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

frayed around the collar. He had a crop of black hair and dark sunken eyes. He went to the refrigerators along the side wall and reached for a bottle of water. When he came back to the front of the store he set the bottle down and lifted his eyes to the cashier behind the counter.
    “You are Mohsen Gheydari,” the man said.
    The attendant flinched. He had never seen the man before. He bobbed his head and smiled with polite caution.
    “And you have a family,” the stranger said ominously in stilted, faltering English.
    Mohsen froze. He felt an ice-cold chill of dread run down the length of his spine. He stared at the stranger. The man’s eyes burned with an intensity like fanaticism. Mohsen had lived in America for fifteen years. He was an American citizen with a wife at home and two sons who played soccer and attended school.
    “Yes…” he said softly.
    The strange man smiled – a flash of brilliant white teeth, made all the brighter by the dark olive of his skin.
    “I am here to remind you that you are still a son of Iran.”
    Mohsen felt his hands begin to tremble, and the blood seemed to drain away from his face. The stranger reached into his coat pocket and laid a photograph down on the counter.
    Mohsen Gheydari felt his knees buckle beneath him.
    The photograph was an image of an elderly lady and two younger women, perhaps aged in their thirties. All three of the women were on their knees. Standing on either side of them were black uniformed men, their faces concealed by balaclavas so that only their eyes and mouths could be seen. The men were holding automatic weapons to the heads of the cowering women. In the photo, Mohsen could see the old lady’s face was slick with tears of terror.
    “Your mother is not well,” the stranger said. “Nor are your two sisters, Mohsen,” the man’s voice lowered and filled with menace. “They wish you would return to Tehran to care for them, but you have made your life here, in the West. This is very bad, but still you can save them from a terrible, terrible death.”
    Mohsen stared up into the hard eyes of the stranger. He could feel himself on the verge of weeping. He licked his lips nervously and then impulsively reached out for the man’s hand.
    “Please!” he pleaded. His face was wrenched into a rictus of distress. “Do not harm them!”
    The stranger pulled his hand free of Mohsen’s grip. “They will be safe, provided you fulfill the task you have been set. Your homeland needs you.”
    Mohsen Gheydari nodded his head, a gesture of submission and defeat.
     
    *
     
    “You will hire a fast boat and you will take it offshore tomorrow night. Do you understand this?” the stranger asked.
    Mohsen jerked his head. The stranger laid a map out on the counter of the convenience store. The doors were locked, the store closed for the night.
    “You will take the boat to this point,” the man stabbed at the blue coastal waters with the tip of his finger. There you will wait. Just before dawn the following morning a freighter will meet with you. It will come from the south. Do you understand this?”
    Again, Mohsen nodded his head. The stranger looked satisfied. He folded the map and handed it to Mohsen. He left the photo on the counter.
    “Four men will disembark from the freighter. They are our Iranian brothers. You will bring them back here to Miami.”
    Mohsen frowned. “Is that all?” he asked incredulously. Somehow he had expected that much more would be demanded of him.
    “That is all,” the man said. He smiled then – a warm charming smile that sparkled in his eyes. “Do this, Mohsen, and your mother and sisters will be safe. On this, you have my word.”
    Mohsen stared at the man for a moment, then the blaze of the stranger’s eyes compelled him to look away. “Very well,” he said. “Where shall I take these men?”
    “Bring them into the city to the place where you hire the boat from… but do not speak to them, Mohsen. Do not utter a word or