Zombie War: An account of the zombie apocalypse that swept across America Read Online Free Page A

over-sized glasses that rested on the beak of his nose. He was dressed in a Palestinian kaffiyeh and a black turban. His long untrimmed beard was streaked with silver strands. In attendance at either side of the Ayatollah stood four heavily bearded hojjat-el-Islam . They were younger men, perhaps each in their sixties, the instructor guessed. They were dressed in black robes and wore white turbans.
    “ Salam aleikom , captain,” the Ayatollah said. He was softly spoken, yet his voice carried unmistakable authority. “You have performed your tasks most admirably.”
    The instructor said nothing. He bowed his head and the Ayatollah summoned him closer with a wave of his hand. The instructor marched to the head of the table and stood stiffly.
    “How many martyrs remain to carry the war to the Great Satan and its allies?” the old man’s voice took on a sudden edge.
    “Three,” the instructor said. “One was killed during our time in the desert training and preparing.”
    “And where are these jihadists?”
    “Do Ab, your Holiness.”
    The Ayatollah frowned. “The training camp?”
    “Yes, your Holiness. It has been abandoned for some months. The martyrs wait there in secrecy for your order.”
    The Do Ab Training Camp was a remote installation in the north of the country. Little more than a cluster of crude huts, the camp had been left abandoned since the beginning of the year.
    The Ayatollah nodded thoughtfully. He turned and glanced at the clerics who stood around him.
    “Have you preserved all secrecy?” one of the hojjats asked suddenly. He was the tallest of the four men, his eyes hooded beneath dark bushy eyebrows. He had a long drawn face, and his skin was grey as ash.
    The instructor nodded. “There are no witnesses.”
    The Ayatollah studied the instructor carefully, his expression suddenly darker, and made grave.
    “Are they ready to take the holy war to the infidels?”
    “Most ready, your Holiness,” the instructor said. “As are we all.”
    The Ayatollah smiled and nodded benignly. The answer was as he had expected. “Good, my son,” he said and suddenly reached out and placed his hand gently on the instructor’s arm. “Because it has been decided that you will join your men as the last martyr, captain. In one week from now, you will go to America and lead the war against the Great Satan yourself.”
     
    *
     
    When the instructor had been escorted from the underground complex, the small man in the western business suit returned to the conference room. The Ayatollah was waiting for him, alone.
    “It is time to begin the immunization,” the Ayatollah said. “All soldiers and important religious and political members will be the first to be immunized against the virus. Once this has been done, the Army will go into the cities and towns and will immunize all men aged between thirteen and fifty. After that you may immunize the women – but only those of a suitable and useful age. The rest will need to trust their fate to Allah.”
    The young man nodded gravely. He bit his lip, as if to stifle the futile protest that leaped to his throat. The Ayatollah saw his expression and nodded benevolently. “Speak your mind, Ahmed.”
    Still the young man hesitated. He had raised the matter before. He clasped his hands together as if in prayer. “Your Holiness, might we consider an alternative plan for the martyrs?” he offered cautiously. “Sending them all to just one destination within America…? Might we not be better served if they were separated? This would cause the virus to spread more rapidly, yes?”
    The Ayatollah smiled beneath the dense bristles of his heavy beard. “It is necessary,” he said patiently. “The touch of a finger does little to cause pain, and yet those fingers together and bunched, Ahmed… become the fist of Allah.”
     
     
     
    MIAMI, FLORIDA.
     
    The man came in through the door of the convenience store wearing a brown jacket that was worn at the cuffs and