Night of the Living Dead Read Online Free Page B

janitor squatted next to the old man. He started to touch his throat, then jerked his hand away from the bloody mess; he settled for touching his wrist instead. After a moment, he announced, "Joe here’s dead."
     
    Liza, rather than getting weaker from Ben’s efforts, suddenly surged in her twisting and turning. She started thrashing about in the direction of the janitor’s voice, evidently riled by the proximity of new prey.
     
    "I can’t knock her out," Ben said, hoping that, somehow, the janitor might offer an explanation. "She can’t be breathing, I’m cutting off the blood supply to her—"
     
    "Knock her in the head," the janitor said, releasing the old man’s wrist and standing. His voice shook with anger.
     
    "I don’t want t—"
     
    "I said knock her in the fuckin’ head!"
     
    The janitor caught Ben off guard as he rushed forward and kicked Liza, hard, right where her face would be. His boot struck closer to Ben’s choking arm than he cared for, but it more than got the job done — he heard, and felt, a loud crunch as the nurse bucked once, then collapsed.
     
    Ben dropped her, then stood and backed away. His right arm was aching and trembling from the exertion. "I think you just killed her, man."
     
    "Like I give a fuck," the janitor seethed before spitting on her unmoving body. "She fuckin’ killed Joe ! Fuckin’ bit his face and throat and killed him!"
     
    "Okay, okay!" Ben said, holding up his hands and gesturing for the man to calm down. "I’m not passing judgement here, I’m just ... saying ..."
     
    From around the corner of Beekman’s appeared another woman. She was wearing a hospital gown, and even in the dying daylight, Ben could see that she , too, was a dirty mess.
     
    First a nurse, now a patient, Ben thought. How fitting.
     
    The janitor’s jaw dropped a little when he set eyes on the new woman, but the instant she started walking in their direction, the anger returned. "Another one."
     
    "Wait, now, we don’t know ..." The patient’s face contorted when she saw them, and she reached out with fingers hooked into claws. "Okay, it’s another one."
     
    "What the fuck is goin’ on here?"
     
    "I don’t have a clue."
     
    The patient shared some of the nurse’s unsure footing, but she was moving a bit faster. She would be on them in seconds if they remained where they were.
     
    With a gentle but firm hand, Ben touched the janitor’s shoulder and pushed him back toward Beekman’s door. "Let’s get inside."
     
    "To hell with that." The janitor shook free, moved forward to meet the patient halfway, then hauled back with his broomstick like a batter at the plate before swinging it around with all his might.
     
    In his hurry and vehemence, his aim faltered. Rather than slamming the broomstick across the side of her head, it skipped off the knuckles of one of her outstretched hands. He still struck her in the face hard enough to break the broomstick in half — and to send a number of broken teeth flying through the air — but it didn’t even knock her unconscious, let alone kill her.
     
    The patient stumbled back, her jaw askew. But she made no sound, never took her eyes off the janitor. Ben was also surprised by how little blood flowed from her ruined mouth.
     
    When a raspy moan did float through the air, it did not come from the patient. Another person — a man this time — had appeared from around the same corner. He was dressed as neither a nurse nor a patient, just plain street clothes, and he was not dirty. But it took all of two seconds for his gait, expression, and the dark circles under his eyes to reveal that he was just like the others.
     
    "Come on," Ben urged again, "we need to get inside."
     
    The janitor threw down his broken weapon. His failure with the patient had rattled him, and when he repeated, "To hell with that," he said it with less bluster and more dread. He backed away from the two while fishing into the pockets of his overalls. "I’m