Read Online Ground Zero: A Zombie Apocalypse by Nicholas Ryan - Free Book Online
Authors: Nicholas Ryan
Ads: Link
gas masks, braced in a human wall behind bullet-proof shields. Behind the ranks of police were several heavy vans, like armored cars, and a couple of parked up buses, their windows barred and blacked out.
Stretched out before the intimidating show of police resistance was a length of road, littered with burning vehicles and debris. Cutter saw the grainy image of a police car that had been overturned. The windows were shattered and blood-spattered. Nearby was a small compact sedan, standing in the middle of the blacktop as a charred burned out shell. Smoke and billowing clouds of white gas turned the air into a haze.
Then the camera moved, panning urgently towards an intersection where a horde of crazed, blood-drenched undead were shambling in a solid wave towards where the police line waited. The camera swept across the grotesque faces and their horrible disfigurements, and then went back to a wide shot.
Cutter sensed the anxiety of the women around him. It seemed as though everyone in the room was holding their breath.
A man’s voice, shaky and uncertain, cut in over the sounds of the moaning wave of terror.
“These shots are live from the outskirts of Baltimore,” the announcer explained . “Where police and the army have drawn up a last-ditch defensive line against the plague of infected…”
The voice-over cut off abruptly, and the announcer’s image appeared in a corner of the screen. Cutter drew his eyes back to the main picture and saw the crowd swelling as it drew closer to the line of police. Then, as if let off some unholy leash, the front rank of the marauding undead suddenly broke from a shamble and began swarming towards the blockade.
“Sweet Jesus,” Hos breathed, and despite the drama being played out live before their terrified eyes, every face in the room turned to look at the big survivalist. “They’re running,” he said, and there was a dark, appalled sense of awe in his tone. “They’re not staggering. They’re not lurching. Some of those fuckers are running!”
Cutter looked back to the television urgently. About fifty of the undead were sprinting towards the police line. They were snarling: possessed by some mindless maddening rage that hurled them at the wall of riot shields in a frenzy. Behind them, the rest of the undead mass was splintering into fragments as those who could move faster began to break from the seething undulating body of the horde.
The sound rose to a wail, reaching a crescendo at the instant before the first undead slammed into the blockade.
The police braced themselves – set their legs and their balance to absorb the impact – but the collision was so violent the wall instantly began to buckle inwards. Cutter watched in horror. The police were hammering at bloody, snarling faces with their batons, and for one brief moment it seemed as though the blockade would hold, as the surging tide of ghouls crashed against the shields and was repulsed.
The zombies drew back like a tide, and then hurled themselves forwar d again, this time their savage madness reinforced by the weight of those heaving from behind. They fell against the wall of riot police, demented and relentless.
Then one of the undead broke through the interlocking shields, flailing its arms and snapping its infected jaws like a rabid dog into the uniformed bodies. A whistle sounded, and there was the dull percussive sound of tear gas being fired into the swarm. But it was no use. The crack became a breach, and the wall lost its integrity – and with it all chance of survival. One of the cops reeled away, flinging down his riot shield and clutching at his neck. He wrenched off his gas mask and helmet, and his face was a rictus of agonized pain, as he sagged to his knees. That was all it took. Zombies stormed through the narrow fissure, gnashing and tearing at the riot police. The line fractured. From off camera a dozen more black-uniformed troopers raced frantically to fill the gap, but it was too
Stretched out before the intimidating show of police resistance was a length of road, littered with burning vehicles and debris. Cutter saw the grainy image of a police car that had been overturned. The windows were shattered and blood-spattered. Nearby was a small compact sedan, standing in the middle of the blacktop as a charred burned out shell. Smoke and billowing clouds of white gas turned the air into a haze.
Then the camera moved, panning urgently towards an intersection where a horde of crazed, blood-drenched undead were shambling in a solid wave towards where the police line waited. The camera swept across the grotesque faces and their horrible disfigurements, and then went back to a wide shot.
Cutter sensed the anxiety of the women around him. It seemed as though everyone in the room was holding their breath.
A man’s voice, shaky and uncertain, cut in over the sounds of the moaning wave of terror.
“These shots are live from the outskirts of Baltimore,” the announcer explained . “Where police and the army have drawn up a last-ditch defensive line against the plague of infected…”
The voice-over cut off abruptly, and the announcer’s image appeared in a corner of the screen. Cutter drew his eyes back to the main picture and saw the crowd swelling as it drew closer to the line of police. Then, as if let off some unholy leash, the front rank of the marauding undead suddenly broke from a shamble and began swarming towards the blockade.
“Sweet Jesus,” Hos breathed, and despite the drama being played out live before their terrified eyes, every face in the room turned to look at the big survivalist. “They’re running,” he said, and there was a dark, appalled sense of awe in his tone. “They’re not staggering. They’re not lurching. Some of those fuckers are running!”
Cutter looked back to the television urgently. About fifty of the undead were sprinting towards the police line. They were snarling: possessed by some mindless maddening rage that hurled them at the wall of riot shields in a frenzy. Behind them, the rest of the undead mass was splintering into fragments as those who could move faster began to break from the seething undulating body of the horde.
The sound rose to a wail, reaching a crescendo at the instant before the first undead slammed into the blockade.
The police braced themselves – set their legs and their balance to absorb the impact – but the collision was so violent the wall instantly began to buckle inwards. Cutter watched in horror. The police were hammering at bloody, snarling faces with their batons, and for one brief moment it seemed as though the blockade would hold, as the surging tide of ghouls crashed against the shields and was repulsed.
The zombies drew back like a tide, and then hurled themselves forwar d again, this time their savage madness reinforced by the weight of those heaving from behind. They fell against the wall of riot police, demented and relentless.
Then one of the undead broke through the interlocking shields, flailing its arms and snapping its infected jaws like a rabid dog into the uniformed bodies. A whistle sounded, and there was the dull percussive sound of tear gas being fired into the swarm. But it was no use. The crack became a breach, and the wall lost its integrity – and with it all chance of survival. One of the cops reeled away, flinging down his riot shield and clutching at his neck. He wrenched off his gas mask and helmet, and his face was a rictus of agonized pain, as he sagged to his knees. That was all it took. Zombies stormed through the narrow fissure, gnashing and tearing at the riot police. The line fractured. From off camera a dozen more black-uniformed troopers raced frantically to fill the gap, but it was too
Similar Books
