Blood Soaked and Contagious Read Online Free Page B
Author: James Crawford
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Action & Adventure, Horror, Survival, Genre Fiction, Zombies, apocalypse, Living Dead, permuted press, survivalist, teotwawki, shtf, preppers, outbreak
are you most likely to find your meat animals in quantity, if those meat animals are still trying to live their lives and “make a living” by going to work every day?
Yes, you guessed it: high-traffic arterial roadways and intersections. Shopping centers. Houses of worship. Office complexes, and in the Washington, DC area that meant either federal government or government contractors.
The area around Chain Bridge was positively stuffed with the undead. They just waited for infected people to drive by or to stop at the traffic signal. That’s when a dozen or so would block your car, break in, pull out whoever was infected, and then feast.
This caused quite a blockage of abandoned vehicles in that area. Again, these are not stupid creatures. Some former project management professional created a feeding schedule, and a car removal system based around a team of three Action Groups per day.
It worked like this. Action Group A, “Team Lobster Bisque,” would intercept the vehicle, remove the occupant(s), and feed. Action Group B would drive the car back into town and park it in the grocery store lot. Action Group C follows Action Group B in a re-purposed school bus, picks them up, and brings them back to the Project Work Site.
Each team would rotate through. B eats, C drives, A retrieves, and so on. It was deadly efficiency.
It was also decimating a significant part of the workforce that keeps America at least partially operational, from a governance standpoint. That couldn’t stand. The Powers That Be made a decision to cordon off the area, destroy all zombies, and maintain the area as a protected commuter zone.
Two major mistakes were made. The first being that the assault happened at night. The second, I feel, was the assumption that our former friends, family, and so on had come back from the dead with moron-level IQs.
Night vision equipment is not super effective in making creatures with low heat signatures visible in contrast to local foliage, automobiles, rocks... up in the trees behind you... sneaking, jumping, and generally flanking the living shit out of the poor sods who were assigned to this mission.
In the heat of the one-sided rout, some poor schmuck used a laser targeting system to “paint” a group of rushing vitality-challenged combatants. I believe I’ve mentioned they move a lot faster than normal humans do. That’s absolutely the case.
By the time the artillery sergeant (two miles away in an armored fighting vehicle) got the order to fire, the zombies had already overrun the soldier who had targeted them while they were still on the bridge. Consequently, the missile hit the bridge, not a horde of critters.
I don’t remember what the weight of TNT that weapon was compared to, but I do know it collapsed the bridge entirely.
Undead: low losses, had to relocate toward Route 29 in Arlington.
Army: 100 fatalities, 31 wounded, and a genuine, gold-plated dunce cap.
The backlash from this event was intensely personal. The zombies relocated to the major intersections near my home. I have new neighbors, and we will need to get rid of them.
Chapter 4
Prior to being dead, he was probably a stoner. Substantial, really dirty, blood-caked dreads draped around his head like a bead curtain made of wooly bear caterpillars. Thankfully, the caterpillars were dead, otherwise he would have been doing the Medusa thing, and that would have been far too much for me to handle. The fact that he was browsing around in my hardware store was just icing on the soufflé.
Yes, you don’t put icing on soufflé. Think of it as nouvelle cuisine.
“Hey man,” he said to me, clearly aware that I’d been watching him from the moment he’d walked up to the door. “Have you got any hatchets?”
“No.”
“Axes?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Uh. Any kind of,” he gestured, “choppy thing? Machete?”
“Nope. Not a thing. Got a few brooms,” and I pointed toward that section of the wall.
“Yeah... I
Yes, you guessed it: high-traffic arterial roadways and intersections. Shopping centers. Houses of worship. Office complexes, and in the Washington, DC area that meant either federal government or government contractors.
The area around Chain Bridge was positively stuffed with the undead. They just waited for infected people to drive by or to stop at the traffic signal. That’s when a dozen or so would block your car, break in, pull out whoever was infected, and then feast.
This caused quite a blockage of abandoned vehicles in that area. Again, these are not stupid creatures. Some former project management professional created a feeding schedule, and a car removal system based around a team of three Action Groups per day.
It worked like this. Action Group A, “Team Lobster Bisque,” would intercept the vehicle, remove the occupant(s), and feed. Action Group B would drive the car back into town and park it in the grocery store lot. Action Group C follows Action Group B in a re-purposed school bus, picks them up, and brings them back to the Project Work Site.
Each team would rotate through. B eats, C drives, A retrieves, and so on. It was deadly efficiency.
It was also decimating a significant part of the workforce that keeps America at least partially operational, from a governance standpoint. That couldn’t stand. The Powers That Be made a decision to cordon off the area, destroy all zombies, and maintain the area as a protected commuter zone.
Two major mistakes were made. The first being that the assault happened at night. The second, I feel, was the assumption that our former friends, family, and so on had come back from the dead with moron-level IQs.
Night vision equipment is not super effective in making creatures with low heat signatures visible in contrast to local foliage, automobiles, rocks... up in the trees behind you... sneaking, jumping, and generally flanking the living shit out of the poor sods who were assigned to this mission.
In the heat of the one-sided rout, some poor schmuck used a laser targeting system to “paint” a group of rushing vitality-challenged combatants. I believe I’ve mentioned they move a lot faster than normal humans do. That’s absolutely the case.
By the time the artillery sergeant (two miles away in an armored fighting vehicle) got the order to fire, the zombies had already overrun the soldier who had targeted them while they were still on the bridge. Consequently, the missile hit the bridge, not a horde of critters.
I don’t remember what the weight of TNT that weapon was compared to, but I do know it collapsed the bridge entirely.
Undead: low losses, had to relocate toward Route 29 in Arlington.
Army: 100 fatalities, 31 wounded, and a genuine, gold-plated dunce cap.
The backlash from this event was intensely personal. The zombies relocated to the major intersections near my home. I have new neighbors, and we will need to get rid of them.
Chapter 4
Prior to being dead, he was probably a stoner. Substantial, really dirty, blood-caked dreads draped around his head like a bead curtain made of wooly bear caterpillars. Thankfully, the caterpillars were dead, otherwise he would have been doing the Medusa thing, and that would have been far too much for me to handle. The fact that he was browsing around in my hardware store was just icing on the soufflé.
Yes, you don’t put icing on soufflé. Think of it as nouvelle cuisine.
“Hey man,” he said to me, clearly aware that I’d been watching him from the moment he’d walked up to the door. “Have you got any hatchets?”
“No.”
“Axes?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Uh. Any kind of,” he gestured, “choppy thing? Machete?”
“Nope. Not a thing. Got a few brooms,” and I pointed toward that section of the wall.
“Yeah... I
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