Zombie Battle (Books 1-3): Trinity by Jacqueline Druga Page B
Authors: Jacqueline Druga
Tags: Zombie Apocalypse
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okay. I’m positive. Colonel Manning was there the longest and I spoke to him ten minutes ago. Relax. He’s fine. He’s absolutely fine. If he’s not showing symptoms yet, no one is.”
<><><><>
Colonel Manning made one more phone call from the back of the limousine. It was quick; it was to base, informing them he was going to be heading to Atlanta shortly. He coughed once as he placed down the phone, holding back the gag the cough had caused him.
Sweat grew on his brow and he wiped it. His stomach churned and that antacid wasn’t working. The flight was bumpy and he always was prone to airsickness. He suffered what he believed was the worst case of airsickness he ever had. The long ride to Washington in a hot limo wasn’t helping him either.
Manning knew he had to deal with it. Take another pill and be strong. He relaxed somewhat but not all the way. He couldn’t. Before long, he would arrive in Washington. He had to meet with the president. When that debriefing was finished, then Manning could relax. And after the meeting, he had to catch another flight to Atlanta right away; he wasn’t sure his poor stomach could handle it.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Berlin, Germany
The officials in Germany were able to cap the media and keep the truth from leaking. And the truth was . . . things were out of control.
The injured were taken to the hospitals and they in turn had infected others.
People were urged to leave or stay secured within their homes. The infection caused maddening behavior and homicidal tendencies in those infected.
That was the information the public was given.
The four youths, no older than twenty, decided they were staying behind in Berlin with their parents. It wasn’t looking good and the constant blaring of sirens was eerie and frightening.
They packed up with all intentions of heading to Italy. One of the youths had friends there.
The health authorities had set up military check points on the outskirts of the city and the four youths made it through, cleared of any signs of infection.
They felt safe.
Taking the back country roads was, in their minds, the best way to go. The exodus was causing major traffic jams everywhere.
Traveling at a good pace, just about ten miles from Berlin, they spotted the straggler. He moved slowly.
They felt bad for this man. He obviously, like them, had made it through the check points. He was probably tired and the young driver pulled over to see if he wanted a ride.
Winding down his window, he called to the man, wiggling his fingers as he pulled up to him. Calling out, ‘do you need a ride?”
The straggler stopped and turned to the car.
The youths didn’t know it was Hans Riesman, but they knew instantly something was wrong with him. He growled and snarled; his face white and bloody.
Hans lunged for the car but the driver was quicker and they sped away.
Picking up speed, the driver breathed out in relief. They got away from that mad man. Yes, he was slightly injured when the straggler scratched him, but he got away. He would keep driving until they couldn’t drive anymore. Only when they were far away from Berlin or even out of the country, would they stop. Then, and only then, would they truly feel safe.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Atlanta, Georgia
Ashley Simon had worked for the Centers for Disease Control for ten years. She was a lab technician and knew her job well. But it was the first time in her entire career that the prospect of a new virus frightened her. That fear stayed with her as she gathered up the last of the blood samples prior to the extermination that would take place.
There were only a few ‘alive’ patients remaining and she was on the last one, the last sample. Perhaps that made her lax, she didn’t know.
But her usual firm grip on the hub went out the door when the patient jerked violently. A patient she assumed was heavily sedated. The needle and hub unit ripped through the surface of the skin, flew up in the air and slammed
<><><><>
Colonel Manning made one more phone call from the back of the limousine. It was quick; it was to base, informing them he was going to be heading to Atlanta shortly. He coughed once as he placed down the phone, holding back the gag the cough had caused him.
Sweat grew on his brow and he wiped it. His stomach churned and that antacid wasn’t working. The flight was bumpy and he always was prone to airsickness. He suffered what he believed was the worst case of airsickness he ever had. The long ride to Washington in a hot limo wasn’t helping him either.
Manning knew he had to deal with it. Take another pill and be strong. He relaxed somewhat but not all the way. He couldn’t. Before long, he would arrive in Washington. He had to meet with the president. When that debriefing was finished, then Manning could relax. And after the meeting, he had to catch another flight to Atlanta right away; he wasn’t sure his poor stomach could handle it.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Berlin, Germany
The officials in Germany were able to cap the media and keep the truth from leaking. And the truth was . . . things were out of control.
The injured were taken to the hospitals and they in turn had infected others.
People were urged to leave or stay secured within their homes. The infection caused maddening behavior and homicidal tendencies in those infected.
That was the information the public was given.
The four youths, no older than twenty, decided they were staying behind in Berlin with their parents. It wasn’t looking good and the constant blaring of sirens was eerie and frightening.
They packed up with all intentions of heading to Italy. One of the youths had friends there.
The health authorities had set up military check points on the outskirts of the city and the four youths made it through, cleared of any signs of infection.
They felt safe.
Taking the back country roads was, in their minds, the best way to go. The exodus was causing major traffic jams everywhere.
Traveling at a good pace, just about ten miles from Berlin, they spotted the straggler. He moved slowly.
They felt bad for this man. He obviously, like them, had made it through the check points. He was probably tired and the young driver pulled over to see if he wanted a ride.
Winding down his window, he called to the man, wiggling his fingers as he pulled up to him. Calling out, ‘do you need a ride?”
The straggler stopped and turned to the car.
The youths didn’t know it was Hans Riesman, but they knew instantly something was wrong with him. He growled and snarled; his face white and bloody.
Hans lunged for the car but the driver was quicker and they sped away.
Picking up speed, the driver breathed out in relief. They got away from that mad man. Yes, he was slightly injured when the straggler scratched him, but he got away. He would keep driving until they couldn’t drive anymore. Only when they were far away from Berlin or even out of the country, would they stop. Then, and only then, would they truly feel safe.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Atlanta, Georgia
Ashley Simon had worked for the Centers for Disease Control for ten years. She was a lab technician and knew her job well. But it was the first time in her entire career that the prospect of a new virus frightened her. That fear stayed with her as she gathered up the last of the blood samples prior to the extermination that would take place.
There were only a few ‘alive’ patients remaining and she was on the last one, the last sample. Perhaps that made her lax, she didn’t know.
But her usual firm grip on the hub went out the door when the patient jerked violently. A patient she assumed was heavily sedated. The needle and hub unit ripped through the surface of the skin, flew up in the air and slammed
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