World War Z_ An Oral History of the Zombie War ( PDFDrive )

them. I’d lost that nanosecond timing when I hit the mud, now it was back. I was calm, I was
focused, all the doubt and weakness were gone. The whole engagement felt like ten hours, but I
guess in reality, it was more like ten minutes. Sixty-one in total, a nice thick ring of submerged
corpses. I took my time, checked my remaining ammo and waited for the next wave to come. None
did.
It was another twenty minutes before Mets asked me for an update. I gave her a body count and
she told me to remind her never to piss me off. I laughed, the first time since I’d hit the mud. I felt
good again, strong and confident. Mets warned me that all these distractions had erased any
chance of making it to the I-10 before nightfall, and that I should probably start thinking about
where I was gonna catch my forty.
I got as far away from the SUV as I could before the sky started to darken and found a decent
enough perch in the branches of a tall tree. My kit had this standard-issue microfiber hammock;
great invention, light and strong and with clasps to keep you from rolling out. That part was also
supposed to help calm you down, help you get to sleep faster…yeah, right! It didn’t matter that I’d
already been up for close to forty-eight hours, that I’d tried all the breathing exercises they taught
us at the Creek, or that I even slipped two of my Baby-Ls. 6 You’re only supposed to take one, but I
figured that was for lightweight wussies. I was me again, remember, I could handle it, and hey, I
needed to sleep.
I asked her, since there was nothing else to do, or think about, if it was okay to talk about her.
Who was she, really? How’d she end up in this isolated cabin in the middle of Cajun country? She
didn’t sound Cajun, she didn’t even have a southern accent. And how did she know so much about
pilot training without ever going through it herself? I was starting to get my suspicions, starting to
piece together a rough outline of who she really was.
Mets told me, again, that there would be plenty of time later for an episode of The View. Right
now I needed my sleep, and to check in with her at dawn. I felt the Ls kick in between “check” and
“in.” I was out by “dawn.”
I slept hard. The sky was already light by the time I opened my eyes. I’d been dreaming about,
what else, Zack. His moans were still echoing in my ears when I woke up. And then I looked down
and realized they weren’t dreams. There must have been at least a hundred of them surrounding
the tree. They were all reaching excitedly, all trying to climb over each other to get up to me. At
least they couldn’t ramp up, the ground wasn’t solid enough. I didn’t have the ammo to take all of
them out, and since a firefight might also buy time for more to show up, I decided it was best to
pack up my gear and execute my escape plan.
You had planned for this?
Not really planned, but they’d trained us for situations like this. It’s a lot like jumping from an
aircraft: pick your approximate landing zone, tuck and roll, keep loose, and get up as quick as you
can. The goal is to put some serious distance between you and your attackers. You take off running,
jogging, or even “speed walking”; yes, they actually told us to consider this as a low-impact
alternative. The point is to get far enough way to give you time to plan your next move. According
to my map, the I-10 was close enough for me to make a run for it, be spotted by a rescue chopper,
and be lifted off before these stink bags would ever catch up. I got on the radio, reported my
situation to Mets, and told her to signal S&R for an immediate pickup. She told me to be careful. I
crouched, I jumped, and cracked my ankle on a submerged rock.