Zombie Road | Book 8 | Crossroads of Chaos Simpson, A. (new books to read .txt) 📖

“They know you’re coming. Good luck.” She said, her face pinched but determined as the crew slid out of sight, the doors still open.

Fat Nancy and Applesauce tucked in behind the opening, had their machine guns on the floor and pulled the triggers as soon as the elevator passed the bottom of the concrete wall into the sublevel. The noise was deafening inside the confined area but over the staccato of automatic weapons they heard the screams and cries of hunger from the things waiting for them. Brass skittered across the marble and as soon as there was clearance the rest of the retrievers rolled left and right out of the box as bullets started tearing into the back wall. Jessie was upside down, hanging by his knees through the emergency exit in the roof. His Glocks spit fire from both hands and tore through the half mad squad of screaming men. As the crew dashed in different directions, bullets zinged all around, ricocheted off steel and sent chunks of concrete flying. Twenty, maybe thirty of Horowitz’s goons were waiting and half were spraying rounds from their MP5’s. The others forgot they had them and ran for the fresh blood, their hunger driving them into the wall of lead. When bullets started spanging in the elevator, Jessie pulled up and fired blindly from behind the concrete. The retrievers kept moving, rolling and darting but bullets found flesh and he heard their cries of pain, saw the blood mist as a round punched through Klondike Dan’s face. Round after round found their mark in the black suited men but many of them didn’t go down. They had too much zombie in them and when the first magazines were emptied, they didn’t bother to reload. They were frenzied and screamed their rage, ran directly at the darting retrievers.

When the blasts from the MP5’s stopped, Jessie dropped to the floor, released the mags and rammed fresh one’s home. The black guns blazed, spit fire and brass and heads imploded from the ripper rounds.

Applesauce blasted a dozen rounds through the belly of one, sent gouts of blood and liver and lungs out its back but it kept coming. It jumped the final ten feet, eyes black and mouth wide open to feed. Applesauce’s smoking AR went right through the hole blown in its chest, caught a kidney on the front sight and ripped it out as the thing sunk its teeth into his horrified face. Fat Nancy had time to get to her feet and back into a corner, both pistols booming before she was cut down by an extended burst of fire. A dozen bullets found body armor and felt like sledgehammer blows but more found flesh and bone.

Speedway emptied his magazine, reloaded on the run and aimed for heads. Some of the goons dropped but a single lucky shot sent him sprawling, his right leg shattered at the knee. He rolled towards a wall to protect his back and died with a curse on his lips when one of the early experiments, more undead than living, tore into him.

Macon’s men fought bravely; they’d been on zombie cleanup details to the parking lot but they’d never seen anything like this. They’d never gone against day one zombies, let alone super soldiers.

Gunfire echoed around the underground chamber, smoke filled the air and the smell of spent gunpowder tickled his nose as Jessie ran for the machine. All around him was chaos and death but he ignored it. Through the window he saw the men in lab coats frantically punching in numbers as another tossed a notebook in the acceleration chamber and slam the door. They were warning themselves of the attack. He raised his Glocks and fired, shattered the window and sent the men diving for cover. He hit the door, slammed it open and broke the man’s arm who had been trying to hold it closed. Jessie shot him as he ran through the opening, sent another round into a man reaching up to push the button and both gun slides locked back. Empty.

Outside the chamber he heard a dozen guns open up from the stairwell team. Jessie thumbed the releases, sent two new magazines home and emptied both guns into the control panel. Glass flew and flashing numbers blinked out as the men in white ran from the room into the crossfire of the gun battle and the snarling teeth of their early experiments. Once blood was in the air their overriding hunger shut everything else down. They had to feed.

Jessie couldn’t help but smile his twisted smile. Even if he died two stories below ground, even if Horowitz won this little battle, he’d won the war. The world would rebuild. He spun away and ran for screams of the fight. There was some more killing to do.

There was one last snarl, the sound of sharp steel slicing through flesh and bone then silence. Horowitz’s goon squad were dead, truly dead, and the injured retrievers were being helped. Hands covered spurting wounds, gauze pads were applied and tourniquets were tied off. The best medical facilities in the world were in the Tower and if they were living now, they would probably keep on living. Some of the gunmen hurried towards the elevator when they heard it start up. They doubted the CEO had any more men who would volunteer to go into the killing fields, a handful of retrievers had just slaughtered thirty of his best men, but they were ready if some did. Marilyn had been watching the bloodbath on her tablet, knew when it was over and had medical personnel standing by. They hurried to the wounded as the bullet riddled elevator glided to a halt at the bottom. They hadn’t known about the lower levels but didn’t let the surprise slow them down.

Jessie took the backpack from Macon, righted an overturned table and laid out the supplies. It had