“You’re probably right,” Dylan said. “Look, its seatbelt is on. It’s trapped.”
“Just another monster,” Maddie said.
Dylan frowned. There was something in the woman’s voice that triggered an alarm bell in her head, and she began to turn.
“A monster like you,” Maddie said, swinging her arm.
Dylan caught the blurred movement too late, and a heavy weight crashed onto her head. Her knees buckled, and she fell to the ground with a grunt. The world swam around her as she raised her arms to ward off another blow.
The rock Maddie was using as a weapon landed on her wrist, and pain lanced through Dylan’s body. It rendered her hand useless, and she couldn’t get a grip on her gun.
Maddie picked it up instead and stepped back, the barrel pointed at Dylan’s face. “You’re infected. Don’t think I didn’t notice. It was so obvious, the way you tried to hide it.”
Dylan looked at the crazed woman between the runnels of blood that poured across her face. Her lips fumbled when she spoke, the words slurred. “Are you really going to kill me? After everything I’ve done for you?”
“Shut up. You’re a zombie. That’s all. A filthy cannibal,” Maddie screamed, waving the gun around.
“A zombie who saved your life and that of your son’s. You’d have died if I left you there by the side of the road. Killed by real zombies.”
“I don’t care what you did. The fact remains, you’re a monster, and you deserve to die,” Maddie said. Her arm straightened, and the cold eye of the gun stared at Dylan with unwavering precision. “Your road ends here.”
Dylan grinned, tasting her blood where it pooled on her lips. The taste of copper pennies. “I hope you get eaten by my kind, Maddie. I hope they tear you to pieces, bit by bit, while you scream for the mercy you wouldn’t grant to others.”
“You won’t be there to see it,” Maddie said, her finger tightening on the trigger.
Here it comes, Dylan thought.
“Mom, no! What are you doing?” Kyle screamed. He crashed into his mother and wrestled the gun from her fingers, catching her by surprise. “You can’t kill her. She saved our lives.”
Maddie’s face tightened. “Kyle, give me the gun.”
“No.”
“Kyle!”
“Forget it, Mom. You’re not killing her,” Kyle said, backing away from his mother.
Maddie’s expression changed. It softened, and she reached out a pleading hand. “Kyle, please. She’s evil. Infected. We have to kill her before she starts killing others.”
Kyle shook his head. “Not like this, Mom. If we do this, then we’re worse than the zombies.”
“Kyle, please. Be reasonable,” Maddie pleaded.
“I won’t let you,” he insisted, taking another step back.
Maddie threw her hands in the air. “Fine, have it your way.”
She marched past her son toward the waiting car, leaving a confused Kyle gaping after her. “Mom? What about Dylan? We can’t leave her like this. She’s hurt.”
“Yes, we can, and we will,” Maddie said. “I’m letting her live, aren’t I?”
Kyle took a step toward her. “Mom, please.”
“Get in the car,” Maddie screamed, waving a warning finger at Kyle. “If you don’t, I’m leaving you here with her.”
Kyle hesitated, his gaze jumping between his mother who’d resumed her march, to Dylan who was fighting to remain upright on her knees. “What do I do?”
Dylan blinked slowly. Her vision was wavering, and black encroached on the edges. “Go with your mom, Kyle.”
“What about you?” he asked, tears shimmering in his eyes.
“I’ll be okay, I promise,” Dylan said.
“But…”
“She’s your family, and I can’t take care of you. Not now,” Dylan said.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“Yes, just…leave me the gun.”
He looked at the weapon and handed it to her without hesitation. “It belongs to you anyway.”
“Thanks,” Dylan said, taking it from him. “Now go. Before she leaves you here.”
Kyle stood still for a split-second before raising his hand in a last goodbye. “I’m sorry.”
The next moment, he was gone, and seconds later, Dylan heard the car spin away with a screech of the tires. She shook her head to ward off a wave of dizziness, and warm droplets of blood dripped onto her hands. “I can’t stay here. I’m too exposed.”
She pushed herself to her feet and leaned against the car, ignoring the zombie scrabbling at the window. It couldn’t undo its buckle or open the door, so it wasn’t a threat. Still, she was injured and out in the open. There could be others, and night was falling. She had an hour at most.
A growl from the nearby bushes sent a shiver of fear rippling through her veins, and she scanned the vicinity with wide eyes. A second and a third growl sounded off to the right, and Dylan knew she was surrounded.
With adrenalin kicking her into high-alert, she considered her options. She had nowhere to run, couldn’t fight in her condition, and didn’t have enough bullets anyway. I need to hide. Now.
That left the pile-up. The first car was out of the question. Its windows were all smashed. The truck’s windows were intact, but its passenger door was wedged shut against the body of the first car. She looked at the vehicle behind her and its zombie driver, hissing with relentless hunger. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Chapter 13 - Dylan
Dylan opened the back door of the car a crack, gagging when a waft of putrid air hit her nostrils. “Holy shit, that’s rank.”
The thought of spending the night inside that vehicle with its stench of death and decay was enough to make her want to vomit, but another rustle of bushes spurred her on. She slipped inside and closed the door with a soft click. Through watery eyes, she scanned her surroundings. The incoming infected had yet to show themselves, but she knew they were there and could only pray they hadn’t seen her first.
The zombie trapped in the front seat was going nuts, twisting and turning as it tried to grab her with its claw-like hands. She couldn’t risk using the gun and pulled the kitchen knife from her belt instead. The same one she’d taken from Frankie’s house.
With one hand steadying her against the roof of the vehicle, Dylan stabbed the zombie through the eye, driving the blade deep into its skull. It stiffened for a second, before slumping into its seat with a final groan. Dead at last.
Dylan fell back as another wave of dizziness hit her, made worse by the awful smell, and she pressed one palm against the gash in her scalp. It bled profusely, dripping onto her clothes and running down her face. I have to stop the bleeding.
With trembling hands, she removed her jacket and shirt. The shirt had long sleeves which she cut off using the knife. Another piece from the hem formed a thick pad which she pressed to the wound. Hissing with pain, she wrapped the sleeves around her head and tied them off beneath her chin. It was the best she could manage under the circumstances.
With the last of her strength, she dry swallowed two painkillers from the bottle she’d tucked into her pocket earlier and lay back, closing her eyes. The darkness was calling to her, pulling her down into the abyss. With her jacket pulled over her head, she surrendered, falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.
From the roadside bushes, a figure emerged, dark and crooked. It was followed by several more, and they shuffled across the road toward the pile-up on uncertain legs. The smell of fresh blood lay thick in the air, tempting them with its promise of sustenance. They groaned with longing as they searched for their elusive prey, circling around and round the cars. Their shadows fell across the prone figure of Dylan, slumped in the backseat. Fingertips brushed the glass next to her face.
***
A bright shaft of sunlight cut through the slumber that had Dylan in its grip, and she blinked against the glare in her eyes. Her eyes were fuzzy, and her mouth as dry as bone. She worked her j
aws and looked around. “What the hell? Where am I, and what’s that smell?”
She pushed herself upright only to fall back again with a cry. Her head throbbed, and the slightest move caused stabbing pains to shoot through her skull. “Man, that hurts. Mother effin hell, it hurts.”
A wave of nausea rolled over her like a freight train, and a cold sweat broke out on her forehead. The corpse in the front seat mocked her with its lipless grin, and the smell of its decaying flesh coated her tongue like slime. She twisted to the side and hurled up the contents of her stomach, little though it was. The pain in her head intensified from the pressure, and she nearly blacked out again.
Dylan muffled a sob and curled into a ball, willing the agony away. After half an hour, it faded to a dull throb. Painful, but manageable. Barely.
She sat upright again, moving slowly this time. The sun was bright and sat high in the sky. At least, it wasn’t cold. She hated the cold. “That bitch, Maddie. If I get a hold of her, I’m going to strangle her scrawny neck.”
Then her eyes fell on her watch, and she gasped. “What’s the time?”
It was past eight in the morning already, and she swallowed hard as fear threatened to consume her. She’d lost nearly twelve hours passed out in the back seat of the car. Twelve hours! “I’ve got to get moving. Now.”
Dylan reached for the door handle, but reared back when a zombie smashed its face into the window. It swiped at the glass with furious rage, its teeth bared. Two more closed in, banging their fists against the windows, and the fragile material groaned beneath the force of their blows.
Panic set in, and she covered her head with her arms, screaming with helplessness and pain. Her brain refused to work, to function. She was no longer a thinking human being, but mere prey, trapped by a superior predator. “Go away!”
But the zombies didn’t go away. If anything, their efforts intensified. A tremor ran through her muscles, and Dylan realized she had to do something fast before she grew too weak. Loss of blood and dehydration had taken its toll, and it would only get worse the longer she waited.
Wiping away the tears, she pulled her gun from its holster. Seven bullets. That was all she had. “Better make it count then.”
Leaning over, she wound the window down a crack. When the infected thrust its face into the gap, she shot it through the head. It fell away, replaced seconds later by another. She repeated the procedure until all three zombies were down before allowing herself a moment of optimism. “Please tell me that’s the last of them.”
After a thorough examination of the outside area, it appeared it was. Still, she had to move before more were drawn by the gunshots. Not that she knew where they were coming from in the first place. A farm, maybe? Stranded cars? Who knew?
Getting out of the car took at least two tries. Her legs were wobbly, and the world spun like a top whenever she moved too fast. Finally, she was out and considering her options. Walking was out of the question. She needed a car.
Her eyes fell on the vehicle in which she’d spent the night. It was the only one of the three that didn’t look too badly damaged. Maybe, she was lucky, and it still ran. Wrinkling her nose with disgust, she opened the door and undid the dead zombie’s seatbelt before pulling it out onto the asphalt.
It looked as bad as it smelled, and she vomited twice more during the procedure. After sending up a quick prayer, Dylan attempted to start the engine. It took on the third try, and she almost cried with relief. “Thank, God!”
She carefully reversed out of the pile-up and checked the fuel. There was half a tank left, enough to keep her going for a while. A quick search of the trunk delivered an old rag that she used to wipe the wheel and cover the seat, soaked as it was in bodily fluids.
The truck had nothing of use inside it, but the smashed car held a suitcase in the back, and she loaded it into her vehicle without wasting a second. The original owner no longer needed it. Though she was dying to check out the contents, she had to get out of there first. “No telling how many more zombies are hanging around here.”
As she drove away, Dylan checked the timer on her wrist once more. The news wasn’t good. Forty-eight hours and twelve minutes remaining. “Perfect. Just fucking perfect!”
Chapter 14 - Amy
The next morning, Amy dug another hole. This one she placed in a distant corner of the yard, as far away from the house as she could manage. It took hours, but she finally managed to make the grave deep enough. Luckily, the ground was soft due to a bout of recent rain.
After wrapping the corpse in an old blanket, she dragged it toward the hole and dumped it inside. Once the grave was covered with fresh dirt, she uttered a quick prayer for the poor man’s soul. Whatever he might have been in death, he was still a person before that: someone’s dad, husband, son, or brother. A proper burial was the least she could do for him. “I’m sorry I killed you, but I had no choice, mister. I hope you rest in peace.”
With most of the day already gone, she knew she had to hurry. Armed with the pistol, shotgun, a roll of wire and clippers, she set off to patrol the fence. It was a long walk, but she enjoyed the activity. With the changing of the seasons, everything had turned to gold with undertones of brown and accents of russet.
Along the way, she inspected the fence with care, knowing her life depended on it. She replaced a couple of rusted wires and found a ditch formed by rainwater. It was deep enough to allow a person to crawl through, so she filled it in with loose rocks and sand before continuing with her circuit.
She’d walked about three-quarters of the way around the property when she found the hole. It was only a few feet from the gate, a gap big enough for a zombie to wriggle through if it wanted. It was hidden from view by a thick bush, the reason nobody had spotted it until now.
The wire was rusted through where it connected to the post. She had to replace each strand by hand and clip off the old. It was a big job, and she resigned herself to spending the rest of the afternoon on the task.
Barely an hour had passed, however, when the rumble of an approaching vehicle put Amy on high alert. Grabbing her shotgun, she hunkered down behind the bush and waited. She didn’t have to wait long.
Within seconds, a faded blue truck appeared around the bend, its tires kicking up a cloud of dust. It stopped before the gate, and the passenger door opened with a loud creak. Footsteps approached, crunching on the loose gravel.
Amy’s heart was banging in her chest like a drum, and the sour tang of fear coated her tongue. She clutched the gun with sweaty palms, trying to remain calm. To her immense relief, a familiar figure appeared before her eyes.
It was Mrs. Robinson, the next-door-neighbor. Next-door meaning they lived several miles away on a working farm with crops, and horses. They also had a pumpkin patch, and every year, Amy’s mom would buy a couple for Halloween. They’d spend the day carving scary faces into the hollowed-out gourds while eating pumpkin pie, Amy’s favorite. It was a fond memory that brought a smile to Amy’s face.
She straightened up and waved. “Mrs. Robinson. It’s me, Amy.”
Mrs. Robinson turned to her with a relieved smile. “Amy! I’m so glad to see you. How are you, dear?”
Amy walked over, cradling the shotgun. “I’m okay, Mrs. Robinson.”
“I’ve been so worried. I tried calling your mom a bunch of times, but there’s no reception. Ted and I wanted to make a turn before now, but with all the crazy things happening, we haven’t had a chance until now.”
Mr. Robinson stepped out of the truck and tipped his hat. “Good day, Amy. Is your father here?”
A knot formed in Amy’s throat, and she shook her head. “He’s not here. He’s gone.”
“Gone?” Mr. Robinson asked. “What do you mean?”
“He went to town a week ago, and he never came back,” Amy said, hot tears burning her eyelids. “I think something happened to him.”
Mrs. Robinson gasped. “Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that. What about your mother? Is she home?�
��
Amy shook her head, the tears spilling over. “She got bitten a few days ago. I buried her in the backyard underneath the lemon tree.”
Mrs. Robinson paled, one hand fluttering at the base of her throat. “You’re all alone? Oh, my dear. We can’t have that, can we Ted?”
Mr. Robinson regarded Amy with a sympathetic look. “Certainly not. It’s not safe.”
Mrs. Robinson nodded. “You must come with us, dear. We’ll take care of you.”
Amy stared at the couple, tears still streaming down her face. They were good people. Honest, hardworking, and God-fearing. Her kind of people. While they’d never been house friends, they were a known quantity. Familiar. She longed to take them up on their offer. It would be a relief not to be alone anymore. Alone and scared. They’d look after her like she was their own, that she knew for sure.
“Amy?” Mrs. Robinson said when the silence stretched on too long. “You can trust us, my dear. We won’t hurt you.”
“I know that Mrs, Robinson, and thank you,” Amy said, brushing the tears away. “But I can’t.”
“Why not?” Mr. Robinson asked with a frown. “You’ll be safe with us.”
“I’m waiting for my brother. He’s on his way,” Amy said.
“How long has it been since you heard from him?” Mr. Robinson asked.
“A few days, that’s all,” Amy said, her tone defiant as if she dared him to disagree.
“Why not leave him a message? That way he’ll know where to find you when he gets here,” Mr. Robinson answered in a neutral voice.
“But…what about the chickens? The house? I can’t just leave it all behind,” Amy protested, realizing she was clutching at straws.
“Of course, you can. Take what you want and lock up the rest. The house will be fine, I promise,” Mr. Robinson said with an expression of infinite patience on his weathered face.
“I don’t know.” Amy’s mind was in a whirl, twisting one way then the next like a weather vane in a stiff breeze.
Rise of the Undead Box Set | Books 1-3 | Apocalypse Z Page 8