Rotting to the Core (Keep Your Crowbar Handy Book 2) by S.P. Durnin Page A

he reached the door, it was 'rinse and
repeat'. That was the admittedly politically incorrect phrase
Foster had used to impress upon the women to always listen at a
door when they were sneaking-and-peaking, prior to entering. There
had been some unamused looks thrown his way at that one. Along with
a few rather colorful insults about his advancing years, and a pair
of middle fingers on Laurel's part. She'd professed that living
with Kat the Ninja had made her sneakier than he'd ever hope to
be.
    George had nodded and smiled amicably, then
told her to run twenty laps around the interior of their motor
pool. Jake's red-haired lover had obeyed, cursing George all the
while. Laurel had forgotten the first rule of basic training, that
being: Do Not Lip-off To Your Instructor Or You Will Pay.
    Jake had won his battle against breaking into
laughter while this went on, but just barely. It had been a near
thing. In his defense, he had been a bit distracted just then.
Laurel running in a pair of fatigue bottoms and a sports bra would
do that to him.
    His redhead had one hell of a really nice
bosom.
    Thoughts of Laurel's more attractive
attributes fled as Jake moved stealthily through the door with
Hammer repeater leading.
    Suddenly, a cold, hard piece of metal was
pressed against his skull, just behind his left ear.
    “Move and die.”
    The Penny woman had been waiting silently to
the left of the entrance. When Jake opened the door it had swung
out, providing her with some handy concealment, and allowed her to
come up behind him as he'd moved through into the hallway. She had
the muzzle of a Police issue, Beretta 92fs pressed against the back
of his head and her finger was definitely on the trigger.
    “Uh. Hi?” Jake was at a loss.
    The Beretta nudged his head. “Put the gun
down.”
    “That, um, requires me moving, wouldn't it?”
he asked. “That seems like a bad plan just now.”
    The dark-haired woman considered that for a
moment. “Fine. Turn it around then pass it back to me, grip first.
You try anything, and I'll show your brains some sunlight.”
    “Okey-dokey.” Jake did as she instructed and
gave over the Hammer.
    “Move to face the wall and put your hands
behind your back,” she told him.
    Jake complied and felt a pair of handcuffs
squeeze tightly around his wrists. Penny took a grip on his vest,
turned him around, and gave him the once over.
    “Where's your friend?” she asked. “The
blue-haired chick.”
    Jake decided to play dumb. “I'm alone.”
    Penny popped him in the mouth with a quick
jab.
    “Don't play dumb,” she told him. “We saw the
pair of you coming up the road. She's here somewhere. What'd you
do, split up Plan to take us out individually?”
    “I have no idea what you're talking about.”
Blood from his split lip oozed down Jake's chin as he shook his
head in an attempt to order his thoughts again. Penny might have
been attractive, but she had a hell of a left hand. Jake was lucky
she'd hit him with the fist not currently holding a weapon. He'd
have to be very careful about what he said. “I saw you guys come in
here and thought I'd feel you out. I haven't seen another living
person for almost a month now. Just those things.”
    His answer earned him an amused smirk from
Penny. “Right. You must think I'm stupid or something.”
    Jake shrugged. “Well, I did see the truck you
drive.”
    Penny rolled her eyes and laughed, causing
her face to appear even more appealing. “You're wearing Blackhawk
tactical gear, Bates vibram-soled boots, and from the way you move
you've had some training.”
    “I played a lot of paintball before the whole
zombie thing,” Jake said.
    “And then there's this thing.” She held up
his Hammer repeater. “What the hell kind of gun is this?”
    “I picked it up at a flea-market,” O'Connor
replied.
    “Uh-huh. No dice, fella'. This is quality
craftsmanship right here. No home firearm enthusiast could produce
something like this, no matter how many reloads