Zombie Ocean (Book 3): The Least Read Free Page B

going to Colorado."
    Robert laughed while he polished off his spaghetti. "Seattle, because of that movie?"
    "Sure because of the movie. Tom Hanks is my kind of man."
    "He's as white as you can get! He's the white man's white man."
    "He's white and all right," his mom answered. "White like sweet sugar."
    Robert frowned. "Ugh."
    "Put some white sugar in this black coffee."
    "God, I get it, mom!"
    She laughed and they packed, with Robert down in his basement bedroom and her upstairs.
    "I always said that Green-O was a little shit," she shouted down to him after half an hour. "Greedy face, pug eyes, like a spiteful little teacup pig."
    When they were all packed, three bags each of essentials and mementoes, he called the taxi, then stood for a final time in the basement that had been his room all his life. Beneath the raft of many posters, half of them of old female rappers put there by his sisters back when they'd all shared this space, the wall was bare concrete. He could smell the damp underneath, as he'd smelled it for years.
    Here was his cot, with his one extravagance the games console; five years old but it still worked. By the TV was a rickety cabinet holding all his remaining dive trophies. He'd had to start culling them when they grew too numerous, getting a few dollars for each at the pawnshop, leaving only the biggest, brightest and most impressive. He wouldn't take any of them; too bulky to pack into a Greyhound. If Green-O didn't burn the place to the ground he could send for them.
    He climbed the steep stairs to where his mother was waiting. She pulled him into a hug.
    "Lots of memories," she said. "I know, sugar."
    He cleared his throat. "We need to go."
    "You're a good boy, Bobby. Good to all the least of your brothers and sisters."
    He smiled. It was one of her favorite sayings, from the Bible somewhere.
    He led the way down the narrow hall, pulling behind him two overstuffed suitcases and three plastic bags stuffed full of clothes, and opened the door.
    Green-O was standing there. He had his gun held low in one hand, the other raised up to knock. Shock registered briefly on his face, then he peered past Robert to the bags in the hall.
    "You idiot," he said, and raised the gun.
    * * *
    Robert dived.
    It wasn't much of a dive, with only time enough to push with his ankles and get an inch or two of height, but it carried him into the air and over the threshold to hit Green-O with all the force of a wet kitchen towel.
    He deflated across him, pushing the gun barrel down with his thigh, where it discharged with a BANG and crunched a bullet into the concrete path. Robert kicked his other foot off the wall of the house and drove Green-O backward hard. He staggered and fell, his back thumped on the cement walk, his head cracked off it loudly, and the gun fired with another brittle bang.
    Robert grabbed at the weapon. Green-O's grip was limp and sloppy and his fingers opened easily. Robert took the gun and sprang back to his feet. Green-O was out cold and bleeding. He turned to survey the street.
    The red Cadillac was there, parked three houses down. A skinny white guy in Sons of the Harp red was leaning against its side with an expression of stunned surprise on his face.
    Robert raised the gun and pointed it at him. The guy's hands went up at once.
    "Robert, wait," his mother called from behind. He ignored her and strode forward, filled with a sudden high tide of rage. He'd kept his head down, he'd paid his respects, he'd done everything they'd asked, and in return he'd just asked to be left alone.
    He stopped in the guy's face with the gun barrel pressed against his clammy forehead, next to a zit.
    "Robert!" came his mother's voice. 
    "Give me your gun," Robert said through gritted teeth. The guy reached gingerly into his waistband and fished it out, holding it between finger and thumb like a dainty tissue. Robert took it. 
    "Now run."
    The guy looked at him bewildered. There was the glaze of dope in his eyes. "What,