Darmageddon (The Living Dead Series Book 3) by Joseph Souza

Author:Joseph Souza
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: thriller, horror, suspense, political, zombies, apocalypse, supernatural, native american, metaphysical, western, end of the world, virus, dystopian
Publisher: Permuted Press

Chapter 24

They went from room to room disposing of all the corpses and tossing them out the windows. Body parts and gelatinous brain matter lay splattered across the floors, ceilings and walls. Once all the corpses had been tossed outside, the men swept up the remaining nasty bits and flung them out with the rest of the garbage. Outside, the horde gathered below as if waiting for the Pope to deliver a sermon.

Townsend kept his ears and eyes open for the sound of that returning chopper, hoping that Ackroyd could give him a detailed report of the survivors’ whereabouts. He ordered one of the soldiers to stand near the basement door in case Ridley wandered upstairs and caught wind of them.

Soldiers emerged into the hallway with buckets of soapy water, sponges and mops. They started at the far end of the hallway, washing down the blood splattered walls and floors. Cleaning the entire hallway and rooms could take days, maybe weeks, although he hoped they wouldn't be stuck in this shit hole much longer than that. Two goddamn months had seemed like an eternity.

The stench was horrific and the work difficult on his men's psyche. Many had to stop and vomit or take a quick break in order to clear their minds of the carnage. His head pounded in agony, although by this point he'd become accustomed to living with pain. Pain is fear living the body! Every day felt like the morning after a hard night of boozing. Normally, he'd have forced his men to push on through the pain, but the blood, guts and rank odor of death only intensified their misery. Some of the soldiers suffered worse migraines than others. And because he needed their undivided loyalty, he allowed them plenty of time to rest and recoup from this ongoing nightmare.

An hour passed before he heard the faint sound of the chopper returning. He dropped the sponge and sprinted over to the window, spotting the magnificent black bird in the sky. He glanced down at the helipad and saw that the horde's numbers had grown so large that they were practically walking over each other's backs as if climbing a set of stairs. The dead crawled atop the Army vehicles and stumbled over them, often toppling over the edge on account of their rigid musculature. The chopper, he realized, had nowhere to land. And even if he did manage to settle on the flatbed, the horde clambering atop it would rip Ackroyd to shreds.

He wracked his tortured brain trying to think of a safe place for the pilot to land. He badly needed both pilot and chopper intact. Then it hit him. He ordered all his men to drop whatever they were doing and look for the door leading to the rooftop. The soldiers staggered frantically around, checking every stairwell, bathroom and broom closet for an access door leading to the top.

“Why don't he just land on the roof?' one of the soldiers asked, staring out the window at the circling chopper.

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