Zombies Ever After: Sirens of the Zombie Apocalypse, Book 6 by E.E. Isherwood Page B

heat, though it
sounded like the explosions were still inside the house.
    He was feet from the tree when he finally got what he expected. A
massive explosion ripped out the back of the house and he felt a hot
barbecue grill blast of heat on his bare back.
    He jumped for the safety of the tree.
    His only thought was whether Victoria was burning inside.

Chapter
5: Bathed in Fire
    Liam woke up against the protective barrier of the gigantic pine
tree. He'd found the only cover in the entire yard he could reach
before the house exploded, and it saved him.
    Thank you, Mr. Lodgepole Pine.
    A prayer of thanks to God was on the tip of his tongue when a man
in a military uniform popped through the shrubs near the back of the
large yard. A black battle rifle pointed menacingly in his direction.
Liam's sad-looking shotgun lay in the grass a few feet away. He'd let
go of that, but had held Victoria's shirt during the explosion and
subsequent cook off of all the ammo—a show which continued even
now.
    Six more soldiers appeared. He recognized the whir of a small
drone hovering nearby, though they kept it out of sight. The men kept
their distance from the house fire. Most took a knee, but one man
jogged through their line and covered the distance to him. He kept
the tree between himself and the fire.
    Liam was too surprised to say anything as the man approached.
    The Marine was far less jovial than their last meeting. Weeks ago,
back at Camp Hope, Liam and Victoria had “escaped” into
the woods, rather than help the military.
    “Mr. Peters,” he said with maximum hostility.
    Over the days and weeks of the disaster, he'd had his run-ins with
the United States Marine Corps, and he'd discussed it endlessly in
the down times with Mel, Phil, and his father. One thing that had
come up was the proper battle cry. It was different for each branch
of the military. He had no defense for what he'd done, so he was left
with falling on his sword.
    “Oorah, sir.”
    “Don't give me shit, son.” Lt. Colonel Joseph
Brandyweis strode next to him and looked around the trunk of the
great tree so he could see the ruins of the mansion. He whistled. “I
knew you were trouble. I just knew it. You teenagers are nothing
but.” He turned back to Liam. “The world is burning in
disease, and my task is hunting down a snot-nosed punk kid who seems
to be at the scene of every big fire—and here you are causing
the damned things. Is this all you've been doing?”
    “Sir, I didn't cause this. It was—”
    “Save it. I can't trust a word you say. Not after that stunt
back in the woods.”
    “I gave you that phone number!” He was a little more
emotional than he wanted. But it was true he did give him the phone
number of where Grandma Marty was being held. He didn't want that
overlooked.
    “Son, do you know how many of my men died because of that
phone number?” His tone was only slightly less hostile.
    Liam had a pretty good guess. He'd seen the bodies of the Marines,
not to mention he saw the other V-22 Osprey crash in Busch Stadium
while his plane dusted off stuffed with survivors. That was a
question he didn't want to touch.
    “I had no idea any of that would happen,” he said with
proper contrition. Then, hoping with all his will he could change the
direction of the conversation, he continued. “How did you find
me? I've been...lost. By myself. For days.”
    The colonel studied him. Liam switched places and imagined what he
must look like. He'd cleaned himself up, but only superficially. He
still had no shirt on and carried angry red welts from being stuck a
dozen times by the tagging darts. His blue jeans were muddy, bloody,
and dirty. His once-colorful running shoes were now drab brown. His
hair was probably standing straight up like a troll doll.
    He innocently ran a hand through his hair, as he wondered if it
had been burned off in the explosion. His fingers ran through actual
hair, causing him to sigh in relief.
    “You look like hell, I'll