Dead Line by Adam Millard

Author:Adam Millard [Millard, Adam]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: zombies
Publisher: Crowded Quarantine Publications
Published: 2013-03-02T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

James “Dredd” Foster landed on the Bay St. Louis to the usual gathering of disinterested people. They were busy eating and talking amongst themselves, and as the Wave Hawk's rotors slowed, revealing the incessant drone of chitter-chatter, he wondered if anyone actually cared about what he did day after day.

Not for much longer.

Tomorrow, with a bit of luck, he would be on board one of the ships leaving the port; a new life ahead with Emma and Gabriella, one where the constant threat of being bitten, infected, was no longer a threat at all.

The survivors here, in the bay, were fortunate enough to be surrounded by trained personnel. Snipers were positioned on eight towers running the length of the North Beach Boulevard; if any creatures wandered off the beaten path – which they sometimes did – they were quickly and expertly dispatched with a single shot to the head. Such was the rarity of a shambler, though, that the eight snipers maintained radio-contact just so they could argue which one of them got to take the shot.

It was technically the safest place in America, though not safe enough. The menace was still there, and none of the survivors would rest until there was an ocean between them and the creatures.

Which was exactly what they were doing.

'Took your goddamned time,' a voice said. Dredd turned to find Frank Pimlico striding towards him through the detached crowd. 'Thought you'd stopped for ice-cream.'

Dredd saluted; the general waved his gesture away – as he always did – because rank meant very little and Pimlico was not the kind of guy to stipulate respect; he just got it.

'So I take it you didn't come across a bus-load of day-trippers since the last time we spoke?' He shook Dredd's hand so viciously that it felt like his shoulder had come unhinged.

Dredd nodded dissent. 'I didn't come across anything out there,' he said. It was time, he thought, to saddle up and ride into the sunset; any remaining survivors would have made themselves known as he flew over, and he'd seen nobody. If there were people in hiding – perhaps at the mall or in some derelict apartment-complex – there was nothing he could do to help them now.

'So we're just about done here,' the general said. He was staring at the ground, at the loose sand which blew on a breeze around their feet. 'Pity.'

It was a pity, because come tomorrow, the jets were making a delivery; six B61 nukes, 340 kilotons each, were to be launched strategically from three planes, leaving nothing between Louisiana and the Delta National Forest but smouldering rubble and enough radiation to make Chernobyl look like a gas-leak. It was a manoeuvre meant for only one thing: Destroy all living – or dead – things within a thousand miles. In doing so they would be free of worry for long enough to complete their assignments. Just knowing that all undead close enough to cause problems had evaporated would satisfy the survivors no end.

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