The brightness was dazzling. A second later, there was an explosion. The house shook. His bookshelves crashed to the floor and pictures fell from the wall.
“What the fuck?”
Yelping, Woody dashed for the bathtub.
“Woody! Come back here right—”
Another explosion cut him off. Clods of dirt and grass flew into the air. Terry heard the sod splattering onto the roof. His front yard was now pockmarked with craters. Squawking, the undead birds took flight.
“Holy shit.”
Woody reappeared, creeping up behind his master and looking sheepish.
Terry heard a new sound, the deep rumbling of a motor. Moments later, an armored halftrack clanked down the street, followed by another and another. Then came Jeeps and Humvees and a tank. Soldiers dressed in what looked like radiation suits sprayed arcs of fire from the flamethrowers on their backs. The bull seal charged them and a second later; a burst from an M-16 dropped the creature in its tracks.
“It’s the army, Woody! We’re saved!”
Without thinking, Terry ran to the front door and unlocked it. Still clutching the rifle, he flung the door open. Barking, Woody dashed between his legs and ran outside.
“Woody, wait!”
The soldiers swiveled towards them.
Terry dropped the rifle and held up his hands.
“Don’t shoot. We’re not dead! Don’t—”
The rest of his pleas were drowned out by thunder. Woody yelped once, and then collapsed. He did not move. The ground around him was red.
“Woody!” Terry ran to him.
“Stop where you are,” a voice boomed through a bullhorn. “Keep your hands up.”
Terry collapsed to his knees in front of his dog, hands in the air, tears streaming down his face. Woody was no longer recognizable—especially his head.
Two soldiers cautiously approached him, their rifles un-slung and pointed at Terry.
“Say something,” one of them ordered. “We need to see if you’re one of them.”
Still staring at Woody, Terry cried, “Why?”
“He’s alive,” a soldier shouted. “Get a medic over here to look him over.”
The other soldier knelt beside Terry. He reached out and grasped the grieving man’s shoulder.
“Hey buddy, you okay?”
Terry stared up at him with red-rimmed eyes.
“My dog…you shot my dog, you fuckers!”
The firing stopped and somebody shouted out that the area was clear.
“Sorry about that.” The first soldier shook a cigarette out of its pack and fumbled for his lighter. “He charged us, man. Thought he was a zombie. But cheer up. You’re rescued.”
Terry coughed. “Rescued?”
“Yep,” the soldier said. “General Dunbar himself should be along in a minute, if you want to thank him.”
“Thank him?” Terry stumbled to his feet.
“Sure, man. He’s leading the fight, you know? Making things safe again.”
The second soldier nodded. “He’s in charge now. Everybody else is gone, or in hiding—or dead. General Dunbar is the man. He’s going around, kicking ass and taking names.”
The other took a drag off his cigarette and pointed at Terry’s rifle, lying in the dirt. “You know how to use that thing? If so, we could use you.”
Terry stooped and picked it up. He worked the lever.
“Use it? Yeah, I know how to use it.”
He pulled the trigger. The first soldier’s crotch turned red. Screaming, the man slumped to the ground, cigarette still dangling from his mouth.
“Thank you, you son of a bitch! Thanks for rescuing us…”
Terry thanked several more of them before they finally gunned him down. His body fell next to Woody’s. The troops made sure neither of them would get back up again.
The armored column rolled on. When it had departed from sight, the zombie birds returned to feast on what remained of their bodies.
THE SUMMONING
The Rising
Day Twelve
Land O’ Lakes, Florida
By noon, the rain had ended and the mercury skyrocketed again. The streets and sidewalks steamed in the heat. Outside the store, right along the main highway, a family of four
“What the fuck?”
Yelping, Woody dashed for the bathtub.
“Woody! Come back here right—”
Another explosion cut him off. Clods of dirt and grass flew into the air. Terry heard the sod splattering onto the roof. His front yard was now pockmarked with craters. Squawking, the undead birds took flight.
“Holy shit.”
Woody reappeared, creeping up behind his master and looking sheepish.
Terry heard a new sound, the deep rumbling of a motor. Moments later, an armored halftrack clanked down the street, followed by another and another. Then came Jeeps and Humvees and a tank. Soldiers dressed in what looked like radiation suits sprayed arcs of fire from the flamethrowers on their backs. The bull seal charged them and a second later; a burst from an M-16 dropped the creature in its tracks.
“It’s the army, Woody! We’re saved!”
Without thinking, Terry ran to the front door and unlocked it. Still clutching the rifle, he flung the door open. Barking, Woody dashed between his legs and ran outside.
“Woody, wait!”
The soldiers swiveled towards them.
Terry dropped the rifle and held up his hands.
“Don’t shoot. We’re not dead! Don’t—”
The rest of his pleas were drowned out by thunder. Woody yelped once, and then collapsed. He did not move. The ground around him was red.
“Woody!” Terry ran to him.
“Stop where you are,” a voice boomed through a bullhorn. “Keep your hands up.”
Terry collapsed to his knees in front of his dog, hands in the air, tears streaming down his face. Woody was no longer recognizable—especially his head.
Two soldiers cautiously approached him, their rifles un-slung and pointed at Terry.
“Say something,” one of them ordered. “We need to see if you’re one of them.”
Still staring at Woody, Terry cried, “Why?”
“He’s alive,” a soldier shouted. “Get a medic over here to look him over.”
The other soldier knelt beside Terry. He reached out and grasped the grieving man’s shoulder.
“Hey buddy, you okay?”
Terry stared up at him with red-rimmed eyes.
“My dog…you shot my dog, you fuckers!”
The firing stopped and somebody shouted out that the area was clear.
“Sorry about that.” The first soldier shook a cigarette out of its pack and fumbled for his lighter. “He charged us, man. Thought he was a zombie. But cheer up. You’re rescued.”
Terry coughed. “Rescued?”
“Yep,” the soldier said. “General Dunbar himself should be along in a minute, if you want to thank him.”
“Thank him?” Terry stumbled to his feet.
“Sure, man. He’s leading the fight, you know? Making things safe again.”
The second soldier nodded. “He’s in charge now. Everybody else is gone, or in hiding—or dead. General Dunbar is the man. He’s going around, kicking ass and taking names.”
The other took a drag off his cigarette and pointed at Terry’s rifle, lying in the dirt. “You know how to use that thing? If so, we could use you.”
Terry stooped and picked it up. He worked the lever.
“Use it? Yeah, I know how to use it.”
He pulled the trigger. The first soldier’s crotch turned red. Screaming, the man slumped to the ground, cigarette still dangling from his mouth.
“Thank you, you son of a bitch! Thanks for rescuing us…”
Terry thanked several more of them before they finally gunned him down. His body fell next to Woody’s. The troops made sure neither of them would get back up again.
The armored column rolled on. When it had departed from sight, the zombie birds returned to feast on what remained of their bodies.
THE SUMMONING
The Rising
Day Twelve
Land O’ Lakes, Florida
By noon, the rain had ended and the mercury skyrocketed again. The streets and sidewalks steamed in the heat. Outside the store, right along the main highway, a family of four
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