Read Online Zombie Killers: Ice & Fire by John Holmes, Ryan Szimanski - Free Book Online
Authors: John Holmes, Ryan Szimanski
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scratched her armpit and rolled away from him, sitting up. She couldn’t watch anymore either, but she wanted to continue the conversation.
“So what the hell has the government been doing for the last six months? The Army?”
“Well, we have forty million people crammed into three states. Factories running full blast. Bases expanding like crazy, more than a million troops in training. We have the rail line from Boise to Green Bay open, and we cleared Buffalo. Scout teams like us are going around the country, securing important materials, contacting survivors.”
Down below, the shelling had stopped. A pall o f smoke hung over the town, and fires burned here and there. In the middle, a Stewarts shop burned like a torch, the gas tanks ruptured.
“Damn, I was hop ing to get some ice cream” said Ahmed. “I love Stewart’s ice cream”
“When the hell did you ever get Stewarts ice cream in Guantanamo Bay?” asked Jonesy.
Ahmed just smiled his inscrutable smile and said “It was a very long walk from Cuba to Buffalo.”
“Yeah, well someday I want to hear about that escape from Gitmo.”
Behind us, the radio in Jonesy’s pack squawked. “See what the hell they want. I don’t want to talk them.”
After some conversation, Jonesy signed off. “They want us to go down there and get an effects report.”
I looked out over the valley, watching the smoke rise.
“Yeah, I guess we have to. What’s a few more undead to plow through, more or less?”
Chapter 18
We went at first light the next morning. The fires had burned out, but their heat had melted all the snow, and the water had refrozen, creating large sheets of ice in the street. We had to move cautiously, and several times one of us slipped on the ice, large packs dragging us down.
Our objective, of course, was the brick building, or what was left of it. It hadn’t caught fire, but it was a wreck anyway. Glass crunched underfoot, shards lying mixed with the ice. We approached cautiously, but moved down the center of the street, avoiding the shattered doorways and windows on either side that might hide zombies. It left us open to snipers, but better the devil you know than the one you don’t.
The undead lay all about, in scattered ones and twos. They were perforated with dozens of small holes all over their bodies. Several still moved, an d we shot them as they crawled or stumbled towards us.
“I’d say those BB rounds worked pretty damn well” said Doc.
“Yeah.” I kicked one to turn it over. A young woman, finally at rest. She almost looked peaceful; her clouded eyes still open, staring at nothing. The red glow had gone out. I reached down and closed her eyes.
A shout brought me up short. “Doc, we got a survivor here!” Brit was bending over a figure that lay just outside the doorway of the brick building where we had seen the signs.
“ Perimeter!” I shouted, so that we didn’t all get in Doc’s way. Ahmed and Jonesy took up positions facing outward, and after a few seconds and a look from me, so did Brit.
The man was bad off. A belt had been twisted around his leg, and beneath it half his calf was blown away. He had a puncture wound through and out on his neck, and the entry and exit wounds were swollen shut. Blood spilled from his mouth as he labored to breathe. Doc turned him over, looking for other wounds. The man was clad in the remains of an Army Combat Uniform, and a soiled patch on his sleeve represented the 53 rd Troop Command, a New York Army National Guard command. His name tag said GUIDO, and he wore Staff Sergeant rank.
“Hey, Sergeant. Wake up, brother.” I poured some water over his mouth, and his eyes flickered open, then they closed again. Doc shook his head.
“He isn’t going to make it, Nick. Blood loss, shock. His heartbeat is weak and fading.”
He woke up again, and whispered “Water.” I gave him some and he coughed up more blood, then started talking.
“ Guido. One Oh... One Oh Seventh
“So what the hell has the government been doing for the last six months? The Army?”
“Well, we have forty million people crammed into three states. Factories running full blast. Bases expanding like crazy, more than a million troops in training. We have the rail line from Boise to Green Bay open, and we cleared Buffalo. Scout teams like us are going around the country, securing important materials, contacting survivors.”
Down below, the shelling had stopped. A pall o f smoke hung over the town, and fires burned here and there. In the middle, a Stewarts shop burned like a torch, the gas tanks ruptured.
“Damn, I was hop ing to get some ice cream” said Ahmed. “I love Stewart’s ice cream”
“When the hell did you ever get Stewarts ice cream in Guantanamo Bay?” asked Jonesy.
Ahmed just smiled his inscrutable smile and said “It was a very long walk from Cuba to Buffalo.”
“Yeah, well someday I want to hear about that escape from Gitmo.”
Behind us, the radio in Jonesy’s pack squawked. “See what the hell they want. I don’t want to talk them.”
After some conversation, Jonesy signed off. “They want us to go down there and get an effects report.”
I looked out over the valley, watching the smoke rise.
“Yeah, I guess we have to. What’s a few more undead to plow through, more or less?”
Chapter 18
We went at first light the next morning. The fires had burned out, but their heat had melted all the snow, and the water had refrozen, creating large sheets of ice in the street. We had to move cautiously, and several times one of us slipped on the ice, large packs dragging us down.
Our objective, of course, was the brick building, or what was left of it. It hadn’t caught fire, but it was a wreck anyway. Glass crunched underfoot, shards lying mixed with the ice. We approached cautiously, but moved down the center of the street, avoiding the shattered doorways and windows on either side that might hide zombies. It left us open to snipers, but better the devil you know than the one you don’t.
The undead lay all about, in scattered ones and twos. They were perforated with dozens of small holes all over their bodies. Several still moved, an d we shot them as they crawled or stumbled towards us.
“I’d say those BB rounds worked pretty damn well” said Doc.
“Yeah.” I kicked one to turn it over. A young woman, finally at rest. She almost looked peaceful; her clouded eyes still open, staring at nothing. The red glow had gone out. I reached down and closed her eyes.
A shout brought me up short. “Doc, we got a survivor here!” Brit was bending over a figure that lay just outside the doorway of the brick building where we had seen the signs.
“ Perimeter!” I shouted, so that we didn’t all get in Doc’s way. Ahmed and Jonesy took up positions facing outward, and after a few seconds and a look from me, so did Brit.
The man was bad off. A belt had been twisted around his leg, and beneath it half his calf was blown away. He had a puncture wound through and out on his neck, and the entry and exit wounds were swollen shut. Blood spilled from his mouth as he labored to breathe. Doc turned him over, looking for other wounds. The man was clad in the remains of an Army Combat Uniform, and a soiled patch on his sleeve represented the 53 rd Troop Command, a New York Army National Guard command. His name tag said GUIDO, and he wore Staff Sergeant rank.
“Hey, Sergeant. Wake up, brother.” I poured some water over his mouth, and his eyes flickered open, then they closed again. Doc shook his head.
“He isn’t going to make it, Nick. Blood loss, shock. His heartbeat is weak and fading.”
He woke up again, and whispered “Water.” I gave him some and he coughed up more blood, then started talking.
“ Guido. One Oh... One Oh Seventh
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