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Preview of UPFTD BOOK2: Pt 3
Title: UP FROM THE DEPTHS BOOK 2: The Journey Home Sneak Preview
Author: SLASH MARAUD
Rating: 18+
Disclaimer: Purely a concept derived from my demented imagination and too many Romero films
Summary: This story is written for mature readers given the content, violence and language issues therein contained. This story does contain some harsh adult language not just for the sake of typing it but to get the reader into the perspective of how tense the situation is as well as add credibility to the character. Hardened soldiers, especially Special Forces or Naval Special Operators or soldiers in general sure don’t use words like ’golly’, ‘gosh darn it’ or ‘dag nabbit’. There are some depictions of graphic violence and gore. Again this was not done in any attempt to gross out the reader but merely as a plot device to show how deadly the infected humans had become or how severe the situation is from the character’s perspective. There is no sexual content, although it might be hinted at. This is only a sneak preview of Book 2.
FOR YOUR READING PLEASURE, THE FINAL ACTS OF UP FROM THE DEPTHS
Quintana opened his eyes and looked at his watch. Only a few minutes remained and this little corner of the world would be cleansed of the unbelievers. Deep inside the federal center, the reactor was reaching the final stages of critical mass. The heat within the engineering section would have been enough to burn skin off and melt bone. At this point, the reactor reached the final stage, an ominous quiet settled over it until a little spark, much like a capacitor firing, sent an impulse through the reactor. A chain reaction began as the process built on itself, energy waiting to be released as the plutonium core ‘doubled’ on itself, the reactor exploded with a force of 10 billion billion watts of power, one hundred thousand times the electrical generating capacity of the entire world, and the process had scarcely begun. The levels above the reactor became part of the reaction, melting down into the exposed reactor chamber as the reaction traveled at over ten percent the speed of light, 20,000 miles per second.
The blast came next as it destroyed the complex from inside out. Had anyone been on the surface, they would have seen a bulging of the ground around the center then a sudden suction pulling everything into the collapsing crater. All that remained of the Dupont Federal Center was a cloud of dirt and a large irradiated hole. The energy effect sent out was known as an Electro Magnetic Pulse or EMP. Even though the blast was underground, the EMP, slightly slowed by its passage through the ground, still traveled for a 50-mile radius, destroying all unshielded electronics.
Most of the aircraft were outside the radius except one. The Seahawk carrying Willis, his SEAL team, Captain Brandon and the newly rescued survivors. They had been enroute to the LPH when the call came to clear the airspace. The Seahawk pilot took the big bird to NOE to make sure that the tactical fighters had room to engage. He had pushed the large helicopter to its maximum speed in a race to reach the relative safety of the small foothills surrounding Dupont. This was his only option, as retracing his flight path would take him back over the city. Heading for the hills was the only safe egress from the incoming missiles, placing a solid ridgeline between his aircraft and the hostile inbounds, hopefully masking his heat and radar signatures. Clearing the first low set of hills was when the EMP burst reached them. Warning buzzers sounded as several key components shut off or were damaged. The crew chief turned his head and yelled back.
“Brace! Brace!” He tightened his shoulder straps then turned back to the task of helping the pilots fight the crippled helo. Willis checked his seat belt before looking over to make sure his team was secure. Captain Brandon was buckled into the center troop bench, her hands white knuckled as she gripped the seat. Hannaberry sat next to her, reached down and verified his belt was tight, trying hard to keep his face blank and not show the anxiety he actually felt. Smith was on the starboard side of the aircraft. His view was of the ground rushing up to meet him. He glanced over at the two teenagers strapped into the troop bench beside him and forced a smirk. It was a weak attempt to calm them. Jimbo and Melody were terrified. Jimbo looked at Melody, her eyes wide and frightened. He couldn’t help but think that they had come this far only to die in a crash. Smith looked to his left, the middle aged woman who had been with the kids was moaning her husband’s name softly, barely discernible over the noise of the slipstream. Her head was pressed hack into the bulkhead, eyes closed, hands a death grip on the overhead grab bar. Willis felt the tail of the aircraft start to slide to one side, his stomach racing to reach his throat, as altitude was lost rapidly. He saw the middle aged man, Robert, fumble with his lap belt. The troop compartment was now quiet from the lack of turbine noise and rotor beat. The only sound was of alarms and wind passing by less than a foot from him. Willis was able to hear one of the pilots calling in a mayday.
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Every normal man must be tempted at times to spit upon his hands, hoist the black flag and begin slitting throats... -H.L. Mencken
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Aug/9/2008, 10:48 pm
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