Waiting for the Dead:The Last Town #3(37)

By: Stephen Knight

Doddridge gave him the keys. “Take those, and unlock anyone who wants to come.” With that, he turned and picked up the shotgun and headed back outside. He stripped the dead guards of their spare ammunition and magazines, and dumped it all in one of the duffel bags. It didn’t take long. By the time he was done, all seven prisoners stepped out of the bus, Auto and the Latin King in the lead.

“So what’s the plan?” Auto asked. He was absolutely gigantic, at least six inches over six feet in height. His long blond hair hung down to his shoulders. He was pale too, like Nordic pale. Doddridge thought he wasn’t going to love being out in the desert after a while.

“We’re going to need a place to hole up and figure out what’s next. That town up there ought to do aight by us.”

“What about the cops there?” the kid with the glasses said. He was rail thin, with a tightly packed afro. His dark skin was practically glowing beneath a sheen of sweat.

Doddridge lifted the shotgun he held in his right hand. “That’s what this is for, boy. Got a problem wit that?”

The boy just looked at Doddridge and didn’t say anything.

“What about the rest of the guns, ese?” asked the Latin King.

“Where you from, man? Who you run with?”

“Pasadena. I’m Tone.”

Doddridge searched his memory. He’d been inside for five years, but the name Tone rang a bell. “Big Tone? One of the vice kings from the PLK?”


“We’ll walk for a bit, see what kinda ’rangement we can make. Rest a you, start walkin’.” Doddridge nodded toward the town ahead. “We got us a town to take.”

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