Run: A Post Apocalyptic Thriller Read Free Page B

removed the trigger lock on the pistol as he ran to his apartment door. Rick was a cop in the city, so he had a steel apartment door, with a two inch steel tube fitted from the center of the door to a recess in the floor. Nobody would break this door down easily. He removed the tube lock, and exited, locking the door behind him, and then took off briskly down the stairs. 
    The door to his neighbor, Mrs. McCreedy’s apartment was slightly ajar. She was in her eighties, and Rick liked to check in on her from time to time. Rick made a mental note of the door, and continued downstairs. When Rick exited the building, the homeless guy was once again moving toward the paramedics, his left arm dangling at an angle that was all wrong. His right arm was clawing at the air, and he stumbled toward the emergency workers, his back to Rick. Something was off about this guy, but that didn’t give the people who were supposed to be helping him cause to seriously injure him. 
    “Sir, I think you should sit down, and let these guys look at your arm,” Rick called from behind the homeless guy, “we’ll get to the bottom of this.” The guy paid no attention to Rick, but pressed on toward the paramedics, who were now backing away. 
    “Shit Don, that guy’s got a gun,” one of them yelled.
    “I’m a cop,” Rick called back. “Sir, please sit down, your arm is broken, I think you should…” Rick then realized what was off about the homeless guy. He was in a business suit, with patent leather shoes. His attire suggested a fairly wealthy yuppie-type. The clothes he was wearing would cost more than Rick made in a month. Rick caught up with the guy and put a hand on his shoulder. “Mister, mister are you ok?” The guy turned around and lunged. Rick back-pedalled and got clear. The guy was five feet away, and swiped with his right hand. “Whoa buddy, calm down, I’m trying to help you!” The guy started advancing, and Rick began to back away. 
    “Dude! Look at his eyes,” one of the paramedics called. Rick tilted his head slightly and looked at the guy’s eyes. They were blood-red. Not bloodshot, like after a night of heavy drinking, but the whites looked as if the guy had taken a serious blow to the eyes. Both eyes were also bleeding, and there was a trickle coming from his nose. The guy hissed and came toward Rick. “Alright sir, that’s far enough,” Rick said, putting both hands on his Taurus, and pointing it toward the ground at the guy’s feet. The man either didn’t hear or didn’t care.  
    “Sir, I am a police officer. If you don’t stand down, I will have to take action.”  
    “Shoot him,” yelled one of the paramedics, “shoot that prick, he fucking bit me! He’s not right!” 
    “Sir! Stop right there or I will fire!” The guy kept advancing slowly, as Rick kept backing up. “Shit,” Rick said under his breath. He applied the safety on the Taurus, walked up to the guy and thumped him on the side of the head with his gun. All his training told him there was no way this guy could function properly after being pistol whipped. If done correctly the suspect becomes disoriented, and is immediately under control, with little physical damage. The guy went down like a stone. Rick continued past him to the wide eyed paramedics. “He’ll be ok. He’ll have a headache, and maybe need a stitch or two, but there’s no real damage. Can you check him out for me? I don’t want to get sued if…” 
    Rick noticed the paramedic he was talking to wasn't making eye contact, but staring past him down the street. Rick turned to see the unkempt guy that he had just pistol whipped almost back on his feet already.
    Guy must be on PCP, Rick thought. The man advanced toward the paramedics and police officer, right arm reaching. His upper arm bone was visibly poking through his bloodied business suit. The guy had to be in horrible pain, even on PCP.
    Rick flicked the safety off. “Sir, I’ve been as nice as