Arisen : Genesis Read Online Free
Author: Michael Stephen Fuchs
Tags: Horror, Military, Zombies, CIA, Techno-Thriller, dystopian fiction, Zombie Apocalypse, Navy SEALs, SEAL Team Six, SOF, high-tech weapons, serial fiction, spec-ops, Special Operations, DEVGRU, CIA SAD
two. That dull, throaty, hammering report that Zack knew too well – but which he had never heard from such close quarters, never mind in an enclosed space. It overloaded the air inside, beating him like a wave, even as the heavy shell casings poured down around him, banging on the floor of the truck – or landing on him and burning his flesh. He twisted and writhed, his eyes widening pointlessly in the darkness beneath the hood.
Amidst the firing, there came a wet meaty sound, like a watermelon hitting the pavement, and then a shout, and the truck veered to the left, leaving the road – and then rotated around on its long axis, the pull of gravity pivoting ninety degrees as Zack’s body slammed against the unyielding body panel beside him, a hundred pieces of crap coming loose and taking flight. The truck skidded on its side for another few seconds, the scraping and whooshing sounds filling the cabin and Zack’s sensory-deprived world.
And then silence, for exactly two beats.
Then more shouting, then screaming, then more gunfire, 5.56 this time, from very close, point-blank range. Then a last couple of empty brass casings tinkled dully on the ground. And a single word, crisp, relaxed, and perfectly in control.
“Clear.”
Something blotted out the sunlight in front of him, then dexterous hands pulled his hood off. It was Dugan, his chiseled, stubbled jaw stuck right in Zack’s face. He rotated Zack by the ears, checking his pupils. “You okay, man?”
Zack blinked heavily. “Yeah, not bad. What’s up with you guys?”
At this, Dugan cracked a smile. “Didn’t much feel like waiting for the QRF.” Drawing his MPK Titanium knife from its boot holster, he unbound Zack with two quick slices, then hauled him out of the truck and to his feet. Upright now, and outside, Zack could see that the jihadi truck was over on its side in a shallow culvert. Bright red blood covered much of its interior, in particular the windscreen.
Parked up a few feet away was the team’s armored, tricked-out, souped-up Chevy Tahoe, the engine running smoothly. Maximum Bob stood behind the engine block, his assault rifle pointed across the hood. Zack worked out from all this that these two had simply hopped in it and hauled ass up the road after him – the minute they worked out what had happened. He choked up slightly to think that these two felt so protective over him.
I guess I must be doing something right around here…
“Thanks, guys,” he said.
“No problem, Zack. Let’s roll.”
Everyone on that roadside knew that al-Shabaab, like most Islamist fighters, always came back to gather their dead, in order to perform the proper burial rites. Somewhere, probably not very far away, there were three more truckloads of these guys.
And they would soon be here.
Dugan started to shove Zack into the Tahoe, but there was a lot of blood on him, from the dead guys in the truck, and Zack decided that, given current events, he didn’t want it there. He decided to risk the thirty seconds he needed to strip down to his skivvies and toss the clothes. He then climbed in the back of the Tahoe and started rummaging through the supplies in back for new fatigues. And a new weapon.
And hand sanitizer.
By the time he was dressed and buckled in, they were most of the way back to the safehouse, Bob driving 110mph as a standard defensive maneuver. Zack never understood that one – even in a war zone, even in IED Alley, you were more likely to die in a car crash than an ambush. He checked his watch. It was exactly 19 minutes since he had leapt down those back stairs.
You can keep your CAG and DEVGRU , he though to himself, sinking back into the soft leather of the truck seat. If you asked Zack, the Agency had the best shooters and tactical guys anywhere . Half of the guys in their Special Activities Division (the Agency’s paramilitaries) came from JSOC, most of the rest from vanilla SEAL teams and Army Special Forces. And by the time they
Amidst the firing, there came a wet meaty sound, like a watermelon hitting the pavement, and then a shout, and the truck veered to the left, leaving the road – and then rotated around on its long axis, the pull of gravity pivoting ninety degrees as Zack’s body slammed against the unyielding body panel beside him, a hundred pieces of crap coming loose and taking flight. The truck skidded on its side for another few seconds, the scraping and whooshing sounds filling the cabin and Zack’s sensory-deprived world.
And then silence, for exactly two beats.
Then more shouting, then screaming, then more gunfire, 5.56 this time, from very close, point-blank range. Then a last couple of empty brass casings tinkled dully on the ground. And a single word, crisp, relaxed, and perfectly in control.
“Clear.”
Something blotted out the sunlight in front of him, then dexterous hands pulled his hood off. It was Dugan, his chiseled, stubbled jaw stuck right in Zack’s face. He rotated Zack by the ears, checking his pupils. “You okay, man?”
Zack blinked heavily. “Yeah, not bad. What’s up with you guys?”
At this, Dugan cracked a smile. “Didn’t much feel like waiting for the QRF.” Drawing his MPK Titanium knife from its boot holster, he unbound Zack with two quick slices, then hauled him out of the truck and to his feet. Upright now, and outside, Zack could see that the jihadi truck was over on its side in a shallow culvert. Bright red blood covered much of its interior, in particular the windscreen.
Parked up a few feet away was the team’s armored, tricked-out, souped-up Chevy Tahoe, the engine running smoothly. Maximum Bob stood behind the engine block, his assault rifle pointed across the hood. Zack worked out from all this that these two had simply hopped in it and hauled ass up the road after him – the minute they worked out what had happened. He choked up slightly to think that these two felt so protective over him.
I guess I must be doing something right around here…
“Thanks, guys,” he said.
“No problem, Zack. Let’s roll.”
Everyone on that roadside knew that al-Shabaab, like most Islamist fighters, always came back to gather their dead, in order to perform the proper burial rites. Somewhere, probably not very far away, there were three more truckloads of these guys.
And they would soon be here.
Dugan started to shove Zack into the Tahoe, but there was a lot of blood on him, from the dead guys in the truck, and Zack decided that, given current events, he didn’t want it there. He decided to risk the thirty seconds he needed to strip down to his skivvies and toss the clothes. He then climbed in the back of the Tahoe and started rummaging through the supplies in back for new fatigues. And a new weapon.
And hand sanitizer.
By the time he was dressed and buckled in, they were most of the way back to the safehouse, Bob driving 110mph as a standard defensive maneuver. Zack never understood that one – even in a war zone, even in IED Alley, you were more likely to die in a car crash than an ambush. He checked his watch. It was exactly 19 minutes since he had leapt down those back stairs.
You can keep your CAG and DEVGRU , he though to himself, sinking back into the soft leather of the truck seat. If you asked Zack, the Agency had the best shooters and tactical guys anywhere . Half of the guys in their Special Activities Division (the Agency’s paramilitaries) came from JSOC, most of the rest from vanilla SEAL teams and Army Special Forces. And by the time they