Dead: Winter Read Online Free Page B

Moving out into the open, I called up to the lookout tower atop the huge building we called home.
    “DeAngelo!”
    “Hey, Steve!” a deep voice rumbled. I still suffered from a bit of starstruck-itis when it came to DeAngelo. Considering that he was once a standout defensive monster on my beloved Seattle pro football team, I just couldn’t help it. “Sounded like a bit of an argument coming from downstairs. Everything okay?”
    “Just some differences of opinion being aired,” I brushed the question aside. “Sounds like we have a lone shambler down below. Who’s in the stand?”
    “Jamie.”
    “Signal him that we have something inside the perimeter,” I called up. “I’m going down to check it out.”
    I saw the light start flashing the message. Morse code had replaced the cell phone. All that was old is new again.
    I started down the hill and was just about to light my torch when I heard a voice whispering in the darkness. I froze. That changed everything in an instant. Whoever it was—and since zombies don’t whisper, I knew it was a who ve r sus a what—had slipped past our perimeter security without tripping a flare, as well as the little tower we had set up in the trees where the road emptied into the former N a tional Park camping grounds.
    We all carried blades or bludgeons everywhere we went, but unless we were leaving the area, we left the firearms inside. B e sides the fact that ammo was a very finite resource, and we were nearing the end of our reserves, the sound of gunshots carried for miles and served as a zombie dinner bell. Plus, it gave our pos i tion away to those who, while not zombies, might be more dangerous: the living.
    We’d decided a while back that, from now on, we would seek survivors out on our foraging runs versus advertise our presence. We’d had enough difficulties when it came to learning that the undead were only one small part of the problem. Lately it seemed that the living were far more dangerous. After all, it wasn’t a zombie that had murdered some of the group and then led a horde to our doorstep in an attempt to kill us all. It hadn’t been a zombie that had shot DeAngelo’s wife, nearly kil l ing her.
    “Hey out there!” a voice hissed. “I know you’re there, I heard you talking up the hill at that big building to somebody.”
    I stayed silent.
    “Yeah, I wouldn’t answer either,” the female voice whispered a bit louder. “Look, I just took down a walker that was roaming around in the road down here.”
    I still wasn’t talking. I didn’t care if this person had dropped a dozen zombies, I didn’t care if it was a woman’s voice. That is why they called them traps.
    “Okay,” the voice huffed, “I get it; strangers…bad. Trust me when I say I get it. My group was wiped out…and it wasn’t by the zombies. But you should know that your guy down at the entrance is sleeping, which, if he is supposed to be on guard…”
    I couldn’t just take this person’s word. Whoever this was could say that Jamie was asleep. That would explain any lack of response we might experience. Of course, he could be down there with his throat slit or something.
    “My friend is up the road in the back of a car and needs help.” The voice had an edge of pleading to it now. “We’ve seen lights in this direction from our camp in the hills, and I had to risk it. It has taken me three days to get her down the hill and back up. I kept her wrapped in blankets and laid her on the big tarp. You know how hard it is to drag a tarp with a person on it? Through the woods? Tr y ing to avoid the freaking undead?”
    I gave it a moment’s thought. “I want you to lace your hands behind your head,” I finally called. “I am going to light a torch and come to you. Any sudden moves and we have somebody in the to w er.” I wasn’t going to mention that the person in the to w er didn’t have a gun handy at the moment.
    I made my way down the hill until the person finally came