by Zach Sweets
Table of Contents
Title Page
Book Details
Dedication
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
About the Author
Zombie Rain
Zach Sweets
Jake's world is torn apart when his son dies, killed by a little girl who has infected him with a strange disease. Soon, Jake's entire hometown is overtaken by the disease. A disease that turns them into flesh-craving monsters. The combination of tragedy and horror is almost more than Jake can take, but then he meets Rex, a man who has been struggling through the horror in search of more survivors. The two men travel together, searching for answers and other survivors, the growing bond between them the only bright light in their dark world.
But then that light is taken brutally away, and Jake is left struggling to find it again, fighting against insurmountable odds and growing despair ...
Book Details
Zombie Rain
By Zach Sweet
Published by Less Than Three Press LLC
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission of the publisher, except for the purpose of reviews.
Edited by Megan Young
Cover designed by Aisha Akeju
This book is a work of fiction and as such all characters and situations are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is coincidental.
First Edition April 2012
Copyright © 2012 by Zach Sweet
Printed in the United States of America
ISBN 9781620041109
Dedication
To one of my fabulous friends, when I wrote this story, it often made me think of you. This book is dedicated to you, Piper Vaughn.
Additionally, I'd like to give my thanks to my wonderful writing group who helped me throughout the journey in writing Zombie Rain. It is a truly blessed to have you be part of my life.
Lastly, I have my utmost thanks to my beloved husband for being so tremendously patient while I was going nuts with the writing and editing this book. You're the world to me. I love you with all of my heart!
One
April 27
Thomas
It was hard to believe the weekend had passed by already. My son, Thomas, and I had been camping. It was a perfect way for us to spend quality time together. Apparently, our adventure had worn him out since he was asleep in the car before we left the campground.
The drive went smoothly, with less traffic than I'd seen in a while. At last, we arrived home and I pulled in the driveway. I looked at my sleeping baby fondly. "Son? Wake up. We're home." I smiled when his eyes opened and grew enormous with excitement.
"Dad, can I go play with my friends?"
"Can you take the bag inside first, please?" I asked.
"But Daddy, I want to go over to Bobby and Crystal's and play. Please!" Thomas jumped up and down in his seat with his hand gripped onto my shirt.
I shook my head and chuckled at his enthusiasm. "Okay, you can go and play, but I need to get the rest of our gear back inside." I mussed his head as he laughed and held onto me.
"You're awesome, Daddy!" He cheered and took some of his toys that were inside the car then ran over to his friend's.
As I gathered the toys and some of our camping equipment, I heard Thomas call out to a couple of the neighborhood kids to hang out with him. They had been playing together nearly every day before we left for the weekend, so it wasn't a big surprise that they were just as excited to see him as he was to see them.
All the stuff was put away and I had just sat down on the recliner and picked up a book to read when Thomas ran inside, screaming and bawling.
"Crystal bit me!" He showed me a deep wound on his right arm. Shit, she bit him hard. Blood welled from the bite mark and I immediately took him to the kitchen. I turned on the water at the sink and rinsed the wound carefully before pouring some peroxide from the kitchen first-aid kit over it to clean out any contaminates. As soon as I had it covered with a bandage, I picked him up and cradled him in my arms.
"It'll be okay," I mumbled into his ear, and my soothing tones seemed to calm him a bit. I took him to the living room, rocked him, and talked softly. As everything got quieter, we both fell asleep, my wounded child cuddled in my arms.
I had no idea how long I'd been asleep when a loud growl ripped me to full awareness. I immediately grabbed for my boy, but he was no longer in my arms, no longer even on the couch with me. I looked around, but he wasn't anywhere to be seen.
I jumped when the growling rumbled again. "Thomas?" I called, feeling a quiver of fear. My whole body was shaking as I approached the stairs I clutched the rail and looked up. I crept up to the second floor, following the ominous sound. My heart raced when I realized it was coming from inside Thomas's room. I carefully pushed the door open and peeked inside. The lights were off, and the neon stars on the ceiling cast an eerie light over the dark blue walls. I found Thomas standing at the edge of the bed, shaking and swaying. It looked like some horrible illness had overtaken him; his skin was pale and blotched in varying shades of bruised purple.
I froze, shocked, and he rushed at me, pushing me back toward the hallway. He was so strong, I actually stumbled backward until my back hit the wall across from his room. The growl that rose from his throat sounded so unlike him, so unlike anything I had ever heard, that I froze.
Thomas gnashed his teeth and chomped at me. I nearly lost my balance in shock that my own kid tried to bite me. What the hell was going on? When I found my footing, I managed to pick him up without getting bitten, and to my horror, he roared, loud enough to hurt my ears. He squirmed in my arms, knocking me off balance, and we tumbled to the floor while I tried to hold him steady.
"Thomas! Calm down! It's Daddy." I alternated between begging and ordering. Nothing seemed to penetrate the fog that had taken him.
He continued to flail and struggle in my grasp until I thought I was going to lose my mind. What on earth was happening? He was only seven years old, my sweet innocent boy. I remembered when he was welcomed into our world, when I held him in my arms the first time and our eyes met. His wide-open eyes, full of wonder, held a hint that they would one day be the same blue as my own. I knew in that moment he was my world and I would treasure him forever.
Somehow, I managed to hold his head steady and looked into his eyes. The bright blue had turned much darker. They looked damaged, as if the Thomas I knew was somehow no longer inside. How can something be so dreadfully wrong with him in just a span of a few hours? Usually when he had a tantrum or a screaming fit, his face and ears turned red, but at that moment his face was still pale, with those purple blotches. Even scarier, my hand was on his chest and I felt none of that sweet rhythm. Nothing came from him but the sounds of growling and roaring.
My own heart beat like a runaway train as I struggled to figure out how to actually check his pulse. I used my legs to hold him down and reached for his wrist to feel it. It was no time to panic, but I needed to convince myself he was alright. Holding him down felt like some sort of nightmare coming to a head as I searched for his heartbeat. I gasped.
There wasn't one.
How was this possible? He was alive, kicking and making noises. There was no way that my son didn't have a pulse. Dead people had no pulse, not living people. No, it was impossible.
I nearly let go of my grip on Thomas when I heard loud noises outside the house. Fuck, what's happening out there? No way in hell can I let Thomas go. I thought it'd be best to put T
homas back to his bedroom. I reached my right hand over his chest and hooked it under his left arm. The move forced his chin up and kept him from biting me. My other hand grabbed his right shin. I had to hold him firmly to make him immobile. I got on my feet and tried to get him into the room.
Carrying him was hard. It was as if he had the strength of a grown man. As soon as I reached his room, he latched on to a piece of molding around the doorway and it ripped free in his grasp. I fought to contain the violence that overtook him. I had to put him in his bedroom and lock him in for safety. Ashamed, I realized it was for my own safety as well. The windows of his room were unbreakable, and the door was solid. I told myself he'd be safe there.
I jumped as Thomas banged the door repeatedly. "Thomas, please calm down." I rested against the door, trying not to cry. A loud pop brought my attention to the hallway window. The view was surreal and I immediately went downstairs to get a better handle of what was going on outside.
I looked out the patio door. Cars littered the roads like they'd been thrown together. Smoke poured from fires in homes and vehicles. People screamed and moaned. It was overwhelming and lent a terrifying background to the sound of my son pounding on his bedroom door.
Trusting that I had Thomas safely secured, I ran outside. I was trying to reconcile what I had witnessed, knowing I needed more answers. I went to my neighbor's to check on them and to see if perhaps they knew what was going on. I was out of breath by the time I got to the front door and realized it was lying on the ground. I went inside to called and searched for them, but they were nowhere to be found. Fuck!
I stared at the chaos, overwhelmed and not sure what to do next. I went into their kitchen then heard a faint sound coming from the basement. Slowly, I reached for the doorknob and opened the door. I switched the light on but it didn't work. In the kitchen, a yellow flashlight sat on the counter by the stove. I grabbed it and went downstairs, trying to master my fear.
"Mr. Jones? Mrs. Jones? Are you down there?" I shivered with every step downward.
"I'm here," a woman's voice came out sharp, as if she was in pain.
I shone the light towards the voice and found Mrs. Jones trapped under a heavy wooden table. Her husband lay on the floor to her left. Well, pieces of him at least. Part of his jaw was missing, and his left arm was gone. I swore I saw his eyes move, but that couldn't be. Could it?
"Oh, Jake, help me. Please," she sobbed.
"Don't move, Mrs. Jones." I used all my strength and just barely managed to lift the table enough for her to crawl out. Just in time. It was so heavy that I dropped it as soon as she was clear. I bent to her to see if she was okay. To my relief, I couldn't see any injuries that might need immediate attention, but my God, her husband. "What happened?" I hated to ask her, but I needed to know.
"I don't know, it happened too fast. I mean, Joel and I were in the kitchen when these men suddenly broke down the door. They were growling and just came after for us. The safest place we could think of was down here, so we ran for it. I made it first, with Joel right behind me. The next thing I knew I was here on the floor, trapped under this table and my husband was dead." She sobbed frantically and I gathered her into my arms.
"It's okay, you're safe." I held her until she calmed down and was ready to let go then bent my knees a little until my eyes met hers. I could see how hurt and confused she was. Her eyes were swollen from crying and her lips were covered with dried blood. Her normally perfect light brown hair was now a dark matted mess. Cobwebs and saw dust littered her hair, making it seem as if she had been trapped down here for some time, though I knew it couldn't have been for long. The once perky, joyful woman I knew was gone.
"Let's get out of here," I said quietly. "We need to find out what's going on."
We went back up the stairs. More fires filled the air with smoke outside and roars echoed from every direction. Is this the end of the world or what?
I saw people chasing each other. Some roared, others shouted for help. Should I go and help them or should I stay put? I couldn't decide what to do and just kept thinking, this can't be real.
Uncertainly, I told Mrs. Jones to stay put, then I went toward the people screaming for help, dodging the people that were roaring. I gasped when I realized they had that sickly pallor, just like Thomas, and when I looked closer, I noticed there was some kind of black ooze dripping from their mouths. What the hell was that? Their teeth looked purple, and they all had wounds of some kind. They just looked scary. Was it bacteria that made them that way? I saw then that there were kids out there, too. My fatherly instincts kicked in; I had to try to save the kids.
As I rushed toward them, I saw that they had black liquid oozing from their mouths, and when they screamed, the viscous goo splattered everywhere. I skidded to a halt. I was so afraid it'd be contagious, all I could do was run away. Cowardly or not, it was all I was capable of doing.
"Get back inside the house!" I screamed to warn Mrs. Jones, but I was too late. She let out an ear-piercing wail as the enormous dead-walking man tackled her, twisted her neck, and sank his teeth into her shoulder. Frantic to help, I could only stand and watch as he ripped out a good chunk of her flesh, spitting it on the ground as she went limp in his grip. The sounds he made were like a dog gnawing on a bone. The others noticed and began to shift my way. Their groans, growls, and roars gained volume.
I rushed into my house to escape them and a loud bang smacked the door just seconds after I slammed it shut and locked it. Thomas repeated the slamming on his door upstairs, almost in response.
All thought and reason seemed to empty from my head. I fell to the floor and wept. I had no clue what to do anymore. Everyone roared, screamed, banged, and scratched. The noise was like some elaborate orchestra of madness.
Then, all of a sudden, everything went quiet.
The long eerie minute of silence stretched out. All I could hear was my own heart beating. The longer the silence went on, the scarier it got.
The first ricochet of bullets pinging through the distance nearly made me jump out of my skin. Was it the police? The army? Gosh, I hoped so.
I went to the window and peered out cautiously. He was shooting at the growlers. Some got back up after being shot and some didn't; it was like watching an old horror movie, but way too real for my taste.
From the distance, the man seemed to be a couple of inches taller than me. His shirt was so tight that his muscular arms were clearly defined. It was hard to tell the color of his hair, since it was covered with blood.
He swung his head and looked right at my windows. I ducked immediately, terrified that he had seen me. Had he? The sound of footsteps pounding toward my door answered the question. Another furious burst of gunfire blasted away the zombies in his way. Sure, I had them pegged as zombies; diseased people don't get up from a hail of bullets.
I expected him to smash the door in and did God know what to me. The light knocking was almost an anti-climax.
"I'm not going to hurt you…you're the first survivor in this town so far. Let me in, please." He pleaded through the door and wow, the way he sounded…
Shit, pay attention Jake. My hand quivered as I reached to the deadbolt to unlock it. I opened it a sliver, keeping the chain connected to the door. I stared at him unable to say anything.
"Are you going to let me in?"
I figured at this point it was better to make friends with the guy holding the guns than not, so I disconnected the chain and opened the door.
He stepped inside, filling the doorway with his girth.
He was huge and towered over me by a good few inches. The V at the neck of his t-shirt showed his hairy chest. His eyes were a gorgeous hazel color, and he had a full-grown beard.
"I still don't really understand what's happening," I said nervously.
"No worries. I bet everything has been a shock for you. The people out there, they're zombies, walking dead. If you're wondering how the hell it happened, I can't help you there. No one knows." Hi
s voice sounded like gravel over ice, but the tone was kind enough.
"I figured that's what they are, but this is like some cheap horror movie. How in hell do they get that way?"
"A single scratch from one of them would do it."
I swallowed hard, trying not to glance toward the stairs. "Even a tiny bite?"
"Yup. You get bit or scratched by one of them?" He grabbed the rifle hanging off his shoulder.
"Whoa! Chill! No. If I did, wouldn't I be like them by now?" I held up my hands to ward him off, eyes wide.
"Sorry, I had to make sure. That's all." He seemed to relax then, but a second later something alarmed him. In an instant, he raised the gun barrels threateningly.
"What now?" I wanted to kick him out. His hyper-alertness freaked me out.
"Someone upstairs is banging on a door."
"Oh, that's Thomas, my son. He isn't well. He got bit by a little girl."
The stranger moved toward the stairs and I darted to block him before I could even think of what he was doing. "Don't you fucking touch my son!"
"You have to understand, he's dead. He's a zombie. You can't bring him back. It's best to give him peace. He's suffering, and he'll cause suffering for anyone that he gets hold of. A bullet in his head will be quick and painless for him."
"Wh-what?" I wanted to punch him. "Did I just hear you suggest shooting my son?"
"Yes." He said it so matter-of-factly.
The anger made me shake, as I screamed, "No fucking way! You stay away from him!" Adrenaline gave me strength and I pushed him out of my house then slammed the door so hard the walls rattled.
"I know it's difficult, but he's not your son anymore. You have to understand. It's best to let him go. If you leave him as he is, he'll eat other humans. Do you want to see that?" His voice came muffled through the front door as I leaned my back against it. I sobbed and sank to the floor, feeling defeated. Not my Thomas.
"I can't. You can't possibly tell me to kill him. He's just a little boy," I cried.
"He's dead already."