone expecting flat ground.  Rib bones arched up in the weeds to catch a foot and trip.  The bones of the dead had become obstacles to slow future Whites on the rampage. 
    We came to a parking lot with the usual assortment of cars, parked between painted stripes, left there by owners who’d never returned.  Others were burned, still more were wrecked.  Most had broken glass.  We took care as we crossed.  Some Whites liked to use cars as places to take shelter at night.
    We came to a building bordered by tall bushes, thriving despite an obvious lack of human attention.  I followed as Murphy plowed through the shrubs.  We pressed our backs against a brick wall as Murphy used his enhanced vision to look back the way we’d come to ensure nothing was on our trail.
    I slipped along the side of the building behind the bushes, until I came out on a sidewalk to peek through a pair of doors with all the glass broken out.  No surprise, it was darker inside than out.
    I stepped back behind the bushes and whispered, “You want to go in and check it out?”
    “I doubt there’ll be anything in here we want.”  Murphy stepped around me and looked through the doors.  “Looks like an administration building to me.” 
    I took a turn to peek inside, and Murphy followed me out of the bushes.  I said, “Looks like the hall runs straight through.  The hangars are on the other side.  We might find something useful over there.”
    Murphy shrugged.  “Lead the way if that’s what you want to do.”
    I slipped around the corner and crunched through the shattered glass on the ground.  By the time I was five steps inside, I realized the dim moonlight glowing in through the doors at the far end of the long hall had given me the impression the hallway was brighter than it was.
    I slowed down, trying to make out shapes on the floor—chairs, papers, computers—anything that had been inside the offices lining both sides of the hall.  Clearly Whites had been in the building, tearing their way through everything that wasn’t attached, looking for food in all the wrong places.
    Thankfully, most of the offices had plenty of windows on the exterior walls and some moonlight filtered into the halls through the doors that were open.  I was stepping in front of one such door and leaning forward to look inside when a human shape jumped toward me.  It raised its arms and shouted something unintelligible.  I jumped back, slipped, and fell.
    Murphy swung the barrel of his weapon around to fire.
    “No, don’t.”  The guy who’d startled me fell back into the office, pleading, “Don’t shoot.  Please.”
    Murphy cursed.  “Drop the gun.  Now!”
    Metal hit the floor.
    I jumped to my feet with my machete raised.
    “I’m like you,” said the guy.
    Murphy cut a glance at me.  “He’s one of them.”
    All I could make out was the silhouette lump of a man sitting on the floor.  “Survivor Army?”
    Murphy nodded.
    “You’re…”  the guy started, “you’re…”
    Murphy huffed.  He was conflicted.  He wanted to kill the guy, but useless, old-world morality was holding him back.
    I stepped forward, getting within machete range.
    “Please!”