Read Online The Undead World (Book 5): The Apocalypse Renegades by Peter Meredith - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Peter Meredith
Tags: Zombie Apocalypse
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ends: two partially eaten MREs, a Bible with two heavy rubber bands belted around it, and a couple of boxes of .22 caliber bullets; in other words, nothing to tie Ernest to the River King.
Looking disappointed, Fred opened up one of the ammo boxes and fingered the tiny bullets. He grunted, apparently satisfied, and dropped the box onto the pile. Ipes was satisfied as well. He snorted at the sight of the .22s and asked, How did he make it this long using a tiny gun like that?
Jillybean didn’t have a clue. She only knew that Ernest had stood up for her when no one else would and that was good enough. “Could you please, Mr. Ernest, Sir tell us why you think we should leave?” she asked with a good deal of hope in her voice.
“Because you’re being obvious,” he said. This stunned Jillybean because she would have never used the word obvious to describe herself; maybe it was true of Ipes who could be a bit of a loudmouth but certainly not herself. Ernest went on, “Yes, obvious. You blew up a bridge for goodness sakes. There’s only one place you could get all the material to do that and that’s here. Fort Campbell is the closest military base there is to Cape Girardeau. Trust me, when the River King’s men don’t find you on the other side of the river they’ll come straight here.”
The truth of what he said stunned everyone, including Ipes, into silence. Fred Trigg was the first of them who could spit anything out. “We’ve got to get out of here,” he said, breathlessly.
“But where should we go?” Marybeth Gates asked in a frightened whisper.
“Back north,” Ernest answered. “The safest place right now is to get as close to Cape Girardeau as we can. The River King’s men will be widening their search parameters. If we get in close we’ll be overlooked until either the heat is off or you can make a decision on what to do next.”
Jillybean jumped to her feet. “I second the emotion,” she declared.
Fred ran a hand through his greasy hair and couldn’t help being his usual asinine self when he said, “It’s not emotion, it’s just motion and…and I guess I agree, too. All in favor in moving back north?” He raised his hand and in seconds everyone else had as well.
Chapter 7
Captain Grey
Despite the destruction of the bridge and the tremendous bounties being offered, the arena had been full for three straight nights as Grey killed man after man.
He had become nothing more than an executioner. What he was doing was just shy of murder. Grey tried to tell himself that the men he was killing were evil pieces of shit, but that was barely a salve to his conscience. His initial kill had been some guy named Demarco; supposedly the first man to bring slaves to Cape Girardeau and now, clearly, was a rival to the throne. The River King had spun all sorts of grisly tales of rape and torture in Grey’s ear to get him to, not just kill, but to kill with a maximum of bloodshed, because that’s what the people wanted.
“The chief saboteur!” the River King had hissed into the microphone, before pointing up at a white screen. The crowd quieted as the film version of Demarco began reciting a pre-written script in a flat voice, the gist of which was his culpability in blowing up the bridge. The video confession was artless and did not bother to hide the fact that the admission of guilt had been wrung out of the man by torture. Not only was he bleeding, he kept flicking his eyes off camera, nervously.
“Pathetic,” Grey remarked. “Sacrificing this guy won’t placate anyone. Your people are going to want the truth.”
“Don’t be so sure,” the River King replied. “The truth is ugly and points to weakness. If a little girl can ghost her way around the base, blow up the bridge and free a bunch of prisoners right out from under the noses of a dozen armed guards, what’s that say about their safety? That it’s an illusion, right?”
“And you think your people would rather live a lie
Looking disappointed, Fred opened up one of the ammo boxes and fingered the tiny bullets. He grunted, apparently satisfied, and dropped the box onto the pile. Ipes was satisfied as well. He snorted at the sight of the .22s and asked, How did he make it this long using a tiny gun like that?
Jillybean didn’t have a clue. She only knew that Ernest had stood up for her when no one else would and that was good enough. “Could you please, Mr. Ernest, Sir tell us why you think we should leave?” she asked with a good deal of hope in her voice.
“Because you’re being obvious,” he said. This stunned Jillybean because she would have never used the word obvious to describe herself; maybe it was true of Ipes who could be a bit of a loudmouth but certainly not herself. Ernest went on, “Yes, obvious. You blew up a bridge for goodness sakes. There’s only one place you could get all the material to do that and that’s here. Fort Campbell is the closest military base there is to Cape Girardeau. Trust me, when the River King’s men don’t find you on the other side of the river they’ll come straight here.”
The truth of what he said stunned everyone, including Ipes, into silence. Fred Trigg was the first of them who could spit anything out. “We’ve got to get out of here,” he said, breathlessly.
“But where should we go?” Marybeth Gates asked in a frightened whisper.
“Back north,” Ernest answered. “The safest place right now is to get as close to Cape Girardeau as we can. The River King’s men will be widening their search parameters. If we get in close we’ll be overlooked until either the heat is off or you can make a decision on what to do next.”
Jillybean jumped to her feet. “I second the emotion,” she declared.
Fred ran a hand through his greasy hair and couldn’t help being his usual asinine self when he said, “It’s not emotion, it’s just motion and…and I guess I agree, too. All in favor in moving back north?” He raised his hand and in seconds everyone else had as well.
Chapter 7
Captain Grey
Despite the destruction of the bridge and the tremendous bounties being offered, the arena had been full for three straight nights as Grey killed man after man.
He had become nothing more than an executioner. What he was doing was just shy of murder. Grey tried to tell himself that the men he was killing were evil pieces of shit, but that was barely a salve to his conscience. His initial kill had been some guy named Demarco; supposedly the first man to bring slaves to Cape Girardeau and now, clearly, was a rival to the throne. The River King had spun all sorts of grisly tales of rape and torture in Grey’s ear to get him to, not just kill, but to kill with a maximum of bloodshed, because that’s what the people wanted.
“The chief saboteur!” the River King had hissed into the microphone, before pointing up at a white screen. The crowd quieted as the film version of Demarco began reciting a pre-written script in a flat voice, the gist of which was his culpability in blowing up the bridge. The video confession was artless and did not bother to hide the fact that the admission of guilt had been wrung out of the man by torture. Not only was he bleeding, he kept flicking his eyes off camera, nervously.
“Pathetic,” Grey remarked. “Sacrificing this guy won’t placate anyone. Your people are going to want the truth.”
“Don’t be so sure,” the River King replied. “The truth is ugly and points to weakness. If a little girl can ghost her way around the base, blow up the bridge and free a bunch of prisoners right out from under the noses of a dozen armed guards, what’s that say about their safety? That it’s an illusion, right?”
“And you think your people would rather live a lie
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