The Romero Strain Read Online Free Page A

her go, and approached Max. I looked through the window on the door but saw nothing. Max continued his low growl. “Gute hund, Max. Gute hund.” I still saw no one, but by the way Max was reacting I knew there was something out there.
    Marisol spoke from behind me in a concerned tone, “There are people coming.”
    “I don’t see anyone.” I misunderstood what she was trying to tell me.
    “No. This way!”
    I turned around and saw Marisol pointing out the front door. There were people moving swiftly toward the complex. Alive or undead, I didn’t know; they were too far away, but I wasn’t about to wait and find out.
    “Marisol, time to go.”
    I walked toward Max. “Fuss,” I said, as I opened the door. I followed Max out, and held the door for Marisol, but she was not directly behind me.
    “Marisol,” I snapped.
    She grabbed her nearly forgotten backpack and locked the front entrance door.
    “Marisol! Now!” She ran to me and out the door. “Not too fast, let Max lead.”
    Ahead of us the open area of the complex stretched all the way to FDR Drive. The building to our immediate left housed the turbines, the heat recovery system, and the station monitoring system. To our right, as we exited the visitor check-in building, was the guardhouse with the pickup truck adjacent to it. We moved cautiously along the sidewalk, which stretched along the paved lot. We could see the back end of the pickup as we cleared the twelve by twelve foot trailer. Max stopped. He curled his lips back and rumbled a low, guttural growl.
    There was the driver, half hanging out the truck, his body dangling and twitching as his attacker gnawed on an arm. He had been unable to escape. His leg was caught in the steering wheel.
    The creature looked up and stopped chewing. It wanted fresh meat.
    “Run!” I cried. “Schnell, Max. Fuss!”
    We ran hard and fast. We came to the entryway of the main building. It was open. He was almost upon us. Marisol went in, followed by Max. I tumbled to the pavement as I was set upon. The gun flew from my hand and landed just out of reach. I struggled to keep his mouth away. I held on firmly with both hands around his throat, trying to strangle him. This would not be a deterrent, but I hoped to hold him back from ripping out my throat. He frantically tried to kill me, whipping his arms and hands at me in a frenzied fit. He scratched at my face. I didn’t know if he had penetrated my skin, but I felt a sting.
    I couldn’t punch him in the face, for if I did there was the possibility of lacerating my knuckles on his teeth, so I began to elbow strike him on the side of the head. For a moment the blows disoriented him, enough for me to scoot my body over those few extra inches to reach the pistol. I shoved it in his mouth and blew out the back of his head.
    I saw Marisol with weapon in hand. The gun was aimed at me. She had a frightened look on her face.
    “I tried to shoot it,” she said, her voice quivering. “But the gun won’t work.”
    I responded, “Yours has an external safety. I’ll show you later.”
    She lowered the weapon. “You got some blood on your face.”
    “Shit. Just tell me it’s my own,” I replied in an agitated tone. “Damn it!” Then I kicked the creature.
    “It’s okay. I can wipe it off,” she said in a calming and reassuring voice, as she took out a hand-wipe and cleaned my face.
    “You don’t understand. Is there any on my eyes or mouth?”
    She assured, “No, no. You’re okay.”
    “Not if it got in my eyes or mouth. Shit, what about the scratch on my face?”
    “Scratch? It’s just a little mark.”
    “Are you sure?” I demanded to know. “Is the skin broken?”
    She couldn’t understand my concern. “Why are you freakin’ out? It’s nothing.” She finished cleaning my face and tossed the towelette to the ground.
    “You don’t understand. If blood gets into your system, you can turn into one of them.”
    “What? Now you’re buggin’!”
    “You