The Rooster (Erotic Apocalyptic Thriller) (7 page)

Danielle pushed me back down when I tried to
stand. “As dumb as ever. ‘Zombie’ just describes the victims from
the first few generations of the virus. I’m fifth generation
‘evolved,’ baby.” She hiked up her shirt. Only the slightest scars
where three half-inch thick bullets had perforated her. “We can
control the rage, even use it for such cool tricks. Like any virus
that doesn’t want to die out, it eventually finds a symbiosis with
the host. Now, don’t worry your pretty little head over the
details. I can still use you.”

She waved an arm at her army in the
distance. “Everyone in this sausage fest is infected. And impotency
is one hell of a rough evolutionary side effect. We need a pure
blood to reproduce. So here’s the deal. You’re going to work for
us, like you did Espinoza and-” In a grey and red flash, Danielle
disappeared. Neither of us had heard the purring of a Prius over
the shooting a hundred yards away. The car slammed on the brakes
and backed up. A door popped open.

Rachel was behind the wheel. “Quit flirting
and get your dumb ass in here!” I wedged into the backseat, much
like on my first day. These were all “troublemaker” women and never
any of my “clients.” What a relief to hear a woman hiss “Fuck off,”
rather than lean forward when I accidentally squeezed her breast in
the dark. The machine gun above burped endlessly as we sped off
into the darkness. The girl next to me reached for another pipe
bomb to toss out the window and squealed when her hand wrapped
around my pipe instead. “Asshole!” she muttered while lighting
another bomb.

In the cramped darkness with hot brass
casings raining from the roof onto my lap, I smiled wide. Through
the rearview mirror, Rachel locked eyes with me and mouthed: “We
need to fucking talk!” Yeah, it was going to be a good day. Life
was back to normal.

The Beginning

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Read on for a sample of my
military/political thriller, Power Games: Operation Enduring Unity
1.

November 7th, 20soon

All the waving red, white and blue bunting
had a slightly nauseating effect, when stared at long enough
through a 13 power scope. John Randall raised his cheek off the
rifle’s stock and forced a ragged breath. He even managed to blink.
The damn debate moderator kept droning on longer than expected.
Well, after a month of planning another minute couldn’t hurt. Any
moment he was going to make history.

From nearly 400 yards away and 4 stories
high, he could still hear the idiotic cheering fire up again. When
the beaming face of Senator Dimone came into focus a relaxing wave
of finality dampened his adrenaline fire. That rich tool was about
to make the last speech of his perverted presidential bid.

Ah, but first he must shake hands with his
opponent, Speaker of the House Terry Scott. The only real man on
that stage. John felt a brief flash of regret. He wasn’t a complete
psychopath. Deep down, he knew this isn’t what the congressman
meant by: “Enough talk; it’s time for action!”

But all those long hours spent volunteering
and canvassing for the congressman’s campaign seemed so trivial,
when stacked against the billion dollars poured into his
challenger’s various PACs by unknown donors. Remembering how every
spare moment of the last year of John’s life, so lovingly invested
in trying to save his dear country, could be so casually brushed
aside by some corporatist conspiring brought the rage back.

While no one would confuse John Randall for
a true sharpshooter, firing a box a day of .30-06 for a month on a
500 yard range sure builds confidence. He slid the window open and
took up as comfortable a position as he could out on the sill. Just
like in the movies. He was even dressed head to toe in black.

The reassuring weight of his semiautomatic
rifle, bought without a paper trail from some gun show, relaxed him
as much as noticing the wind dying down. Perfect conditions.
Shifting his weight, he savored the God-like sense of power from
his perch. Randall drank in the grinning face of his prey at the
other end of the scope…perhaps a moment too long.

With his left eye shut tight and his whole
world focused on the golden clasp of that $1,000 power tie, he
failed to notice some Secret Service agent a few feet from the
target clutch his earpiece and shout. He sure noticed the chest
caving impact of an alert counter sniper’s round ripping through
his left lung a split-second later.

The well-practiced, gentle squeeze on the
trigger became a rather untidy jerk. His body raced the spent
casing to the ground, but he felt no regret. Savoring the fresh
scent of decisive action and sweet gun smoke gave him a greater
sense of peace than people would expect from someone drowning in
their own blood.

*

Congressman Scott wondered what kind of
political stunt this was when someone yelled “Get down!” and his
opponent shrieked like a girl. The pieces slowly came together when
the craaack of something split the air, followed by his screaming
rival falling backwards.

It all became crystal clear when the round
missed the senator, struck a flagpole behind him and ricocheted
through the base of Congressman Scott’s neck instead. With the
vertebrae shredded, Scott was dead before his body hit the ground.
But even so, his disjointed head still made a comical bobbing
motion closely imitating his “Together, we can!” advertisements…all
in front of the live, primetime coverage cameras.

Millions of voters watched their hopes die
in high-definition detail. Thousands of filthy rich campaign donors
saw a huge investment vanish faster than any stock market “flash
crash.” Hundreds of other politicians witnessed the entire
political landscape turn upside down. A half dozen television
networks observed their ratings skyrocket. Regardless of what each
saw from their unique perspectives, they all drew the same
conclusion: whether they liked it or not, violence was now the
decisive force in American politics. It was a lesson none would
soon forget.

“Society was cut in two: those who had
nothing united in common envy; those who had anything united in
common terror.”

– Alexis de Tocqueville, Recollections on
the French Revolution

About the Author

Richard Peters is the
author of the Operation Enduring Unity series. He served from
2002-2007 as an artillery spotter in the US Army. Richard spent 27
months in two tours bringing peace at any price to the
post-apocalyptic streets and mahalla’s of
Baghdad.
He
currently lives with his wife and son in Germany and runs his own
technical services business.