Read Online Z-Risen (Book 3): Poisoned Earth by Timothy W. Long - Free Book Online
Authors: Timothy W. Long
Tags: Zombie Apocalypse
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so the plan is like this: I flank 'em, go in swinging and shooting, and you kill the shuffler. It is like the old days.”
The first week we’d been in San Diego, we’d become a tight fighting machine. Short, fast engagements resulting in twice-dead corpses, then we got scarce real fast, and hopefully with a few supplies for the effort. Things had changed as the shufflers had gotten smarter. I was also banged up pretty badly, and didn’t even know if I’d be able to get around the building in time.
“We got this, man. It’s going to be smooth as melted butter.”
“Famous last words,” I said, and looked at my watch.
“Sixty seconds,” Joel said, and picked up his assault rifle. He looked it over, and then popped into a squat.
“Better make it seventy. I’m a mess.”
“Getting slow in your old age?”
“No, man. Ankle’s hurting like hell, shoulder’s banged up, the feeling just came back to my knee and it’s not a good kind of feeling.”
“I’ll give you a minute and a half to flank 'em. When I drop the shuffler, you go in swinging.”
I dragged my pack to us and quietly unzipped it, then rummaged around inside for a few seconds.
Joel looked at me questioningly.
I found the small box of shells I’d picked up from the old woman and handed it to Joel. He smiled and slid the cover open.
“Merry early fucking Christmas,” I said.
“Best gift ever,” Joel said.
He popped the magazine out of his assault rifle and started loading it. I noticed there were only two rounds in the mag.
“Really, man? You were going to risk my life with two rounds.”
“Gimme some credit. Two rounds equal two kills.”
“Ninety seconds. You better not miss that damn shuffler.”
Joel grunted, quietly slipped the full magazine back into the rifle and shot me a cool look. I nodded back, picked up my wrench and handgun, and moved out.
###
13:50 hours approximate
Location: Vista
I started this journal a few months ago. The first entry was about a mission just like this one. We were in the process of finding supplies for “fortress,” and that meant making runs into town. As we ranged farther and farther out, we ran into problems with Zs as they got hungrier. I took to calling it “The Fuckening”.
I was ultra-cautious back then and took little risk, except for the day we had to get past a bunch of Zs, and one of the quick ones I later came to call shufflers. Since then, the shufflers had grown smarter and could, much to my horror, control a small army of their undead brothers. I didn’t know how the mechanism for communicating with their little minions worked, and I really didn’t care. All I wanted was to kill every shuffler I came across. I wanted to bash in heads and then take a minute to piss on their corpses.
Just like the first days, I was about to do something dumb. I was about to be bait.
The building had seen better days before the z-poc and was now what I’d call comfortably dilapidated. Some kind of vines clung to one side and sunlight shone through space where the walls had been kicked or just fallen in. Two windows faced out, but both were devoid of glass. If it came down to it, I guessed I could just Die Hard my way through a window and hide under a desk. The problem with that plan? I’m no Bruce Willis.
I ran into my first difficulty as soon as I tried to move to the backside of the building. A big fence was in the way. It was chain-link, sure, and it wasn’t all that tall. But it was going to be noisy as hell. Plus there was a wreck parked right next to the fence, and there was no way I was risking tetanus today.
My internal clock was about to hit forty-five seconds, so I needed to move with a purpose.
I crept alongside the fence and found another building that was probably someone’s house. The doors had been mostly boarded up, but a limp and half-devoured body lay near the remains of the wood planks that were scattered all over the busted-ass porch.
I skirted the
The first week we’d been in San Diego, we’d become a tight fighting machine. Short, fast engagements resulting in twice-dead corpses, then we got scarce real fast, and hopefully with a few supplies for the effort. Things had changed as the shufflers had gotten smarter. I was also banged up pretty badly, and didn’t even know if I’d be able to get around the building in time.
“We got this, man. It’s going to be smooth as melted butter.”
“Famous last words,” I said, and looked at my watch.
“Sixty seconds,” Joel said, and picked up his assault rifle. He looked it over, and then popped into a squat.
“Better make it seventy. I’m a mess.”
“Getting slow in your old age?”
“No, man. Ankle’s hurting like hell, shoulder’s banged up, the feeling just came back to my knee and it’s not a good kind of feeling.”
“I’ll give you a minute and a half to flank 'em. When I drop the shuffler, you go in swinging.”
I dragged my pack to us and quietly unzipped it, then rummaged around inside for a few seconds.
Joel looked at me questioningly.
I found the small box of shells I’d picked up from the old woman and handed it to Joel. He smiled and slid the cover open.
“Merry early fucking Christmas,” I said.
“Best gift ever,” Joel said.
He popped the magazine out of his assault rifle and started loading it. I noticed there were only two rounds in the mag.
“Really, man? You were going to risk my life with two rounds.”
“Gimme some credit. Two rounds equal two kills.”
“Ninety seconds. You better not miss that damn shuffler.”
Joel grunted, quietly slipped the full magazine back into the rifle and shot me a cool look. I nodded back, picked up my wrench and handgun, and moved out.
###
13:50 hours approximate
Location: Vista
I started this journal a few months ago. The first entry was about a mission just like this one. We were in the process of finding supplies for “fortress,” and that meant making runs into town. As we ranged farther and farther out, we ran into problems with Zs as they got hungrier. I took to calling it “The Fuckening”.
I was ultra-cautious back then and took little risk, except for the day we had to get past a bunch of Zs, and one of the quick ones I later came to call shufflers. Since then, the shufflers had grown smarter and could, much to my horror, control a small army of their undead brothers. I didn’t know how the mechanism for communicating with their little minions worked, and I really didn’t care. All I wanted was to kill every shuffler I came across. I wanted to bash in heads and then take a minute to piss on their corpses.
Just like the first days, I was about to do something dumb. I was about to be bait.
The building had seen better days before the z-poc and was now what I’d call comfortably dilapidated. Some kind of vines clung to one side and sunlight shone through space where the walls had been kicked or just fallen in. Two windows faced out, but both were devoid of glass. If it came down to it, I guessed I could just Die Hard my way through a window and hide under a desk. The problem with that plan? I’m no Bruce Willis.
I ran into my first difficulty as soon as I tried to move to the backside of the building. A big fence was in the way. It was chain-link, sure, and it wasn’t all that tall. But it was going to be noisy as hell. Plus there was a wreck parked right next to the fence, and there was no way I was risking tetanus today.
My internal clock was about to hit forty-five seconds, so I needed to move with a purpose.
I crept alongside the fence and found another building that was probably someone’s house. The doors had been mostly boarded up, but a limp and half-devoured body lay near the remains of the wood planks that were scattered all over the busted-ass porch.
I skirted the
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