Omega Days (An Omega Days Novel) by Campbell John L

Author:Campbell, John L. [Campbell, John L.]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2013-06-20T16:00:00+00:00

NINETEEN

Alameda

“Move your ass!” Angie shouted, bracing her elbows on the flat surface of a stone trash can and snapping off rounds, shifting fire right and left. She was using one of her favorites from the van, a Galil, the standard-issue Israeli assault rifle. Made of wood and black steel, it was based on the AK-47’s globally respected design but was chambered to fire 5.56-millimeter NATO rounds. It featured a stubby barrel and a folding wire stock and could be outfitted with night or daytime optics, silencers, and laser pointers. The Galil was not only her personal favorite but the weapon of choice for many military professionals around the world.

The Galil kicked out brass as bodies fell, heads blown apart. The grocery store parking lot was quickly filling with the dead, and they were getting closer. Angie pulled the trigger on an empty magazine, ejected it, and drew another from a pouch on her vest. The Galil cracked again a moment later.

“Almost done,” shouted Margaret Chu. Ten feet behind Angie, Margaret and Tanya along with two other men were emptying a pair of shopping carts into the open back hatch of a big Ford Excursion.

“We still need the water.” Tanya ran back into the store with one of the men. The other, a lawyer named Elson, retrieved a shotgun from the front seat of the SUV and started firing at corpses shuffling in from the other direction.

Angie dropped another mag and reloaded, stepping away from the trash can and walking several yards into the parking lot, where she would have a broader field of fire. She dropped to one knee and the Galil bucked. A man in black jeans. A man in torn khakis. A woman wearing a baseball cap. A guy in mechanic’s coveralls. Weeks of decay had turned their bloodstains a rusty color and blackened their wounds. Whatever swelling decomposition had caused had leaked out of the older ones, leaving skin sagging and gray. Some were fresher kills, bloated and green. When one of her rounds found the torso on the swollen ones, they blew open like bags of wet spinach. The dead didn’t notice and lurched forward. Flies buzzed in clouds around most of them.

She shot a teenage girl in pajamas, a fat man wearing only boxers, a woman in a business suit and skirt. Not every round was a successful head shot, but she was patient and adjusted fire, hitting the mark with the next squeeze of the trigger.

Three clips emptied. She inserted another. “We need to go!” she yelled.

The lawyer’s shotgun was silent, and Angie pivoted on her knee, aiming in his direction. The man was leaning against the hood of the SUV, fumbling fresh shells into the weapon. A pair of corpses ten yards from him broke into a gallop, arms swinging.

Angie sighted.

Trigger squeeze.

A body fell.

A tick of the sights to the right.

Trigger squeeze.

The round punched through the second creature’s throat, and it kept coming. The lawyer saw it, cried out, and dropped a handful of shells to the asphalt.

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