Zombie Killers (Book 0): Falling by Holmes John F

Author:Holmes, John F. [Holmes, John F.]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Zombie Apocalypse
Published: 2017-03-16T06:00:00+00:00

Part II

Chapter 14

It took about a week for the world to die. I spent the nights in a canoe tied up to the shore, either to a dock or an overhanging tree, as I slowly made my way first east down the Mohawk, then north against the current of the Hudson.

The first three days I held fast; my stolen canoe was stocked with canned food, water and toilet paper that I had stolen from a locked house on the side of the river. My right arm ached where I had taken a pellet from a shotgun, breaking into the back of a closed convenience store. It had gone in, torn up some muscle just under the skin, and gone back out. I had put three rounds into the man shooting at me, but left the store unlooted, disgusted with myself. It had been pure reflex, but still, a man was dead.

He joined a growing toll. Dead bodies floated downstream, so many I lost count, and I made sure I stayed out of the filthy water, idly watching the carp feed on them. From the shore, gunfire rang out intermittently, finally fading off, till there were only occasional shots off in the distance.

Each day, I sat in the bushes of a seasonal island; during the spring, it was probably under water. Only twice did the undead show up on shore, and I hammered each to the ground with a baseball bat. They moved slower after being immersed in water, and the second night, I found a pair of binoculars in an abandoned HUMVEE at the checkpoint. The battlefield was littered with hundreds of bodies, mostly civilians, and all the military vehicles except the ASV were still there. I looked for the bodies of Petruncio and Opel, but didn’t find them. I also got a rifle with a smashed handguard and about fifty rounds of ammo. 100 MPH tape fixed the handguard, and I used a precious dozen rounds to zero it. I wanted more, but the undead showed up within ten minutes of me getting there, and I ran for my life, barely making it to the canoe.

By the second day, the sirens had stopped. No cop cars or fire engines, and tall columns of smoke rose up high in the clear blue sky, including a massive one to the southeast that I suspected was either the storage tanks or a train load of fuel oil at the Port. That one burned for two days.

The planes overhead dwindled and stopped, most heading west high up in the atmosphere, leaving contrails. Then the afternoon of the second day, I saw a combat air patrol appear overhead, and watched a 747 go down with an AMRAAM air to air missile blowing off a wing. That happened twice more, and the civilian planes disappeared. The Air Force jets followed soon after.

High on a bluff downriver a house sat isolated, with a long stairway going up from the dock. After the planes were shot down,

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