The Flood Read Online Free PDF Page B

zombies.
    Then Jenson, for his physical size and strength – and for his stalwartness, proven both in the flight-deck battle and the below-decks sweeps. Basically, Wesley was discovering what all combat veterans knew: there was no replacement for men you had fought and bled beside.
    And that left a single spot, reserved for Sarah Cameron.
    When he had his hand-picked team corralled in the corner, Wesley said, “Listen – if we’re going to have to get up close and personal with the deaders, I’d like us to have a little more protection than last time.”
    “How do you mean?” asked Browning.
    “Well, I’ve always had this idea for a sort of zombie armor, to keep from being bitten or scratched. We just need a lot of rolls of electrical tape, and then something tough but flexible, like thick leather, or maybe even rolled-up magazines or some sor—”
    Browning cut him off. “Come with me.”
    The other five followed Browning into the locker room and armory that let off the ops room. He took them all the way to the back and opened another hatch, which revealed a large storage closet. Hanging inside were a dozen suits of black and very menacing riot gear.
    “What the hell?” Wesley exclaimed.
    Browning smiled. “Damascus FX1 FlexForce modular hard-shell crowd control system.” He started picking up or pointing at pieces of it. “Hard helmets, chest-and-back panels, forearm protectors, thigh and groin protectors, and knee and shin guards. All of that laid over a tough foam and nylon shell. It’s even fire-retardant.”
    “No, seriously,” Wesley persisted. “What the hell? Why have these just been sitting in a closet?”
    Browning shrugged. “Last time they were out was during the fall, when we were doing riot control at ports. Since then, NSF has never done any real zombie fighting. We never left the ship. MARSOC did, of course, but we assumed they had their own gear and were too cool for our stuff. Also, only the NSF commander has the authority to break these out. And he’s dead.”
    “No, he’s not,” Wesley said. “He’s just me now.” He was obviously still gobsmacked at this horrific oversight. “Why the hell didn’t we use these when we were clearing the lower decks of the ship?”
    “Dunno. We were only looking for the odd one or two. And all we found in the end was pools of black gunk.”
    “And fucking Anderson,” Melvin added.
    “And a hand,” said Burns.
    Wesley sighed and nodded. “And a hand.” Having got over the stupidity of keeping this priceless gear locked in a closet, he managed to be pleased about it.
    Now they had their zombie armor.

Zoonosis
    The MRAP - Racing South Through Somalia
    “Can you pull a still from Juice’s shoulder-cam feed?”
    Handon was talking on the radio to Dr. Park, from the front of the MRAP, and sounding rather urgent. He wanted a consultation before the team walked into another swarm of Pythonesque killer bunnies. If something completely stupid killed you, you were still dead. You just got to feel stupid in your last seconds alive.
    “No problem, pulling the still now.” Park had been summoned up to the Combat Information Center on the JFK , where Juice’s real-time video was being streamed, as it had been on the shore mission in South Africa.
    Right now on this mission, the terrain of central Somalia was blasting by on both sides and ahead out the windshield, as Brady drove it like he stole it – which basically they had – heading south on one of Somalia’s few hardball roads. Periodically the MRAP swerved terrifyingly around abandoned vehicles, its gigantic profile and high center of gravity threatening to pull them over into a long sliding last leg of their road trip.
    “Ali’s right ,” Park said after a short delay. “They look like hyraxes. Order Hyracoidea, I think. Usually mistaken for rodents – but their closest relatives are actually elephants. They’ve got little tusk-like incisors. They’re good communicators, with