The Dying of the Light (Book 1): End by Jason Kristopher Read Free Book Online Page A

and none of them moved so much as a muscle. The colonel grunted in approval and nodded. “Very well. The briefing materials on your desk will provide you with additional detail, and you’ll be meeting someone in a moment who can answer any detailed questions you have, but what we’re dealing with here can be summed up in one word. Officially, they’re known as walkers. Unofficially, you know them better as zombies.”
     
    A cough from the other side of the room snapped Maxwell’s head around. “This ain’t a video game, and it ain’t a movie. This is as real as it gets, soldier.” He pressed a button on the remote, and the screen showed a photo of a nightmare: a long-distance shot of three walkers attacking some hapless soul, another in the background chewing on the arm it had just ripped from the man’s body.
     
    It was far too real a photo; too detailed and visceral to be a fake. I swallowed and looked away, only to see the faces of those soldiers around me barely flinch. These hardened career military men and women weren’t used to this sort of thing but they’d been ‘in the shit,’ as they said, and it must’ve helped them get through it.
     
    If they can do it, then so can I. Maxwell said this was going to be tough… I might as well start getting used to it now.
     
    I noticed one of the female soldiers at the back, a tall redhead with long hair and the most intense green eyes I’d ever seen. She looked angry. I wondered why. What was it in her past or her psychological makeup that pissed her off about walkers? It was more than a little nerve-wracking that she didn’t look surprised, not even a little. As if horror movies coming to life were just another day for her.
     
    Spooky.
     
    Maxwell continued with more gruesome pictures. “These were taken just prior to the decision to train our own AEGIS forces.” He paused, pointing to a small town map now displayed by the projector. “This was what Fall Creek, Colorado — not even 125 miles from here — looked like before the walkers got to it.” A few images went by of a pleasant mountain town, obviously culled from some sort of tourist publication. Maxwell pressed another button, and a video started playing. “This is what it looked like when it was all over.”
     
    The devastation was tremendous. The soldiers watched as the video shot from a helicopter played out on the screen. Burning buildings, bodies littering the streets, blood absolutely everywhere. Military vehicles surrounding the city as the picture zoomed out to an overview of the small town. Nothing moved, except the flames. No noise, except the occasional crash as a burning wall fell in. Silence reigned in Fall Creek.
     
    I didn’t watch the whole thing; I didn’t want to. Of all people , I thought, I should watch this. They deserve that much . But I couldn’t bring myself to see it again. Not now; maybe not ever. I took in the view of the Rockies out of the briefing room window, and thought about those I had known for so long, and would never see again. Even the deep blue of the Colorado skies couldn’t soothe my anguish this time, and I realized I was looking in the direction of what had once been my home town. I sighed and turned back to the video.
     
    The true horror was revealed as the helicopter landed in the park near the town hall. Some of the bodies were whole and appeared to be mostly unharmed; most weren’t. Covered in bite marks and with gore everywhere, these few were all that remained after the town tore itself apart. For most of the victims, this was the literal truth.
     
    As I closed my eyes, remembering the sounds and the panic of those days, I heard a clatter as one of the men on the other side of the room exploded out of his desk and ran to the garbage can near the door, vomiting. I sympathized with him, but I found myself growing cold, almost numb. I stared at the wall and was only somewhat conscious of the soldiers all turning toward me minutes later as