Designated (Book 1): Designated Infected Read Online Free PDF

Dalescue moved onto
the next dwelling, the door hung ajar swinging gently on the swirling
breeze. Higgins slowly nudged the door with the barrel of his rifle;
the squeaking hinges set Dalescue's teeth on edge, as he peered into
the gloom. Dust hung thick in the air, Dalescue's breath caught in
his throat as he gazed at the scene before him.
    The floor was awash with blood; it clung to everything
it touched. The acidic copper tang clung to the inside of their
throats like a limpet, sucking the oxygen from their lungs until the
all consuming scent of another humans blood filled them entirely.
Dalescue's feet shot out from under him as he stepped forward. He
slammed back first into the floor, the soft pattering splash of blood
echoing through the stillness of the room. The sound rumbled through
Higgins' ears as he watched the rippling crimson fluid flow over his
boots.
    Looking up he cast his eyes on the mangled heap before
him, a soft lapping akin to the noise of a dog drinking wafted up
through the stillness to the two soldiers. Higgins slowly stepped
into the rapidly clotting mire of blood and raised his rifle to his
shoulder as he continued moving.
    Gazing through the sights, he scanned the room as
Dalescue clambered to his feet. The blood clung to his boots, gluing
them to the floor as he tried to rise. His armoured knee pad, lifting
him slightly, as he managed to rise to his knees.
    The sound of Dalescue's cumbersome movements through
the slime like pool of viscous fluid, made both men want to vomit.
The only thought that went through Higgins' mind was how much the
sound reminded him of wet glue covered Velcro as he lifted his foot
again, freeing it from the wet, gelatinous muck.
    The noises stopped, both men froze where they were,
Dalescue's hand slowly inching towards his holstered side arm, his
rifle left sitting in the congealing pool beneath him as it hung from
its sling. Slowly the mass before them shifted, the lapping sound
replaced by the tumbling of dead meat hitting the wet surface beneath
its shifting bulk.
    'Oh, Jesus.'
    Higgins opened up, his rifle on full auto as he pumped
round after round into the pile before them. They descended upon the
two hapless men like wolves, teeth tearing into them before their
spent and empty shell casings hit the floor. Dalescue's screams
rolled down the hillside, echoing off the rock faces surrounding the
small village as his life was irrevocably taken from him.
    Higgins' screaming form slammed through the door sending
it crashing back into the wall. Rawlings watched as he clawed at the
dirt, his fingers digging deeper and deeper into the harsh gritty
surface as he desperately tried to pull himself free. Rawlings
levelled his sights over Higgins' tear streaked face as he was slowly
and inexorably drawn backwards into the dark blood soaked hell he so
desperately wanted to be free of.
    'Sorry, brother.'
    The words left his lips in a soft whisper as Rawlings'
finger tightened on the trigger sending the seven point six two
millimetre round sailing into the cooling air of night's embrace and
through Higgins' head.

    Baker and Jenkins slipped through the building, their
shadows dancing around them as they fired. The high velocity rounds
stitched through the soft, damp filled walls, pin pricks of light
arcing through the room, cutting through the gloom that hung like a
hot suffocating blanket over all it touched. Jenkins sprinted
forward, his blood pumping through his veins. The sound of his blood
pumping rang through his ears like a maelstrom, the rhythmic thump of
his own heart raging in his mind.
    Turning, he headed up the stairs to his left, rifle
pulled tight into his shoulder as he moved upwards. His weapon arced
upwards as he stared up the stairway; the steps unfolding in front of
him sent images of M. C. Escher paintings skating through his mind.
Snapping left as he reached the top of the staircase; he moved along
a corridor the sounds enveloping him. He knew he was getting