Rotting to the Core (Keep Your Crowbar Handy Book 2) Read Free

(if
somewhat intimidating) young woman.
    Once they'd pried open a second story window,
the leery pair had scoured the building's interior until they were
satisfied there wasn't a zombie or ten lurking in any of the rooms,
waiting for its next unlucky meal. Afterwards, they'd cautiously
made for the ground floor and decided to keep an eye on the
stumbling horrors as the crowd passed on the avenue outside.
    Unfortunately, the horde did not simply continue flowing along the desolate side street and pass
obligingly by as Jake and Kat had hoped. The awful corpses began
stumping onto the grounds of Old Hall and spread out, almost
filling the lawns, completely enveloping the shaken pair's hiding
spot.
    That had been nearly two days ago.
    After recovering from the initial fear of
being trapped within a virtual lake of zombies, Jake and Kat
decided to collect whatever resources they could find within Old
Hall. Their quiet search discovered a few useful items but nothing
really promising. The contents from a half empty vending machine
(chips, granola bars, and some fairly stale peanuts), a can of
instant coffee, a half a dozen tea-bags (along with a
two-thirds-full bottle of top shelf vodka from the bottom desk
drawer of the administration officer's desk), four packs of various
cigarettes, two books of matches, half a bottle of Ibuprofen, a
twelve-pack of Jolt Cola and, tucked behind jugs of bleach in the
janitor's closet, and a small Zip-lock bag of what Kat proclaimed
to be (after taking a deep appreciative whiff) high-quality,
medical-grade marijuana.
    Jake convinced her not to test the quality of
the last outright, sighting they didn't know if zombies outside
would be attracted by the smell of burning cannabis. Kat had
relented, but pouted briefly as they tried the faucets in the
restroom, thankfully finding that the building's well-fed water
supply was still available.
    Then the pair retreated back up to the second
floor and inventoried everything they'd carried with them on their
“Dead Run.” Jake's tac-vest yielded: two MRE entrees, his full
canteen, a fifty-foot bundle of paracord, two candles, five
magazines for his M-4 rifle (twenty-nine rounds each), a pair of
binoculars, a small first-aid kit, a four ounce bottle of Iodine,
three Zip-ties, and an emergency blanket. Additionally, he carried
two spare magazines for his Hammer pistol (ten rounds each), a
Gerber multi-tool, a liquid-filled compass, three chemical
glow-sticks, a full roll of duct tape, one maritime flare, his
Zippo lighter, a Ka-Bar, fixed-blade, Tanto-style knife, a Surefire
tactical LED flashlight, and three latex condoms.
    Kat had given him a grin and raised one
delicately arched eyebrow over the last.
    “What? You can use them to carry water, or
even keep tinder dry,” Jake explained.
    “Uh-huh.” She chuckled.
    Jake sighed as she fought a giggle fit, then
they went through what she'd brought along.
    Kat always flat-out refused to wear a
tac-vest, insisting that it would only slow her down. The pretty
Asian sported only her trademark midriff tank top, black leather
pants, a pair of flat-soled knee-high biker boots, the
steel-embossed forearm bracers she'd looted from a motorcycle
dealership, and a web-belt carrying a trio of small pouches along
with two magazines for the Glock 17 riding in its tactical holster
on her left thigh. She'd managed to grab her small EDC (Every Day
Carry) bag, which Elle had thrust at her before they'd jumped from
the roof of their still-moving Hummer though, and now began pulling
items from inside.
    Her contributions were as follows: two more
MREs, a roll of toilet paper, a sharpening stone for her sword, a
hundred-foot coiled length of climbing rope, four weighted throwing
knives, two spare magazines for her pistol (nineteen rounds each),
a bottle of Manic Panic “Royal-blue” hair dye, a tube of MAC
“smoked-purple” lipstick, a fingernail clipper, two pairs of
underwear (basic black Vicki's bikini-style), a ten pack