The Rising Dead Read Free Page B

ha
boob
?” Jeff was enjoying his new word.
    Cheryl poked him in the ribs and said, “Well, I don’t know, but that’s what it’s called.”
    Jeff squirmed from being poked in a ticklish spot and put his arm around Cheryl. “Okay, haboob. Come and get us.” She held his hand and their tiny spat was over.
    As the storm got closer, they could feel the wind battering the truck and making whining sounds like it was trying to get inside. Even with the windows tightly closed, there was a taste of earth in the air. The wall’s color changed to a dark yellowish tan that blocked out the sun.
    “Oh, look at that poor man!” Cheryl pointed across the highway. Outside in the wind a man was walking along the highway. He had a long walking stick and a Mexican blanket wrapped around him, covering his face. He must have been looking down, usingthe road to guide him, because looking into the sandstorm would have been painful. He probably didn’t even know the curtain of sand was so near. “He won’t be able to breathe when that thing hits.”
    Jeff barely hesitated before reaching for his door handle.
    “You picking him up?” Matt reached behind for his ax, which was in his duffel.
    “There’s a bit of space in the trailer. He could be some homeless old vet. Do you know how many homeless vets there are?”
    Matt didn’t answer. He was thinking about how many evil bastards there were. In the last two years he’d seen so much evil that he pretty much expected trouble. It was a relief when he didn’t find it, but of course that just meant it was waiting for him around the next corner. Well, he’d know about this stranger soon enough. Matt just needed a good look at the guy’s face. If there was a bit of rot, the guy wasn’t getting a ride, even in the back. Matt carried his duffel, leaving the ax hidden inside. If this man was just a lost soul, he didn’t want to scare him into refusing a ride, but Matt wasn’t going to meet him without a weapon handy.
    As Matt and Jeff rushed over, the wind lessened enough for the man to hear their offer of a ride. Even after glancing at the quickly approaching wave of dust and sand, he didn’t seem anxious to take them up on it. First he stared at Jeff’s face for longer than was polite. Still silent, he turned to Matt and carefully looked him over. When their eyes locked on each other, the Stranger looked surprised. Matt knew he had been recognized, but he didn’t remember this guy. From a distance the man’s long hair and beard made him look old, but as Matt got closer he realized the man was in his early forties. The only reason he had been hunched was to protect his eyes from the windstorm. As soon as heheard Jeff’s voice, the man stood up tall with a slight bend in his knees, as if he wanted to be ready to move. It was a fighter’s stance. At the same time, his grip on the walking stick changed from underhand to overhand—the proper grip if you were going to use it to bash someone upside the head. A fistfight between the two of them could go either way. Matt was more solid, but he could tell the sinewy wanderer was tough and strong. He looked like a man who won more than he lost. Matt recognized the look because he had it, too. There was a calm fearlessness to him. In Deerpark, Oregon, the small lumber town where Matt had grown up, fighting was a necessary schoolyard skill, and Matt’s abilities had improved greatly since then. It was a different kind of fighting now. People died.
    Matt stepped closer, with his hand on his ax handle, waiting for any sign of aggression, but the man’s body stayed relaxed and the walking stick didn’t move. There was a good-looking, even-featured face under all the scruff. With a shave and a haircut, he’d be presentable. The eyes were bright and alert. Maybe it was the silvery hair at his temples or the dirt on his face, but the man’s eyes seemed brighter than normal.
    “I’m Jeff. This is Matt. We’ve got a bit of room in the