Free A Shrouded World - Whistlers by Mark Tufo, John O'Brien

inside, which caused more destruction that way, bouncing and ricocheting off of bones and internal organs. More than once, the Geneva Convention had wanted to ban the cartridge because of this ‘design flaw’. The Russian-made 7.62—a much larger and heavier round—was considered to be more humane as it would travel clean through just about any soldier, whether they had a flak jacket on or not.
    Some of the soldiers had fist- sized holes in their backs; indicating high-powered hunting rifles. It didn’t look like a coordinated attack or an ambush. I just think it was scared people trying to get away from the blockade. Unfortunately, without much success. I don’t really know how long I’d been doing my survey of the destruction. Enough to know that men, women, children, civilians, military, howlers, and zombies had all met gruesome ends here.
    The one and only blessing I found in regards to howlers was that it appeared that it did not necessarily need to be a head shot to take one down. I might have overlooked the female howler had she not had the signature sunburn I’d seen outside of the truck. She had on torn Capri pants, her ankles a blistered and angry red. Her forearms and hands were also the same tortured color. What stuck out was her long blond hair that glowed like golden wheat in the sunshine. It wasn’t the hair color; it was the lack of blood in it that I found interesting.
    Was it a ruse? She was face down and I’d have to get close to turn her over. Son of a bitch .
    The knowl edge was worth the risk. Howlers were faster and smarter than zombies. If I didn’t need to be particularly concerned with putting a bullet in their skulls, then we were that much better off.
    I made sure the safety was off, I had my finger resting lightly on the trigger guard. I licked my lips and, with my left foot, I hooked it under her thigh, lifted, and pushed her over. I looked at her face for any signs of life, some clue to her deception, a fluttering eyelid a twitch of her mouth. Nothing. Her face was frozen in fury, she was pissed off and left nothing to the imagination in that regards. She had a series of at least three bullets, traveling up from her navel and across her right breast. The bullets had torn her open, blood had cascaded from her. Flies swarmed to the wounds and enjoyed the banquet.
    “ Just great,” I said as got down on my haunches. I placed the muzzle of my barrel against her head. I moved my hand closer to her face. “This sucks.”
    Everyone has watched enough horror flicks t o realize this is when the dumbass gets bitten. We’re all sitting in our seats at the movie theater shoving popcorn in our maws, telling our significant others ‘we’d never do that, he’s a dumbass.’ Yup I was the dumbass, but at least this time the monster’s seemingly dead eyes didn’t fly open as it latched onto my hand, ripping my thumb off.
    “Thank God for small miracles, ” I said aloud after examining her entire face and head for any sign of trauma.
    Nothing, not a scratch on her face except for some minor burning on the left side that must have been exposed as she was dying. When I was done looking at her, I stood. “Hey, God, I really appreciate the small miracle, but a big one would really be fucking appreciated!” I said to the heavens. That was pretty much going to get me sent to the disciplinary division of Heaven. I’d deal with that problem after this one.
    Back to the task at hand and what was going to keep us alive. God was going to have to wait his (or her) turn. It seemed zombies, howlers , and even my wife Tracy had staked a claim at meting out some justice. I found a fair amount of dropped bullets and mags, and I hastily filled a couple to make sure I had adequate firepower in case something arose. I don’t know where the day went. I was just noticing that it was getting more difficult to see into the far back of the troop transports. The canvas coverings were hiding any treasure and the