She found a bottle of aspirin in a cupboard and swallowed a few, hoping it would help for the fever that would soon set in once the virus got underway. That and the pain from her various cuts and bruises. The rest she tucked into her pocket to take as needed. An energy bar and a bottle of water fortified her for the road, but she only had seven bullets left in her gun. She’d better find more soon or she’d be in real trouble. At least, a baseball bat joined her arsenal, as did a butcher’s knife which she tucked into her belt.
Once her preparations were done, she took a last look around. It felt final. She’d most likely never come back again. “Goodbye, Frankie. You were a good friend. A better one than me. Rest in peace.”
There was still the problem of getting to her car, however. The neighborhood which had been clear before was now filled with wandering zombies, drawn by the gunshots. After sneaking out of the front door, she made her way to the gate using shrubs and bushes for camouflage.
Once she was as close as it was possible to get, Dylan tossed her bag over the gate. It landed with a thump, and two nearby infected turned toward the sound. With rasping growls, they milled around the lump of canvas looking for food.
“Dumbasses,” Dylan muttered while rooting around for a sizeable rock.
She found one and tossed it over the two infected’s heads to land in the road with a clatter. Predictably, they rushed over, accompanied by three more that were nearby. After making sure none of the zombies were too close to her, she jumped over the gate, making as little noise as possible. Landing in a low squat, she grabbed her bag and ran to the car.
It was beginning to look like she’d make it without incident when she opened the door. Unfortunately, she’d forgotten about the hinges, and they squealed loudly enough to be heard for miles. As one, every zombie in the vicinity turned toward her, their black-veined, black-eyed faces monstrous to behold.
The closest one charged, and Dylan dropped the bag with haste. Setting her feet apart in a solid stance, she swung the baseball bat at its head. It connected with a hollow thump, and she watched with fascination as his head changed shape from the force of the blow. His skull exploded, and he fell to the ground with barely a whimper.
There was no time to waste, however. More were coming. Dylan pivoted to the left like a dancer and wielded the bat overhead. She slammed it down onto the nearest head like a hammer. The infected, a young woman, fell to the ground with twitching limbs as her eyes rolled back in her skull.
A quick glance around determined that she had a brief second before the next zombie reached her, and she took her chance. Dumping the bat, Dylan grabbed her bag and jumped into the seat behind her. She grasped the handle of the door and pulled.
Just in time.
A zombie thudded into her door and slammed his fists on the window, quickly followed by another and another. Within seconds, she was surrounded, her vision filled with the faces of the undead. Hungry. So, so hungry.
Terror caused her pulse to jump, and she had to concentrate on her movements. Her fingers shook as she started the engine, and she prayed nothing would go wrong. Jamming the car into reverse, she pushed through the crowd and bowled them aside. They howled their frustration as she raced away, putting as much distance between them and herself as she could.
As she left the town behind, Dylan uttered a final farewell. It didn’t relieve the hollow pit in her chest, but it needed to be said if she was going to push ahead. “I guess this is it, Frankie. I hope you’re with your parents now, and that you’re happy. And who knows? Maybe I’ll get to see you soon. It all depends on what lies ahead. Goodbye, my friend.”
Chapter 8 - Amy
Amy rose before dawn, too restless to sleep any longer. Not that she’d gotten much rest anyway. It was impossible, no matter how tired she was. Ever since she’d buried her mom, things had changed. The house was empty now — a morgue.
Over the past few days, fear had become her constant companion. It grew and grew until it became a thick blanket of paranoia that threatened to smother her. Every night, she’d climb into bed after checking and double-checking all the locks in the house.
She’d clutch the blankets to her chest and stare wide-eyed into the darkness, every little sound a cause for alarm. Her brain would go into overdrive, imagining awful things, until at last, she jumped out of bed more tired than when she got in.
It was a vicious cycle.
Amy yawned as she crossed the hallway to the bathroom, dying to empty her full bladder. The floor was cold beneath her socked feet, and she shivered. “Winter is here, that’s for sure.”
After using the toilet, she washed up and got dressed before padding downstairs for a quick breakfast. Today, it was cereal and the last bit of milk. The bread was gone already, used for toast the previous morning. She supposed she could try to make more, but she’d never done it before. Her mom had been the baker in the house, spending countless hours producing prize-winning cakes and pies for the local farmers market.
After eating, she poured herself a cup of coffee and sat at the counter, staring into the distance. Her phone lay nearby, but it was useless to her now. There was no signal. No way for her to contact Alex. Three days. It’s been three days.
Amy shook her head. She didn’t want to think about it. It was bad enough losing both of her parents in the space of a week. Not her brother too. She needed him. Needed to believe that he was on his way.
Alex was the perfect older sibling. Strong, kind, and dependable. The sort of brother who protected you from schoolyard bullies and shady boyfriends, but also taught you how to throw a punch. The type who picked you up when you fell, but told you that crying was for sissies.
She missed him more than she could say. Older than her by six years, he’d enlisted in the army right after school. It was his dream, but to her, it meant she rarely got to see him anymore. Don’t worry. He’s coming back. He has to be.
Amy took another sip of her coffee and grimaced. It was cold. After tossing it down the drain, she picked up the shotgun, unlocked the front door, and stepped out onto the porch. The farm stretched out before her, barely visible in the pre-dawn light.
It wasn’t much. Just a small patch of fenced land out in the Kentucky countryside. It was nothing like the celebrated horse farms that abounded in the area, but to her parents, it had been heaven. Her father had been an accountant for a firm in Louisville, but he loved nothing more than coming home to the quiet of the farm. Her mother enjoyed being a stay-at-home mom. She raised chickens, grew her own vegetables, baked delicious pastries, and made her own marmalade. It was a simple life, but they’d been happy, and so had Amy.
Amy loved the lush green fields and the patches of forest where wildlife abounded. Though she often went out hunting, she rarely killed anything, preferring to observe the animals instead. She was a good shot, however. Almost as good as Alex.
Now that her parents were gone, and it was up to her to keep the place running. With that in mind, Amy set about completing her chores for the day. It might be the apocalypse, but the chickens still needed feeding, and the vegetable patch wouldn’t weed itself.
Ham, the rooster, strutted past when she approached. He was getting ready to wake the dead with his morning song. Amy snorted and tossed him a handful of seed before turning to the hens.
They clucked around her feet while she gathered their eggs, a bounty she was thankful for now more than ever. That, and the vegetable plot. At least, she’d have fresh produce to relieve the monotony of canned goods.
After feeding them and topping up the water trough, Amy eyed the hens with a shrewd gaze. Come Thanksgiving their fat, and feathered bodies would yield a juicy meal. A sudden thought occurred to her, and she frowned. “Will I still be here then? And what about Christmas? What if Alex doesn’t come back?”
A fit of panic overcame Amy, and she sank to her knees. Her heart fluttered like a frightened rabbit, and black spots danced in front of her eyes. She pressed her trembling hands to th
e earth and tried to ground herself.
Oblivious to her fears, the chickens carried on with the business of eating. They pecked at the earth with laser precision, never missing a seed or a worm. She found their gentle clucking strangely comforting and couldn’t help but smile at their antics. One pecked at her fingers, and she shooed it away as she got back to her feet. “Scram.”
In the background, Ham began his warbling cry to welcome the dawn, and the first rays of the sun peeked over the top of the barn roof. She tilted her face upward to catch its soothing warmth on her skin. It eased away the panic, and Amy faced a simple truth. She was alone, at least until Alex arrived, and there was no guarantee that he ever would. It was up to her whether she lived or died. The time for crying was over.
With a sigh, she got to her feet, cradling the shotgun with one arm. “Well, there’s a lot of work to be done. Better get started.”
Throughout the morning, Amy busied herself with various chores. She boarded up the ground floor windows, reinforced the doors, and chopped a load of firewood for the fireplace. Cold weather was coming, and she’d best be prepared for it. “Right. What’s next? The barn.”
With a pen and clipboard, she took stock of the interior. There was a full tank of fuel, a generator hooked up to the house, her mother’s car, gardening equipment, as well as a large bin of chicken feed. After jotting it all down, she locked the doors with a thick chain and padlock, securing the supplies against possible marauders.
With her hands on her hips, Amy surveyed the yard. Her eyes fell on the chicken coop, and she noted the sagging wire that barely clung to the frame. “Mm. That won’t do. What if a predator comes along? Or a zombie?”
Throughout the rest of the afternoon, she worked on the coop, replacing the old rusted wire and fixing the gate. She tackled the veggie patch as well. With a basket on one arm, she harvested the last of the summer crop and rooted out any weeds that threatened the winter vegetables.
It was back-breaking labor, but the constant activity kept her mind off her loneliness. It also allowed her to have renewed faith in Alex. He was both strong and resourceful, plus he never broke a promise. “He’ll come home. I know it.”
Finally, the sun began to dip toward the horizon, and she was ready to call it a day. Her back hurt, and her hands were blistered and bleeding. Still, she felt a deep sense of satisfaction that triumphed over any discomfort she suffered.
Amy headed toward the house. It welcomed her back with familiar arms, warm and cozy after the chill wind outside. Her stomach rumbled, and she whipped up a quick supper of canned spaghetti and meatballs with a green salad. She even prepared a batch of dough using one of her mom’s recipes. Come morning, she’d pop it in the oven and hopefully have freshly baked bread for breakfast. The mere thought had her salivating.
Clipboard in hand, she made a list of all the food in the house. There was enough to last her three months or more if she was careful. Her mom had believed in buying bulk, and there were several jars of jams, pickles, and preserves too. The freezer was full of meat and frozen vegetables, a bonus assuming the power lasted. It was still on for the moment, and she hoped it stayed that way.
The real problem she faced was with everyday stuff like milk and butter, but she could probably make do without it. The toilet paper would run out soon, however. She also couldn’t count on the water to keep running. On a whim, she grabbed every empty container in the house and filled it with water, just in case. “That’s better.”
The entire time she worked, she made sure to keep quiet. All the curtains were drawn, and she didn’t use the lights, preferring a candle instead. The farm might be fenced, but she wasn’t about to announce her presence to the entire world. Zombies weren’t the only things that went bump in the night.
Once she’d eaten, she washed the dishes, took a bath, and curled up in front of the tv with an old movie. She didn’t try any of the channels. They’d stopped broadcasting a few days ago. Tucked underneath a blanket, she felt secure in the knowledge that the windows were boarded up and the doors locked.
She was halfway through the movie, however, when the chickens began to kick up a fuss. Even Ham carried on, something he never did except at dawn. Something was bothering them, and she hoped it was just a wild critter.
With a frown, Amy got off the couch and reached for the shotgun. It was never far from her side these days. She peered through a gap in the boards that covered the windows overlooking the yard. It was dark outside. Too dark to see anything.
The chickens were going crazy, though, and Amy knew she had to do something besides cower inside the house. With her heart in her throat, she flicked on the porch light. The bright light flooded the yard, and she spotted the figure of a man clawing at the wire of the chicken coop. He growled like a dog and didn’t seem to know how to open the door to the coop, luckily for the chickens.
Amy gasped, her worst fears realized. It was a zombie. It had to be. As if he sensed her presence, the man swiveled toward the house and cut across the lawn. The light fell across his diseased face, and she nearly fainted. It was the first time she’d seen an infected up close, and it was far worse than she’d imagined.
His eyes were pits of darkness, and his waxen skin was covered in black veins that looked like poisoned ivy to her panicked brain. There was something wrong with his leg too. The knee was shattered, and pieces of bone shone through the flesh like ivory splinters. They ground together when he walked, but he didn’t appear bothered by it or seemed to feel any pain.
Amy squeezed her eyes shut and looked away. It was too much. She couldn’t face the horror that shuffled toward her house with such dogged determination. That wasn’t a man. That was a monster. How could she fight against something like that? It was impossible. Maybe if I keep quiet, it’ll go away.
The grinding of bone on bone grated on her nerves. The zombie was getting closer. A low rasp issued from its throat with each step it took. It slowed when it reached the porch steps, but didn’t stop. It knew she was there, and it was coming to get her.
Suddenly, Amy’s eyes snapped open. She was no coward, and this was her home. She’d be damned if she let anything ruin it. What would Alex say if he found her hiding in the attic like a little girl?
With that thought in mind, she quickly unlocked the door and yanked it open. With one swift move, she pumped the fore-end to load a shell and raised it to her shoulder. The zombie spotted her and snarled, its teeth bared and glinting in the light. Congealed blood covered its shirt, and the smell of death emanated from it. It had fed recently.
Bile rose up Amy’s throat, and her stomach convulsed. Before her courage could run out, she aimed at the infected man’s head and pulled the trigger. She knew she had to destroy the brain. That much she’d learned from the news broadcasts before they stopped airing.
The powerful shotgun blast knocked the zombie backward. It went flying off the porch to land in the dust where it lay twitching. Amy watched with bated breath until she was sure it was dead.
After a few seconds, she took a few steps forward to get a closer look. The man’s face was unrecognizable. A mass of blood and bone. This time, Amy couldn’t stop her stomach from revolting, and her entire supper ended up on the ground.
When the heaving finally stopped, she fled back into the house. With trembling hands, she locked the door behind her and sagged to the floor. She’d killed a man. A person. He was infected, she knew, but still a human being. In the morning, she’d have to get rid of the body. Her stomach churned at the thought. “How am I going to do this?”
The silence had no answers for her.
Suddenly, an awful thought occurred to Amy. What if more zombies came? Too many to kill? And how did that one get in? She was supposed to be safe here. The grounds were fenced…unless there was a gap in the wire.
Amy shook her head, gathering up the shreds of her courage. “I’ll check it in the morning. I have to. I can’t let any more of those things get in, or I could be overr
un.”
With her decision made, she set off for bed, even though she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep. She had to try, at least. She couldn’t afford to let fear get the best of her anymore. “Come on, Amy. You’re a fighter. Remember that.”
Chapter 9 - Alex
Alex frowned when he spotted the obstruction on the highway. He eased up on the throttle and slowed to a stop. With one boot planted on the asphalt and the bike engine idling in the background, he studied the road ahead.
A multiple vehicle pile-up blocked the way forward. The mangled wrecks of cars, trucks, and even a bus was visible, and Alex swore under his breath. “Damn it. This is the last thing I need right now.”
He was already late. He’d told his mom he’d take no more than a couple of days to get home. Instead, the journey had been far more complicated than he’d thought and fraught with danger. Today was day three, and he still had about two hundred miles to go to reach Louisville. While that didn’t sound like much, he’d learned a thing or two over the past few days. Ordinarily, he’d be home in two hours tops, but now that same distance could take days.
Alex eased his weight back into his seat. He was in no rush to move forward. The pile-up appeared natural — a genuine car crash caused by the times. But appearances could be deceiving.
For one thing, he couldn’t spot any movement among the vehicles, and that was unusual. Crashes like these tended to draw infected like moths to a flame. Not only that, but the victims themselves could often be found either trapped in their cars or wandering about like ghosts in a daze. He’d seen a lot of that, and each time it tore at his heart. He helped where he could and shot his way through when he couldn’t. It was the best he could offer, and it never felt like enough.
Here, there was nothing like that. No infected, no victims, no movement at all. It didn’t feel right. Something about this blockade bothered him, and he thought back over the past three days and everything he’d been through to get here.
Rise of the Undead Box Set | Books 1-3 | Apocalypse Z Page 5