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

mob being turned into a mixture of red vapor, bloody entrails, and shattered bones as the heavy auto cannons tore into them.  Screams and cries and howls came from the pack as more rifle fire broke out around him. 
    Pushkin’s troops had fanned out into a skirmish line and they were firing away into the advancing marauders, but nothing seemed to be affecting them.  The air was filled with the stench of burning gunpowder and the concussion from a thrown hand grenade sent a shock wave through Pushkin’s body.  Several of the invincible soldiers and civilians were now jumping onto the APCs and several of the terrified troopers were running away from the battle.
    There was no stopping what was going on and Pushkin knew it.  Giving in to his own urge to flee, he turned and pointed to the forest behind them.  “Run for your lives, boys!  In God’s name, run for your lives!”  As the last words left his mouth, he broke into a full sprint.  He could feel his heart pounding and he wanted to run as fast as he could, but his old knees were keeping him from making any real speed.
    As he dashed away from the noise and confusion, he realized that for the first time in his life he, was running away from a battle.  Well, this wasn’t a battle.  He didn’t know what it was, but it couldn’t be called a battle.  He just knew that he had to run away from whatever it was.  He cleared his mind and focused on his escape.
    He was able to run along the dirt road and he glanced back at the guard house.  One of the APCs was continuing to back up while the other sat motionless.  Sokolov’s APC was now in full bloom, and the dark black smoke it was creating was blotting out the entrance of the complex.  The ammunition onboard was exploding and bright orange flashes were leaping out from the hatches of the vehicle.
    The rampaging mob was now spreading out over a meadow that ran along both sides of the road.  They were moving fast, in all directions, and it looked like several of them had seen Pushkin.  It was clear that they were coming in his direction.
    Pushkin turned and fixed his eyes on the heavy woods.  He decided to leave the road and make his way out across the grassy flatland that extended to the tree-line.  In his haste, he didn’t see the dugout in front of him.  The old defensive position had been concealed by overgrown weeds and it was undetectable to the eye.  As he took his next step, the ground fell beneath his feet and he tumbled down the wall of the five foot deep hole.  He landed face down in the dirt and grass, knocking the wind out of him.  A large exposed root caught the right side of his torso and he felt his ribs break.
    After a couple of seconds of sucking air, he got back onto his feet and regained his senses.  The pain on his right side made him wince and clutch at his ribs.  He peeked out of the position and noticed that only one of the APCs was firing its gun—he also noticed that the individual rifle fire had stopped.  He crouched back down in the ditch for a moment and held onto his own rifle as he tried to listen for anyone approaching.  He then heard the roaring diesel engine of the last remaining APC as it rumbled past him and away from the complex.  He was all alone now.
    After thinking of all his options, he knew his only chance was to make it to the woods.  He readied himself to spring from the abandoned dugout and dart the last few remaining yards to the cover of the trees.  He crawled up to the edge of the ditch and tried to ignore his aching ribs.  As he was about to bolt from the ditch, someone else came crashing down into the hole, landing right on top of him.  It was Gennady.
    Pushkin found himself lying face up with Gennady’s back across his chest.  He was able to shove his communications man off of him and he leaned back against the dusty slope that his comrade had just rolled down.  “Gennady, are you injured?”
    There was no response from the radio operator as