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Preview of UPFTD Book2: Pt5
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.
And now the continuation of Up From the Depths
UP FROM THE DEPTHS BOOK 2: THE JOURNEY HOME
Willis awoke to a throbbing headache. He quickly closed his eyes tight against the pain and grimaced. Keeping his eyes closed he used his other senses to detect what was around him. The first thing he noticed was the intense aroma/smell of freshly cut trees followed closely by that acrid stench of hot metal. He as aware of the helicopter bulkhead which he was resting against, presumably still buckled into the troop seat. Taking an inventory of his body parts he was relieved that everything was still attached and working albeit painfully. Turning he head only resulted in a throbbing pain in his temples but concluded that his spine was still functional and working. Squinting open his eyes, he moved his right arm and hand slowly to feel his upper body and face. There were some small cuts in his uniform but nothing major. It appeared that all his gear was still attached to his load-bearing vest. He became aware of a steady dripping sound.
At first he thought it might be leaking fluids from the crashed Blackhawk that he was still strapped to. But that would mean that fuel and/or hydraulic fluids were leaking out that might contact any residual hot metal and turn this wreck into a funeral pyre. Moving his right hand down to his waist, he unbuckled the safety belt and used both his arms to lever himself up to a sitting position. It seemed unbearably difficult until he realized that the Blackhawk was resting on its right side and he was pushing not only against his own body weight but gravity as well. The troop door on the left side of the aircraft, the side he remembered he had been seated on, was missing.
Looking back up the hillside, he saw the door lying there where it had been torn off. A short distance from the door was the crumpled body of the middle-aged man he had come to know as Robert Kennedy. From the looks of the body and the fact that Kennedy’s head was facing the wrong direction, it was unlikely that he had survived beyond the initial impact. Willis turned onto his right side and looked forward towards the ****pit.
He could make out the forms of the pilots. Both their flight helmets were visible. The crew chief/flight engineer was impaled onto a piece of tree limb that come through the windscreen. Obviously dead as the limb had gone into the man’s face and out the back of his helmet, sticking up like a spire coated in blood and brain matter. The two pilots had taken the brunt of the impact and looked to be some sort of grotesque symbiotic organism mixed with the shredded trees, dirt and rocks that the Blackhawk had impacted into. Rolling over onto his stomach, Willis pulled himself to the corner of the bulkhead and peered ‘down’ towards the rest of the troop compartment.
Hannaberry and Captain Brandon were still strapped into their seats. Brandon’s long blonde hair had come undone from the field expedient bun she had done it up in. She appeared to be alive. Her hair hid her features and was spread over Hannaberry. A small line of blood was visible from the corner of her mouth. Willis levered himself over the edge and stood on the back of the pilots armored seat then holding onto one of the overhead grab straps, reached down to check Brandon’s pulse. Her skin was warm and her heartbeat steady. Below her, Hannaberry moved a little and then groaned.
“*******.” He muttered as he moved some more. Berry’s arm came up as he grabbed his head. Willis was glad that at least two people beside him were still alive.
“Berry, can you move?”
“Ell-tee?” Berry asked “What the f*ck?”
---
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, 10:51 pm
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