Alan Dale - Death Nation's Army 01 Read Online Free Page A

healing if only so little. Skin patching up if only barely evident.
    The dead continue to go on while the living joined them.
    This soldier watched as he became one member of the earth’s worst killing machine. An army with a sole purpose of cleaning the slate and wiping it out.
    Basically, they were hitting the restart button.
    Even though he knew he was safe from these monsters he still flinched at the sight of one only inches away. He never felt confident of his place in the food chain as long as these ghouls, these casualties of war, made contact with him.
    He would be safe. They guaranteed this.
    It still didn’t make the soldier feel any better.
    The screams slowly died out. The chewing of meat, loud, profound, and full of rejuvenation. Each bite a little quicker than the last. Silence at the dinner table. Except the chewing.
    The chewing.
    The chewing.
    The black boy, eyes wide, head turning left and right. A wobble, a growl. No legs to carry him, one arm left to prop his ripped torso. His hunger was already here. He was one more obstacle. One more distraction.
    One more victory for the New World Order.
    Looking for blood and flesh, the little dead-not dead black boy not once looked at the soldier.
    Not once.
    He was safe.
    Safe in a world like this? So oxymoronic.
    “ Major?”
    A voice behind him, the soldier turned around to face one like him. An agent of this. All this. All this. A soldier.
    “ Corporal Bingham.”
    The younger soldier saluted and looked down at the carnage. He didn’t blink, did not waver. They were used to this by now.
    God help us.
    “ Major, we have swept the community. We believe we got them all gathered,” he looked at the bodies being devoured. Watching the scrats, even recognizing the few that just moments before owned a soul and wanted to eat anybody else’s. “Major London was instructed to stay back with one team to take one final sweep. He’s asked that you stay back. We have two other infantrymen that have already begun.”
    The major nodded. That’s all he could do. He was a soldier meant to administer this. All of this.
    The black boy still hungry, not looking at him. Not looking at the corporal.
    We are safe, remember?
    “ The other four choppers are loading up,” the corporal continued. “We counted 29 insurgents. Two committed suicide before we got to them. The scrats didn’t take.” He looked at the group of fed monsters slowly begin to stand, gather themselves and scatter. “Shame.”
    The major nodded.
    Shame?
    “ There weren’t that many of those things, really,” the major told him. “They should all have gotten enough…for now.”
    The corporal nodded. “Should I tell Major London you will stay back with him?”
    The major. The soldier. Nodded.
    Another salute and the corporal was gone looking left and right as he walked.
    We may be safe but we never feel at home, do we?
    The major was alone again. Only he and the shattered and torn black boy. Hungry, growling, and barely mobile. He will never stop seeking until he cannot find in time. Then his personal Hell would be over.
    I envy him.
    A soldier. An agent of this agenda. He is a major representing the interests of the New World Order.
    Oh how interesting.
    He is not a Nazi. He could never be that good of a person. He would never be able to shake the disease of his own memories.
    No.
    Never.
    He could only try to be a soldier.
    He would remain a soldier.
    He only wondered what side he would end up on.
    The black boy, not noticing the Major, growled, wobbled, and pulled himself forward. All the bodies remaining were almost picked clean of flesh. The others that stayed head-brain-intact were gone. Seeking. Searching. Feeding.
    This was a campaign against not a particular race, religion, or political stance.
    No. This was simply those who have against those who have not.
    Man had begun to cannibalize himself and only the ones with a pulse avoided using their teeth. That’s what made the scrats so