by Zuko, Joseph
The Infected: Karen’s First Day
By Joseph “Zombie” Zuko
This book is a work of fiction.
Names and characters are fictitious, and any resemblance to a actual persons,
living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2015 Joseph Zuko
All Rights Reserved
Thank you to Josh McCullough, Kim Scheese, Linda Kim, Katie Zuko and Pam Anderson for helping me edit my book.
Thank you to my Mom and Dad for always being so supportive.
Thank you to Sam for the idea to start writing this book.
Thank you to my wife Katie Zuko. She cheers me on like I am her local sports team and thank you for not letting me give up on my dreams.
Dedicated to all three of my zombie loving children.
Thank you to the fans of Jim’s First Day.
Without your support I wouldn’t have had the guts to attempt to finish Karen’s First Day. You have all changed my life for the better. Your positive reviews and comments kept me motivated to finish the book. Thank you again.
In order to expand the world of The Infected I tweaked the style slightly from the first book so that it would allow us to see this nightmare unfold from multiple angles. I hope that you enjoy this ride as much as you enjoyed the first book.
Cover art by Paul Copeland
[email protected]
How this whole damn thing started.
A short story about Joe Zuko.
In 1997 I was a freshman in college, had a full time job and just turned nineteen. I still lived at home with my folks and they told me that if I wanted to start building credit I should go to Sears and get a credit card. I was a man now so I needed to have credit in order to buy things in the future, right? No one wants to marry a man that isn't up to his eyeballs in soul crushing debt. At least that's what I thought back then. I ran down to Sears, applied for a card and got approved for about three hundred dollars. I didn’t need a Kenmore washer and dryer. I didn’t need Craftsman tools. I owned a TV already and computers cost too much. I did the manliest thing I could do and bought a Playstation and the game Resident Evil 2. The game scared the poopoo out of me. I played late at night in my dark room and jumped at every scare. After that I was hooked. Zombies terrified me and I loved it. The idea that anyone can get infected and be turned into a lethal killing machine thrilled me to the bone. Grandma gets bit on the hand and now she can’t be trusted. She wants to eat your face. That’s really, really scary. I don’t care who you are. If Grandma wants to tear out your guts and chew on them, that’s scarier than sharks, chainsaws, dying in your dreams or camping with a maniac. I hope you enjoy reading my nightmare.
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Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 1
Karen moved quickly into her small apartment kitchen. The crisp morning sun poked through the pink colored curtain that covered the back sliding glass door. It gave the room a soft glow. Her eyes were cloudy, full of sleep and blurred. Her hair was a wild mane in desperate need of a good brushing. She moved with purpose for the silverware drawer. Her hands fumbled as she dug for the correct tool. The hard resin handle told her fingertips that she had found what she was looking for. The mirrored finish of the razor sharp kitchen knife caught the light from the cheap fluorescent bulbs above.
The blade sliced easily through the cold meat.
A noise from the bathroom startled her. The door opened and steam escaped. Her husband, Jim, stepped from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist and his skin was lobster red from the hot shower.
He spoke with a singsong tone, “I’m running late.”
Her eyes moved over Jim’s body. In the last year he had dropped twenty pounds from his midsection and finally had some good-sized shoulders. He looked so much better since he had worked that beer belly off.
“You’re always late,” Karen sighed as she stabbed the tip of her knife into a cooked chicken breast.
“Because I never want to leave you.” Jim stepped from the bathroom and moved behind her at the kitchen counter. She could feel the heat radiating off his skin and the dampness of his towel. Jim kissed her gently on the neck. He hadn’t shaved yet and his stubble was rough against her skin.
“Thank you for date night. It was a ton of fun.”
“Me sleepy.” Karen struggled to use proper English that early in the morning. Especially after the night she had, taking care of their two-year-old until one thirty in the morning. After the child fell asleep she stayed wide-awake until well past three. It was the same old whirlwind of doubts and fears that crept into her mind late at night when the house was finally quiet. The closing of her beautiful boutique of which she had once been the proud owner. The short sale of their first home. She loved that house. Both of her children were born in the bedroom they had been conceived in. The shrinking paychecks that Jim brought home every month. She laid in bed next to her husband with the claustrophobic feeling that the walls of their eight hundred square foot apartment were slowly closing in on her and crushing her to death.
When she woke up in the morning and had to get back into Mama/wife mode, the thoughts would diminish, but they were always there, always present in the back of her mind.
Her husband’s affection and soft kisses helped her feel better in the morning. Jim held her by the hips and pressed his groin into the back of her yoga pants.
“Maybe I should call in sick,” he said as he continued to kiss her neck.
If she weren’t so sleepy this kind of affection would have totally worked on her, “Mah,”
“Was that a yeah? Or a nah?”
“Mah!” She chopped at the chicken breast like she took lessons from The Swedish Chef. Fast, furious and not paying attention to what she was doing. She closed her eyes and acted like she was still asleep.
“I love it when you talk dirty,” he kissed her on the neck again. Jim let his towel fall from his hips and into a heap on the kitchen floor. “Oh, no. I’m nude,” he continued to press his hips against her cute butt.
With her free hand she reached back and touched Jim between his legs.
She tapped at it like a cat playing with a string. She could feel the blood flowing down from one head to the other.
“I’m making your lunch and I’m not gonna wash this hand,” she teased.
“It’s clean down there, but if you have five minutes we can make it dirty.”
“You’re gonna be late.”
“I thought I was calling in sick.”
“Mah!”
“I love a sleepy Mama.”
“Get ready for work. You gotta bring me home some bacon.” Her hand patted Jim a little harder. It raised him to his tippy toes.
“All right I’m going. Please wash that hand. I won’t eat it if I know my wiener skin has touched it.”
“That’s a double standard.”
“What?”
“I’ve had it in my mouth
and you won’t eat food that was prepared by a hand that touched it?”
“I…I don’t know.”
Karen took back her hand and held it an inch above the chicken.
“Please don’t touch that chicken with my penis powder on your hand,” he said as he moved to her side, the palms of his hands pressed together in prayer.
They enter into a staring contest.
After a minute he won.
“Fine. No dick dust for you today.” She dropped the knife and turned around to the sink. Her hands were forced to negotiate around the sink full of dishes.
“Thank you my merciful queen,” Jim noticed the sink full of dishes, “Did you call the handyman to fix the dishwasher?”
“Yep, they are coming to fix it today.”
Jim picked up his towel and wrapped it around his head and tied it up into a knot. He set it like a lady would wrap her hair up into a towel. His nude body was still bright red. “Did I tell you that I love you?” he asked as if he was not nude in the center of the kitchen.
“Yes, you did last night.”
“I still love you,” Jim stole one last kiss as he exited the kitchen. Karen finished drying her hands and then twisted the towel and zapped Jim on the butt with a hard SNAP.
“Holy MOLY!” he yelped as he jumped in the air and clutched his ass with both hands.
“Love you too.” She plucked the knife from the countertop and continued to dice the chicken.
Jim rushed out of the bedroom. “Damn it’s seven forty, I’m really running late now.” He fought to straighten his tie. Karen handed him his lunch bag and went to work helping him fix the mess he had made.
“Sell lots today.” Her hair still needed a brush run through it but Jim always loved her thick wild hair. It was one of the first things he noticed about her when they met seventeen years ago.
“I will. I promise.” He stood up straight so she had a good angle to work on his faux-silk tie. He watched her eyes as she focused intently on the task at hand. They were pale blue, almost gray. In his whole life he had never seen eyes like those before. She got the knot sorted out and cinched it so tight that it choked him.
Jim’s eyes went crossed and his tongue stuck out.
“This is the new way to wear your tie,” she grunted as she fought to make it tighter around his neck.
He choked out the words, “Do I look good?”
“Beautiful.”
“Thank you, baby.”
“Tongue touches,” she stuck out her tongue and he matched her. The wet tips smacked against each other as they performed the weirdest French kiss ever. “Get going you’re late.” She gave him one last peck on the lips and then pushed him toward the front door. He rushed out and gave her a quick wave bye. He pulled the door shut behind himself and it clicked loudly into place.
Seconds later Robin cried from the bedroom. Karen made an “I am going crazy” face and her arms shook in the air. Her hands took the form of an eagle claw. Tight and intense. She fought the urge to scream at the top of her lungs. Her face calmed and with the sweetest voice she said, “Mama’s coming.”
An hour later Karen was fighting with the coffee maker for the second time. Mama needed a ton of caffeine after the night she had. It was an espresso maker Jim bought and spent a lot on five years ago when he was making more money. For the last six months it had only worked half the time. Sometimes she would get a piping hot cup of very strong coffee. The other half of the time the machine bogged down and did nothing but waste the grounds. She cranked the knob at the top of the machine and it worked.
Success!
She would not have to kill anyone that morning. A little voice called her. It wafted up to her ears from about three feet off the ground.
"Mama, Mama, Mama."
Karen stared down at the child. The child won't stop saying her name until she said, "Yes, Robin." Ninety-nine times out of a hundred it was to tell her something she already knew. This time the two-year-old pointed at the dog.
"Botchy."
"Yes, dear. That's Botchy."
The toddler zipped out of the living room to go play. The dog’s name was Paris. Named after the place in Las Vegas where she and Jim had gotten married. For eleven years the little Yorkshire Terrier was called Paris and about a year ago Robin started talking and the dog's name changed to Botchy. Karen got about twenty Botchy updates a day. There were also the older sister updates. All day long it was Aler updates, as the two-year-old called her older sister Valerie, Aler did this and Aler did that.
Who needs Facebook?
Karen got all of the updates a Mom could possibly want. Valerie was home sick from kindergarten. She had a bad cough and a slight fever. The little sickie was laid out on the couch watching SpongeBob. She was only a little sick. Not bad enough to see a doctor, but bad enough to stay home and play hookie. During the flashy commercial breaks she let her mom know what toys she wanted. That was how Karen knew she was not that sick. If it were a bad cold she would be asleep.
"I want that," a soft voice called out.
"What was it honey?"
"I don't know." She didn't even know what kind of toy she wanted. That was good advertising. I don't know what it is, but I want it.
Kudos to you Mattel. Whatever you pay your marketing team, it’s worth every penny.
Karen took a knee in front of the couch and placed a hand on the hot little forehead. Valerie let out a bad cough.
"Please cover your mouth when you cough."
"Sorry Mama," she coughed again and this time her little hand covered her mouth.
"Thank you, baby."
"Mama, I love you."
"I love you, too."
Robin emerged from the toy room. The toy room was really the apartment’s dining room. The place was small and a toy room was needed more than a place to sit and eat.
"I gotta poop," Robin said as she held her tummy.
"Thanks for the update."
“I gotta poop!” She ran out of the living room and back toward the toilet. She walked around the place like Winnie the Poo. T-shirt and no bottoms. She stayed bottomless because as a two-year-old you will play right up to the second you have to go. Pulling off your pants was a big waste of playtime. It was best to keep them off. Pants were for chumps. Jim used to fight it, but Karen realized a long time ago that it was futile. An hour after wrestling them on she would have them back off. It is a very short period of time that it is okay to not have to wear any pants or underwear. Might as well live it up for as long as she could.
"Mama?" She called Karen from the bathroom. She was ready for a cleaning. Karen was in charge of everyone’s buns except Jim’s. She often thought to herself that she needed to write a book for expecting mothers. She would call it "Now You Get to Clean Someone's Butt for Five Years: The Joy of Motherhood."
"Mama? I need pop water."
This was how it would go all day long for Karen. Helping one child and then the next.
"Be right there. I'm busy with Robin."
Pop water was what the kids called pop. Karen got the littlest butt clean, washed her hands and headed to the kitchen. She poured a cup of ginger ale.
Thank God Jim isn't sick too.
Talk about a baby. He was the walking talking definition of "Man Cold" as if no one had ever been sick before him. The first day was okay. He was sick, she gets it, but by day two Karen wished he would either get over it or die. Not really die, but go away and leave her alone was a better way to say it.
She took the fresh glass of pop to the sick girl and helped her drink it.
"Mama, Mama, Mama?"
"Yes."
"Pop wanga."
"I'll be right there." Robin called water "wanga." She saw that her sister had a glass and now wanted one too.
"Mama? Pop wanga?"
"I'm coming. Be patient," she said as she headed back to the kitchen and poured another glass.
"Here you go."
"Tank you." Robin gulped it down.
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"Mama?"
"What now Valerie?"
"I spilled it."
She picked up an old kitchen towel and a glass of hot water to clean up the mess. Karen needed to get the girl a fresh drink too. This was how it would go till Jim got home from work.
This is Karen’s silly, loving family.
There was a knock at Karen’s front door. She checked the peephole and recognized the apartment complex’s maintenance man. He was a good-looking young man in his late twenties with a stylish haircut and beard. Karen had him over before to work on the electric range. She totally forgot that he was coming over to look at the dishwasher.
Shit balls!
Her brain had been in a foggy haze all morning. He knocked again. Karen realized that she had not brushed her hair or teeth. She had dragon breath so bad it could melt faces. She took a quick sniff of her armpit. The smell of musty ham hit her like a ton of bricks. Her food stained yoga pants showed off every nook and cranny of her mom hips and butt. Her brand new designer jeans that made her butt look incredible were wet in the washer. She had a mini panic attack.
Why God, why?
How could she possibly forget he was coming over? How could she possibly let this handsome man in when she and the apartment looked like such a disaster? The third knock at the door made the nightmare even more real.
The bass in his deep voice bounced through the door and hit her hard in her lady parts, “Miss Blackmore? It’s me, Steve? I said I would be here at nine to fix the dishwasher?”
There was no turning back now. She had to open the door and try to be okay with the fact that she was a mom. It was not that she had any intention of ever cheating on Jim. Far from it. Every woman everywhere wanted to be found attractive by everyone they met. That was basic physiology.
Karen opened the door and made sure that she said, “Hello,” out the corner of her mouth. She shot her deadly breath in a different direction than up his perfect nose.
His rugged beard smiled wide at her.
She couldn’t help herself. Her eyes looked him up and down and within seconds she had already sexually objectified all of the parts of his body that made him a man. He wore a tight tan colored Dickies work shirt. Its short sleeves revealed a colorful tattoo that ran the length of his right arm.