The World's Next Plague Read Online Free PDF Page B

used to gunshots, he still jumped, causing the camera to
jerk wildly. When he was able to focus again he noticed Rock had
stumbled, but quickly stood upright again. There was a sizable hole
in his thigh from the bullet. Only missing a step or two, he kept
coming towards them, as fast, or faster, than before.
    The roaring of the creature strapped to the
frame had previously drowned out any sound coming from Rock, but
now he was getting close and load moans of overwhelming need could
be heard. Upon hearing this Armando started to lose his
composure.
    He held up the frame with the struggling
cocooned figure between Rock and himself and stuck his rifle around
the right side at shoulder height. At this close range it was
child’s play to put three successive rounds in the approaching
figure’s chest. Each round drove Rock back one step, but the shots
did not stop the approach. The only indication Rock had been shot
was the dark blood pouring from the wounds. Armando concentrated
and put three more carefully aimed rounds directly into the heart.
Again, this only caused a slight pause in the relentless
approach.
    Rock was just a couple meters away.
    In desperation, Armando went for a headshot.
His military training dictated shots should go to the torso unless
there was time to aim. The body was a much larger target, thus
easier to hit.
    The first shot hit Rock in the throat,
tearing out a large portion of the right side of his neck and
sending a great explosion of blood and tissue out behind him.
Rock’s head jerked violently to the side with the impact. Armando
let the natural rise of the gun position the second shot. It would
have been perfect a moment before, but the head had now moved and
the shot only managed to graze Rock’s cheek. The third shot
completely missed.
    Rock slammed into the frame throwing it back
to the ground with Armando underneath. The large beast flailed
wildly in frustration, reaching with snapping jaws for the living
flesh it could not reach just inches away. The tent covered
creature on top of the frame frustrated Rock’s efforts with its
continuous struggle.
    Rock’s arms reached for his prey, but could
not find a sizable gap through the wooden frame dividing them. Only
his fingers were able to reach through. The finger nails of Rock’s
right hand scratched Armando’s cheek in multiple places, leaving
wet red abrasions.
    Armando, who had never given in to fear in
his life, lay crying in terror, unable to move. Rock’s dark blood
streamed from the gunshot wound in his neck, seeping down onto
Armando’s face. Dark red blood covered his nose and cheeks. It fell
into his open mouth, and when Armando screamed, Rock’s blood spewed
forth in a fine burgundy mist.
    The man who earlier shot Rock in the thigh
was somehow still under control. He took careful aim at the
twisting pile of figures in front of him. His first shot missed
Rock low and tore a chuck of wood from the frame sending splinters
flying. The second shot struck where aimed. Rock’s head
disintegrated in an explosion of skull and brains. The impact threw
the large body off of the struggling pile. The frame, still
clutched tightly in one of Rock’s hands, fell with the body and
ended balanced with one edge on the ground, and the other resting
on Armando’s chest.
    Armando’s eyes had rolled back in his head.
Prostrate, he trembled, shaking with a seizure for many seconds
before his body collapsed limply, and lay perfectly still. One arm
lay out fully to one side and at the end of it the fingers twitched
spastically.
    The others looked on cautiously from a
distance, weapons drawn, prepared to shoot Armando if he showed any
signs of changing.
    A minute passed.
    Then another. The standing men looked around
and at each other. Nobody moved.
    Armando’s eyes snapped open. He immediately
threw the frame off of himself and jumped to his feet. Panicked, he
sobbed, and frantically attempted to wipe the blood and gore from
his face, only