Then Keller is standing over him, still swinging what looks like a chain link fence pole. A fireman steps up alongside him, firing an M-16. A third guy wearing a Devil Ray’s ballcap reaches down and helps him to his feet. “Hang in there, officer. Help has arrived.”
HE SITS BEFORE THE ARMORY DOOR and rocks with the pain. It’s getting difficult to think about anything but the pain.
Something clatters and booms in the stairwell.
Someone’s coming.
Most likely another one of those things. All is ashes now. I always triumph somehow in the end, but maybe not this time. Too many things went wrong.
He can hear mismatched echoes of steps coming down the staircase and pausing on the landing.
I should be armed to the teeth right now and wearing SWAT armor.
Everything went wrong after that first lucky shot put Gransky down. He’d followed the two tumbling bodies down to the bottom and found the smaller, skinnier guy trying to get up. The main problem was trying to concentrate with a broken arm and sweat running into your eyes.
The thing got to its feet and he realized that it was another cop. This one was missing part of his face, but there was still half of a handlebar mustache and most of his nose. One eye was turned up showing the whites. Dodd looked at his nametag. Harris. Do I know him?
Dodd found himself backing up, while his gun hand wavered. Finally, with his back against a wall, he forced himself to stop and aim. He held his breath.
The shot hit Harris square on the adam’s apple and didn’t even slow him.
268
In desperation, Dodd darted forward to meet Harris and practically put the barrel against his forehead.
He hit where he aimed with that one. Harris promptly spun away with the impact and settled to the floor.
Two bullets left.
It didn’t matter. Soon he’d have all the guns and ammo he needed.
Only the door was locked. It wouldn’t open with his card. He needed a special card or key or something.
There was still one chance. If Gransky still had the card he would be saved.
Neither Gransky or Harris turned out to have a card or key.
Now his back hurts from rolling and lifting Gransky’s bulk, and the pain from his arm is so bad he is whimpering.
The gun rests on his knee. Without too much trouble, he can use it to steady his aim.
A small person, a small man maybe, steps into view. In the red emergency lighting it’s hard to tell from here. At roughly twenty five feet, he has doubts of being able to hit the guy. “Who’s there?!” he shouts.
“Is that you Officer Dodd? Still hanging in there, I see.”
It’s the maintenance man, Blake.
Maybe if I’m silent, I can bluff him.
The little man takes a few more steps. Twenty feet—Still too far. Dodd knows guys who’ve missed a live target at eight feet.
“If you put down the gun, Officer, I’ll help you. We’ll get you medical attention and we’ll let you stay with us. What do you say?”
Dodd can see that Blake has a gun too—His gun! He’s pointing it at him even as he speaks.
Fifteen feet now. With my right hand, I could make him dance at this range.
He squints, focusing the sight on Blake’s center mass. Blake is holding his own gun now in both hands.
Got to make this one shot count and save the other.
Dodd suddenly jerks and twitches as Blake opens fire. It feels like being pummeled by red hot bolts that go right through him. Torn apart. Screaming with the pain and the awful noise. Nothing else exists.
A high-pitched whistle blows continuously in his ears and somewhere beyond it he can hear people screaming in torment. He feels his back sliding down the wall and his head hit the concrete floor. Blake is standing over him, removing the magazines from his belt. Sort of like he is stripping the dead. Only it’s me.
269
Suddenly the pain is nothing next to the terror of what he halfsenses. He tries to speak, tastes blood and begins to choke.
Blake finishes pocketing the extra mags and without hesitating points the gun in Dodd’s face.
Dodd sees a brief flash of light, but not the one someone in his position might hope for.
Then nothing.
H E SITS APART, barely noticed, sulking. None of them even asked him what happened. All that mattered is that he got the power back on. Everything else is lost in the arrival of the new people. Now all of them are clustered around a table, but not him.
The radio crackles for a moment, then with Anton fiddling with it, the voice comes through loud and clear:
“…This is Chief Jubal Hadley can anyone hear me?”
Anton leans forward, grasping the mic, “Chief, we hear you just fine. This is Call Center Chief Lesk. Where are you?”
“I’m on a boat, son. Got a bunch of people with me.”
“Any chance of our two groups hooking up, sir?”
“We’ll have to arrange something, Lesk. It’s good to know we aren’t alone. Are there any officers with you?”
“Yes sir, one… Talaski.” Lesk says.
There is a long pause “Okay, never mind! We’ll call you at this time two days from now. We should have some sort of plan ready to implement by then.”
“Can do. Talk to you then.”
For a moment they all fall silent, but then one of the new guys speaks up. “I have a stash of propane that might be useful for something.” Several people try to speak at once, but Anton motions them to silence.
The policeman, Talaski, speaks up. “Having the propane available is a good thing, but having someplace safe to operate out of is more important.”
270
“He’s right,” Anton says. At that point, someone else disagrees and pandemonium erupts. Blake decides he’s had enough and he sneaks off. Anton has unlocked all the doors on this floor, except for the main staircase. He walks past that one and to a door twenty feet further down.
Just inside the door is another staircase going up. He takes it and within moments is at a door. As he opens this door, a gust of wind nearly yanks it from his hands.
The first light of dawn is lighting the sky to the east, but he doesn’t think it will last. Lot of cloud cover overhead. He can almost taste the rain. Another storm coming.
He walks over to the edge of the building and looks down. Several hundred zombies are still milling about below and more are coming.
“They’ll just keep on coming, won’t they?” says a woman’s voice. Someone is standing beside him.
Not Debbie.
He looks over. “Yes, they will,” he answers. It’s one of the two new women.
“I’m Trish and you’re Morgan right?”
“Well, yes, that’s true also, Mrs…”
She smiles. “I told you Morgan, it’s just Trish.”
Candle to the flame, Blake. Watch it. His face does feel warm, but he doesn’t let that stop him. Probably got a goofy smile on my face too.
“Nice to meet you, Trish.”
WHEN THE ELEVATOR SHUDDERS TO A STOP and the doors open, the young lieutenant escorting him leads the way. There are three pipes running the length of the corridor just outside the doors, all clustered together about waist high. What are they for?
He doesn’t ask.
271
Every twenty feet or so, there is a light on the ceiling covered by a metal grating.
Feels a lot like a prison.
They pass three lights and turn a corner. An Army Private wearing a camouflage uniform comes to attention and presents arms. The door is open and Foster steps though and into a large room with a bed, desk and two chairs. There is also a large, steel two-doored locker and a map of the United States on the wall. He turns in a circle, eyes taking in the puke green walls, and the simple utilitarian design that is rampant throughout this place.
“Is this the best we can do?” he asks sarcastically. The lieutenant grimaces, but he pretends to ig
nore it. “This is going to get old real fast.”
“It’s the best the Joint Chiefs can arrange at the moment, Mr. President,” the lieutenant answers.
“What’s your name boy?” Foster asks. The soldier is no more than twenty-two or twenty-three, with broad shoulders and an athletic build. He’d probably be a good-looking guy if not for his pocked oily skin.
“Green sir! First Lieutenant Charles R. Green.”
“Where are you from? Do I detect a southern accent?”
“North Carolina, sir. Burnsville.”
“That anywhere near the Linville Caverns?”
“Not too far away, sir!”
“Well, Lieutenant Green, I’d like a drink and I’d like to be briefed. You have the codes, correct?”
“Yes Sir! How about I escort you down to the Ops Room and we’ll fix you up?”
Foster nods. “That’ll do, son.”
Finished 11:20 PM 3/31/2007
272
Acknowledgments
There are quite a few people I’d like to thank for helping me in one way or another on this book. The first is my silent collaborator Dave who helped more than he will ever realize. Second would have to be Dr. Pus who has always believed in me and was willing to take a chance on me long before reading Dead Tide. A big thank you also to Dan Galli for such a fantastic cover. Following hard on their heels would be my readers, Shannon Catcott, Susanna Parrish, Dana Lindsay, Judy Anderson, Mike Johnson, and Michaelene Pusateri. A belated thanks to two great teachers who helped change my life: Bill White and Mike Prosenchak. I’d also like to thank all my friends and co-workers at Wal-Mart Store 1536 for their unwavering support and enthusiasm. Thanks also to my in-laws and most of all my wife and daughter for putting up with me.
Stephen North has a BA in English Literature from USF , and is a former Army Reservist. He is married to Lisa, has a daughter named Lindsey, and resides in Florida.
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The formula has been changed… Shifted… Altered… TwistedTM
It’s the end of the world: 1999. Professional nobody Ross Orringer sees flashes of cameras and glances from strangers lurking around every corner.
His paranoia mounts when his friends and family begin acting more and more suspiciously as the New Year approaches.
In the last minutes before the clock strikes midnight, Ross realizes that the end may be more ominous than anyone could have imagined: decisions have been made, the crews have set up their lights and equipment, and the gray makeup has been applied.
In the next millennium, time will lose all meaning, and the dead will walk the earth. ISBN: 978-0-9789707-8-9
Five years after the dead first walked, a small pocket of humanity survives in the fortified town of Eastpointe.
When a stranger arrives claiming to know the location of a cure for the zombie plague, the town will risk everything to possess it.
But does the cure even exist?
And what price must be paid?
“If you love zombies, this is a must-read.” —Nickolas Cook, Hellnotes
“Adkins has a knack for raw storytelling that shocks and entertains. Great stuff!” —Jonathan Maberry, Multiple Bram Stoker Awardwinning author of Zombie CSUand Patient Zero
ISBN: 978-0-9789707-7-2 An ongoing journal depicting one man’s personal struggle for survival, dealing with the trials of an undead world unfolding around him. An unknown plague sweeps the planet. The dead rise to claim the Earth as the new dominant species. Trapped in the midst of a global tragedy, he must make decisions… choices that that ultimately mean life, or the eternal curse to walk as one of them.
The formula has been changed… Shifted… Altered… TwistedTM
The formula has been changed… Shifted… Altered… TwistedTM
Dead Tide Page 31