Left With the Dead Read Online Free PDF Page B

level. But not all. Though they couldn’t see Gartrell through the small opening he peered through, some of the stenches below scanned the buildings from the street, actively searching the windows for signs of prey. Gartrell taped the window shade back in place, and gloom returned to the tiny bedroom.
    “Summit, this is Terminator. If the zeds get a lock on us, we’ll be lucky to have ten minutes. Over.”
    “Roger that, Terminator. I need to park you on another frequency. I’ve got battalion-level reports coming my way in just a couple of minutes. Stand by, over.”
    “Roger Six, I’ll stand by here. Over.”
    During the pause, Gartrell opened one of the water bottles he’d taken from the Starbucks downstairs. He was parched as all hell, and he drank from the bottle with gusto. His growling stomach informed him some chow would be a great idea as well. He consumed one of the cinnamon coffee cakes in virtually three bites. It was stale, but he barely noticed.
    Even stale coffee cake is better than an MRE.
    “Terminator Five, Summit Six. Over.”
    “Summit, this is Terminator, go ahead. Over.”
    “Terminator, I’ve got a place to park you for the moment.” The infantry commander on the other end of the radio link read off a frequency. Gartrell pulled out his pen and wrote the freq on the brown Starbucks bag on the bureau before him. “Can you make that frequency? Over.”
    “Summit, Terminator. Roger, I can make that frequency. Over.”
    “Roger that, Terminator. Switch over now. Summit out.” As Summit Six finished his sentence, another transmission began, and Gartrell heard the terror in the reporting soldier’s voice. He was in contact with the horde, and the engagement wasn’t getting any better with age. Gartrell didn’t bother to acknowledge Summit Six’s transmission, for another report came in, stomping over the first one. Summit Six wouldn’t be able to hear him anyway, and it sounded like the light infantry battalion commander had more pressing things on his plate right now.
    Gartrell switched over to the allocated frequency and announced himself. He heard only the slight hiss of background static, marred every now and then with some bleed-over from a neighboring frequency. He couldn’t make out the contents of the radio traffic, as the distortion level was extremely high. It could have been anything—more lightfighters in contact and looking for help, probably. Or maybe something as mundane as a truck convoy looking for directions.
    “Terminator Five, this is Falcon Four, over.”
    “Falcon, this is Terminator, go ahead.”
    “Terminator, Falcon. I understand you’re caught behind the lines in the Upper East Side, is that correct? Over.”
    “Falcon, Terminator. That is a roger, over.”
    “Terminator, this is Falcon. Did Summit Six notify you that most of our elements are either in contact with the zeds, or soon will be? We’re a little stretched for resources right now. Over.”
    “Falcon, that kind of came up in the conversation right after I asked for help, over.”
    “Uh…got that, Terminator. Listen, we need you to stay tight. We’re looking for a way to get to you, but with all the north-south routes basically blocked with dead traffic, our guys can’t get in with vehicles. They have to hoof it. It’s going to take a long time, and they’ll have to fight from block to block, over.”
    Gartrell buried his face in his hands. What the hell are they thinking? Of course they can’t take any vehicles in!
    “Falcon, Terminator. I know I’m not in your command silo, but I’m Special Forces and I’ve been behind the line of troops for more than a day. These things do not give up. They will not stop. Sending dismounted troops at them is only going to embolden the zeds and get your guys killed. You can’t treat this as a normal movement-to-contact mission, the zeds have no ability to be afraid of your firepower, and they will swarm over each unit you send in until they defeat