LZR-1143: Redemption by Bryan James Read Free Book Online Page A

they had moved only a few more meters, we could have left.
    They stopped.
    The creature closest to us turned its wizened, blood-caked face toward us slowly, large wasted eyes scanning slowly. I knew they didn’t see well. I knew they needed more than an outline of a body in the fog.
    I hoped that I was right.
    In the distance, there was a sudden change in the eerie silence. A dull buzzing intruded on the forced silence of the golf course, and a quiet “Fuck me” filtered into my ear. “The boat’s here.” Clifton’s voice was calm, and he switched to a louder voice.
    “You have ‘em, Rhodesy?” The boat was getting louder. And it was approaching us from the other side. We were between the zombies and the river.
    They lurched forward.
    Toward us.
    “You know I do.”
    That was the final word. Heads just began popping.
    There was no better way to describe it. There was a whisper from the Rangers’ rifles, then a plop. Then again. Then again. Twenty became fifteen, and fifteen dwindled to ten. They fell as fast as they could pull their triggers, arms moving their guns mechanically, as if they were robotic killing machines.
    As the last five moved within range of my machete, I pushed forward and took the first through the neck. The blade barely vibrated as the head flipped over itself and fell to the ground, the mouth still clicking teeth together as it bit into the dirt.
    My second backhand swipe was messier, and took the small, damaged woman in the cheek, cutting the lower half of her jaw loose from a face that had once been pretty.
    Her head whipped sideways from the forced of the blow, then collapsed on her neck as the bullet from Rhodes’ gun snapped her head back suddenly. Her light summer dress, thickly crusted with a layer of gore and dirt, seemed nevertheless to float to the ground in slow motion. We turned quickly toward the sound of the small boat and ran.
    My pack slammed heavily against my back as we moved through the fog, moisture condensing on my sunglasses and on my neck beneath the thick fabric of the protective suit, the sound of the river now loud in the mist, though seemingly muffled by the thick, opaque gray. Clifton had disappeared ahead, slightly outrunning Kate who was still well within the visibility range. Ahead, the unruly grass turned slowly into weeds and cattails, flowing down to a six-foot chain link fence, half buried in a thick, marshy mud and the lapping, thick water of the Potomac.
    “River’s been rising slowly over the last few weeks,” said Clifton over the radio, even as he took a small torch from a cargo pocket and began cutting the metal. “Pumps underneath the city failed a while back, and the swamp’s been making a comeback.”
    I remembered my American history enough to register what he was talking about.
    D.C. had been built, somewhat foolishly, on a former swamp. Massive sets of pumps beneath the city and along the river helped keep the river at bay, and the swamp from making a triumphant comeback.
    In some ways, it was fitting. Let the sulfurous, filthy mud retake a city that was utterly full of shit.
    Kate stood at the edge of the weeds, feet from the water. She was staring into the distance, watching the single light from the small inflatable boat grow closer. I walked forward and stood beside her, staring at the approaching outline, which quickly materialized into a solid form with two standing bodies on board. Then I noticed that she wasn’t looking at the boat. She was staring several meters to the left.
    “What are you looking for?” I asked, locking my eyes on the same location. A small ripple disturbed the water, but the fog continued to push across, the movement obscuring anything else.
    She shook her head slightly, and I heard her breath heavily.
    “Nothing I guess. I just thought I saw something. I’m just jumpy from being inside so long. And I’m worried about Ky.”
    I put my hand on her shoulder and tried to meet her eyes, but through the thick