The Good, The Bad, And The Undead : A zombie Apocalypse (The Wild Wild Midwest Book 1)

by Gill, Bonnie

  I remember she has two adult children, and I haven't asked about them. I'm a horrible person. "Have you heard from anyone in your family?"

  She smiles with her lips pressed together in a way that if she even relaxes them, just a tiny bit, the sorrow will come bursting out. "I haven't heard from them since yesterday morning. I'm sure they'll be okay." She pats my leg.

  My heart breaks for her. I have no idea what it's like to have children, but I know how much I love my sister. "I'm so sorry. Have you charged your cell phone?"

  She sits in the chair across from me. "I forgot to bring it with me."

  "What? I'll go over and get it. Give me your house key." I jump up from my seat and hold out my hand. I'm kind of pissed that she hadn't asked for it earlier.

  She clasps my outstretched hand in hers. Her skin is soft, and you can see the veins through her transparent skin. "Jackson said his phone doesn't work anymore. It won't accomplish anything right now. You need to rest. We can get it later."

  Maybe she doesn't want to know. Right now, she still has hope they're healthy and alive. No texts saying ‘we're sick’, or ‘so and so died’. I can kind of see why she doesn't want her phone. "Okay. I'll get it later." I lay my other hand on hers.

  On my way to my room, Thomas calls my name, "Raven."

  I turn around and sit on the couch next to him. “Hi.” His cheek has a crinkle mark on it from sleeping on his arm. "Do you need anything?"

  "Can I use your bathroom?"

  "Of course." I wish I'd told them earlier to make themselves at home. Another indicator of just how bad of a hostess I am. "Help yourself to anything you need."

  He gets up and stops to look at me. "Do you think my mom's okay?"

  I swallow hard, and the little bit of soup I had earlier isn't sitting well in my stomach. I can feel it swishing around like waves, going one way, and switching to the other. Wanting to comfort him but also not wanting to lie, I say, "I know she's a strong and smart person. She'll do everything in her power to get back to you boys. She loves you very much."

  He smiles like he knows just how far she would go to get to them. "She’s pretty smart. One time, she was late coming home. I was locked out of the house because I'd forgotten my key. Her car broke down on the way, and she called a cab. We didn't have the money for one, but she was only five minutes late. Maybe her car broke down again, and she couldn't find a ride?"

  "It's a possibility," I say, knowing if that was the case, she'd be in more danger than if she'd stayed at her parent's house. "I bet she's trying to find a way back right now." I want to give him hope. The poor little guy has been through a lot in the last twelve hours.

  He nods and skips to my bathroom.

  "I don't know what to tell them," Mrs. Garcia says. She's standing in the area between my kitchen and living room while drying her hands on a towel.

  "We can only give him hope."

  "Yes. well. I have a feeling they'll leave later this morning regardless. I really don't blame them." She has a troubled look on her face and acts like she wants to say more but doesn't.

  "I planned on asking Clark if he wanted me to go with him."

  "That's sweet of you."

  "Where's Betty? I haven't seen her in a while.”

  "She went to rest in my home. She wasn't feeling well. You know she has a heart problem."

  "Is she okay? Does she need medication?" We should've asked everyone if they needed anything before we left to make our rounds.

  "No. She asked for aspirin and wanted to lie down. She'll be alright."

  I heard a thump on the side of my house. I look out the window, and I see Dean climbing up a ladder while holding a folding lawn chair. All the mobile homes in this park are older and mine has a flat roof. There's more clattering above me.

  I pull off my clothes and slide into my comfy sheets. We accomplished a lot today. Although I have a little sense of security, I knew someone in our group would die.

  6

  It's mid-afternoon and Daria bolts into my room and startles me awake. "She's dead. Do you think she'll turn into a gabbie?" She's still in her leather pants, and her mascara from the day before is smudged under her eyes.

  "Who's dead?" Immediately, I think of Star. I jump out of bed so fast the room spins, and I have to grab onto the small dresser next to me to steady myself.

  "Betty. I went to check on her, and she's lying in the bed, dead. Star is with her right now." She fumbles with her phone. "My phone isn't working." She tosses it against the wall.

  I've never seen Daria this upset before, and I've seen her through several breakups. She looks as if someone just kicked her puppy. I didn't know she was so close to Betty. I motion her to come to me, and I wrap my arms around her for a bear hug. I'm not sure if the hug was for her or if I needed it myself. Betty was everyone's grandma in the neighborhood. She'd bake cookies, knit a blanket, or lower the hem in your pants for you. "I'm so sorry."

  "It's not fair. First, we have to deal with those stupid gabbies and now..." she trails off.

  I get it. This whole situation sucks. Life couldn't just hit you with one devastating blow, they had to come in clusters. "We should go over there to see if Star needs help."

  We enter the living room when I see a white piece of folded paper on my end table.

  Inside it reads... GOOD MORNING NEIGHBORS, OR SHOULD WE SAY GOOD AFTERNOON? WE DECIDED TO LOOK FOR CLAIRE. PLEASE DON'T WORRY ABOUT US. DEAN GAVE US A GUN, AND WE HAVE SOME BATS. STAY SAFE.

  THE WASHINGTONS

  Wonderful. I understand why he left, but he could've asked one of us to go with them and help. At least it's light outside. I toss the note back onto the table and follow Daria out the door.

  Betty lay on a bed in Mrs. Garcia's guest room, cocooned in white sheets with little pink roses on them. Her eyes are closed and her lips relaxed. She looks peaceful like she's taking a nap.

  Star sits at the end of the bed. "We think she died in her sleep. When I came in here, she was already cool." The dark circles under her eyes show she hasn't slept. She looks down at Betty with sadness.

  "We should probably bury her. I can dig a grave in her back yard." I want to give her a proper burial.

  Mrs. Garcia walks into the room. "I'd like to have a service for her, Dorothy, and Edith, if she doesn’t make it. A small one at least." The women used to do everything together. My heart aches for her. First, she doesn't hear from her children, and now her friends are gone. Not a great way to start an apocalypse.

  "That'll be nice," Star says. "We can do it this evening. I'll bake something, maybe cookies." Star uses baking as therapy. When our mom was sick, she baked cookies, cupcakes, macaroons, you name it. Our kitchen was loaded with sugary treats. I think I gained ten pounds during that time.

  "Where's Dean?" I ask. The chair on my roof sat empty, along with a few crushed beer cans scattered on the ground. The man is constantly on the go.

  "He went to check on Jerry, Edith, and the woman with the bite on her wrist," Daria informs us.

  "They hadn’t turned when I checked on them a few hours ago," Star says. She rubs the back of her head. "I think you have to die first in order to come back as a gabbie. We still don't know though. Tammy, the lady with the bite on her wrist, has flu-like symptoms and is severely dehydrated even though she's been drinking water. Her fever is super high. Jerry isn't doing well either. Edith’s fever is high, she’s coughing up blood, and she’s lethargic. I don't think any of them have very long to live. I'm estimating it takes about twelve to twenty-four hours from bite to gabbie." Star has a knack for being thorough, and I bet she has a spreadsheet going on her laptop.

  "Someone should keep watch on the neighborhood at all times," I say. "Dean found spray paint and is marking a big X on the doors of the sick. He should be done soon."

  Mrs. Garcia lays a plastic flower on Betty's cocoon.

  Star and Daria decide to take a nap while I dig the graves. My hands hurt, and blisters are forming on my palms. The groun
d is pretty hard because of the cool nights. Spring is erratic here in the north. One day the temperatures are up to sixty degrees, and the next it’s back to zero. The last few days it's been hovering around freezing. I use a pickaxe to loosen the soil before I dig. It takes over two hours, and it’s still not as deep as I would like, but it'll have to do.

  I enter my home, and Mrs. Garcia is dusting my coffee table. She's rubbing the polish in circles at a furious speed.

  "You're going to remove the finish and possibly start a fire if you keep that up," I say, hoping to lighten her mood. And now I sound like Dean.

  "I'm sorry, dear. I can't help myself. I clean when I get anxious. Can I make you a cup of tea?" Mrs. Garcia asks. She straightens a book on the end table. She sees me rubbing my palms and motions for me to come closer. "Let me see." Mrs. Garcia gently takes my hand and straightens out my fingers. "Did you pack all of the antibiotic ointment into the bugout bags, or did you leave some out for emergencies?"

  I get my first aid supplies out from the linen closet and let her doctor my torn blisters. I can do it myself, but I know she needs something to keep her mind off of everything. "How are you doing?"

  "Oh, I'm hanging in there. You know, I've seen some crazy stuff in my life, but this..." She holds her hands up in the what the heck gesture.

  "I know what you mean." I peel the backing off a bandage and slap it on my hand. "Have you heard anything from your family?"

  She sits next to me. "No. I know my daughter was sick a few days ago." She chews on her bottom lip.

  "I'm so sorry," I say.

  She pours hot water into a cup and places a tea bag in it. "Here's some green tea."

  That's the only kind of tea I have in my cabinet. I'm far from a tea connoisseur. "Thank you," I say. The cup has steam coming from the top. When I take a drink, my insides suddenly feel nice and toasty.

  "We can't stay here," she says.

  "Not for the long run, but we can for a little while. I don't want to take a chance on the roads just yet." I take another drink.

  "Dean should be done soon. He hasn't slept much." Worry overtakes her facial features.

  "I plan on taking my watch now. When he comes back, tell him to take a nap. I wish we had more people. They say there's safety in numbers. We'll have to make a schedule for the watches.”

  Mrs. Garcia washes the dishes and lays them in the rack to dry. "I'll tell him." She winks and hands me a thermos full of warm tea.

  I climb the ladder to the top of my home. As I set my rifle down next to the lawn chair, I can see Dean on the other side of the neighborhood. A zombie is chasing him around a car. I grab my weapon and look through the sight. The gabbie is faster than I expected.

  Dean takes off running down the road. The gabbie is a teenage female. She's chasing him with her arms straight out in front of her.

  I lock onto her and take a shot. Her shoulder jerks back. It doesn't slow her down one bit. I line up another shot and squeeze the trigger. Her head explodes into brown and black goo.

  Dean turns and flips me the bird.

  "What?" I yell.

  He’s points at zombie girl’s brains on his clothes.

  I wave and laugh. "Sorry." I'm not, but I say it anyway.

  "I'll get you back," he yells back to me. He jogs over to his home.

  I scan the whole neighborhood. There's an orange striped cat with a mouse in its mouth, and he runs under a van. Everything else is quiet. From this spot, I can see down the road outside of the mobile home park. There's a gabbie wearing a police uniform shambling down the street. He’s chasing a squirrel. The rodent dodges away from him and up a tree. The police zombie circles the tree several times before I look away.

  A newer, black Ford Mustang turns the corner. I look through my scope at the occupants. It's Joey the bouncer and another guy. I lower my weapon so they don't think I'm going to shoot them and take a step back. My foot connects with the lawn chair leg and throws me off balance. My ankle rolls, and I windmill my arms trying to regain my balance. It doesn't work. I fall to my rear, but the momentum carries me backward. I do a somersault and end up wrapping my fingers around the edge of the gutter. Kicking my feet, I try to adjust my grip.

  "Raven? What are you doing?" a deep voice says.

  I look over my shoulder and see Joey and his friend exiting their car. "I'm just hanging around." I smirk at my stupid joke.

  "I see that. Do you want any help?" Joey asks.

  The ground is only about five feet below me. I drop from the gutter, and pain shoots from my ankle and up my leg. "Ouch." I switch feet to keep the weight off of it.

  "You okay?"

  "Yep." I shake my foot to help reduce the pain. It doesn't work.

  "We stopped by to see if you need any help. It looks like we made it here just in time," Joey says. He's smiling like a kid who has just found a mountain of candy. I'm sure my graceful dismount amuses them.

  Both of them are dressed in camo and are carrying rifles. They're tall and well built. We can use them to defend our little community, assuming they are interested.

  "How nice of you." I put some weight on my foot, and my ankle isn't as tender.

  "This is my cousin Vinny." He motions to the other guy.

  Vinny nods to me and gives me a friendly smile. He is standing in an at ease position. Both scan the area, holding their weapons like they've seen some battle, watching for potential threats. Magazines stick out of their pockets like they’re preparing for war.

  I nod back. "Star is napping. She's been keeping an eye on everyone who's been bitten."

  "She's okay then?" He lets out a relieved breath.

  "She's fine." He's still crushing on her. Poor guy. Star has broken many hearts.

  "You know they'll turn. There's no way they'll survive. She shouldn't be around them."

  "Yeah, we know." I suddenly feel naked without my weapon. I look up, hoping to see my rifle on the roof, but I'm too short. "I'll be right back." I climb the ladder and retrieve my weapon. While I'm up there, I search the area. The cop zombie is still circling the tree. The squirrel is chattering at him. Obsessed much? I climb back down.

  "When do you think she'll be up?" Joey asks.

  "Not for a while. They were awake all night. Do you want to stay or come back later? I can tell her you stopped by."

  He looks at my weapon like he’s only seeing it now and then my face. "Do you know how to use that?"

  "I do. Do you know how to use yours?" There take that. I give him my evil smile.

  He looks at Vinny. His cousin furrows his brows.

  "I’ll take that as a yes then," I say.

  "We'll come back. We just wanted to make sure you're all okay. If you want, you can stay at our house. It's brick, and we have a fenced yard." Joey gives me a hopeful look.

  "We’ve decided to stay put at least for a little while. We have a couple of people who need us here. But if you guys are looking for an adventure, we're probably going to head out tomorrow to go look for our neighbors. Clark and his sons left this morning to search for his wife. I think she went to Summer Hill estates."

  Joey and Vinny look at each other.

  "They were hit pretty hard. The National Guard cleaned out the neighborhood and is setting up a temporary refugee camp or safe zone in that area. I wouldn't go there," Joey says as he shoves his hands into his pockets. “Once they let you in, you can’t leave. Oh, and you can’t bring your weapons inside.”

  I've always heard you should never go to the government camps. Something always happens to put it in jeopardy. Also, the first thing they do is take your weapons. Not my idea of staying safe. "Good to know. Thanks for the info."

  "You gonna steer clear then?" he asks.

  "For now." I scan the area to make sure no gabbies are sneaking up on us.

  "Star should remember where I live. You sure you don't want to leave now?"

  "We're doing okay. I'll tell her you stopped by. You guys could always stay here. I have supplies for
about a month or so." I’m not sure if it's a good idea to invite them, but the more help the better, right? Star will probably kill me. She dumped him for who knows what reason. He seems like he wants to protect her. Maybe he’s a hoverer. Oh, well.

  "We can't stay right now. Our mothers are on their way up from Arkansas and should be here in the next day or so," Joey says.

  "Your mothers are driving up here? How come you're not going down there to get them?"

  "You don't know our mothers," Vinny says.

  "Oh, they are beyond capable of making the trip. They're probably having the time of their lives right now." Joey grins like he has a huge secret.

  Weird. I shrug my shoulders. "Wait here." I run inside my trailer. Mrs. Garcia is sitting on the couch with her head resting on the backrest. Her eyes and mouth are wide open. She's sitting so still. "Mrs. Garcia?" I ask, almost afraid she won’t answer.

  She jolts awake. "Oh, child. You scared me. I was resting."

  "Just making sure you're okay. Star's friends are here." I run into my utility room. Star and Daria had packed up everything by category. I look through a box marked electronics. I dig past the emergency radio until I see my long-range handheld radios. After checking to make sure there are fresh batteries, I jog back outside.

  Joey and Vinny are getting into their Mustang.

  I thrust one of the radios at Joey. "Here. I synched the channels. We can communicate with each other in case one of us needs help. It goes both ways."

  He studies it for a half of minute. "Thanks. You know, Star told me you're a prepper. I just didn't realize she was serious. I thought maybe you stocked some food and camping gear. But this"—he holds up the radio—"this shows you know what you're doing. It makes me feel better. I like how you modified the antenna. You’ll get triple the range."