Die Trying: A Zombie Apocalypse (25 page)

Jessica shook her head. “I think it broke down. He couldn’t get it to start. I heard him trying. I thought he’d left me in the trunk to die.”

“Get in,” I said again. “Let the brake off. You’ll roll down the hill.”

She understood instantly. With the Taurus parked on the crest of the rise it would only take momentum to send it rolling down the gentle slope, carrying her at least to the Pentelle turnoff and to safety. She glanced quickly over her shoulder and gave a little gasp of dread, but her expression stayed grim with determination.

“You too,” she insisted. She got behind me and tried to lift me into the passenger seat of the car. I shook my head, groaning and weak, but she got her hands under my armpits and cried out with the effort. Blood spilled across the blacktop
and across the car seat. I slumped heavily and heard the door slam.

Jessica flung herself behind the wheel and scraped her tangled hair back from her face. She was breathing hard, like she was on the verge of hyperventilating. I saw her glance up into the rear view mirror and shriek.

She slipped the handbrake and the Taurus began to inch forward, the tires crunching over broken glass. She clung to the steering wheel with white knuckles, her eyes darting from the mirrors to the road ahead and then back again. The car picked up speed, slowly gaining momentum until we rolled past the wrecked Yukon. I saw dark flashes loom up beside the car. I heard heavy thumps beat upon the panels. I heard Jessica scream – and then suddenly all was silent but for the sound of the car’s tires whispering across the blacktop.

We rolled to the bottom of the slope and Jessica got the car into the off-ramp lane, turning the wheel in short anxious jerks until she had the vehicle lined up with the
bend. The speed of the Taurus bled away, carrying us into the turn and down the ramp before rolling to a halt on a narrow tree-lined stretch of road.

Jessica slumped back in the driver’s seat and gave a ragged shaky gasp of relief
. She turned to me, and I felt the tender touch of her hand, trembling, but warm on my cheek. I forced my eyes to focus, blinking through a fog of pain – and saw her thrust her head suddenly forward, tense and alert, staring up through the windshield as she frantically hunted the sky.

I barely noticed.
I could feel death’s hand reaching out for me; feel the whisper touch of its fingertips begin to squeeze the last ounces of life from within. I took a long deep breath, and felt something deep inside my chest tear. My ears were ringing and then the noise became a loud thumping drone – a sound I couldn’t clear. I squeezed my eyes tightly shut, and when I opened them again, the sound had become a beating roar.

I slumped back in the seat, and
shook my head.

Jessica was smiling at me, her mouth forming words I couldn’t hear,
and couldn’t understand. She pointed out through the windshield and her eyes filled with joyous tears that streamed down the swelling of her bruised cheek. She clapped her hands together and then covered her mouth as though muttering some silent prayer of relief and gratitude.

I turned my head. A helicopter hung just inches above the road, settling
down on its wide skids amidst a haze of dust and debris that filled the air like a sandstorm. I saw the word ‘Navy’ near the tail rotor and a big blue roundel inset with the white star painted on the fuselage, before three dark bulky shapes spilled from the open doorway. Two of the men ran to the rear of the car, carrying weapons held high across their chests, their faces dour and tense. The third man ran directly towards the vehicle.

I drifted in and out of darkness. Howling wind whipped and shredded the trees
, and the air filled with dust that was hurled across the windshield with the sound like horizontal rain.

I heard more noise, suddenly louder, and a rush of wind swirled in through the driver’s side door. I rolled my head slowly to the side and saw a man wearing a heavy helmet with a microphone obscuring his mouth. The man had calm steady eyes. He was hunched in through the door
way, his face pressed close to Jessica’s. He was clutching a piece of white plastic, the size of a paperback book.

“Name?” the man had to shout above the percussive thump of the helicopter’s rotors.

“Jessica Margaret Steinman,” she said. The man’s eyes flicked to the plastic card and then back to her face.

“Your ACIN number?”

“Two-four-eight-seven.”

The man double checked, and then seemed
satisfied. He saluted. “You’re to come with me, Ms Steinman. Your father is aboard an aircraft carrier off Norfolk. He’s been expecting you.”

The
helmeted man took a grip of Jessica’s arm and hustled her from the car. I stared numbly, watching her scurry away towards the helicopter. She was shouting frantically up into the man’s face, and then suddenly she tore free from his grip and scampered back towards me. She flung open the passenger door and I felt myself slumping heavily.

“He comes too!” I heard her shout.

“Only authorized personnel,” the pilot shouted back. “I have strict orders.”

“He is authorized,” Jessica’s voice became
insistent and authoritative – a tone I’d never heard from her until this moment. “He’s my White House bodyguard.”

I felt gentle hands lift me from the car – big strong hands – that carried
me to the helicopter. Then more hands heaved me aboard and laid me out on the cold steel floor as the two armed troopers clambered back aboard the helicopter, their guns still aimed guardedly back along the road. There was flurry of activity, an urgent shout of voices, and then another man’s face hovered close mine, his brow furrowed, his expression sympathetic and kindly.

“You’ll make it,” the man said.

He had an oxygen mask in his hand and I saw it closing over my nose and mouth, but not before I heard Jessica Steinman’s voice once more, even louder than the drumming rotors.

“
Please take care of him,” she said. “His name is Colin. Colin Walker. He saved my life.”

The End.

Also available by Nicholas Ryan

Ground Zero: A Zombie Apocalypse

"Nicholas Ryan has delivered complete madness.
A bloody zombie-smash from start to finish. Any fan of the genre will have a blast reading this."

- D.J. MOLLES

Bestselling Author of 

'The Remaining', 'The Remaining: Aftermath', 'The Remaining: Refugees', 'The Remaining: Fractured'

Aboard a freighter bound for Baltimore harbor, an Iranian terrorist prepares to unleash an unimaginable horror upon the United States. The 'Wrath' is an undead plague - an infection that consumes its victims with a maddening rage and turns them into mindless
blood-thirsty killers.

Jack Cutter is just an ordinary guy dealing with a dreadful guilt when the virus tears through his
home town. Before it's too late, Cutter will have to find a way to survive, and find a reason to fight: HIS REDEMPTION. 

A review from
Little Blog of Horror

"When I think 
zombie novels
, I used to think 
Max Brooks
, but there is a new name I will think of from now on, 
Nicholas Ryan
.

Many zombie novels that I have read have been severely lacking the proper descriptiveness to draw the reader into the horror they are trying to give them.
 
Nicholas Ryan's
 '
Ground Zero
' is every bit as 
horrifying
 and descriptive as a 
Max Brooks
 novel.  The scenes he describes are 
terrifying
 and so 
vivid
 I almost feel like I am watching a 
George A. Romero
 film.  The way he depicts his characters and the scenarios that they are faced with, I could feel their 
fear
 and I felt as though I was watching all of these horrors unfold through the eyes of these terrified people.  He gave every character a back story, so you really get to know them and learn what makes them tick. This is what makes any story worth reading.

The twists and turns that his main character,
 
Jack Cutter
, faces are fantastically thought out.  The changes he goes through and the things he comes to terms with are both
heartbreaking
and
unsettling.

'
Ground Zero'
 is not a lengthy story, but packs all the punches of a 
Stephen King
 length novel.  None of the story feels rushed.  The natural flow of the novel from beginning to end is seamless and well thought out.  Through the time that I was reading it, I never thought "
well this could be better
" or "
he really should have added something here
".  '
Ground Zero'
 really is a work of art and has all of the makings of a real 
horror literary classic
.

I could not recommend '
Ground Zero'
 enough to anyone that enjoys a truly captivating horror story.  Even if you are not a fan of horror or 
zombie novels
, I would still give it a read.