Alan Dale - Death Nation's Army 01 Read Online Free
Author: Dna Code Flesh
looked up, ahead, yards in the distance he could see. The soldiers held at least a dozen of
The Heavenly Gates
residents in a small, human circle. All of them wounded. Bullet holes in their legs, arms, lower torso. Rendered too weak to move, too defeated to run.
There were more of them, the occasional pop of a rifle told him some of those within
The Heavenly Gates
were going to go down with a fight.
Delaying the inevitable.
A woman screamed and as the gates were fully open, the rounded up cattle – his friends – began to panic at what they feared for months and now faced.
He saw
her.
She was only 22. Gorgeous even in a world such as this. The man liked her. A lot. He wanted to be with her until the end.
He would be. He saw her pushed into the other cattle, joining her fellow entrees. She was bleeding from her left arm. Crying.
God damn it.
The man felt the first set of teeth wrap itself around his upper left arm and leaned with the force of the pull. Released he fell back into place, smelled the blood, his blood. He heard the chewing of flesh. His flesh.
Then another. Another. Another. Fading away, the man, saw the scrats walk forward, stumble rapidly, and giddy-up, toward his friends, the cattle.
Her. God damn it.
As the blood left him and his life with it, the man looked toward the soldier, the one who opened one gate to release another. Scrats bumped into him, walked around him, groaned and reached out toward the cattle.
Why aren’t they…
The soldier. Untouched. He looked back at the man. The man’s neck half gone in the mouth of an old lady no more than five-feet tall. Her chewing splattered blood and human secretion back into the man’s face.
God damn it.
The soldier looked at him. Fading, the man saw him. Saw him watching. Expression completely blank like he’s done this before.
He probably has.
Screams. Plenty. His friends, the cattle. The scrats made their way over to them, trying to scramble past the soldiers keeping watch, penning them in.
Flesh torn away. Bodies being tossed about. Meals made of his friends.
Her.
God damn it.
The soldiers. The soldiers simply stood, watched, seemed to wait until all cattle were claimed, branded.
Eaten.
They moved away. They went on with their jobs.
Killing us.
Untouched.
Why? Why not, them?
If he had a few more moments the man would have maybe figured out why. He may not have cared. He simply watched
her
lose her brain, her scalp pulled back, to die.
He could think no more.
God damn it…
He is a soldier. A protector of the way. One of so many who defend the integrity of what it is now meant to be.
Sandy blonde hair, blue eyes, strong build. A modern day Nazi. But this is not a simple act of throwing one particular ethnicity, religion, race into an oven to watch them die.
No.
This man. This soldier. Is indiscriminate in his movements, unrelenting in his targeting of who will die.
As are his orders.
He must stand aside and watch those with so little die so badly. He must feed those of such small influence to the conduit of eliminating such a breed.
His eyes see a little boy, maybe 10-years-old, black, get split in two by three scrats fighting for a meal. The boy’s internal organs hit the pavement to feed more scavengers. His life machinery giving continuation to the dead, allowing them a little more of shelf a life.
The Indian woman only three feet in front of him. Dying slowly. Her eyes fixed on him. Waiting for him to help, knowing he won’t, his AK-47 only needed for her. People like her. Like her, full of bite marks, more to come, losing blood, dying. She is dying to come back as a vessel of global elimination or luckily eaten to the point of death with no chance of coming back.
The soldier silently prayed for her.
And the white, fat, man, whose greasy stomach was split open and used to feed at least four or five scrats. Rotting deaths given a reprieve.
He could actually see the change in the feeding monsters. Cuts
The Heavenly Gates
residents in a small, human circle. All of them wounded. Bullet holes in their legs, arms, lower torso. Rendered too weak to move, too defeated to run.
There were more of them, the occasional pop of a rifle told him some of those within
The Heavenly Gates
were going to go down with a fight.
Delaying the inevitable.
A woman screamed and as the gates were fully open, the rounded up cattle – his friends – began to panic at what they feared for months and now faced.
He saw
her.
She was only 22. Gorgeous even in a world such as this. The man liked her. A lot. He wanted to be with her until the end.
He would be. He saw her pushed into the other cattle, joining her fellow entrees. She was bleeding from her left arm. Crying.
God damn it.
The man felt the first set of teeth wrap itself around his upper left arm and leaned with the force of the pull. Released he fell back into place, smelled the blood, his blood. He heard the chewing of flesh. His flesh.
Then another. Another. Another. Fading away, the man, saw the scrats walk forward, stumble rapidly, and giddy-up, toward his friends, the cattle.
Her. God damn it.
As the blood left him and his life with it, the man looked toward the soldier, the one who opened one gate to release another. Scrats bumped into him, walked around him, groaned and reached out toward the cattle.
Why aren’t they…
The soldier. Untouched. He looked back at the man. The man’s neck half gone in the mouth of an old lady no more than five-feet tall. Her chewing splattered blood and human secretion back into the man’s face.
God damn it.
The soldier looked at him. Fading, the man saw him. Saw him watching. Expression completely blank like he’s done this before.
He probably has.
Screams. Plenty. His friends, the cattle. The scrats made their way over to them, trying to scramble past the soldiers keeping watch, penning them in.
Flesh torn away. Bodies being tossed about. Meals made of his friends.
Her.
God damn it.
The soldiers. The soldiers simply stood, watched, seemed to wait until all cattle were claimed, branded.
Eaten.
They moved away. They went on with their jobs.
Killing us.
Untouched.
Why? Why not, them?
If he had a few more moments the man would have maybe figured out why. He may not have cared. He simply watched
her
lose her brain, her scalp pulled back, to die.
He could think no more.
God damn it…
He is a soldier. A protector of the way. One of so many who defend the integrity of what it is now meant to be.
Sandy blonde hair, blue eyes, strong build. A modern day Nazi. But this is not a simple act of throwing one particular ethnicity, religion, race into an oven to watch them die.
No.
This man. This soldier. Is indiscriminate in his movements, unrelenting in his targeting of who will die.
As are his orders.
He must stand aside and watch those with so little die so badly. He must feed those of such small influence to the conduit of eliminating such a breed.
His eyes see a little boy, maybe 10-years-old, black, get split in two by three scrats fighting for a meal. The boy’s internal organs hit the pavement to feed more scavengers. His life machinery giving continuation to the dead, allowing them a little more of shelf a life.
The Indian woman only three feet in front of him. Dying slowly. Her eyes fixed on him. Waiting for him to help, knowing he won’t, his AK-47 only needed for her. People like her. Like her, full of bite marks, more to come, losing blood, dying. She is dying to come back as a vessel of global elimination or luckily eaten to the point of death with no chance of coming back.
The soldier silently prayed for her.
And the white, fat, man, whose greasy stomach was split open and used to feed at least four or five scrats. Rotting deaths given a reprieve.
He could actually see the change in the feeding monsters. Cuts
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