The Fall of Society (Book 2): The Fight of Society by Thonas Rand Page B

okay?”
                “Then why do you still have anybody in custody?”
                He smirked, “Force of habit and we’ve been a little busy, in case you haven’t noticed,” he said sarcastically.
                It was then they heard——and felt ——what was coming, the horde. They stopped what they were doing and froze in horrified anticipation.
                “Oh . . . fuck!” one of the cops muttered.
                They moved away from the doors and windows. Milla went to one of the desks in the back of the reception area and started looking through drawers. The windows vibrated from the oncoming power and then the first of them arrived—fast movers ran by out in the street. Blood red, brown, and gray distorted streaks blurred by the windows as phantasms, their screeches piercing the officers’ ears, thinning out as they moved on.
                A moment later the main body arrived, the street filled with them and all they could see were countless stenches moving as one. Some banged up against the station windows—the cops flinched, but stayed still. One cop actually pissed himself and dropped behind a desk to hide.
                One of the dead saw him move.
                The thing burst into a rage and banged on the window like a dead maniac to get in.
                “Oh Jesus!” Mark sputtered.
                A second later, more followed the first one’s lead and lunged at the windows and doors. A moment later, more of them joined in until dozens and dozens were slamming against the building in unison.
                The front doors cracked …
                Some windows splintered …
                “No, no, no!” Mark shouted.
                Milla glanced at the deathly shadows at the windows as she scrambled through drawers, searching…
                The cops raised their weapons but, at the sight of so many undead, they felt as though their hands were empty. Their fearful eyes confirmed the fact they were about to die…
                Milla still couldn’t find what she was looking for. “Come on, goddamnit!” she mumbled as she went through the drawers of another desk.
                The first window shattered and the plywood burst apart by the dead falling over the windowsill. The cops fired, nervously missing the sweet spots as they mowed down the first cop, Mark.
                The front doors broke open and all of them rushed in; the last two cops were ripped apart as they screamed and gurgled in agony. Milla finally found what she needed—a set of jailer’s keys—and ran to a back door with the dead several feet behind her. She got through the door and closed it before they could get their rotten hands inside. They slammed against it and, judging by the way it was buckling, Milla knew it wouldn’t last very long.
                She ran frantically down the corridor, quickly turned down a second, and came to another door. It was locked and she began trying the keys she had to open it. The first key didn’t work, nor did the second—behind her, she heard the first door she had come through break down—they were in.
                “Shit! Shit!” she blurted.
                Squeals and shouts of the dead filled the corridor and actually hurt Milla’s ears. She did what she could to block them out as she concentrated on the door lock, tried a third key—it would be her last as the dead rounded the corner behind her—it turned the lock. She was through the door faster than a gale force wind and slammed it shut on the bloody faces rushing in behind her. With her back against the thumping door, she looked at where she was—a holding cellblock—a barred metal door before her. Beyond that were the holding cells, six of them in two rows of three. She could see that most of the