The Night Sweeper: A Zombie Conspiracy Novel (The Sweeper Chronicles Book 1) Read Online Free
Author: J. Steven Butler
we would live happily ever after.
Halfway through the school year, I was lucky enough to sit by her at lunch one Thursday. I munched on my potato chips, casting nervous glances at her as she laughed with her friend, Thora, about some cartoon they both liked. Even though I was sitting right beside her, I was hardly able to make out the conversation for the sound of my heart pounding in my ears.
I knew I had to tell her how I felt. I knew that if I could just spit it out, she would feel the same way and love me forever. I was terrified, but a couple of minutes before the bell was going to ring to signify the end of lunch, I saw my chance. I worked up the courage to lean over and whisper my profession of love. Alas, she wasn’t happy about this and proceeded to tell the whole table. She laughed at me and called me weird; I wasn’t cool enough to be her boyfriend. My cheeks burned with shame, and hot tears spilled from my eyes as the other kids around us joined in the laughter.
I was humiliated, and things were all downhill in the girl department after that. Of course, I see how silly that is now, but after The Virus and the death of my mother, the subsequent beratings I took from my adopted father only served to increase my insecurity. If it hadn’t been for Chuck, I probably would have ended up completely socially inept. He was another small boy, a fellow outcast that befriended me during elementary school. In fact, he was my only friend. Because of him, I at least learned I could talk to boys without feeling like an idiot, but I steered away from conversations with the ladies.
If only Chuck could see me now – successful, respected, a Sweeper no less, but still a blithering imbecile around girls.
Through the dim reflection in the blank glass of the television, I see the tiredness in my eyes and think back to what Frank said. He’s wrong. I don’t think it’s so much physical weariness he sees in me as it’s an outward representation of what’s inside. I’ve lived a lifetime in twenty-five years, and my baby blues have a hollow, haunted look to them. The face in the glass stares back at me and I can’t help but feel like my reflection is similar in many ways to the things I hunt. My brows are stuck in a perpetual frown, and I’m getting crow’s feet at the edges of my eyes. I squint, and imagine my reflection is the face of a Fester.
I sigh and look away, feeling a mixture of creepiness and annoyance at myself.
Streaks of sunlight are starting to glow through the small cracks between the penthouse windows and the thick, wooden shades designed to make it darker so I can sleep during the day.
I think back to Archer’s visit tomorrow. Cedric Archer is the closest thing I have to a real father, and he’s also the one responsible for the creation of The Organization. He’s the big guy, the one we all answer to.
It was Archer that found me, recruited me, and did most of my training. He always made me feel special; he made me feel like my abilities and mind were a gift and something to be proud of, unlike my real dad. Still, even my relationship with Archer is not one I would consider “close”. I’ve had one truly close relationship in my life, but that was a long time ago. I do what I do, and I survive. Being a Sweeper is a job of isolation, and it seems fate designed me for it perfectly.
Rising, I stride over to one of the large shades and pull it to the side, squinting my eyes against the bright morning sun. As they adjust, I stand there basking in the feel of the warmth on my face and gazing out at the city around the river.
The years have been hard since The Virus, and much of the once-great city is in disrepair. We simply don’t have the manpower these days to care for the entire city as we should. Many buildings are overgrown and crumble from disuse and decay. It makes me sad to see this once grand and sprawling metropolis reduced to a shell of its former glory. The other refuge cities are no
Halfway through the school year, I was lucky enough to sit by her at lunch one Thursday. I munched on my potato chips, casting nervous glances at her as she laughed with her friend, Thora, about some cartoon they both liked. Even though I was sitting right beside her, I was hardly able to make out the conversation for the sound of my heart pounding in my ears.
I knew I had to tell her how I felt. I knew that if I could just spit it out, she would feel the same way and love me forever. I was terrified, but a couple of minutes before the bell was going to ring to signify the end of lunch, I saw my chance. I worked up the courage to lean over and whisper my profession of love. Alas, she wasn’t happy about this and proceeded to tell the whole table. She laughed at me and called me weird; I wasn’t cool enough to be her boyfriend. My cheeks burned with shame, and hot tears spilled from my eyes as the other kids around us joined in the laughter.
I was humiliated, and things were all downhill in the girl department after that. Of course, I see how silly that is now, but after The Virus and the death of my mother, the subsequent beratings I took from my adopted father only served to increase my insecurity. If it hadn’t been for Chuck, I probably would have ended up completely socially inept. He was another small boy, a fellow outcast that befriended me during elementary school. In fact, he was my only friend. Because of him, I at least learned I could talk to boys without feeling like an idiot, but I steered away from conversations with the ladies.
If only Chuck could see me now – successful, respected, a Sweeper no less, but still a blithering imbecile around girls.
Through the dim reflection in the blank glass of the television, I see the tiredness in my eyes and think back to what Frank said. He’s wrong. I don’t think it’s so much physical weariness he sees in me as it’s an outward representation of what’s inside. I’ve lived a lifetime in twenty-five years, and my baby blues have a hollow, haunted look to them. The face in the glass stares back at me and I can’t help but feel like my reflection is similar in many ways to the things I hunt. My brows are stuck in a perpetual frown, and I’m getting crow’s feet at the edges of my eyes. I squint, and imagine my reflection is the face of a Fester.
I sigh and look away, feeling a mixture of creepiness and annoyance at myself.
Streaks of sunlight are starting to glow through the small cracks between the penthouse windows and the thick, wooden shades designed to make it darker so I can sleep during the day.
I think back to Archer’s visit tomorrow. Cedric Archer is the closest thing I have to a real father, and he’s also the one responsible for the creation of The Organization. He’s the big guy, the one we all answer to.
It was Archer that found me, recruited me, and did most of my training. He always made me feel special; he made me feel like my abilities and mind were a gift and something to be proud of, unlike my real dad. Still, even my relationship with Archer is not one I would consider “close”. I’ve had one truly close relationship in my life, but that was a long time ago. I do what I do, and I survive. Being a Sweeper is a job of isolation, and it seems fate designed me for it perfectly.
Rising, I stride over to one of the large shades and pull it to the side, squinting my eyes against the bright morning sun. As they adjust, I stand there basking in the feel of the warmth on my face and gazing out at the city around the river.
The years have been hard since The Virus, and much of the once-great city is in disrepair. We simply don’t have the manpower these days to care for the entire city as we should. Many buildings are overgrown and crumble from disuse and decay. It makes me sad to see this once grand and sprawling metropolis reduced to a shell of its former glory. The other refuge cities are no
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