Read Online 900 Miles: A Zombie Novel by S. Johnathan Davis - Free Book Online
Authors: S. Johnathan Davis
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tactical strike on this old hotel. My squad was moving in to make sure the place was clear of hostiles. The building was torn to shit; the bodies of dead insurgents still riddled the halls. I came across this woman. She was blood soaked, and barely alive. She had taken a round to the gut, and certainly wasn’t going to make it. She was begging for the end. I remember drawing my pistol, and pointing it at her head. All that time…I just stood there staring at her, wondering if I was doing the right thing…”
Kyle drifted off for a moment, then blinked and exhaled slowly before continuing. “She nodded, as if to say “yes, end it ,” just before I pulled the trigger. The look she gave me…I keep seeing it in these creatures’ eyes, almost like they don’t really want to keep going.”
I thought about that for a moment, and said, “It makes it a little easier doesn’t it? Believing that these people wouldn’t want to be one of these creatures. It’s that much simpler to put them down.”
With all the chaos, I had not taken the time to think about the fact that we were killing people, what used to be human, not unlike ourselves. Even though my stomach roiled unpleasantly, I felt numb, disconnected. We both sat in silence for several minutes, caught up in our own thoughts.
Looking down at the gas gauge on the Hummer, I grimaced and gripped the steering wheel tightly.
“You know right about now, what scares me the most is running out of gas.”
Kyle leaned over to look at the gauge, and then reached out, messing around with the navigation system again. He had it up and running in moments.
A few button hits later, three gas tank icons appeared on the screen. We decided to go for the one that was in the opposite direction of the highway. We would have to backtrack a few miles, but the hopeful idea was that it would be less likely to have been sold out.
On the way, we started to see the creatures lurking around again. For the most part, they were not following us, or at least we were moving too fast for them to catch us.
Thinking back, I really wish we had paid more attention.
One of them had been a postal worker when he was alive, and still had the blue mail sack around his shoulder to prove it. He was wearing the traditional blue and white striped shorts, although blood had run down his leg to paint his knee-high white socks a blackish red.
As we passed him, I noticed he was carrying a brown package in his left hand. It looked like he was still trying to deliver his mail.
Mundane tasks for a mundane world.
We approached the gas station with great disappointment , as we noticed that all the pumps had plastic bags over the pump handles. A quick check confirmed that they were dry.
Clearly, relying on gas stations wasn’t going to cut it.
That’s when we noticed another car parked in the lot. There was a pair of legs sticking out from behind the car as motionless as a mannequin’s. As I pulled the Hummer closer, we could see a red three-gallon gas can.
Kyle came up with the conclusion that this guy was siphoning gas from the car. Odd that he didn’t move or stand up. The Hummer wasn’t exactly a stealth vehicle. We slid slowly from the Hummer, glancing around for any of the dead.
“Hey. Hey, Man. You alive?” Kyle called out. No answer.
I pulled my hammer from my belt, and left the Hummer running as we cautiously stepped down and towards the feet on the other side of the car. I approached from the back, and Kyle moved along the front of the vehicle. Still no movement.
Then we found out why. All that remained was the gas tank, a tube running into the tank, and a severed arm dangling from it; still clutching the tube. The legs were not attached to a body. They had been cleanly ripped off, while the torso, other arm and head were nowhere to be seen. Looking up, I closed my eyes for the briefest of seconds to get my bearings.
Neither of us
Kyle drifted off for a moment, then blinked and exhaled slowly before continuing. “She nodded, as if to say “yes, end it ,” just before I pulled the trigger. The look she gave me…I keep seeing it in these creatures’ eyes, almost like they don’t really want to keep going.”
I thought about that for a moment, and said, “It makes it a little easier doesn’t it? Believing that these people wouldn’t want to be one of these creatures. It’s that much simpler to put them down.”
With all the chaos, I had not taken the time to think about the fact that we were killing people, what used to be human, not unlike ourselves. Even though my stomach roiled unpleasantly, I felt numb, disconnected. We both sat in silence for several minutes, caught up in our own thoughts.
Looking down at the gas gauge on the Hummer, I grimaced and gripped the steering wheel tightly.
“You know right about now, what scares me the most is running out of gas.”
Kyle leaned over to look at the gauge, and then reached out, messing around with the navigation system again. He had it up and running in moments.
A few button hits later, three gas tank icons appeared on the screen. We decided to go for the one that was in the opposite direction of the highway. We would have to backtrack a few miles, but the hopeful idea was that it would be less likely to have been sold out.
On the way, we started to see the creatures lurking around again. For the most part, they were not following us, or at least we were moving too fast for them to catch us.
Thinking back, I really wish we had paid more attention.
One of them had been a postal worker when he was alive, and still had the blue mail sack around his shoulder to prove it. He was wearing the traditional blue and white striped shorts, although blood had run down his leg to paint his knee-high white socks a blackish red.
As we passed him, I noticed he was carrying a brown package in his left hand. It looked like he was still trying to deliver his mail.
Mundane tasks for a mundane world.
We approached the gas station with great disappointment , as we noticed that all the pumps had plastic bags over the pump handles. A quick check confirmed that they were dry.
Clearly, relying on gas stations wasn’t going to cut it.
That’s when we noticed another car parked in the lot. There was a pair of legs sticking out from behind the car as motionless as a mannequin’s. As I pulled the Hummer closer, we could see a red three-gallon gas can.
Kyle came up with the conclusion that this guy was siphoning gas from the car. Odd that he didn’t move or stand up. The Hummer wasn’t exactly a stealth vehicle. We slid slowly from the Hummer, glancing around for any of the dead.
“Hey. Hey, Man. You alive?” Kyle called out. No answer.
I pulled my hammer from my belt, and left the Hummer running as we cautiously stepped down and towards the feet on the other side of the car. I approached from the back, and Kyle moved along the front of the vehicle. Still no movement.
Then we found out why. All that remained was the gas tank, a tube running into the tank, and a severed arm dangling from it; still clutching the tube. The legs were not attached to a body. They had been cleanly ripped off, while the torso, other arm and head were nowhere to be seen. Looking up, I closed my eyes for the briefest of seconds to get my bearings.
Neither of us
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