Ragnarok Rising: The Awakening (Book One of The Ragnarok Rising Saga) by D.A. Roberts Page B
Authors: D.A. Roberts
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Unfortunately, it seemed to get their undivided attention.
Without slowing down, I rammed into the nearest mass of zombies. This took the pressure off of the four struggling officers, and they took the opportunity to run for the cruiser that I’d just cleared of obstacles. Two officers ran backwards covering the other two. One of which was practically carrying the other one, who looked injured. I turned a complete donut in the middle of the intersection, knocking one car sideways and scattering zombies like bowling pins.
Once the officers were safely in the car, I straightened out the Humvee . Then we shot down the south side of the embankment with the Fair Grove Police right on our tail. I bounced onto the road with a jolt, and I saw sparks fly off the bottom of the cruiser as it followed close behind. In seconds, we were flying side by side down the road towards Springfield. One officer rolled down the window on the passenger side and motioned for me to do the same. I tried to pull the latch and slide down my window, but it was almost impossible to do while driving.
I motioned for them to stop up the road where it appeared to be zombie free, for the moment. The zombies that were pursuing us were almost half a mile behind, and falling farther behind by the second. Once we topped the next hill, I started slowing down without pulling off the road. They matched my deceleration and stayed right beside me. As soon as we came to a complete stop, we all got out. The only one who remained in the vehicle was the injured Fair Grove officer.
“Thanks for the help,” said an officer whose name-plate read Griffith.
“No problem. We just happened to be in the neighborhood.”
“Where do we go, now?” said another officer, this one named Weaver.
“I was planning on heading back to the jail,” I said, shrugging.
“It hasn’t been overrun?” said the third officer.
His name-plate read Wells.
“Not as far as I know. By the way, how’s your injured officer? Is he hurt or was he bit?”
“Gun shot to the shoulder,” said Weaver. “He got hit by a stray round.”
“One of yours?” asked Spec-4.
“No, stray round from a group of red-necks in a pick-up,” said Wells, shaking his head. “They were driving past us earlier and shooting at zombies. Looked like they were drunk and having the time of their lives.”
“Yeah,” said Griffith. “We’d have gone after them, but we had bigger problems at the time.”
“Do you want to follow us, or meet us there?” I asked.
“We know the way,” said Weaver. “Besides, Wells lives on H Highway, on the way into town. We’re gonna stop by there and pick up some ammo and a few guns.”
“Alright,” I said. “Be safe and don’t get cut off. I’ll keep my radio on. Can you guys pick up the jail frequency?”
“Yeah,” replied Griffith. “We’ll tune in as soon as we’re back in the car.”
With that, we shook hands and piled back into our respective vehicles. They turned around and headed back a few hundred yards, to where H Highway meets 65 and turned off. We continued on directly towards Springfield.
Chapter Four
To The Rescue
“The supreme irony of life is that hardly anyone gets out of it alive.”
- Robert A. Heinlein
I thought that this was about as good a time as any to check in with the jail. I knew I couldn’t avoid it forever, although I was dreading doing it. The Sheriff probably wouldn’t be happy that we abandoned the roadblock. I just hoped that it wasn’t as bad for the rest of the county as it was for us. If it was, we were all screwed. With a resigned sigh, I reached over and keyed the mike on my shoulder.
“700, this is 829, over,” I said.
Nothing. Not even static.
I tried it again, but got the same results. Not even the chirp it makes as the handset activates. Pulling the radio off of my belt, I checked the faceplate. The battery was dead as the proverbial doornail. It hadn’t even chirped like it was supposed to,
Without slowing down, I rammed into the nearest mass of zombies. This took the pressure off of the four struggling officers, and they took the opportunity to run for the cruiser that I’d just cleared of obstacles. Two officers ran backwards covering the other two. One of which was practically carrying the other one, who looked injured. I turned a complete donut in the middle of the intersection, knocking one car sideways and scattering zombies like bowling pins.
Once the officers were safely in the car, I straightened out the Humvee . Then we shot down the south side of the embankment with the Fair Grove Police right on our tail. I bounced onto the road with a jolt, and I saw sparks fly off the bottom of the cruiser as it followed close behind. In seconds, we were flying side by side down the road towards Springfield. One officer rolled down the window on the passenger side and motioned for me to do the same. I tried to pull the latch and slide down my window, but it was almost impossible to do while driving.
I motioned for them to stop up the road where it appeared to be zombie free, for the moment. The zombies that were pursuing us were almost half a mile behind, and falling farther behind by the second. Once we topped the next hill, I started slowing down without pulling off the road. They matched my deceleration and stayed right beside me. As soon as we came to a complete stop, we all got out. The only one who remained in the vehicle was the injured Fair Grove officer.
“Thanks for the help,” said an officer whose name-plate read Griffith.
“No problem. We just happened to be in the neighborhood.”
“Where do we go, now?” said another officer, this one named Weaver.
“I was planning on heading back to the jail,” I said, shrugging.
“It hasn’t been overrun?” said the third officer.
His name-plate read Wells.
“Not as far as I know. By the way, how’s your injured officer? Is he hurt or was he bit?”
“Gun shot to the shoulder,” said Weaver. “He got hit by a stray round.”
“One of yours?” asked Spec-4.
“No, stray round from a group of red-necks in a pick-up,” said Wells, shaking his head. “They were driving past us earlier and shooting at zombies. Looked like they were drunk and having the time of their lives.”
“Yeah,” said Griffith. “We’d have gone after them, but we had bigger problems at the time.”
“Do you want to follow us, or meet us there?” I asked.
“We know the way,” said Weaver. “Besides, Wells lives on H Highway, on the way into town. We’re gonna stop by there and pick up some ammo and a few guns.”
“Alright,” I said. “Be safe and don’t get cut off. I’ll keep my radio on. Can you guys pick up the jail frequency?”
“Yeah,” replied Griffith. “We’ll tune in as soon as we’re back in the car.”
With that, we shook hands and piled back into our respective vehicles. They turned around and headed back a few hundred yards, to where H Highway meets 65 and turned off. We continued on directly towards Springfield.
Chapter Four
To The Rescue
“The supreme irony of life is that hardly anyone gets out of it alive.”
- Robert A. Heinlein
I thought that this was about as good a time as any to check in with the jail. I knew I couldn’t avoid it forever, although I was dreading doing it. The Sheriff probably wouldn’t be happy that we abandoned the roadblock. I just hoped that it wasn’t as bad for the rest of the county as it was for us. If it was, we were all screwed. With a resigned sigh, I reached over and keyed the mike on my shoulder.
“700, this is 829, over,” I said.
Nothing. Not even static.
I tried it again, but got the same results. Not even the chirp it makes as the handset activates. Pulling the radio off of my belt, I checked the faceplate. The battery was dead as the proverbial doornail. It hadn’t even chirped like it was supposed to,
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