ZNIPER: A Sniper’s Journey Through The Apocalypse.

by Ward III, C.

  ZNIPER

  A sniper’s journey through the apocalypse

  By C. Ward 3

  © 2019 by C. Ward III

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  ISBN: 9781980597131

  www.MarksmanshipTrainingCenter.com

  www.GunfighterSeries.com

  I dedicate this book to…

  My family, my children, and the love of my life, aka FreckledFox1, the crusher of overconfident Halo gamers.

  Also to my good friend Kevin the Tactical Leprechaun; Raymond with his superior craftsmanship of Gundo Holsters; my old friend Crazy Chad, who can talk himself into—or out of—any situation; all my Marksmanship Training Center cadre, clients, and friends, whom I’ve learned so much from; my past, present, and future overseas deployment brothers-in-arms from all walks of life who share the common blood of patriots.

  And to all of those who suffered through the rough draft, chapter by chapter, yet still encouraged me to continue the story. Special thanks to the editors: Sidekick, Michelle, and Elite Authors.

  CONTENTS

  Foreword

  Acknowledgments

  PRELUDE

  STAGE ZERO

  PANDORA

  SHADOWS

  THROWING BRICS

  PANDORA’S PITHOS

  TRIGGERNOMETRY

  PANDORA’S EVIL

  STAGE ONE

  SMALL TOWN, USA

  PLOUTONION OPENED

  THE ROAD NOT TAKEN

  MONSTERS

  STAGE TWO

  UMBRA

  UNWANTED GUESTS

  SHACKING UP

  STAGE THREE

  ADVERSARIES

  PAYMENT PLAN

  INTEL

  THE WALL

  WOLF PACK

  PREGAME

  STAGE FOUR

  GAME TIME

  GAME OVER

  Баба-Яга

  HOMECOMING

  SILK ROAD

  COTERIE

  KILL OR BE KILLED

  SNAKE EATERS

  STAGE FIVE

  VISITING NEIGHBORS

  COMMAND AND CONTROL

  EPILOGUE

  AFTER PARTY

  THE HUNT

  Z FIGHTER

  Foreword

  CW3 depicts this as a work of fiction. Is it? I found myself floundering, fiction or non fiction? All too often relatable with parallels of life.

  Blind corpses walking the earth, infected and multiplying. Are we fiction or nonfiction?

  Maybe one of these days, the emergency broadcast system will not be a test....

  When all is lost, and daylight ends, I'll carry you and we will live forever,

  Your FreckledFox

  The world will never be the same. ZNIPER is an excellent science fiction novel, end of the world, biological accident turning people into twisted humanoid monsters. Ward has always impressed me with his all-encompassing zombie knowledge, and he introduces his vast military and tactical knowledge into the story as well. This will make the arm-chair quarter back military combat arms fan base very happy and won’t keep them up at night pondering if they should write a letter to the author, asking him to make a change they suggest. For other people, they may learn something interesting.

  The ZNIPER prelude starts out a couple of months into the zombie apocalypse, then jumps back into the start of the bio-disaster event of the century. Ward weaves the story through different lives involving story characters based on the personalities of real people, who’s unique skill sets, talents and social traits make for an interesting dynamic. As you read, you will be able to relate to the personalities and emotional situations that the characters face in this fantastic tale and as they navigate their unique situations. As I read the chapters as Ward made them up, I couldn’t wait to see what was going to happen next. It’s that type of read. With the story bounding from one life story to another, you are interested in seeing what’s happening to one person or set of people but can’t wait to see what the other people are experiencing. I couldn’t wait to read what was next and thoroughly enjoyed the story. I know you will also.

  Kevin Lippert – The Tactical Leprechaun

  Gunfighter, LLC Cofounder

  Acknowledgments

  This story has numerous zombie–horror pop cultural references hidden within that were inspired by a long list of great authors, screenwriters, and film producers. I am in no way associated with, nor am I taking credit for, the creative works listed in the back of this book. The references in my story do not take away or add value to the original creative work; furthermore, this story would read the exact same without the references.

  Half the fun of this story is stumbling into—or hunting for—the hidden zombie-culture Easter eggs. For this reason, the full acknowledgment treasure map is located at the end of the story. No peeking! That would spoil the surprises.

  PRELUDE

  Kickoff

  It’s all fun and games until...

  Over the past couple of months, their living conditions had deteriorated horribly. He was always hungry. He was always tired. And he hadn’t played video games in months. The everyday stress levels were far worse than any school exam ever taken before the world went dark. Long story short: this sucked.

  Today was another one of those stressful days. They’d never needed an Eradication Team and Survivor Rescue Team to work simultaneously. This refugee-recovery op must be awfully important for the town.

  Recently there’d been an increasing amount of threat activity around the area; perhaps the Rescue Team was losing their nerve and wanted them for backup. Highly doubtful. The guys on the Rescue Team would heroically attempt the impossible, just to ensure their little town remains a beacon of light for anyone left in the darkness.

  Typically his dad, Victor, would lead the Eradication Team, but Michael guessed that he and his brother had graduated up the ranks to go solo. Today’s mission would be difficult to screw up, since they were essentially on clean-up duty. But those new guys they had brought along—who couldn’t seem to sit still, constantly shifting their position—were making him nervous and were going to get them all compromised.

  Wiping the layer of grime off his watch, he saw they had ten very long minutes until kickoff. It seemed like they have been there for an eternity already. Of course, waking up at 0200 to sneak out under the cloak of darkness didn’t help. He would rather be actively engaging targets; the waiting really sucked.

  His earbud crackled to life. “ERT this is SRT. Ten minutes.”

  He pushed the button on the side of his yellow handheld radio. “This is ERT. We’re ready.”

  “Range card made with TRPs?”

  “Affirmative,” he replied.

  “Roger that, bud; stick to the plan. If things go sour, use the planned escape route we went over.”

  “OK, Dad. Looks like we’re good, though. They’re totally going for the bait again.”

  “Roger that; don’t let your guard down. Don’t get sloppy. And keep an eye on those new guys. See you after the show. Out.”

  Michael had no clue how he, a thirteen-year-old, had been elected to lead the Eradication Team on this day. He wasn’t nervous about the mission, for he knew exactly what to do, and this was an easy task compared to what the town had been through as of late. Nonetheless, he didn’t want to disappoint his dad, and keeping his kid brother safe was a heavy weight to bear.

  Zavier, his eight-year-old brother, had the bes
t ears in town. No joke. He could hear someone whispering in the next house, especially if they were discussing cookies. Not only did his kid brother have a good sense of hearing but Zavier was also almost as good of a shot as he was. Almost.

  Looking over his shoulder, he could now see the outlines of Grumpy and Deuce on the backside of the roof. They both turned to face him after he tossed a small piece of the roof gravel at them to get their attention. Michael pointed at his watch, then held up both hands with fingers spread to signal ten minutes. They nervously nodded and turned back around to watch their sectors. Noobs, he thought.

  Normally, those guys would be safely guarding the wall along with the rest of the town security detail. Michael wasn’t too sure how they came to be part of his team today. His dad had told him in private to keep them safe, but if this mission got too hot, he was to protect his brother first. And that’s exactly what he would do.

  He glanced at Zavier, who was lying right next to him, drawing circles in the roof gravel. “Z, after the party starts, you take the closer ones from here to the bait; I’ll get the farther ones beyond the bait, OK?”

  “I bet I get more than you,” Zavier teased.

  “Is that a bet? What are we betting on?” Michael asked.

  Zavier thought about it for a while. “I get your dessert tonight.”

  “Ha. Only if you win—which you won’t. And then I will get your dessert tonight.”

  “We’ll see.” Zavier grinned with a twinkle in his eye.

  “You good on your come-ups?” Michael quizzed.

  “Yes, Michael. This is too easy. I’ll dial up after I’ve cleared halfway to the bait, right around that blue car.”

  “What’s your lead?”

  “Leading edge at most on the farther faster ones. Too easy.”

  “Easy huh? Maybe we should switch sides and you take the far ones? There isn’t much of a breeze this morning…Maybe it will be easy,” Michael thought out loud.

  At the same time, they shouldered their rifles, staring through their scopes, preparing for the kickoff. From the rooftop of the Three Sisters Bridal & Occasion store, with the morning sun now rising over the trees directly behind them, they could easily survey the street in front of them, and there were plenty of targets to be had. Strangely, neither he nor his brother were bothered by the Grays anymore. They still gave him the creeps, and he completely respected their lethality, but eradicating them had become an average everyday chore.

  Those things out there were absolutely disgusting, and he didn’t want to look directly at them. He could still see traces of human as they crept forward on muscular legs or when they squatted in the dark. He knew they were no longer human; almost everyone had accepted the fact—the infected were incurable.

  Their tumorous bodies were covered in large, bulbous pus boils and thick scabs. If one were close enough to them—or using the high-powered zoom of a scope—they’d see the horrid diseased insides through their tight transparent skin. The Grays’ thick blood was full of the infection that gave their hairless, muscular body a grayish color.

  There were some theories on the cause and effects of the infection, but no one in their town really knew for sure. The only thing they did know was that the Grays were deadly, especially in large numbers like the horde before them now, and more so during the day than at night. The Grays’ thick leathery skin was hard to puncture with an average knife and easily deflected small-caliber bullets like the .22 rimfires his brothers had practiced with before the world went dark. Destroying enough of the organs would eventually kill a Gray, but a center mass hit to the brain would put them down immediately.

  Mrs. Cloud, the town’s high school biology teacher, had become obsessed with the Grays’ anatomy, which in turn had made Michael’s eradication job much easier. She’d discovered that the Grays had pinpoint pupils, which made them practically blind (but still very deadly) at night. And…there was a rumor she had used a hand saw to cut open a Gray’s skull! That’s so disgusting! Michael thought to himself, recalling the story.

  She’d found that only a small portion of the brain’s center was still healthy; the rest of the outer tissue had been, for the most part, destroyed by the infection, which is why, they all knew now, they could not be cured.

  He looked at his watch again. “Z, two minutes to get ready. Do you remember all the plan?”

  “Yes, Michael...we went over it like a million times already.”

  “OK, just making sure. If we mess this up, Dad could get hurt out there.”

  “Yeah, there are quite a bit more Grays today than before.”

  Michael agreed silently as he watched the horde pushing in toward the center of the street, drawn to the bait that his older brother, Curtis, had so cleverly crafted. Michael was kind of surprised the bait was still alive after being out there all night. They had tried this technique before, but never with this kind of success. The Grays must have been creeping there all night just to rock out to Hollywood Undead—which was what was being played at full volume down the street.

  Curtis had been able to charge a car battery using a solar panel, somehow he salvaged parts to make a car radio work, and then programmed it to play his favorite rock band on repeat all night long. Michael’s brother liked to eradicate in bulk, which is why the radio’s timer had been set to ignite the fuse at exactly 0700.

  Their bait hung out of the upstairs window of the Other Side of the Moon gift shop. The fuse was an electronic igniter for a model-rocket motor the Scavenge Teams had found in a craft store in the next town over. The rocket motor was jammed into a road flare, which would create a nice windproof flame. The propane tanks hung directly below the radio. The tanks needed to be “opened” remotely at the time of ignition, which is where Michael had come into play.

  Thirty seconds on his watch. He tossed another pebble at his rear security guys. His thumbs-up was returned with a nod. He pressed the talk button on the yellow handheld radio. “ERT going loud in ten seconds.”

  “Copy; SRT standing by.”

  “Z, get ready. This is going to be louder than the other ones. You should cover your ears. Remember all the fundamentals; don’t get trigger-happy wasting ammo trying to beat my count.”

  Z nodded without taking his cheek off the stock. Michael grinned, knowing his little brother was about to rack up a record kill count by cleaning up the horde of Grays.

  Michael rolled his own cheek onto his rifle stock like he had done countless times before. He found the large propane tank in his scope and quartered the target with his reticle. Closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and exhaled, flattening his body against the roof, feeling the gravel grind into his rib cage. Slowly, relaxed, he opened his eyes. Still on target, his natural point of aim was right on. Keeping his cheek welded to the stock, he looked over his scope’s eyepiece. The top turret was dialed to his three-hundred-yard elevation setting, windage knob on the side, was on zero.

  Inhale…exhale…He watched the reticle effortlessly climb up the gift shop facade as he slowly breathed out, stopping perfectly on the propane tank as the road flare popped to life, jetting out a bright-red flame with a thin trail of drifting smoke. Rifle flicked off safe. Finger found the cold, smooth curve of the trigger.

  “On target,” Michael whispered.

  “Send it,” his little brother commanded.

  The explosion rocked the entire street, sending a shockwave and deadly debris missiles through the air. The building they were on trembled and groaned violently as it was engulfed in a pungent dust cloud. And that…was when the entire plan went south…

  STAGE ZERO

  PANDORA

  The giver of gifts.

  Anesidora startled awake to an ear-piercing bwhaaaaa, bwhaaaaa, bwhaaaaa. Sluggishly gaining her bearings, she leaned over and slapped the snooze on her alarm, knowing in seven minutes, the same torture would occur again. I really need a new alarm clock, she thought, sticking her head under the pillow. Maybe one of those softly waking clocks t
hat simulate the morning sun, slowly illuminating the room. Sunrise: that mysterious celestial event she hadn’t had the pleasure of witnessing for many months now.

  Deciding she would skip the few extra blissful moments of comfort under her almost-too-heavy down blanket, she got up and turned off the electronic torture device on the nightstand. In a sleep-drunk stupor, she made her way down the short hallway into the kitchen, finding the teakettle exactly where she’d left it daily for the past two years.

  She sat heavily in one of the not-so-comfortable chairs with matching kitchen table, pressing the remote button without picking it up, and turned on the TV in the adjacent room. “Let’s see what they are selling us today,” she said out loud as the twenty-four-hour news channel came to life. Some perfectly manicured talking-head commentator, who appeared overly exasperated, was going on and on about some sort of civil unrest in the Milwaukee Riverwalk area while a too-fast-to-read text crawler ran across the bottom of the screen, telegraphing something about an upcoming BRICS Summit meeting somewhere Anny didn’t care about.

  She filled the French press from the whistling teakettle, slowly pushed the plunger down with much precision and practice, as she watched the gourmet coffee grinds magically transform the hot water into the nectar of the gods.

  Smelling the aroma and feeling the hot liquid spreading through her immediately brought her to life. Standing up from the rigid chair, rotating her neck, flopping her arms around while bouncing on the balls of her feet, she was ready to get the day started. She killed the TV while pulling her long black hair into a ponytail; those modern infomercial “news” stations only upset her anyway.

  Turning on her favorite internet radio station a little too loudly for this early in the morning, she began her daily wake-up/workout routine, starting with a few jumping jacks to get the caffeinated blood flowing through her body.