Read Online Zombie Ocean (Book 3): The Least by Michael John Grist - Free Book Online
Authors: Michael John Grist
Tags: Zombie Apocalypse
Ads: Link
INTO ALL PHONES IN THE COUNTRY.
Cerulean stopped tapping. He read the message again. "Whaaat?" he breathed.
WE ARE UNDER ATTACK. AN INFECTION HAS TAKEN HOLD ON THE EAST COAST. SEEK QUARANTINE AT ONCE.
He held the phone away from him and squinted. Even though the klaxon had stopped the red background was sharp and bright and bound to bring on the demon. He kept tapping to clear the message and finally it did.
But his phone didn't go back to normal. The icons that should have been underneath had been replaced by a news feed from CNC news, showing what seemed to be a scene from a zombie movie. People were running down a street being chased by other people whose eyes appeared to be glowing.
It had to be some kind of elaborate hoax. It was 1:16 in the morning.
He clicked up the volume.
"…reports of the infection decimating the populations of New York, Washington D.C. and Boston," said a female voice over the images. "Reports of the infection spreading through into Pennsylvania, the latest says New England has gone completely dark, with reports…"
The jolting video feed of people running switched to a harried-looking news anchor sitting at a desk leafing through papers frantically.
"She's not even looking at the camera," Cerulean muttered.
Her face and voice were panicked. "… best estimates suggest it's travelling via the air at speeds of over a thousand miles an hour, on a-" she paused to scan a piece of paper, "-disease vector of rabid contagion across 100% of those exposed."
There was a clatter from somewhere in the studio and the anchor looked up. Across the bottom of the screen a warning flashed brightly, scrolling yellow against red.
INFECTION ATTACKS USA – SEEK QUARANTINE – SEEK SHELTER
"The cameraman just fell," the anchor shouted, half to the camera and half to the studio behind the camera, pointing haplessly. She turned to the side and pressed her fingers to the bud in her ear. "Brett, did you see that? Shit, did you see that?"
"He's OK!" someone shouted from off-camera. "He's just pale."
"Oh my god, it's in here with us," the reporter muttered, perhaps unaware that the mic pinned to her dress lapel picked up every word and beamed them right to Cerulean.
A title card popped up for a second stating CNC in large letters, followed by a few seconds of an ad for Dub Lite beer, then the image scrolled back to the footage of more bodies sprinting down city streets.
Was it a hoax, still?
"Mom!" Cerulean yelled at the stairs while hurriedly tapping at the computer screen. "Mom you have to see this!"
He cleared out of Deepcraft and brought up a search bar, typing in the address of another news site, Box. It took a long time to load and when it did all there was across the whole front page was a single headline, eclipsing the masthead and the adverts in the sidebar.
GET AWAY!
He scrolled down as the rest of the article loaded.
"Mom!"
The video on his phone spurted out tinny clips of sound as the transfer rate slowed right down. How many thousands, how many millions of people across the world were doing just what he was doing right now?
The article loaded and he raced through it.
A seemingly fatal wind-borne virus has struck the Eastern seaboard of the United States with unparalleled ferocity, infecting an estimated twenty million in its first hour.
"I urge all Americans, all peoples, to seek out shelter at once," the President said shortly after midnight, while standing on the steps of Air Force One before Secret Service agents pressed her into the body of the plane.
This agency has since lost contact with its reporters on the ground in Washington, with bureaus equally going dark across New England and south down the East Coast through to Florida.
Infection appears to be a mass event originating from New York, or carried inland by the cross-Atlantic Gulfstream. Reports suggest entire populations become infected at once then begin a frenzied rampage, slaughtering anything in their paths with
Cerulean stopped tapping. He read the message again. "Whaaat?" he breathed.
WE ARE UNDER ATTACK. AN INFECTION HAS TAKEN HOLD ON THE EAST COAST. SEEK QUARANTINE AT ONCE.
He held the phone away from him and squinted. Even though the klaxon had stopped the red background was sharp and bright and bound to bring on the demon. He kept tapping to clear the message and finally it did.
But his phone didn't go back to normal. The icons that should have been underneath had been replaced by a news feed from CNC news, showing what seemed to be a scene from a zombie movie. People were running down a street being chased by other people whose eyes appeared to be glowing.
It had to be some kind of elaborate hoax. It was 1:16 in the morning.
He clicked up the volume.
"…reports of the infection decimating the populations of New York, Washington D.C. and Boston," said a female voice over the images. "Reports of the infection spreading through into Pennsylvania, the latest says New England has gone completely dark, with reports…"
The jolting video feed of people running switched to a harried-looking news anchor sitting at a desk leafing through papers frantically.
"She's not even looking at the camera," Cerulean muttered.
Her face and voice were panicked. "… best estimates suggest it's travelling via the air at speeds of over a thousand miles an hour, on a-" she paused to scan a piece of paper, "-disease vector of rabid contagion across 100% of those exposed."
There was a clatter from somewhere in the studio and the anchor looked up. Across the bottom of the screen a warning flashed brightly, scrolling yellow against red.
INFECTION ATTACKS USA – SEEK QUARANTINE – SEEK SHELTER
"The cameraman just fell," the anchor shouted, half to the camera and half to the studio behind the camera, pointing haplessly. She turned to the side and pressed her fingers to the bud in her ear. "Brett, did you see that? Shit, did you see that?"
"He's OK!" someone shouted from off-camera. "He's just pale."
"Oh my god, it's in here with us," the reporter muttered, perhaps unaware that the mic pinned to her dress lapel picked up every word and beamed them right to Cerulean.
A title card popped up for a second stating CNC in large letters, followed by a few seconds of an ad for Dub Lite beer, then the image scrolled back to the footage of more bodies sprinting down city streets.
Was it a hoax, still?
"Mom!" Cerulean yelled at the stairs while hurriedly tapping at the computer screen. "Mom you have to see this!"
He cleared out of Deepcraft and brought up a search bar, typing in the address of another news site, Box. It took a long time to load and when it did all there was across the whole front page was a single headline, eclipsing the masthead and the adverts in the sidebar.
GET AWAY!
He scrolled down as the rest of the article loaded.
"Mom!"
The video on his phone spurted out tinny clips of sound as the transfer rate slowed right down. How many thousands, how many millions of people across the world were doing just what he was doing right now?
The article loaded and he raced through it.
A seemingly fatal wind-borne virus has struck the Eastern seaboard of the United States with unparalleled ferocity, infecting an estimated twenty million in its first hour.
"I urge all Americans, all peoples, to seek out shelter at once," the President said shortly after midnight, while standing on the steps of Air Force One before Secret Service agents pressed her into the body of the plane.
This agency has since lost contact with its reporters on the ground in Washington, with bureaus equally going dark across New England and south down the East Coast through to Florida.
Infection appears to be a mass event originating from New York, or carried inland by the cross-Atlantic Gulfstream. Reports suggest entire populations become infected at once then begin a frenzied rampage, slaughtering anything in their paths with
Similar Books
