Read Online Ragnarok Rising: The Awakening (Book One of The Ragnarok Rising Saga) by D.A. Roberts - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: D.A. Roberts
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have been to make. “Let’s hope they stay there.”
“Amen. I’ll fill you in completely when you get here.”
“Got it, we’re on our way. 829 out.”
Then, I did what I had been dreading doing since we headed back. I switched to patrol frequency and radioed in to dispatch.”
“829 to Dispatch.”
“Go ahead, 829,” said Dispatch.
“I’m back in route to the jail.”
“10-9? Say again, 829.”
“I’m back in route to the jail. Our position was overrun by rioters.”
“829, this is Sheriff Hawkins,” said an all too familiar voice.
“Yes, sir?”
“What’s the situation out there?”
“It’s pretty bad, sir,” I said. “We were completely overrun. We’re returning to base.”
“Negative, 829. You get back out there and keep that road closed.”
“No can do, Sheriff, ” I replied, scowling.
“Why the hell not?” he demanded.
“Because your fucking r ioters ate three of my team, SIR !” I snapped back, anger flashing in my voice.
I might have said sir , but that’s not what I meant.
“I don’t want to hear excuses, Grant,” retorted the Sheriff. “Get your ass back out there and HOLD !”
I was about to reply with something even less flattering than before when a much calmer voice cut in.
“829, come on back to the jail. You’ve done more than enough.”
It was the voice of Lieutenant Murdock.
“Copy that, L.T. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“Fine,” snapped the Sheriff. “Get back here for reassignment. But you can bet your ass that the Lieutenant and I will have some words before you get here.”
I wasn’t worried about the L.T. He could take care of himself. The way things sounded to me, the Sheriff might not have enough officers left to call a department. Besides, if it came down to it, I’d quit and leave to go find my family. I wasn’t in the military anymore. I could leave whenever I chose to, and there wasn’t a damned thing the Sheriff could do about it.
I didn’t want to listen to Patrol traffic anymore, so I switched over to t he county-wide emergency channel. It was flooded with calls. Some were calling for help, others were pleading for it. You couldn’t get a word in edgewise. Everyone was trying to talk at once, and from the sound of it everything was going to Hel in a handbag. I switched frequency again, to the alternate patrol frequency. The one not as widely used. Within seconds I picked up a call.
“To any available unit, this is 917, over,” said the voice. “I’m trapped on the roof of the visitor’s center at Valley Water Mill Park. Can anyone hear me? Over.”
“Valley Water Mill,” I said, looking at Spec-4. “That’s pretty close to us.”
“Do you think we can get there in time?”
“There’s only one way to find out. 829 to 917, I am in route to your position. I can be there in 15 minutes, maybe less.”
“Grant? Is that you?” said 917.
Then it hit me. I knew 917. That was Chuck Southard’s radio number. Southard was a “Roadie” but he started out in the jail. More importantly, he’d been on my shift and that made him one of us. Chuck Southard was my friend and I’ll be damned if I was going to leave him to die, or worse.
“Yeah, Chuck. It’s me. What’s your situation?”
“Pretty damned bad,” he said, matter-of-factly. “We’re stuck on the roof of the visitor’s center in the park and we’re surrounded by a whole shit-load of zombies.”
“Think you can hold for 15 minutes?”
“Hell, Wylie. I’d say I can hold till Judgment Day, but I think it’s here already.”
“I’ll take that as a yes, then.”
“I think we can hold, unless one of these bastards learns how to climb. They can’t reach us, but I’m out of ammo. I’m forced to defend myself with my charm and good looks.”
“So basically, you’re unarmed,” I replied.
“Yeah, up yours, buddy. Oh and by the way, my Charger’s on fire.”
I could see Spec-4 was grinning at our exchange.
“How many of you
“Amen. I’ll fill you in completely when you get here.”
“Got it, we’re on our way. 829 out.”
Then, I did what I had been dreading doing since we headed back. I switched to patrol frequency and radioed in to dispatch.”
“829 to Dispatch.”
“Go ahead, 829,” said Dispatch.
“I’m back in route to the jail.”
“10-9? Say again, 829.”
“I’m back in route to the jail. Our position was overrun by rioters.”
“829, this is Sheriff Hawkins,” said an all too familiar voice.
“Yes, sir?”
“What’s the situation out there?”
“It’s pretty bad, sir,” I said. “We were completely overrun. We’re returning to base.”
“Negative, 829. You get back out there and keep that road closed.”
“No can do, Sheriff, ” I replied, scowling.
“Why the hell not?” he demanded.
“Because your fucking r ioters ate three of my team, SIR !” I snapped back, anger flashing in my voice.
I might have said sir , but that’s not what I meant.
“I don’t want to hear excuses, Grant,” retorted the Sheriff. “Get your ass back out there and HOLD !”
I was about to reply with something even less flattering than before when a much calmer voice cut in.
“829, come on back to the jail. You’ve done more than enough.”
It was the voice of Lieutenant Murdock.
“Copy that, L.T. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“Fine,” snapped the Sheriff. “Get back here for reassignment. But you can bet your ass that the Lieutenant and I will have some words before you get here.”
I wasn’t worried about the L.T. He could take care of himself. The way things sounded to me, the Sheriff might not have enough officers left to call a department. Besides, if it came down to it, I’d quit and leave to go find my family. I wasn’t in the military anymore. I could leave whenever I chose to, and there wasn’t a damned thing the Sheriff could do about it.
I didn’t want to listen to Patrol traffic anymore, so I switched over to t he county-wide emergency channel. It was flooded with calls. Some were calling for help, others were pleading for it. You couldn’t get a word in edgewise. Everyone was trying to talk at once, and from the sound of it everything was going to Hel in a handbag. I switched frequency again, to the alternate patrol frequency. The one not as widely used. Within seconds I picked up a call.
“To any available unit, this is 917, over,” said the voice. “I’m trapped on the roof of the visitor’s center at Valley Water Mill Park. Can anyone hear me? Over.”
“Valley Water Mill,” I said, looking at Spec-4. “That’s pretty close to us.”
“Do you think we can get there in time?”
“There’s only one way to find out. 829 to 917, I am in route to your position. I can be there in 15 minutes, maybe less.”
“Grant? Is that you?” said 917.
Then it hit me. I knew 917. That was Chuck Southard’s radio number. Southard was a “Roadie” but he started out in the jail. More importantly, he’d been on my shift and that made him one of us. Chuck Southard was my friend and I’ll be damned if I was going to leave him to die, or worse.
“Yeah, Chuck. It’s me. What’s your situation?”
“Pretty damned bad,” he said, matter-of-factly. “We’re stuck on the roof of the visitor’s center in the park and we’re surrounded by a whole shit-load of zombies.”
“Think you can hold for 15 minutes?”
“Hell, Wylie. I’d say I can hold till Judgment Day, but I think it’s here already.”
“I’ll take that as a yes, then.”
“I think we can hold, unless one of these bastards learns how to climb. They can’t reach us, but I’m out of ammo. I’m forced to defend myself with my charm and good looks.”
“So basically, you’re unarmed,” I replied.
“Yeah, up yours, buddy. Oh and by the way, my Charger’s on fire.”
I could see Spec-4 was grinning at our exchange.
“How many of you
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