The Dead Divide Us (Book 1) Read Free Page B

bedroom and was now wedged underneath Carl with the bedroom door between them. The doorknob punched into Robert’s crotch and for a moment he saw stars. Regardless, he was extremely thankful for that door between them, because Carl’s face was three inches from his own and violently snapping his teeth at him. If it hadn’t been for that door, Robert’s face would have been torn to shreds.
    “Holy shit, Carl’s trying to fucking bite me!” Robert thought, in a moment that felt like an eternity. He had managed to wedge his bat between himself and Carl while falling down and used all the strength in his upper body to raise Carl and the door up and away from him. This was no easy task either due to the gluttonous mass that was Carl Riggins. Carl continued to snap his teeth at Robert. The smell of his breath was powerful enough to knock a person unconscious and Robert had to turn his head away, seeking fresh air from the dusty wooden floor.
    “Get…off… me…you fat piece of shit!” Robert said through clenched teeth.
    The moans coming of out Carl were getting worse too, Robert could almost hear the sound of water or some rancid liquid being sloshed around deep inside Carl’s body. Focusing on those sounds even closer, Robert was sure it sounded like Carl was gagging or dry heaving while also trying to bite the skin off of Robert’s face.
    Robert had enough; he slid his back to the right and pushed Carl off to the left. It worked; Robert had just enough room to move around and get up. His left foot was still caught underneath the door though. He had to yank it up quickly before Carl changed his position.
    Robert had just gained his balance when Carl started to vomit all over the floor. Carl was sprawled out, face down, and still tangled in the door as black and green viscous fluids ran out of his mouth, hitting the hardwood floor with a ferocious splash. Robert turned the other way and ran to the other side of his bed. Any smell that bothered Robert before was absolutely nothing compared to this.
    “Carl. What the fuck, man?” Robert said with a hand over his mouth.
    Robert heard Carl cough up the last of this sickly stomach stew and then the room fell oddly silent. From Robert’s new vantage point on the other side of the bed, he wasn’t able to see Carl lying on the floor. Robert gripped his bat again, ready to swing, as he slowly crept around the corner of the bed. Robert looked at his bedroom doorway; the path to freedom was completely open. So he decided to make a run for it.
    Robert only took two steps before Carl jutted out in front of him. He was kneeling now and trying to stand up. And he was back to moaning again.
    “Carl. Listen, back the fuck off man. I don’t know what virus or whatever shit has gotten into you. But I will beat you with this bat! You need help!” Robert screamed at Carl in a pleading manner.
    To Robert’s dismay Carl just continued to squirm toward him, reaching out with pale dirty hands. It was too much for Robert, he knew more than ever that he had to get to his parents' house and soon. If there were more people out there as fucked up as Carl, God help them all.
    Robert took aim and held up his aluminum bat. An old memory came flooding back to him; while learning to play baseball at the age of seven, both Paul and their father had taught him how to swing. It was three easy steps: keep your eye on the ball, step forward, and follow through.
    Well, Robert had hit plenty of baseballs in his youth, but not once did he ever have to swing his bat at a person. Robert closed his eyes and swung hard at Carl, hitting his outstretched left hand. Robert could hear a few bones snap as his bat connected. He opened his eyes to see that Carl’s left hand was badly mangled and blood ran down his arm in large dark spots. His pinkie, ring, and middle finger were crushed inward toward his palm. It looked grossly impossible and extremely painful. To Robert’s surprise, when he looked at Carl,