Dark Days (Apocalypse Z) Read Online Free PDF Page B

abandoned cars, no buildings burned to the ground, or any other sign of the Apocalypse. The public gardens, although in ruins and wild, didn’t look like a jungle like other parks had after being abandoned for over a year. The streets were dirty, but there were no large piles of trash and debris and no papers fluttering around. The city looked like it was asleep, like any early Sunday morning. I almost expected to see a delivery truck filled with newspapers drive around a corner.
    “There!” Lucia yelled. “On that plaza, in between those two green buses!”
    Everyone looked where she was pointing. I swallowed hard. Just then two men stepped out of one of those buses. One was dressed in the uniform of the Spanish Legion. The other looked like an important dignitary in his forties, wearing a suit and tie, his hair tousled. They walked along as if they were two friends, chatting, oblivious to the roar of the Sokol overhead. Perfectly normal, except that the civilian was missing half his face and the legionnaire’s chest was crusted with blood.
    They were Undead.
    The epidemic had landed on that plaza.
    I punched one of the helicopter’s struts as Prit let out a stream of Russian cuss words. Stunned, Lucia watched those two guys through her binoculars, unable to believe her eyes. Sister Cecilia had resumed praying to her rosary in a monotonous, broken voice. The old nun’s face radiated a strange peace. She was well aware we had a few hours of life left—at best—and she was settling her accounts, preparing to greet God… which would be soon, if we didn’t come up with a plan.
    “Something’s wrong with this picture. The city is devastated, sure, but there’re no signs of struggle!” I shouted over the noise of the rotors. “Take a good look! There are very few Undead on the streets, a few dozen at most!”
    “He’s right!” Prit was shouting, too. “The city looks like it was emptied out in an orderly fashion! I’d bet my last bottle of vodka those Undead down there came from somewhere else, after the city was evacuated!”
    “That would explain why there’re so few of them. It doesn’t explain where everyone went or why they evacuated the city.”
    “Or where those Undead came from,” Lucia added, grimly.
    We were lost in our thoughts as the helicopter covered the last few miles to the airport. When I cocked my rifle, everyone flinched. Questions about what we’d find there raced through my mind. Though I was sweating hard, a shiver ran down my back. Before we arrived at the airport, I headed to the back of the cabin and struggled into my worn, patched wetsuit (some of the repairs looked like scars, mementos of past incidents), with a lot of grunts and contortions. By the time I’d gotten it on, the Sokol’s shadow was gliding down the runway at Lanzarote Airport.
    “Look at that!” Prit said, pointing to the control tower. “There must’ve been some kind of dust up there!”
    The control tower was demolished, scorched by smoke and flames. Piles of rubble and broken glass lay at its feet. The gaping holes in the windows at the top looked like cavities. The tower looked like it had been burned intentionally, not by a wildfire. The rest of the terminal gleamed in the midday sun, unscathed. Four small planes were slowly falling apart where they’d been abandoned. They were emblazoned with the name BINTER , the airline that had once linked all the islands.
    At the end of the runway, a huge 747 lay on its side, its nose buried in a mountain of sand. It was painted white with the words TALA AIRWAYS written across the fuselage and tail in huge, red, block letters. I had no idea where that company was licensed. The colors could’ve been European, or Asian. Probably a charter airline. Lanzarote’s runway was clearly too short for that mastodon of the air to land, so when it touched down, it couldn’t stop and had skidded on its side off the runway.
    But I saw no wreckage anywhere. The scene was