A Glimpse Of Decay (Book 1): Red Storm) Read Online Free Page A

He had truly lost his mind.
    “Then you’ll be the first to die, you cowardly bastard!”  Gennady squeezed off a burst from his rife, ripping Leonid’s chest wide open.
    Startled at the sound of gunfire coming from the guardhouse, Pushkin ran back in to see what had taken place He saw Leonid lying on the floor, crumpled and bloodied—his eyes staring up at the ceiling.  The sergeant looked at Gennady, not bothering to ask what had happened.  They both turned and ran out, joining up with the rest of the troops.
    Pop!  Pop Pop Pop!  The loud staccato of gunfire erupted from somewhere within the facility.
    Gorbachenko!  Pushkin thought.  He and his men must have encountered something.
    Overwhelmed with an urgency to get into the complex, Pushkin yelled, “Everybody get ready, we’re going in!  Form up behind the last track!”  He ran out in front of the APCs and motioned for Sokolov to move through the gate. He then ran back to the rear of the column and just as his men were forming up behind the last vehicle, Sokolov’s APC suddenly and unexpectedly opened fired with its heavy auto cannon.
    The roar of the gun was deafening as it echoed off of the concrete buildings.  Pushkin stepped out from behind the carrier and saw Gorbachenko and several of his men running towards them.  The terrified soldier wasn’t wearing his protective mask and he was screaming at Pushkin.
    “Run!  Run!” the frightened Gorbachenko yelled.  He had a wild look of terror on his face.  Right behind him was a throng of screaming and grunting soldiers and civilians.  Their expressions were twisted in anger and they were howling and shrieking.  Their faces were covered with blood and grime and they were reaching towards Pushkin and his men.  Some of the crazed soldiers were carrying severed arms and legs and other body parts, and some of them were raising their ghoulish trophies above their heads in some sort of angry, obscene protest.
    Pushkin turned to his men and he ripped off his mask.  He couldn’t fight it anymore.  He had lost his composure at the sight of the horror that was approaching him.  He felt like he couldn’t breathe and he was fighting the urge to vomit.
    As he heaved and struggled with his breathing, he looked down at the AK rifle that he was clutching in his gloved hands.  It meant nothing to him right now.  He had seen how Kirilenko’s weapon had been useless.  All his rationale was slipping away from him and the only thing he could think of was his beautiful wife Alina.  He knew that it was imperative that he stand firm in the face of his fear—the courage of his young men depended on it—but his brain was now in survival mode.  He wanted to run.
    In a violent eruption of deafening noise, the other APCs began to fire their guns at the menacing mob.  Without any notice, Sokolov’s APC suddenly reversed recklessly into the line of fire and a round from the second APC’s cannon went right into the back of Sokolov’s turret, cutting the man in half.  The damaged APC then lurched forward, and a second misguided shot tore through the top of the rear deck of the vehicle, igniting the fuel tanks located in the rear cargo doors and causing the troop compartment to erupt into an inferno.  Showing little regard for whoever was behind them, the two remaining APCs backed away from the burning hulk of Sokolov’s vehicle.
    Surprised and stunned, the troopers scurried out of the way of the retreating vehicles, but for one unfortunate soldier, he wasn’t able to move fast enough.  As he tried diving from out of the path of one of the reversing vehicles, he was knocked down by its rear end.
    Pushkin could only look on in horror as the screaming young soldier was turned into a red pulp beneath the grinding track.  The sickened sergeant could hear the crunching of bones and the popping of organs as he rolled away from the APC.
    As the mortified sergeant got back to his feet, he saw some of the advancing