Read Online Wormwood Dawn (Episode IV) by Edward Crae - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Edward Crae
Tags: Zombies
Ads: Link
street,” Dan said, “and a propane truck if you want it. The Hummers should all be loaded up with weapons. Take what you want.”
They crossed the creek, and Dan pointed out the propane truck—which was still intact somehow—and the four Hummers that were left. In addition to the one that had been destroyed by Jake’s bomb, another one had bitten the dust.
“Hey,” Mike said, turning to Dan with his hand out. “Thanks for everything. I owe you big time.”
Dan took his hand, shaking it firmly. “No problem, man. Get away as fast as possible. I don’t know where we’re going after I get the guys out… if I do.”
Mike nodded, glancing at the marooned truck in the creek. “I guess I’ll take the propane truck.”
“Good luck, bro,” Dan said. “The keys are in it.”
He sprinted toward his house—what was left of it—and eyed the property, searching for anything that may have been left behind. He knew he would have to get away as quickly as possible, as the mutant killer would surely know that this would be the first place he would come.
He searched the area where he had been hiding after getting shot, hoping the sniper rifle was still there. He frantically sloshed through the water, kicking leaves and logs out of the way, growling with anger. The rifle was gone.
Who had taken it?
He heard the propane truck start up and glanced that way. Mike gave him a thumbs up as he drove it over the bank and through the yard. Dan returned the gesture, going to the Hummer to see if it had been damaged or looted. Everything seemed to be as he left it. He sighed with relief.
As Mike drove away, Dan leaped onto the porch and began sifting through the ruins. There were several items he wanted to fetch, and thankfully, he found them all with a little searching. Jake’s duffel bag, with the Apocalypse Compendium was still there, as well as the art bag full of prescription drugs, and his laptop.
He fetched his 870p, which was still lying on the floor, along with all the shells he could find. He then carried everything back to the Hummer, threw it in the back seat, and turned to look once more at his home.
There was a lump in his throat. He fought the urge to cry, without really knowing what difference it would make. No one else was around. Who would give a fuck?
“Fuck you, Gephardt,” he cursed.
Then, he saw something else he hadn’t thought about before. Over near the area where his friends had been captured, he could see the tell-tale cylinder of Jake’s flamethrower. He grinned, running over to it. It was intact.
“Fuck yeah,” he said.
He carried it back to the Hummer and tossed in the back seat with the rest of the shit. He reached back to retrieve the shotgun, put it in the passenger seat, and started up the Hummer. It purred like a kitten, and he easily backed it out of the creek.
He floored it, tearing through the yard and onto the gravel road. He would waste no more time here searching for anything else. There were plenty of places along the way to gather any more supplies he needed.
He just needed to get away before his captor knew he was missing.
The highway to Bloomington was littered with abandoned vehicles. There were lines of cars, frozen in time, indicative of a mass exodus that had been stalled by military interference. People had tried to escape the city, going north for some reason, and the presence of troop transports and tanks told Dan that the National Guard had at least tried to organize them or transport them to safety.
It wasn’t until a few minutes and several miles later that Dan realized there had been a huge firefight. Near a gas station about five miles south, the cars and landscape were in ruins. A bombing run and ground attack had occurred here. The military vehicles were destroyed, along with the cars, and the ground was littered with bodies; military, Gephardt, and civilian alike.
Strangely, there seemed to be a complete lack of infected.
Feeling his stomach
They crossed the creek, and Dan pointed out the propane truck—which was still intact somehow—and the four Hummers that were left. In addition to the one that had been destroyed by Jake’s bomb, another one had bitten the dust.
“Hey,” Mike said, turning to Dan with his hand out. “Thanks for everything. I owe you big time.”
Dan took his hand, shaking it firmly. “No problem, man. Get away as fast as possible. I don’t know where we’re going after I get the guys out… if I do.”
Mike nodded, glancing at the marooned truck in the creek. “I guess I’ll take the propane truck.”
“Good luck, bro,” Dan said. “The keys are in it.”
He sprinted toward his house—what was left of it—and eyed the property, searching for anything that may have been left behind. He knew he would have to get away as quickly as possible, as the mutant killer would surely know that this would be the first place he would come.
He searched the area where he had been hiding after getting shot, hoping the sniper rifle was still there. He frantically sloshed through the water, kicking leaves and logs out of the way, growling with anger. The rifle was gone.
Who had taken it?
He heard the propane truck start up and glanced that way. Mike gave him a thumbs up as he drove it over the bank and through the yard. Dan returned the gesture, going to the Hummer to see if it had been damaged or looted. Everything seemed to be as he left it. He sighed with relief.
As Mike drove away, Dan leaped onto the porch and began sifting through the ruins. There were several items he wanted to fetch, and thankfully, he found them all with a little searching. Jake’s duffel bag, with the Apocalypse Compendium was still there, as well as the art bag full of prescription drugs, and his laptop.
He fetched his 870p, which was still lying on the floor, along with all the shells he could find. He then carried everything back to the Hummer, threw it in the back seat, and turned to look once more at his home.
There was a lump in his throat. He fought the urge to cry, without really knowing what difference it would make. No one else was around. Who would give a fuck?
“Fuck you, Gephardt,” he cursed.
Then, he saw something else he hadn’t thought about before. Over near the area where his friends had been captured, he could see the tell-tale cylinder of Jake’s flamethrower. He grinned, running over to it. It was intact.
“Fuck yeah,” he said.
He carried it back to the Hummer and tossed in the back seat with the rest of the shit. He reached back to retrieve the shotgun, put it in the passenger seat, and started up the Hummer. It purred like a kitten, and he easily backed it out of the creek.
He floored it, tearing through the yard and onto the gravel road. He would waste no more time here searching for anything else. There were plenty of places along the way to gather any more supplies he needed.
He just needed to get away before his captor knew he was missing.
The highway to Bloomington was littered with abandoned vehicles. There were lines of cars, frozen in time, indicative of a mass exodus that had been stalled by military interference. People had tried to escape the city, going north for some reason, and the presence of troop transports and tanks told Dan that the National Guard had at least tried to organize them or transport them to safety.
It wasn’t until a few minutes and several miles later that Dan realized there had been a huge firefight. Near a gas station about five miles south, the cars and landscape were in ruins. A bombing run and ground attack had occurred here. The military vehicles were destroyed, along with the cars, and the ground was littered with bodies; military, Gephardt, and civilian alike.
Strangely, there seemed to be a complete lack of infected.
Feeling his stomach
Similar Books
