The Rot

Chapter 8

 The gunman sat Cyn and I down on two folding chairs and then he hopped up on a wooden desk across from us. "So, why were you guys trying to steal my stuff?" He asked.

"We weren't trying to steal your stuff. We didn't know anyone was even here. Didn't you hear me calling out?" I replied.

"Yeah, I did. I was back here, resting."

"We were just looking for supplies," Cynthia said quietly.

The gunman didn't hear her, "What was that?"

"We were jut looking for some supplies."

"Is that so?"

"Yes."

The gunman set his shotgun aside and sat there, studying us for a moment. "What am I going to do with you?"

"You don't have to do anything, sir. You can let us walk right out of here and you'll never see the two of us again," I answered. "Isn't that right? I asked Cyn.

"Yeah, that's right," Cyn responded.

"And risk you two telling someone else about this place?" The gunman asked us. "My place?"

"We wouldn't do that," I answered.

The man smirked and shook his head at us. "Yeah right."

"I swear it, man. Not a word."

"I don't believe you."

Growing frustrated with the situation, I said, "If you're gonna kill us then do it already."

Cyn looked at me, terrified, "Reid, what the fuck?"

The gunman started to laugh at us. "Reid, huh?"

"Yeah," I responded. 

"What's your name?" He asked Cyn.

"Cynthia," She replied.

"I'm Peterson. Nice to meet the both of you."

"Oh yeah, it's been a real hoot," I said.

Peterson smiled at me, "You're a funny guy, Reid."

I'm glad someone did, even if it was a shogun wielding maniac. But I really was getting sick and tired of just sitting there with this mad man toying with us. Here we were sitting in the back office of some small little bakery wondering what this guy was going to do.

I glanced around the back room. Peterson had his sleeping bag spread out on the ground near the back door, with another gun, an assault rifle propped up in the corner.

"I like what you've done with the place, Peterson," I quipped. "Been here long? Before or after the dead things started to attack?"

"'Dead things?' You mean the eaters?" Peterson asked me.

"If you want to call them that."

"Those things out there are dead?" 

"Supposedly."

Peterson stood up and started to pace around in front of us nervously. Then, he stopped. "If they're dead, why are they running?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "No clue, Peterson. That's what the news said on TV before the power went off. The dead are coming back or something to that effect."

Peterson sat back down on the desk. "Interesting," He muttered. Peterson stared at the ground for a little bit not saying a word. Then, his head darted up, "What was that?"

"What was what?" Cynthia asked him.

"You two didn't hear that?"

I shook my head, "I didn't hear anything."