Free Stone Soldiers 6: Armageddon Z by C. E. Martin Page B

They, and their handler, were unsure what to do.
    Colonel Phillips let an evil grin spread over his stone face. Extending both hands, he unleashed a searing double-blast of raw electricity into the wet floor of the convention center.
    Up and down the hallway, the undead spasmed in place as the water soaking their bodies carried a massive static charge deep into their reanimated flesh. Fungus that had replaced nervous tissue and internal organs exploded as the electricity coursed through it.
    Over a hundred of the undead dropped to the damp floor, smoke curling from empty eye sockets.
    "Don't just stand there," Colonel Kenslir said loudly from one end of the hall. "Let's finish these bastards off!"
    The Colonel's uniform was torn in many place s, but his injuries had healed from the blast in the stadium. His submachine gun was gone, blown apart. But in each hand he held one of his long Bowie knives.
    Beside the Colonel, Victor had a Bowie knife out as well.
    Chad Phillips nodded and drew his own knife. Nearby, the doors to a convention hall were filled with undead. Their eyeless faces remained impassive masks devoid of emotion, but Phillips preferred to think their master was now just a little afraid.
    "We're coming for you!" he yelled, looking dir ectly at the closest monster. Then he unleashed another blast of lighting that bored through over a dozen ranks of the creatures like a cannonball.
    The other soldiers charged at the other doorways, slashing with their oversized knives, cutting the reanimat ed in half with ease.

CHAPTER ELEVEN
     
     
     
    ONE DAY BEFORE INFECTION (42nd Attempt)
    The alarm woke him up as it always did, at 9:00 AM. He opened his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. It had worked. He was home again.
    Kenji sat up in bed with renewed vig or. He had grown tired of this morning over the past few months of his life. Of constantly having the same conversations, the same arguments with his parents. But things were different this time. He had hope.
    He slipped on his jeans and sneakers, grabbed u p a flannel shirt and threw it hastily on. He grabbed up his phone and jacket and raced out of the room.
    "Oh, good morning, Kenji," his mother said, smiling as he rushed through the living room. As always, she was cleaning—getting ready for the Christmas d ecorations his father was even now hauling down from the attic.
    "Gotta go, mom. Be back in a few," Kenji said, pausing only long enough to kiss his mother on the cheek. Then he raced out into the garage, ducking under the ladder folded down from the attic.
    "Taking the car, dad. Be back in a few!"
    "What? Kenji?" his father called out from the attic.
    Kenji didn't hear the rest—he was already in his parents' sedan, hitting the switch on the remote to open the garage door and putting the key in the ignition.
    As he backed out of the garage, he saw his father lean down from the attic opening, saying something he'd never heard before. But he didn't have time for that. He had a call to make.
    Kenji sped out of his parent's neighborhood and drove away from Chicago. He remembered only too well what was going to happen when he called in to report the pending apocalypse. No sense in getting his parents arrested again.
    As he drove, Kenji dialed the number on his cellphone he had committed to memory. Kenslir's number. It was answered on the third ring.
    "Hello?" Colonel Kenslir said, surprise in his voice.
    "Sir? Mark Kenslir?"
    "Yes. Who is this? How did you get this number?"
    "Look, this is all going to sound crazy, but you have to listen to me, please. My name is Kenji Nakayama, and I'm calling you with a very special message."
    "What kind of message?"
    Kenji could hear the suspicion in his voice.
    "Sir, would you please take out your wallet out and look at the bills inside it?"
    "How did you get this number?" Kenslir demanded.
    "Okay, how about a twenty?"
    "I don't like games, Mr. Nakayama."
    "Please, bear with me. One of your twenties should start with the number