Zombie Killers: HEAT (12 page)

Epilogue

I woke when the sun hit me, my mouth screaming for water as I lay on the beach, on an unrecognizable shore. I rolled over and looked down at my leg; my prosthetic was barely hanging by its nylon straps. Saying a short prayer of thanks I tightened it, then struggled back into my pants, which had twisted around my neck. My boots were gone, but I still had a sock on my good foot. It would have to do for now. My camelback had gone the same way as my boots, but I didn’t think water in Florida would be that much of a problem.

Glancing around quickly, I saw no immediate threat, so I did the second rule of scouts. Inventory. My .22 pistol was still secure in its leg holster, but the spare mags were gone, and somehow, I hadn’t ditched my survival buttpack. Maybe the air in it had helped keep me afloat, I didn’t remember. In it were a stripped down MRE, a box of fifty .22 LR shells, Gerber multi-tool, a small five shot .22 revolver, water purification tablets, a collapsible cup, one hundred feet of parachute cord, compass, a disposable Bic lighter, and a small, lightweight hammock. And a spoon, thank God. I quickly thumbed out the rounds from the automatic’s magazine, unchambered it, and feverishly disassembled and reassembled the pistol, trying to dry all the parts. It would work for now, but salt water was extremely corrosive. Gun oil would have to be found somewhere. I reloaded from the box of spare ammo, glancing around with my back to the sea. Then I did the same for the revolver, even though it had seemed dry wrapped in the pack.

My next order of business was, where the hell was I, and was there anyone else around me? I looked out to sea, and saw nothing in the distance but the sun just over the horizon. In front of me, drifting in the waves, was the body of a Mountain Republic soldier, recognizable by his green BDU uniform. Even as I looked, it was pulled under by either a shark or barracuda.

To my left, the beach stretched away southward, empty except for the usual garbage of civilization. To my right, a hundred meters off, another body was washed up, lower down in the water, being tossed to and fro by the gentle surf. I staggered to it, hoping it was a sailor or one of the Mountain Republic prisoners, and not anyone I knew. As I got closer, the mutlicam uniform betrayed my fears, and my heart began to pound. I ran, tears blinding me, and rolled the body over.

The pale, swollen face of Obi looked up at me with dead, accusing eyes.  

To Be Continued.

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