Ice Station Zombie: A Post Apocalyptic Chiller by Gurley JE

Author:Gurley, JE [Gurley, JE]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Severed Press
Published: 2013-11-28T05:00:00+00:00

15

Aug. 31, 2013 Cooper Pedy, Australia

Alex moved and agony exploded in his side. He yelled out in his pain, but no one heard. He found he could open his eyes a narrow slit before the pain attacked him, but that was about it. Any slight movement sent icy slivers coursing through his body that immediately burst into bolts of white-hot flame, doing a Waltzing Matilda on raw nerve endings. He tried to remain motionless to determine what had happened. He remembered. He was still in the ditch into which he had fallen after Gore had shot him. The sky overhead was dark, but diamond studded with clouds of scintillating stars. He tried to remember the constellations he had learned in school, but the effort birthed a throbbing pain in his temple. He recalled the stars had appeared much different in Afghanistan, alien, cold, and distant. There had been pain then, too, from a gunshot, but the bullet had come from the enemy, unknown and unseen; unfamiliar like the stars.

Gore had shot him. The memory hit him like a bolt. He tried to sit up and agony showered down his body like an erupting volcano, a molten lake of lurking lava just beneath the skin of his right side. His mind relived the excruciating pain as the bullet had torn through flesh and muscle. He was weak and shivering from loss of blood and the night’s chill. Moving agonizingly slowly, he gingerly touched his side. The blood was tacky, clotted. He silently thanked God for small blessings. Another millimeter or so and the 9 mm slug (One he had given Gore, he remembered grimly) would have nicked a kidney or spleen or even an artery. As it was, it took all his determination, aided by his anger, to roll over and look up the seemingly Mt. Everest of an embankment.

“Can’t lie here and wallow in self-pity,” he said through teeth clenched against the pain as waves of dizziness swept over him. “Don’t want to be food for the dingoes. This is what I get for trusting the bastard.”

Summoning every erg of strength remaining in his battered body, he rose to a sitting position. The effort produced a torrent pain flooding through his body that threatened to surpass his capacity to endure, but he did endure. Nicole was in danger and his stupidity had placed her there. He tried to focus on the features of Nicole’s face, but her imaged melded with that of Jiselle, confusing him.

It had been years since he had recalled so clearly the delicate features of his dead wife’s face, her golden hair like winter wheat in a western wind, her full lips as soft as a spring rain, her summer sky blue eyes that laughed even before her mirth reached her lips. Old memories burst upon him with the suddenness of stolen glimpses into a crystal ball, reflecting not what he wished to see, but instead the raw awfulness of the truth. Tears rolled like shed guilt down his cheeks but not from the agony of flesh.

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