The Orphans (Book 2): Surviving the Turned Read Online Free Page A

blessing, unable ever to bring herself to curse, and gripped her husband’s large arm. They both watched the man make it to the bottom of the steps just before an explosion of bodies poured like a disease from the door. Within seconds, the first ones had made it to the bottom of the steps and were instantly on the hunt for fresh meat. The man ran across the open area while a pack of six cut the distance in no time, jumping on his back, and tearing his head and arms off. Blood sprayed everywhere, his legs and the rest of his body convulsed on the ground, and the light-colored cement pooled with blood, creating a lake. The rest of the ground crew, who had been waiting to taxi the plane into a hangar where it would be refueled and checked, ran as well. They might as well have been crawling in comparison to the speed with which the things ran. They were relentless, going after every last one of the men on the ground; fresh pools of blood spread where they lay. By the time the passengers finished with the ground crew, there was not enough left of their bodies to be Turned.
    The next news footage showed the same make and model of plane except this time, there were guards on the ground armed only with pistols. When they opened the door, an onslaught of the Turned sprinted out and the bullets flew. Unfortunately for these guards, a chest shot was in no way a sure thing. As they fired, blood sprayed the side of the plane. The Turned rolled to the bottom of the staircase; the guards approached the plane to try to take control of the situation, but were overwhelmed by the passengers when they jumped to their feet and pounced. The television screen was filled with unimaginable violence as the Turned tore off heads, threw bodies impossible distances, and jumped on them, ripping and clawing viciously into their chests.
    The next footage showed an army with a large row of tanks pointed at the plane. By this time, the other countries had concluded that the things could not be killed. Had they known a good head shot would stop them, perhaps the use of firearms would have been more effective and less bullets would have been wasted. The cameras rocked as a fiery ball, aimed at the massive plane, rose into the air. Before the soldiers could congratulate each other, the first zombie ran through black smoke toward the tanks. Although it was on fire and its skin was burnt to a crispy black, the thing was unhindered.   A normal man would have died in the burning rubble, but it sprinted as if it were on a mission, which it was—and it was followed by all the others from the plane who hadn’t been blown to pieces in the blast. They made it to the soldiers, never slowing, even as automatic rifles peppered them with rounds, tearing out their insides. Of the Turned, only those whose legs were shot off or spines shattered fell. Of the men, the only ones who survived were those locked securely in the tanks.
    The news switched to yet another plane of the same make and model. The cameras zoomed in on the pilots, who beat on the cockpit windows frantically; on each plane, they were the only ones who had not Turned. Mike stared at the bottom of the screen and then flipped to another news channel. Across the bottom of all of the screens was a scrolling message stating that the planes were from America and a European outbreak of some virus had begun. Early reports blamed terrorists and the Taliban. Mike looked at his wife with a blank face. “I need to go into work this morning.”
    Naomi stared at him in shock, unable to adjust to from what she was seeing in front of her to what she was hearing from him. “What do you mean you are going to go to work? You don’t go to work anymore; that’s what happens when you retire, dear.”
    Mike rubbed at the bridge of his nose. He was in Washington eight years before when the call from Iraq came through from one of the majors in charge of finding a cure; the purpose of the call was to report a widespread outbreak