900 Miles (Book 2): 900 Minutes Read Free Page B

exit.
    “ Keep the door shut. Do n’ t open it for any reason until I get back . ”
    Eyes wide, she nodded in agreement and pulled Tyler close to her chest. Glancing through the crack in the steel door just as I pulled it shut, the last thing I saw was her rubbing a hand through the little bit of hair on Tyle r’ s head. H e’ d be safe with her. Sh e’ d give her life for that little guy, and I knew it.
    Another voice boomed from the microphone ,“ John, get your ass down here. Yo u’ re draggi n’! ”
    It was Kyle, the one man wh o’ d stood by my side since the first day of the outbreak. I could tell he was pissed. What did he expect? I was on the other side of the facility.
    The iridescent bulbs hanging above provided a dim light that gave everything a greenish gray tint as I sprinted down a series of underground hallways. Passing a number of rooms, much like the one Tyler and I inhabited, I noticed all the steel doors were tightly shut. We were on lockdown, and everybody knew the drill. With thick smoke bellowing through the halls, I quickly realized w e’ d be dealing with more than the dead.
    I’ d later be told that it was a malfunction in the cooling system. A small short that caused all this pain. The fact is, we really did n’ t know what caused the fridge to catch on fire. With the thing completely burnt to pieces, a short seemed like more of a guess than anything else. The reality was that whatever happened, however it happened, it would have a crippling blow on all of us.
    Almost there. I could hear screams of pain echoing through the hallways.
    It was clear that there were more than one of those things running around in that Med Center. Whoever died had been kind enough to invite a few others across the chasm to death along with them. Now they were threatening the very fabric of our world. They were threatening the delicate balance between us being alive and there being seventy dead Zs roaming around, trapped in the giant underground bunker we called home.
    Hearing a set of squeaking boots tapping behind me, I turned my head to see one of my teammates sprinting after me. As he approached, he held out an oversized padded glove, which gave him the appearance of being bigger than he actually was.  
    Before the apocalypse, he was booted from the military after assaulting an officer. Re-assimilation back into th e“ worl d” took a toll on him, and he wound up on some sort of anti-psychotic drugs, which I guess leveled him out. In fact, he was so calm that he wound up taking on the role of a substitute teacher. According to the guy, the meds helped him conform to the old worl d’ s rule s… and besides, he says the kids loved him.
    We called him Mr. Rodgers.  
    Looking back, I guess i t’ s no surprise that so many people were taking some sort of medication. We were alway s“ connected .” Mass media, cell phones, Internet access from wherever you happened to be. We could n’ t cut the umbilical cord to information. There was no shutting off, and the human brain was never supposed to operate at a hundred percent capacity all day, every day.
    After the first week of the apocalypse, Rodger s ’ meds ran out. This was a problem, but not for him. The rage and anger that he had been suppressing for so many years came out tenfold, and he used it on the bastards trying to eat his flesh.
    By the time we ran into Rodgers, you could tell he was n’ t quite right. There was a look in his eye, a mix between distant and manic. You did n’ t know whether he was going to tell a joke or slice your stomach open. H e’ d do both with a smile. In the end, though, he was a good guy to have on our side. H e’ d saved my life more than once. I shuddered at the thought of him being against us.
    Reaching up, I bumped his glove with my fist, feeling a little foolish at the act, and then reached down to pull the hammer from my belt. Heading down the hallway together at top speed, I could feel my lungs fighting