Johnny Graphic and the Attack of the Zombies by D.R. Martin

Author:D.R. Martin [Martin, D. R.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Conger Road Press via Indie Author Project
Published: 2014-12-07T22:44:14+00:00

Chapter 24

Wednesday, February 5, 1936

MacFreithshire

Everyone was up by six the next morning, ready to roll.

One by one, they followed Centurion Quintus through heavy fog and brambly woods. He warned them to keep very quiet, in case the zombies had scouts in the area.

But Johnny was preoccupied with something else. He was worried that the fog would prevent him from getting good photos of the bog zombie camp.

Of course, he had to stay out of sight. He didn’t want to repeat the disaster back at the train wreck, when his flashbulb attracted a zombie attack.

Johnny couldn’t help but think that he might be the first and only photographer to capture these scenes. He could just imagine Mr. Cargill’s reaction—especially when the Zenith Clarion scooped all the newspapers in the whole world.

Johnny’s daydream of journalistic glory was interrupted by a whispered command from Quintus: “Down on the ground, all of you! Low as you can get!”

The Imperial officer’s voice carried a tone that made Johnny instantly obey. Since Nina couldn’t hear Quintus, and couldn’t read his lips without her goggles on, Johnny had to grab her and pull her down. Everyone else hit the dirt, too. And just in time.

Because Johnny could see a pair of bog zombies not thirty feet beyond them, hustling their way through the undergrowth. If the creatures happened to look off to their left, they almost certainly would see Johnny and his companions—even with everyone on the damp, mildewy ground.

Johnny held his breath as the zombies vanished behind some trees. He realized he had gotten so close to the ground that he had some of the forest dirt and dried leaves in his mouth. But instead of spitting them out and wiping his mouth on his jacket sleeve, he waited until he thought it perfectly safe. Better to eat the crud than make any noise.

Slowly, Quintus rose from his hiding place beneath the soil. “All right, we are in the clear. Come along now.”

Within ten minutes they were lying prone on a heavily wooded hill that overlooked what must have been a large farmyard. Johnny could see the foundations of several structures that had been destroyed or torn down. Two barn-like buildings were intact, however, and there was a large pen packed with hogs, oinking and squealing away. And in the distance, behind a screen of stately elms, stood a hulking old country mansion. The real estate, in itself, wasn’t that remarkable. It was what was going on there that set Johnny’s pulse zooming. He scanned back and forth with Nina’s binoculars.

There were scores, if not hundreds, of bog zombies and ghosts milling around, standing in clumps, coming in and out of many tents. Their coalesced voices made a sort of grating rumble and nagging hiss in the air. Johnny spotted a troop of Steppe Warrior ghosts at the far end of the big farmyard. One of them was Burilgi, for sure. That eyeless mug was unmistakable. Johnny shifted the binoculars slightly to the left and gasped. There stood Checheg, the one-armed girl warrior.

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