This Is Not The End: But I Can See It From Here (The Big Red Z Book 1) Read Online Free PDF Page B

luck.  The Sunset of Humanity. But Gilli.  He makes you forget with that north Georgia accent.  Slick blonde.  Could have been an actor.  He’s just standing with his hands on his hips and that pretty idiot Owen Wilson grin like which one of us fucks decided crashing the plane was a good idea.
    “I say, boys.  We’uh in a damn pickle.”
     

 
     
     
    Chapter 8
     
     
     
    Lord, just us six.  A half a dozen damaged motherfuckers.  Mean-looking Pip, Huge Biggs, Give a shit Jagger, Old Dog Highway, and Pretty Gilli. 
    I straighten my back, look at the impressive pile of weapons.  Ammo.  Gear.   MREs.  More than you’d think.  All gathered and sorted in less than a day.  More than we could carry.  It’s children’s laughter and dogs’ wagging butts reassuring.  But it’s just a little moment.  That shit ends quick.  It’s afternoon.  Too damn soon for being more tired and more afraid than before, if that’s possible. We’re damn few, even counting the soon to be dead, which I don’t.
    It seems clear Highway knows were fucked, but I hope he doesn’t say so when I approach him.
    “Well?” I ask.
    “What?”
    “Go or stay?”
    “Both.”  I know where he’s headed with this, but let him finish so the others can hear.  “This scrap metal ain’t shit for cover.  We go, get to high ground.  Some place we can see the wreck.  See if they’re coming for us.”
    “If not?” says Gilli.
    “The fuck you think, if not?  We go west.  The coast.  Find us a boat and get our asses up to Mexico.”
    “I like it,” Jagger puts in.
    “I’m glad,” Highways chides, but his look is accompanied with a thankful nod. 
    Moments later, we decide it is time to act.  For my taste, we move a little too fast, selecting the weapons.  Feels like we should slow down, be careful.
    After five minutes, it hits me. 
    “Shit,” I stop, hop back. 
    Everyone halts.  Looks at me.
    “The fuck are we thinking?  A lookout.”
    “Yeah,” Highway nods.  Points my ass to a clearing, a wide muddy skid the plane had made.  He throws me a SOPMOD M4 and a half of a bandolier of shells.
    I pat my vest, feel that sturdy Kevlar.  Then I go, thinking of picking a higher place where I can wait and snipe for them if need arises, like a good sniper should, or a madman, but not as mad as walking alone into a little stretch of nothing.  I don’t know that there are any high places anyway.  None with a clear view.  The undead, or maybe some unfriendlies, they could be to our flanks or circling ahead, and waiting for us. That, or something had just plain gone out of me.
    Leaving the group, something’s got fear going through me, circulating like blood. It’s got the sight of the dead making me sick now for some reason.
    Then cra- aack , a pair of legs shoot by me, and I’m deaf.  I can’t hear anything. 
    What the shit?
    There’s just the ringing in my ears.   Hell’s crickets in my skull.   I’m drenched on my backside.  Blood.  What the shit?   Lightheaded, dizzy, I’m going down.   On my knees, I hold my ear.  Check for blood, and I find some but I sense it is not mine.
    Grenade blast, by the smell.  Detonation wets the air with a sort of dangerous odor.  The musty smell of bowels comes after.  
    I don’t want to look.  Almost can’t.  But, hell.
    And it’s true.
    They’re ghosts, all.  Just pieces.  I freeze.  Lord take me, there on my knees, perfectly motionless.  Screw it, I’m done, and my thoughts seem to frighten a bit of movement from Highway’s eyeless corpse.  Every one of them, dead, bluish and devoid of anything identifiable.  There are no whole people left, and Lord, there is no time to mourn them in the late afternoon shadows. 
    Walking on my knees, closer now, the disbelieving gets thicker and more intense.  But then, in an instant that comes so fast that I grab it like an arrow in flight, I feel the power of the gold.  And surprise, surprise, guess