Deadrise 2: Deadwar by Steven R. Gardner Page A

deadfucks remember their life from before?” Smitty asked.
    “I don’t know? I try not to think about that kind of shit.” Chico was regaining his composure, and began reloading his shotgun with shells from his jacket pocket.
    “Me either. But with Augie turned into a superzombie, I’m wondering if he can remember where we are holed up at?” The last thing they needed right now was for the Augiezombie to lead Green Rivers ten thousand plus horde of zombies to Rainbow Lake.
    Up ahead, Angel was decelerating, bringing his bike along the driver’s side. Further down the highway, Smitty could see two large delivery vans approaching. The radio crackled from the floor between them. “Sgt. Gleason to Tucker do you copy?”
    “The cavalry to the rescue.” Chico piped, loading the last shell into the chamber of his weapon.
    “Answer the radio, give them a report.” Smitty settled back into his seat, trying to get as comfortable as possible, trying to forget about the pain of his bullet wounds.
    “Maybe this will help ease your pain?” Chico offered an unlit joint in is free hand as he reached for the radio with his other. “It’s my special blend.” Which meant it was sprinkled with heroin.
    “Maybe.” Smitty said with a smile, putting the joint in his lip and reaching for a light…

 
    CHAPTER 13
     
     
    Tuesday, August 7, 2001
    Mountain View, WY
    5:52 PM
     
     
    General Jenkins stood outside the front entrance of the lodge, smoking a cigarette, waiting for the Mountain View security chief to come down. For the past two days a delegation of Council members consisting of Patty, Matt, Dr. Reilly and Jenkins, as well as Alphas One, Two and Three, had been staying at Mountain View, bringing their leader, Hughes, and his people up to date on what had happened to the world. They had taken the news of the Krylok invasion rather well. After all, once you had come to terms with the fact that the dead were coming back to life, was an alien invasion really that much more of a stretch? Now they were trying to decide how best to continue forward.
    Jenkins had ordered Captain Turner to mop up the fifty or so deadfucks scattered in the nearby towns of Urie and Lyman. They were handled easy enough, but Jenkins was more concerned with the Sentinel that had once been a member of Smitty Tuckers crew of Freebooters. Smitty had assured him that the Augiezombie had been terribly mutilated and would not be one hundred percent operational. He doubted it could access the biker's memories, but a superzombie running wild in the region, with ten thousand plus deadfucks in Green River at its disposal, was a bad situation no matter how you sliced it. So far the security patrols out along I-80 had reported no sign of advancing zombies from Green River, but Jenkins knew that wouldn’t last. Sooner or later that Sentinel would start herding them southwest along I-80, towards home.
    “Let’s do it.” Came a gruff voice over his shoulder, and Jenkins turned to see the security chief, Boone, had finally presented himself. Boone was a middle-aged, nondescript man with a crew cut and a clean shave. His eyes were a shade of grey, and his teeth stained yellow from coffee and cigarettes. He wore standard military fatigues and combat boots, with a combat utility belt clasped around his waist. An AK-47 was slung over one shoulder, a pistol and a machete on either hip. In one hand was a thick Manila folder while in the other was a tin cup of coffee. Pre-plague, Boone had been a rightwing, militant white supremacist, who saw the world through a prism of vast secret societies conducting clandestine warfare with one another for control of the world. The realities of the walking dead had quickly forced him to reassess his racial bigotry; after all, when the dead were rising up and devouring the living, a live human being, no matter their skin color, was a blessed sight. But he still held a deep suspicion for the United States Military Industrial Complex,