Slow Burn (Book 4): Dead Fire Read Free Page A

footprints. It was as clean as the day we arrived in Sarah Mansfield’s house.
    A glow shone through the open door of the video room. A desk chair creaked. Plastic wheels rolled across a few inches of floor. Hushed conversation followed.
    I looked back down at the bird man’s body and my gaze lingered across the contours of his head and his bony shoulders. His arms were crossed over his chest like a mummy. A couple of hours of sleep had done nothing but enhance my emotional separation from the corpse. He may as well have been a piece of abstract furniture or a long-dead museum exhibit. I felt nothing. No pain. No anger. No empathy and certainly no sorrow. It was just another corpse. Tidier than most, but just as dead.
    “He died about an hour after you went to bed.” It was Steph’s voice behind me, informative in tone and frayed from fatigue.
    I searched for words that would be right for the moment, but I couldn’t find them. So I just stared at the bird man.
    “We have coffee.” Steph offered.
    I turned. She leaned against the doorjamb with a cup in her hand. “We found it in the groceries you brought back.”
    Thinking of going up to the kitchen to get a cup, I looked at the stairs , suddenly daunted by the climb. Maybe a cup wasn’t worth it.
    As if reading my thoughts, Steph tilted her head into the video room and said, “I brought the coffee maker down here. Better to help us stay awake on the night shift.”
    “I could use a cup.” I walked toward her and she stepped out of the doorway as I neared. I asked, “Did you sleep?”
    She shook her head.
    Dalhover eyed me as I walked in, his eyes no more or less tired than they always looked.
    “Sergeant Dalhover and I took the night shift,” Steph said.
    “The whole night?” I asked unnecessarily.
    “That’s the plan,” Steph answered. “There’s creamer and sugar in the drawer to your left.”
    Without a word, Dalhover turned back to one of the large monitors. It showed a mob of Whites in the dark at the front gate, beating it with their palms and fists.
    “How many do you think are out there?” I asked Dalhover as I poured a hot cup.
    “ Least a hundred. Some are starting to walk around the wall, looking for a way in.”
    “ The ignorant fuckers should go away,” I said, frustration in my voice. “We’re not out there anymore. I mean, we haven’t made any noise in hours. Right?”
    “T hey’re beating on the gate. That’s the noise.” Steph reasoned. “They’re too stupid to know it’s not us. Their numbers have been growing all night.”
    Dalhover pointed to one of the Whites on the monitor. “That’s a Smart One.”
    I moved over for a closer look. “Which one?”
    “The one on the rock?” Steph asked, her surprise giving away a little of her disbelief. “She’s not doing anything.”
    “Yep,” Dalhover replied.
    “Yep?” Steph asked.
    Dalhover motioned across the mob with his finger. “Look at ‘em. They’re all beating on the door. But that one, she’s just sitting there on that rock, staring at the gate.”
    “Maybe she’s reall y stupid,” I hoped. “Maybe lazy. Maybe sick.”
    Dalhover shrugged.
    Steph asked, “You think she’s trying to figure the gate out, don’t you?”
    “Yes, ma’am, I do.” Dalhover looked up at Steph to emphasize his point.
    The White sitting on the rock cocked her head to the side, changing her perspective. It reminded me of a dog. Four more infected walked out of the cedars and passed her by as they joined the mob.
    I blurted, “Oh, shit.”
    “What?” Steph was immediately tense.
    I pointed at an older man, one of the four that had just come out of the cedars. “I think I know that one.”
    “Know him?” Steph asked in disbelief.
    “I used to date a girl who lived down the road. I think that’s her dad.”
    Steph drew a deep breath to calm herself. “That’s how you knew about this place? You’d been up here before.”
    “Yeah.”
    Together, we watched, and