I was removing some of the old posts and clutter, now that the book is available digitally it doesn’t make sense to have story sneak peeks and such, after all I do want you guys to buy the book and it is only $1!
Still waiting on the cover for the print edition. .
Here is a sneak peek of WHITE ZOMBIE 2: The Yellow Horde, just because I love you all.
WHITE ZOMBIE 2: THE YELLOW HORDE
MY FELLOW AMERICANS, MY FELLOW SURVIVORS, IT IS WITH A HEAVY, HEAVY HEART THAT I ADDRESS YOU TODAY.
280 MILLION AMERICAN DEATHS OVERNIGHT. 5.8 BILLION DEATHS ALL AROUND THE WORLD. THEY ARE STAGGERING, THESE NUMBERS, AND THEY HELP US UNDERSTAND THE MAGNITUDE OF THIS PANDEMIC. I CANNOT BEGIN TO IMAGINE WHAT IT MUST BE LIKE FOR THOSE OF YOU WITH MIXED RACES FAMILIES, WHO HAVE LOST WIVES, HUSBANDS AND CHILDREN. THERE HAVE BEEN SO MANY DEATHS THAT WE CANNOT POSSIBLY EVEN HOLD FUNERALS FOR THEM ALL, FOR THERE ARE TOO FEW OF US LEFT TO DEAL WITH A DISASTER OF THIS MAGNITUDE. ALL I KNOW IS THAT THAT NO MATTER HOW OR WHY THIS HAS HAPPENED, WE HAVE ALL BEEN GIVEN THE TASK OF CARING FOR EACH OTHER AND COMFORTING EACH OTHER, AND SEARCHING FOR AN EXPLANATION. WE ARE ALL BEING TESTED BY THIS CRISIS. WE MUST CARRY ON.
THERE ARE THOSE WHO, OUT OF SINCERE RELIGIOUS CONVICTION, BELIEVE THAT THE VICTIMS HAD SOMEHOW BROUGHT THIS ON THEMSELVES, OR THAT WE ARE EXPERIENCING A BIBLICAL APOCALYSE. AND WITH THESE FOLKS, WE MUST RESPECTFULLY AND UNEQUIVOCALLY DISAGREE. WE DO NOT ACCEPT THE NOTION THAT SOMEHOW THE VICTIMS OF THIS PLAGUE HAD BROUGHT THIS ON THEMSELVES. OUR FELLOW AMERICANS DID NOT DESERVE THIS DEATH SENTENCE.
THIS UNIMAGINABLE HORROR HAS SHAKEN THE RESOLVE OF OUR GREAT NATION. BUT WE MUST MOVE FORWARD. WE THE AMERICAN PEOPLE ARE A SPIRITED PEOPLE AND IT IS THAT SPIRIT THAT WILL HELP US TRIUMPH IN THE FACE OF THIS HORRIBLE DISASTER. WE ARE AN AMERICAN FAMILY AND WE WILL RISE AGAIN TOGETHER, AS ONE NATION AND AS ONE PEOPLE. WE MUST PICK OURSELVES UP, WE MUST FIGHT BACK, FOR WE KNOW IN OUR HEARTS THAT THIS IS NOT THE END.
TONIGHT WILL BE THE LONGEST, DARKEST NIGHT MANKIND HAS EVER KNOWN.
– President Barack Obama
1. GONE FISHING
Walter gripped the handle of the harpoon gun so hard his knuckles went white. Below him were more zombies than he could possibly count. Rumors and estimates put the total number of flesh eaters at roughly one billion across the Chinese countryside; from Nepal to Taiwan. One billion rotting monsters with no food to feed their insatiable hunger, pressed together into a massive herd that grew every day as more and more zombies merged with the larger collective. The zombies were localizing, gathering together like a swarm of insects. Nobody knew how many black people had lived in China before the ELE, but it was a sure bet there were none of them left alive today. The sheer number of zombies that they would have had to hide from for the last six months would have been incalculable; the odds of surviving in those conditions were miniscule.
Even from up in the Black Hawk helicopter Walter could tell the zombies were starving; the clacking of their teeth vibrated the windows on the ground and could even be heard over the noise of the propeller coming through the open door. Every time they flew over the uncountable herd of bodies Walter was scared. It was like hovering over a dirty tank of hungry sharks. The larger the crowd of zombies the less human they appeared to act. Predators with no ability to hunt, they simply wandered back and forth until their own massive numbers trapped them in the skeletal remains of the Chinese cities.
The USS Alaska had not come to China to look for survivors; different teams aboard the ship had different objectives but primarily they needed to know if anything remained of the Chinese government and military. If there was any government left in control, a U.S. aircraft carrier sitting off their shores would definitely get their attention. The second objective was to determine how and why some of the zombies were mutating. The latest trip on the Black Hawk was Walter’s fifth, the laboratory required at least six samples to test and everyone had agreed that a helicopter, launched from the U.S.S. Alaska, with only a pilot and a ‘fisherman’, was the safest bet. It was strange for Walter, this sudden shift in military thought toward safety and security. From the moment he started basic training he knew that he was expendable. During the ELE, the Extinction Level Event that had wiped out almost all of humanity, he’d seen the entire military command structure collapse. By some miracle of fate the United States President had survived and those African Americans who had served so proudly rallied to him to retake Washington. There were enough men and women of color in the Army and the Navy to provide the necessary firepower to evacuate the capital. The U.S.S. Alaska had become the last stronghold of the American people. The survivors immediately refitted the U.S.S. Boxer, giving the combined survivors of the Navy, Army and Air Force a mobile base. There were other units, in other places in the world, but the Alaska had the largest group in one place outside of Central Command. Yet there were so few of them in number that no one wanted to sacrifice even one soldier unless it was absolutely necessary. Their excursion into China had so far been casualty free. That was even though he was tied to the helicopter by a steel cable, he gripped that harpoon gun so hard he could no longer feel his fingers. Falling into the sea of dead things below him was a fate worse than death.
“You get any paler back there and the boys are going to think you’re a DB,” Jackson shouted from the front of the chopper.
“You just keep this damn thing steady!” Walter shouted back. A DB was slang for a dead body, specifically the kind that now covered the face of the Earth.
The harpoon flew through the air, smashing through the stomach of one of the horde. It let only a small, minor entry wound but it sprung open like a metal flower, hooking onto the creature’s back. Walter hit the button and the cord retracted, pulling the zombie up into the air. The others tried to reach up and grab him; in their starved and undead state they did not realize it was not a living meal. Or perhaps they thought they could pull the helicopter down with the harpoon cord. The idea of being pulled down into the sea of hungry mouths below sent a chill up Walter’s spine. Once the zombie was halfway up Jackson turned back toward the sea and the U.S.S. Alaska.
A team of four wranglers waited on deck for the Black Hawk with a modified lobster cage. They wore thick leather and Kevlar suits as well as gas masks. There were fears that the virus that caused the ELE could mutate and some people were not taking any chances. Walter was a big, broad man and he knew if he was meant to die, it was not going to be a sickness that put him in his grave. The suits were way too hot for long hours on deck in the hot sun, but for a few minutes of zombie handling the men could easily stand it. Each man used his protected hands to guide the dangling zombie into the cage. The yellow creature’s skin seemed even more sickly and strange as it dangled beneath the helicopter like a limp child’s toy. It did not seem to have the strength or will to fight at all. They removed the harpoon from the creature’s body once it was in the cage; it didn’t make a sound as they pulled it out with meat still attached. The cage was locked and they covered it with a thick cotton shipping blanket, thick enough to stop a knife. They then taped down the corners of the blanket with duct tape to ensure no one put their hand into the cage and that the creature could not reach out through it. It was the policy of the remaining military command that every single life had to be protected, regardless of whether it took more time or effort to do so. There were so few black people left in the world that every single life was a priority. With such low population numbers mistakes had to be avoided, the future was at stake and one bad accident could wipe out all hope for mankind. As soon as the Black Hawk touched down on the deck Walter jumped out. The men in the suits finished loading the containment cage on a wooden pallet and they signaled to Walter. He was to escort the zombie and make sure it did not threaten anyone aboard. If there was any sign of trouble, Walter was to kill the creature immediately and he took his responsibility very seriously. He waved goodbye to Jackson and took up a position beside the cage. He adjusted his M16 and stood guard alone. Jackson came by with his flight helmet under one arm.
“You off duty now?” Walter asked his friend.
“Just for a couple hours. Then it’s back in the bird for some recon.”
They fist bumped and Jackson headed off toward the mess hall.
A forklift came and lifted the cage, carrying it to one of the freight elevators. The military was so small that every survivor who asked would be accepted and everyone worked wherever they were needed most. In Walter’s case, as a five year veteran, he had been given the task of not only bringing in one of the strange new yellow zombies, but keeping the crew safe from it as well. Some of the new volunteers had not even received firearms training and so not every soldier was armed. Walter radioed in to his captain, informing him he was back on deck and that the creature was being moved. He was given no new orders so he hit the button and the elevator began to descend down into the belly of the carrier. Walter took one last big breath of sea air before descending into the ship. He could hear the zombie shifting from side to side inside the cage but he ignored it.
Suddenly the lights flickered and went out, the elevator coming to a complete stop. Walter clicked off the safety on his gun. It lasted only a second and the power came back and the elevator continued its descent. A pair of wranglers waited outside the elevator with a pump cart. Walter stepped aside and let them take the cage out, following behind them as they rolled the big cage down the hall. These men wore only thick black gloves and a dark grey jumpsuit. Over their backs were six foot long The research level was well lit and mostly empty. Two scientists, as opposite a pair as Walter had ever seen, ran out of the lab to greet them. The man was so old his dark skin had a gray shade to it and his hair was all gone, leaving only a few trailing curls behind. The woman was baby-faced and petite with a massive afro. Her twenty-first birthday was the following week. Walter knew this because the men on the ship had talked about it. The world was a much smaller place than it had been, rumors and stories spread quickly and a gorgeous young doctor always caught people’s attention. Her wild hair would never have been accepted prior to the ELE, but the United States military had changed. There were so few people left with medical degrees and science backgrounds that a proper hairstyle no longer seemed worth the time to enforce. Most of the men kept it short and clean however, mainly because it distinguished them from the wild people struggling to make it back in the United States. The attitude in the military toward discipline had changed, just as their views on human life had changed, it was something that was taking Walter some time to get used to. His father had served in the Navy his whole life and Walter couldn’t help but wonder what he’d think of the changes. The young doctor smiled at him and he gave her a brief, curt smile in return, she wore a name tag, DR. SANDY CLARKE, which Walter stored away for later. If nothing else, the boys would be glad he got her name.
The old man, whose name was Dr. Wilson Leons, motioned the two men to line up the cage parallel to a thick plastic cell against the far wall. Occasionally the old man scratched at the liver spots on his head, moving around to get a good view of the specimen. The wranglers began cutting the tape and removing the blanket over the cage. The zombie sat calmly in the center with its head down. It was breathing heavy beneath its ragged dirty business suit. Walter could see the creature’s ribs expanding and contracting beneath its shredded shirt.
“Subject is a Caucasian male, middle aged, approximately five foot nine inches, emancipated, roughly one hundred and fifty pounds.” The old doctor held a voice recorder in his hand and spoke into it as the two men slipped the snare poles around the zombie’s neck. It put up no resistance. One wrangler held the creature for a moment while the other stripped off the zombie’s jacket. It fought back weakly and the wrangler managed to wrench it off, causing the creature to stumble back.
“A billion dead Asians out there and you manage to snag a white guy,” Dr. Leons said to Walter. He could only shrug his shoulders in response. “We’re going to need a blood sample Sandy.”
The young doctor nodded and fetched a syringe. The two handlers held the zombie in place while Walter gripped his weapon tight. Dr. Clarke managed to get the syringe in its neck by sneaking up behind it. The wranglers tightened the noose on the end of the pole so tight the zombie could not turn around. It tried to get a look at her but she stayed out of sight, the three seconds it took to fill the syringe seemed to take forever. Walter couldn’t help fingering the trigger of his rifle, keeping it in his hands. Dr. Clarke completed her task quickly and the two handlers forced the creature into the cage. Walter’s orders were to kill the DB’s the second they became a threat to a living person and he was determined not to fail. Mistakes happened, accidents were inevitable but Walter saw himself as a stalwart guardian against fate itself. Personal risk meant nothing if it meant saving a human life. He exhaled deeply and lowered the gun only when the cell door was closed and sealed tight. There had always been an understanding among soldiers that they were sustainable losses, sacrifices for the common good. That policy had changed in light of the overwhelming odds the survivors now faced. From his secret underground lair the President of the United States had made it quite clear that human survival was the top priority, that the new united military forces would adopt a zero casualty policy. It had been months since the President had given a speech but the words ‘zero casualties’ had been drilled into Walter’s head.
Dr. Leons took the syringe of blood and thanked the younger doctor. The two zombie wranglers slung their catch and release poles over their shoulders and left. Walter wondered if there were other zombies on the ship or if these two trainees were assigned to assist the two doctors. If so, it meant they were close by and would be on call for further instructions. They gave Walter a nod as they passed and he nodded back. He took up a position near the lab entrance with a clear view of the cage, away from the two doctors and their sensitive equipment.
The zombie sat in the center of the cell, staring at the floor. Its skin was so yellow under the florescent lights that it looked as if the creature was painted. Although the creature had a receding hairline, its hair was still rather neat considering it had been dead for at least six months. There were black spots on its scalp and Walter wondered if they were there when it was alive. The way it sat on the floor made it seem so weak and useless, but Walter knew better. Even though it did not seem very threatening, sometimes the odds shifted and impossible things could happen. The ELE was proof that you never knew what the future had in store or what could happen. A year earlier zombies were the subject of bad comics and scary movies. Now they were real and the world was theirs and it had all happened in twenty-four hours. Walter had taken on hundreds of them that first day and he’d seen good men and women of all races fall crushed and eaten by the creatures. No matter how sad and pathetic it looked, Walter did not take his eyes off of it for a moment.
Hours passed and Walter started getting restless. The zombie had not moved and the doctors only stopped to talk to each other in quiet, hushed tones. The only sound in the room was the sound of their pens scratching out notes on paper. Walter tried not to stare too much at Dr. Sandy Clarke, trying his best to remain professional. Occasionally though she caught him watching her and gave him a little smile, patting her afro subconsciously when she knew his eyes were on her.
“We’re going to have to remove its kidney.” Dr. Leons suddenly shouted, causing both of them to jump.
“You there!” Dr. Leons pointed a gnarled finger at Walter. “Can you call those two men back here, tell them we need to get this thing unto a operating table.”
“Yes, sir.” Walter answered. He used the radio on his belt to call his commanding officer and inform him of the request. They arrived a few minutes later with their poles, joking and laughing amongst themselves. The zombie didn’t move at all, they slipped the ropes over its neck and moved it over to the bed which was sitting upright. The doctors needed the creature to be face down and when they pushed its head against the bed, it finally began to fight back. One of them held it firmly while the other man placed the bed restraints around its neck. Walter stood near the entrance of the cell, ready for action if needed. The two doctors helped them strap down the creatures arms and legs. The cell was more crowded than Walter would have liked so he stepped inside to make sure he had a clear shot. The zombie was rather docile until they laid the bed down flat. Once it could not see them any longer it began to fight violently. Everyone evacuated the cell as it pulled at the straps so hard the flesh was torn from its wrists and ankles. It began to moan like a dying animal, tugging and pulling with every bit of strength in its undead body. Walter felt bad for the thing; a white man who died in China, probably all alone. There was enough combat in Walter’s past that he could imagine what it must have been like dying sick and afraid in a foreign country. Now it sat there in a cell, restrained like an animal, as if it had never been a living, breathing human. There was a harpoon wound in its body, its skin hung off it like a droopy dog and now they were planning on removing organs from it. He couldn’t take the sound any longer.
“Isn’t there some way to sedate the thing?” Walter asked Dr. Leons. The doctor handed Walter a pair of latex gloves and a face mask. The stench of blood and rotting flesh in the air as the zombie tore at its bonds made them all nervous.
“No. It’s dead. Nothing works, nothing that I know of. We’re going to have to work fast if we . . ”
Walter walked into the cell and clubbed the creature on the back of the head with the butt of his gun and the zombie went limp.
“Oh my god that actually worked!?” Dr. Clarke exclaimed.
“If they can only be killed by destroying the brain, I figured a good smack might knock it out.” Walter said. Sandy patted him on the shoulder and he hoped she couldn’t tell he was blushing.
“Alright let’s get to work.” Dr. Leons said, grabbing his tray of scalpels and other surgical tools and pushing himself between them.
Walter stepped back as the two doctors began to remove the zombie’s kidney. Without having to concern themselves with the health and safety of the subject, they were able to work fast and furiously. Dr. Clarke held a towel while Dr. Leons cut into the flesh. The towel kept the blood spurts from spraying anyone and within a minute the old doctor had the kidney in his hands. He hoisted the blackened thing in the air like a newborn baby. Rather than stitch the creature back up, Dr. Clarke stuffed the towel in the wound and the two of them left the cell. Dr. Leons placed the kidney down in a stainless steel bowl and began to cut into it. Walter did not have the stomach to watch any longer. The blood from the zombie’s wounds began to drip down the table and form a dark sticky puddle underneath. It continued to pull at its wrists so hard that bone was now exposed. Instead of appearing less human, it reminded Walter of the human suffering he’d seen in the past; the men, women and children he’d seen fight even though they had no chance. He’d watched people beg as they suffered, starved and weak and unable to fight. Even in its mindless, violent destruction of itself the zombie still seemed to retain some aspect of its humanity. To Walter, it was just another victim of war and poverty, the same type of lost, desperate soul that he’d seen in the worst war zones all over the world. The shiny white equipment, the stainless steel laboratory with its smell of antiseptic and latex, it was all the same now as it had always been. Walter took off his breathing mask and tossed it aside. He’d always had white people as a scape goat for the things he’d seen; American businesses bankrupting foreign governments, religious wars lead by gun sellers and untouchable leaders across the sea. He could blame these atrocities on the white government, the Catholic Church; wherever there was evil there was always a rich white man to be found behind it. At least that is what he’d believed his entire life. But now he found himself aboard a aircraft carrier full of black men and women. The President, in his secret base, had survived and was leading them. There were no white people left anymore. Perhaps the dead things felt nothing and were simply a mindless body with an insatiable appetite, why feel pity for them? Yet he did, he knew that the creature had once been a man and regardless of what it had become after death, it deserved better than what he was seeing.
“It appears we were right in our hypothesis.” Dr. Leons said to Dr. Clarke. She walked over with a printout from the computer with a series of graphs on it.
“Yes,” she replied, “the subject’s bilirubin levels are at about 165. If they’ve been that high since he, sorry it died, it would definitely account for the advanced stage of jaundice.”
“But why, Sandy?” Dr. Leons scratched his dry old scalp as he read the results. “Perhaps we should remove the stomach and bladder, see what this thing has consumed.”
“Good idea Dr. Leons.”
“You have any theories, Sandy?”
“I think checking the stomach is a good idea. I think this has to do with their food source, or lack thereof. The zombies back home had more than enough food due to the racial diversity of the United States. If the entire population of China turned in these things, what would they have to eat? I think the longer these things go without food, the more mutation and variation we’re going to see.”
“That was certainly not a theory, Dr. Clarke. That sounds like science fiction to me.” Dr. Leons grumbled.
“You mean horror.” Walter said. The two doctors stopped and stared at him. Refusing to shirk away from their gaze, Walter straightened his back and looked and returned their gaze. Walter’s stomach turned at the thought of more dissections. He did not want to see anymore. Being in the middle of combat, watching people die all around you, that was not pleasant but in the heat of the moment with adrenaline pumping you did what you had to do. These doctors, with their gloves and masks and cold demeanor, it all seemed so cruel to Walter. Whatever attraction he’d had to Sandy Clarke when he’d first seen her was now long gone. Five previous times he’d sat and watched them experiment and dissect the zombies, he’d seen had heard enough but he was a soldier. He would not abandon his post or disobey his orders.
“Do you think you could radio the wranglers to come back? We’re going to need to flip the creature around.” Dr. Leons asked, not even looking at Walter this time. Walter gave him a dirty look that went unnoticed but as he raised the radio to his mouth it suddenly clicked to life.
“ALL ACTIVE SOLDIERS TO THE DECK. THIS IS NOT A DRILL. ALL ACTIVE SOLDIERS TO THE DECK.”
Walter could see the men running past in the hallway. The two wranglers appeared in the doorway and Walter shouted out instructions to them just as the klaxon alarm bells began to ring. The voice over the intercom system began to yell YELLOW alert.
“You two, stand guard at the door. Do NOT touch the creature or let it out!” Walter glanced around the room, wondering if they would follow his orders then he turned and dashed down the hall to the elevator. Other soldiers were already crowded in and Walter had to push aside a few of the smaller men to fit. Suddenly Sandy came running down the hall toward him. With everyone squashed in so tight, she had to press up against him as the door closed behind her.
“Sorry,” she said.
“You should have stayed in the lab. Soldiers only on deck.” Walter replied firmly. Dr. Clarke said nothing, she moved her hands between their bodies so that she was not so tightly pressed against him. It worked, but her hair blocked his vision. This was the first emergency they’d had aboard the ship and the protocol was all wrong, but Walter knew it was the best command could do with the untrained and emotionally damaged force it had at its disposal. He prayed to God that it was not the Chinese military waiting for them out there. In the six months since the ELE Walter had not seen or heard of one single non-black survivor. No one knew how many mixed race survivors there were, but Walter hadn’t seen many of them either. China’s military was inactive, satellite photos showed there was no movement and no survivors on the ground. The problem with change, especially a massive total global disaster, was that it left people in a state of fear. Even though Walter knew there was no evidence to suggest anyone was still alive in China, that didn’t mean his mind did not imagine the horrible scenarios that could happen. As the elevator doors opened the soldiers ran out and Walter fell behind, letting them get ahead. He checked the safety on this M16 and realized it was still off. The armed men and women in uniform rushed to the port side, pointing and mumbling about something off shore. The fear and excitement of battle seemed to rush through the crowd. Walter pushed his way to the railing and saw them. Millions of zombies had gathered on the Ciwan Port, more than anyone had ever seen before, more than they could possibly even count. The largest herd he’d seen was the one he’d retrieved the zombie from earlier that day, this crowd of undead was ten times the size of those in the city. Somehow they knew the Americans were there and they were hungry.
The soldiers began to raise their weapons but Walter looked for his unit captain. Instead the General Herman Butler, Captain of the U.S.S. Alaska, strode across the deck, his cigar leaving a trail of smoke behind him. The two armed guards with him jogged to keep up with the big man’s wide strides.
“Do not waste that ammo you bastards until I give the order!” the General shouted. Herman Butler was the kind of man who would never have made the rank of General in the old world. He was racist, for one thing, a black supremacist who made no attempt to hide his opinions. He was politically incorrect and as hard-nosed a soldier as they came. He was quoted as saying that the only white man he ever respected was General Patton. With all other races on the planet now extinct his views could no longer offend anyone and he was the kind of man who gave those under his command a sense of purpose and worth.
“Move aside boys, let me get a look at these things!”
Almost all of the zombies in the front of the mob were an ugly yellow color. They all appeared to have been Chinese and most of the creatures were so skinny as to be nothing more than bones wearing ragged clothes. Sandy squeezed in between Walter and the female soldier next to him.
“Look at them all. All those starving, mutated, ones. There must be a million of them.” Sandy said.
“You should get below deck. It’s going to get ugly up here.” Walter said in response. Sandy threw him an angry glance.
“I’m trying to help.”
Walter looked down at her, unsure of what to say.
Up until that moment the creatures had stood on the docks as if some natural instinct told them to avoid the water. With that many of them all crowded on the docks as far as the eye could see the crowd would lurch and shift and some of them were pushed in. It was a beautiful sunny day and the light off the dirty water made the Zhujiang River Estuary appear almost blue again. There in the sunlight two desperate armies stood facing each other, two miles of water between them.
“Sweet Mama Africa, that’s a hell of a lot of DB’s.” General Butler said. He turned to his Executive Officer, a bald, short man with a large paunch. “Let’s get this ship out to sea.”
“Yes sir,” the XO replied.
Sixty seconds of silence followed as the soldiers continued to watch the zombie horde. As the ship lurched forward toward the South China Sea the zombies seemed to sense their food was leaving. The mob surged forward, plunging thousands of them into the sea. Any fear the creatures had was gone, each one surged forward with reckless abandon, climbing over the ones that fell into the water until the water was full of bodies. As the corpses filled the Estuary the ones behind climbed over top, using rising mountain of drowned zombies to continue their push forward. The massive number of bodies thrust into the Estuary displaced enough water to send a wave toward the aircraft carrier. The ship tilted slightly but the crew held on.
“Hold tight men. Do not open fire!” The General shouted. The unit captains scurried about, shouting the orders to their soldiers. Walter and Sandy watched from the railing, awestruck by the sheer mass of bodies heading for them. The water being splashed about by the millions of zombies made it difficult to see them anymore. No one was even sure if the ones submerged in the water were even dead, but the army of dead corpses marched right on over top of them. They were only a mile away and the Alaska swayed back and forth.
“Alright let’s hear those Mark’s bark!” The General yelled, tossing his cigar into the sea. The two 25 mm Mark 38 chain guns began to spit bullets into the water, tearing through the front wave of zombies. The General waved one arm around to his XO and the RIM-116’s swiveled around and faced the Chinese coast.
The soldiers on deck all ducked reflexively as the missiles soared overhead. The dock exploded in a burst of flame, body parts flying hundreds of feet into the air. The zombies did not turn around or look back, even as debris rained down on them. They had only one purpose, one goal and that was to feast on the 3000 men and women aboard the U.S.S. Alaska. If even one percent of them made it aboard, the soldiers would have no chance of escape. Nor would they, to the people serving on the ship they were the last flagship of the United States and they would not give it up. Even though the carrier was moving quickly it was too big, there were simply too many zombies. They spread across the estuary, coming within a thousand feet of the aircraft carrier. Even worse, they had begun to swim.
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