The Age of Zombies: Sergeant Jones Read Online Free PDF

was. They speculated on what the giants meant when they talked about a “brave new world,” and “going back to the old ways,” and “the age of zombies.” The Russians knew they were dealing with monsters. But what these monsters really were, however, was almost completely unknown to them. They knew that these giants were wealthy beyond imagination. They knew that they ate brains. They had their own hierarchy, command chain, culture, and myth.
    But these Russians were only so high up on the totem pole. They didn’t know much else. Above every suit there's another one who knows more. And they knew enough to know that they knew almost nothing at all. Even Joru, the head of the corporation, knew little more than his crew.
    Joru Logistics was more than happy to fulfill the needs of this client. War had been something of a specialty in the company’s past. Its founder, Joru Vadim Bebchuk, had worn many hats throughout his career. He built his network of contacts as a former KGB transportation officer during the Soviet Union’s conflict with the Mujahadeen in Afghanistan. He met Radoula and Boul up in those mountains. They were searching for a man with a keen sense of the terrain, who could transport dead bodies out of the conflict zones undetected.
    Joru made his first million that month.
    There wasn’t much that would turn Joru away from more power. Not even genocide.
    The jeeps carted the giants through the labyrinthine streets of Damascus as the sun was completely blotted out from the sky. Darkness remained. They winded through the serpentine streets of the city and out to the suburbs where the city became more run down, more disheveled. The three giants had seen enough. They were ready to take matters into their own hands. Grantha retrieved a fold of US hundred dollar bills, and paid the drivers of the jeeps handsomely. “Meet us back here in three hours,” he said. “Sharp. No excuses.”
    The drivers peeled off into the night.
    The soldiers hatched a plan, brutally simple and atrocious: raid apartments at random and eat everything inside.
    They chose their first apartment because of a beautiful statue of bronze lion that sat in front of the doorway. The door was easy enough to kick down. It was flimsy and poorly constructed. One strong kick from the flat end of Grantha’s jackboot sent the door to the ground. Inside the apartment, a family of seven sat on rugs around the central table. Hummus, olives, and flatbread were laid out for all to share. No father present. By the look in the mother's eyes, the giants knew that she would defend her brood at all costs.
    The mother jumped up from the ground and withdrew a knife from the inside of the cloth that wrapped around her body. She charged at Bhutar. With ease he knocked her down. He got on top of her and pinned her face flat to the dirty floor. One of the older kids, a boy not more than twelve years old, stole off to the opposite side of the room. He scrambled through a drawer and withdrew a pistol. He shot at Bhutar, but missed.
    The mother whimpered. “Fear not, my children,” she said in Arabic. “Allah is with us.”
    The child fired another shot. The bullet careened into the wall, missing the mark again. The child stood with a dumb, scared look on his face. Tears welled up in his brown eyes. His face and hands were dirty and worn with labor, even at his young age. The other children cowered and sobbed as they watched their mother and oldest brother fail and falter.
    The mother squirmed beneath the brute. But to no avail. Within moments, Bhutar took hold of her head and jerked it sharp to the right. The snap of her neck sent a jolt of pain through all her children. Bhutar grinned as he watched the children recoil into an oblivion of fear. Their mother was gone. Their father, dead in the war. The oldest brother was next. He fired two more rounds. One struck Zamul in the shoulder, but did not faze him. The oldest brother, brave and courageous, died when