Zombie Chaos Box Set | Books 1-4

by Martone, D. L.

  Suddenly, I spotted George’s tire iron, which was still lying on the pavement where she’d left it, and lunged for the makeshift weapon. By the time I had it clutched in my hand, the zombified hippie had almost reached me. On instinct, I lifted the slender tool—sharp end facing outward—just as the creature rushed toward me, ultimately piercing the metal through his eye and into his brain. The zombie groaned once then crumpled to the ground, the tire iron still lodged in his head.

  With the immediate danger past, I bolted toward the embankment, helped George back onto the road, and reclaimed my axe. When nothing else crawled out of the Bus, the two of us took a moment to drag the zombie I’d killed toward the shoulder, remove the goo-covered tire iron, and roll the tie-dyed corpse into the woods.

  Then, we returned to the hippie-mobile to deal with the other dead guy. But as I opened the side door all the way, George and I finally understood why we’d initially assumed, from the sheer amount of blood and gore on the windows, that more than two occupants were inside.

  As the bent-over body of the axed zombie tumbled onto the ground, so did two bloody heads and a slew of disgusting entrails. From what remained of the other passengers’ wavy hair and tattered dresses, it seemed as though the two old guys had had themselves a couple of old ladies. Had, as in ravaged and devoured.

  I assumed the unfortunate women had once been married to the two dudes, but for all I knew, they could’ve been their sisters. No matter what, it was yet another awful way to go. I could only imagine how terrified the women had been, to be trapped inside a VW Bus with two ravenous, undead men who no longer cared about them—or saw them as anything more than dinner.

  “That’s the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen,” George said.

  “Seems on par for this new fucked-up world,” I replied. “And sadly, I’ve seen much worse.”

  I was just thankful Clare couldn’t view the passenger side from her current perch. Despite her mother’s worsening sickness, and Clare’s near-constant desire to ease Jill’s suffering, I had no doubt she’d remained up front with Azazel, keeping a close eye on me and George—if only to warn us of any impending peril.

  Though a lifelong horror fan, as strong and as feisty as George, Clare was also the most tenderhearted person I’d ever known. Such a horrendous scene would’ve tormented her. I knew she’d encounter a lot of terrible sights on our cross-country trek to northern Michigan, but at that moment, she didn’t need to see such horrible shit.

  George and I dragged the second corpse to the road’s edge and rolled him toward his friend. Then, I unceremoniously kicked the two heads into the woods before refocusing on the main dilemma.

  Once most of the gore had finished oozing onto the road, I realized how pointless the second part of our plan had been. After dispatching the two zombies, we should’ve simply shut the door, broken the driver’s-side window, and shifted the damn car into neutral. Cuz there was no fucking way I was climbing into that mess.

  So, with an unapologetic shrug, I scanned the woods for any bogeys, circled the vehicle, and smashed the window with the handle of my axe. Then, I unlocked and opened the door, positioned the gear stick, and yanked the wheel hard to the left, ensuring the VW Bus wouldn’t hit the nearest bridge support.

  A few moments later, George and I had pushed the vehicle toward the shoulder, where gravity kindly took over for us. Thanks to its mass, however, the former hippie-mobile didn’t sail peacefully down the embankment. No, instead, it bumped awkwardly along the incline, teetered onto one side, slammed into a tree, and tipped into the creek with an enormous splash.

  “Well, shit,” George said. “That wasn’t exactly a stealthy disposal.”

  I sighed. What else could we do? It was time to get the fuck outta there.

  Darting back to our own vehicles, we double-checked our surroundings, but luckily, no other zombies—ex-hippies or otherwise—rambled out of the woods on either side.

  Once I’d climbed into the van, reclaimed my seat, and shut the door, I heaved a sigh of relief.

  “I don’t think that’ll ever get easier,” Clare lamented. “Watching you put yourself in danger.”

  I turned to her, noting the crinkled skin around her eyes. “I know, baby, but what choice did we have? Someone had to move the thing. True, it could’ve gone smoother…”

  Clare’s face relaxed as she squeezed my shoulder. “You and George did great.” She sighed. “Naturally, I was worried. I always worry… but I appreciate everything you do for us… me, Mom, and Azazel.”

  I longed to correct her—after all, I’d only ever risk my life for my wife and our precious furbaby, not my pain-in-the-ass, soon-to-be-a-zombie mother-in-law—but I was too exhausted to say anything.

  “Seriously, honey, thanks for doing that. Couldn’t have been easy.”

  I smiled wearily. “Piece of cake.”

  “Yeah, well, took you long enough,” Jill grumbled from the sofa, though with less verve than usual.

  I opened my mouth to respond, but a pleading look from Clare halted the retort in my throat.

  In the awkward silence that followed, I took a moment to swig some water, pop some more aspirin for my ongoing headache, and sanitize my goo-covered palms, axe, and shoes, plus everything else I’d recently touched. If I had to rely on antibacterial products for the rest of my life, I’d really need to stock up on some moisturizing lotion.

  “Baby,” Clare asked softly, “are you OK?”

  I nodded. “Yep, just tired.”

  “Speaking of…” Jill piped up, “think we’ll be stopping anytime soon? Hard to sleep in this rattling death trap.”

  Clare whirled toward her mother, rocking Azazel’s carrier in the process. “Look, Mom, I know you don’t feel well, but could you please try to be nice? This isn’t a good situation… for any of us.”

  Jill responded with silence—no doubt of a sulky nature.

  I said nothing as I buckled my seatbelt. But Azazel couldn’t leave it alone. Glaring at the sofa, she unleashed a lengthy hiss that morphed into a growl.

  “Stupid cat,” Jill hissed back.

  Azazel promptly stopped growling, harrumphed once, and turned around inside her carrier, facing away from the person who’d clearly become her nemesis. Perhaps she figured the view of her butt expressed her emotions better than her limited vocalizations ever could.

  “Good girl,” I whispered as I shifted the van into drive.

  In my peripheral vision, I spotted a subtle grin on Clare’s face.

  Then, with a thumbs-up directed at George and Casey, I rolled the van forward, over the disgusting entrails pooled on the road and drove across the bridge. Soon, our two-vehicle caravan headed deeper into the forest, on the lookout for a decent campsite—where, if we were lucky, we’d manage to get some freaking sleep.

  Preferably for a week or more.

  Chapter

  3

  “Just for the record, this is a very bad idea!” – Bear, Armageddon (1998)

  Once we’d put some distance between us and our latest death-defying challenge, I decreased my speed and eased the van onto the shoulder of the road. As usual, George promptly followed suit.

  We hadn’t ventured far into the forest, but I knew how exhausted we all were, and I doubted any of us wanted to rove through the wilds of southern Mississippi all night. True, we hadn’t seen any moving vehicles since the ill-fated Beetle—and we hadn’t encountered too many zombies either—but extreme fatigue could lead to all sorts of trouble, including dumbass decisions.

  The time had come to figure out where we should spend the night.

  The walkie-talkie lying on the dashboard crackled, and as if reading my mind, Casey asked, “What’s up, Mr. Joe? Trying to find a good camping spot?”

  I picked up the handheld radio and pressed the talk button. “Good guess.” My gaze drifted to the darkened woods flanking us. “I liked your idea of setting up a tripwire around our campsite… but I’m still hoping to find an out-of-th
e-way spot.”

  “Makes sense,” he replied. “Think we could all use some zombie-free rest.”

  “No kidding.”

  During my two-week prepping phase, I’d spent plenty of time downloading digital maps to my various electronic tablets. Most of the maps—particularly those of cities, states, and regions—worked well with GPS. Not so with the rudimentary maps offered by the National Park Service and the U.S. Forest Service, but luckily, they were easy enough to follow.

  “Give me a second to look at the map,” I told Casey, then powered up the tablet closest to me.

  Homochitto National Forest boasted several official campgrounds, but as much as I would’ve loved to stay in a cabin—or, hell, on a level RV site—I knew we should avoid any place where others might’ve already chosen to camp. None of us wanted bloodthirsty zombies, desperate survivors, or an unhinged wildling to disturb our sleep.

  Fortunately, the forest also contained several backcountry camping areas—“wild” or “primitive” places where, in pre-apocalypse days, overnight campers could park their RVs or pitch their tents for free. Normally, such locales provided no amenities, no services, and no hookups for water, electricity, or sewage—just a chance to enjoy nature and some quietude off the beaten path. Hence, the lack of camping fees.

  Granted, staying overnight in a federal forest usually required purchasing an inexpensive permit (or one of those nationwide annual passes) ahead of time, but I didn’t think any rangers would show up to collect the requisite paperwork—no matter where we decided to camp.

  Given the cool fall temperatures typical for early November, I wouldn’t have minded using an electric hook-up to power the portable heaters I’d stowed beneath the sofa. But if the lights were out in New Orleans, Baton Rouge, and every other town I’d driven through, I assumed the power grid was down in rural Mississippi as well.

  Beyond the heaters, I’d also packed blankets beneath the couch. So, the cold wouldn’t pose a problem for me and Clare, even if we were compelled to sleep on the floor. Jill, after all, was already occupying the sofa—which, when pulled out, would normally double as our bed—and I suspected the dining nook—which could also be transformed into a sleeping area—wouldn’t be roomy enough for the two of us.

  I couldn’t complain, though. Given Jill’s worsening condition, I doubted my mother-in-law would be with us for much longer—a fact that, despite our tumultuous relationship, greatly troubled me. Not because I’d miss her lovely, helpful presence, but because her transformation—and ultimate passing—would devastate Clare.

  But that was a problem for another time. For the moment, we just needed a peaceful, remote campsite devoid of any freaking zombies.

  Clare leaned over and peered at the tablet in my hand. “What are you thinking?”

  I pointed to a nearby area. “We could give this a shot.”

  She shrugged. “I don’t care, as long as it’s quiet enough to sleep.”

  I scoffed. “As if that matters. You could sleep through World War III.”

  “True.” She grinned. “I was thinking of you and Mom.”

  She had a point. Jill and I were both light sleepers—one of several quirks that, despite the animosity between us, we had in common. And amusingly enough, no matter where we parked for the night, my snoring would likely keep my mother-in-law awake anyway.

  Sucks to be her.

  Actually, the lack of color in Jill’s face made that statement truer than it had ever been.

  “OK.” I shut off the tablet. “Let’s check it out.”

  After a brief discussion with George and Casey, we hit the road again. The trip, however, didn’t last long. Before reaching the town of Crosby, one of numerous small communities within Homochitto’s borders, I turned off MS-33, and George followed.

  Cautiously, we drove along a paved road that wound and bumped its way through the stately pine trees. About a mile from the main thoroughfare, I veered onto a downhill gravel path—only a few feet wider than our van—and soon encountered an open space that essentially served as a dead end. Not that I minded. The area was roomy enough to accommodate both vehicles, parked side by side, and deep enough within the dense woods that no one could spot us from MS-33—even if we built a small campfire… which none of us likely had the desire or energy to do.

  Before I shut off the headlights or the engine, I turned to my wife. “So, what do you think?”

  Clare peered nervously through the grimy windshield. “Are you sure we should park here? There’s only one way in. What if we get trapped by a horde of zombies… or something worse?”

  I smirked. “What could be worse than that?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know… a mob of those wildling things.”

  “Good point,” I conceded. Though I’d only seen the creatures one at a time, it was certainly possible for them to travel in packs. “But if that happens, we wouldn’t be trapped. There’s another way out.”

  I pointed toward an untamed trail a few yards ahead. Following my finger, Clare leaned forward and squinted.

  Based on her prolonged gaze, I figured Clare needed her glasses to see our meager exit route—but she’d likely forgotten where she’d stowed them. Three terrifyingly eventful days had passed since she’d required them for the drive up to Baton Rouge. I just hoped she hadn’t left them behind—because I had no plans to return to her mother’s house anytime soon. If ever again.

  “Joe, my love…” She turned toward me, one eyebrow arched. “Are you insane?”

  Guess she doesn’t need her glasses after all. Too bad. I’ve always liked the sexy-librarian look.

  Although the path ahead was even narrower than the short road leading to the campsite, I suspected our van would barely fit.

  But perhaps it wasn’t the width of the trail that bothered Clare—or my other traveling companions, who had slipped quietly from their still-running car, circled the back of my van, and now stood beside my door.

  I rolled down the window to consult with our new friends.

  Casey stared ahead, his mouth agape. “Um, Mr. Joe?”

  “Just Joe, Casey.” I slid open the door and hopped to the ground. “After all we’ve been through together, I think we can lose the formalities.”

  “Um, OK, Joe then… is it such a good idea to park near that place?” He gestured toward the sign posted beside the trailhead.

  I followed his gaze. The small placard read, Williams Cemetery.

  Bingo… that explains everyone’s reluctance.

  No wonder George and Clare seemed equally flummoxed by my camping choice. Even my nearsighted wife had spotted the disturbing sign.

  “You really are an idiot,” Jill declared. She’d obviously shuffled up front just to voice her uncharitable opinion. As usual.

  Given the zombie shitstorm that had descended upon the world, I understood why the sign hadn’t inspired much confidence in my fellow travelers. The actual path leading to the cemetery probably hadn’t eased their minds either.

  The foliage lining the trail created an ominous effect. The white ash and black locust trees on each side arced over the slender route, as if purposely shielding the pathway from sunlight and moonbeams. From the glow of my headlights, I could tell that the trail widened about sixty yards from our campsite, ultimately emptying into a moonlit meadow filled with headstones.

  The kind of creepy scene I’d expect to see in a gothic horror movie.

  Yep, definitely has a tunnel-of-death feel to it.

  But I opted not to share my initial impressions with the rest of the group. Honesty wouldn’t help the situation one iota.

  “Listen, everyone,” I said in my most reassuring voice, “this infection isn’t bringing the dead back to life. I mean… if they were already dead before it spread to America.” I sighed, weary of bearing the responsibility of keeping my family and friends calm. “No bony hands’ll be shooting outta the dirt. Especially since the folks buried there are long dead. That graveyard probably hasn’
t been used since the 1930s, back when the CCC started reforesting this whole area.”

  I’d stated my half-baked theory with all the faux confidence I could muster. Having never visited the Williams Cemetery before, I actually had no idea what we’d find there. The graveyard might not have even existed prior to the Civilian Conservation Corps showing up a century before. Hell, for all I knew, it was only a decade old, and people had still been burying their loved ones there through the previous week. Perhaps all it would take was one tainted rainstorm to reanimate the decaying brains of the interred corpses.

  The information that Samir—my app-creating partner in India—had sent me was vague at best. While working for the United Nations, his wife, Dibya, had decoded a strange signal from who-the-fuck-knew-where—a signal indicating the world was about to be engulfed by a shitstorm. As in, zombies would soon cover the planet.

  Few people had believed the batshit-crazy warning. Clare’s parents and my family certainly hadn’t. But unfortunately, Samir and Dibya had been right about almost everything—and in keeping with their kindhearted natures, they’d deigned us worthy of a heads-up.

  By covertly shipping me a mysterious flash drive, they’d granted us two full weeks to prepare for the zombie apocalypse—a world-ending crisis that they themselves likely hadn’t survived.

  A fact that made me incredibly sad.

  Despite Dibya’s high security clearance and her even higher IQ, she and her colleagues hadn’t had much time to explore the signal’s origin before the undead swarmed India and the rest of Asia. Besides, Dibya was a scientist, accustomed to proving hypotheses with useful things like facts and figures. Even if she’d survived the initial outbreak, she might never have willingly viewed the entire mess from a mystical angle.