The Undead World (Book 1): The Apocalypse by Peter Meredith Page B
Authors: Peter Meredith
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the silly spear. He cracked her a good one and he felt bone give; unfortunately his spear also split in two.
Now he was defenseless and the girl was getting up again. Neil stared around him and even took a cowardly step back to his house when he caught sight of one Mr. Krauthammer's garden gnomes. A strange fury overcame him just then. It was part anger over his situation and part sadness for poor Mr. Krauthammer. And then in a rage he rushed to the gnome and used it to dash the little zombie's brains in.
She went down like the dead thing she was and Neil raised the gnome with a battle cry in his throat, only to choke on it. The zombies that had gone down the street earlier had turned around and now he saw there was a good chance that they would beat him in a race to his door if he dared to go back that way.
He didn 't. Neil's daring had left him and he ran the other way, down Grove Street. He ran, keeping low, close to the hedges because there were other zombies out. Mostly they seemed oblivious to him and so he kept going, yet where he was going he didn't know, not until he saw the big black monster truck rumbling on the side of the road a block ahead.
And as he watched he saw the same brute of a man that had robbed him fifteen minutes earlier get out with an empty bag on his back and a shotgun in his hand. And then Neil had a wild idea.
He couldn 't go back. Even if he could get into his house safely what then? There was only going forward and that meant he was going to have to take some chances. Keeping even lower Neil scurried down the block until he heard the zombies behind him. He could hear their odd grunting and their slapping feet, and so, with his heart in his throat he gave up any notion of sneaking and took off at a sprint, running straight for the truck, praying that the door would open.
It did! With a mad cackling laugh he climbed up the beast of a vehicle and set himself behind a wheel that was wider across than he was. Reverting momentarily to his former self, he adjusted the seat and checked the mirrors before driving off, bowling over a pair of zombies in his path and making a retching noise in his throat as he did.
Chapter 15
Eric
New York City
The chopper banked over the Hudson River and Eric puked into the water rushing below. It was his second time. Some of the soldiers with him chuckled, though they were grey in the face themselves. For them it wasn't from airsickness.
Normal combat was a strain on the human psyche, fighting the undead, however took a toll that couldn 't be measured. Hearing the thump of bullets striking a man and seeing him keep coming on and on had turned these soldiers old before their time. Still they were trained and experienced, and they handled their weapons with a sureness that Eric Reidy found comforting. His own ability was in such doubt that he wasn't allowed his ammunition until they landed. They were afraid he would set his pistol off by accident and kill the chopper.
The Blackhawk already seemed to have something wrong with it. It flared up and down, while at times it flew sideways and always Eric clung to the harness , that barely kept him inside, with a desperation that had his muscles vibrating.
Finally the lieutenant in charge of the operation, a tall black man with sad eyes, spoke into his headset, “Thunderbolt, cut the nap of the earth shit. No one's got missile lock on you. All you're doing is making the Doc queasy and it isn't pretty.”
For Eric, queasy had been thirty minutes before at lift off...he was well past queasy. Thankfully the helicopter 's flight path flattened and they made straight for mid-town Manhattan.
“ One more time,” Lieutenant Mathers yelled above the noise of the wind and the engine. “Since we can't rappel down or fast-rope, we're going to land across the street from the hotel on another building. If for some reason we get turned around it's just to the east. East, you hear me? Across a two-lane road with, like hedges
Now he was defenseless and the girl was getting up again. Neil stared around him and even took a cowardly step back to his house when he caught sight of one Mr. Krauthammer's garden gnomes. A strange fury overcame him just then. It was part anger over his situation and part sadness for poor Mr. Krauthammer. And then in a rage he rushed to the gnome and used it to dash the little zombie's brains in.
She went down like the dead thing she was and Neil raised the gnome with a battle cry in his throat, only to choke on it. The zombies that had gone down the street earlier had turned around and now he saw there was a good chance that they would beat him in a race to his door if he dared to go back that way.
He didn 't. Neil's daring had left him and he ran the other way, down Grove Street. He ran, keeping low, close to the hedges because there were other zombies out. Mostly they seemed oblivious to him and so he kept going, yet where he was going he didn't know, not until he saw the big black monster truck rumbling on the side of the road a block ahead.
And as he watched he saw the same brute of a man that had robbed him fifteen minutes earlier get out with an empty bag on his back and a shotgun in his hand. And then Neil had a wild idea.
He couldn 't go back. Even if he could get into his house safely what then? There was only going forward and that meant he was going to have to take some chances. Keeping even lower Neil scurried down the block until he heard the zombies behind him. He could hear their odd grunting and their slapping feet, and so, with his heart in his throat he gave up any notion of sneaking and took off at a sprint, running straight for the truck, praying that the door would open.
It did! With a mad cackling laugh he climbed up the beast of a vehicle and set himself behind a wheel that was wider across than he was. Reverting momentarily to his former self, he adjusted the seat and checked the mirrors before driving off, bowling over a pair of zombies in his path and making a retching noise in his throat as he did.
Chapter 15
Eric
New York City
The chopper banked over the Hudson River and Eric puked into the water rushing below. It was his second time. Some of the soldiers with him chuckled, though they were grey in the face themselves. For them it wasn't from airsickness.
Normal combat was a strain on the human psyche, fighting the undead, however took a toll that couldn 't be measured. Hearing the thump of bullets striking a man and seeing him keep coming on and on had turned these soldiers old before their time. Still they were trained and experienced, and they handled their weapons with a sureness that Eric Reidy found comforting. His own ability was in such doubt that he wasn't allowed his ammunition until they landed. They were afraid he would set his pistol off by accident and kill the chopper.
The Blackhawk already seemed to have something wrong with it. It flared up and down, while at times it flew sideways and always Eric clung to the harness , that barely kept him inside, with a desperation that had his muscles vibrating.
Finally the lieutenant in charge of the operation, a tall black man with sad eyes, spoke into his headset, “Thunderbolt, cut the nap of the earth shit. No one's got missile lock on you. All you're doing is making the Doc queasy and it isn't pretty.”
For Eric, queasy had been thirty minutes before at lift off...he was well past queasy. Thankfully the helicopter 's flight path flattened and they made straight for mid-town Manhattan.
“ One more time,” Lieutenant Mathers yelled above the noise of the wind and the engine. “Since we can't rappel down or fast-rope, we're going to land across the street from the hotel on another building. If for some reason we get turned around it's just to the east. East, you hear me? Across a two-lane road with, like hedges
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