By the time he senses my presence, I’ve got him cornered. He growls and spits, crouching low as if to attack but never makes a move. The broken remnants of a cochlear implant dangles from the side of his head. That explains why he didn’t hear me coming.
I inch my way toward him, my knife at the ready. He eyes me cautiously and bears his teeth. The two in the front are missing and the rest are caked with rotting flesh and muck. He wouldn’t think twice about tearing out my throat. Still, the moment our gazes meet I know that I can’t kill him. Beneath the cataracts that accompany the virus, is a pair of mismatched eyes. One blue, one green.
“Damn it,” I grunt, pocketing my knife.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I kick him square in the jaw. His eyes roll back and he tumbles to the floor. I hog-tie him and board up the trash chute where the bastards snuck in. There’s a protein bar and a can of grape soda stashed behind the compacter door.
“Munson.” I shake my head. I knew that bastard was holding out on me.
I settle in for some stale calories and carbonation, my vigil set on the tiny rager. Underneath all that blood and grime is a little redheaded boy with a face full of freckles. I know he’s a deadly monster but like most kids, he’s much less terrifying with his eyes closed.
I lean across the seat for a closer look and the first rager’s body catches my eye. His arm still juts awkwardly from his skull. I replay his attack in my mind and something occurs to me.
I creep into little rager’s seat, slice the palm of my hand, and let the blood drip into his mouth. At first, nothing happens. Eventually, he starts to stir. His lids scrape open over his cloudy eyes and his head rolls side to side. He tugs weakly against his restraints moaning like an animal caught in a trap.
It’s a risk, but I cut him free. Instead of lashing out he backs away and cowers against the boarded window, whimpering. Bloody tears run down his face. Ragers don’t cry, do they?
I square my shoulders, shine my flashlight in his eyes, and step toward him. He buries his face and shies away. I reach out my hand and his head snaps up. He sniffs the air, eyes locked on my bloody finger.
“You’re hungry.” I tilt my head to the side and he mimics me. “Hmm.”
I wipe my blood onto plastic armrest and watch as he licks it clean. When he finishes, he backs away defensively and growls until I retreat across the aisle. Soon his lids become heavy and he starts to sway in his seat. After a few minutes of inebriation, he starts to cough and gag. Blood and muck splatter the seat in front of him.
For the next few hours, I watch him clutch his belly, mewling in pain. His body shakes violently. I almost feel bad for him. Eventually, it all stops. His body goes limp and falls onto the floor.
“Damn,” I sigh. I empty my flask and stare out the boarded window until train lurches to a stop.
It’s the end of the line and it’s oddly quiet. I peek through the slats in search of my travel companions but the horde is tangled up, wrestling one another to scale the station barricades. I need to move if I’m to take advantage of their confusion. I shoulder my pack and turn to leave but I don’t make it far.
I just can’t bring myself to leave the boy’s body behind. I scoop him up in my arms and walk to the front of the passenger car. I release the bridge door and step out onto the station platform. I am greeted by a cloudless sky, a crisp morning breeze, and big, white letters on a blood-red sign.
G.O.D. Coalition
Eden Settlement -10 miles west
“Find God, huh, Claire?” I smile to the heavens and shake my head.
I shift the little rager’s body in my arms and I’m shocked to hear a whimper escape its mouth. My heart drops to my feet and I can’t breathe. When I smooth the boy’s red hair away from his face, there are two terrified eyes staring back at me, one blue, one green…both as clear and bright as the rising sun.
Aria Michaels
Aria Michaels is the author of the Best-Selling young adult dystopian novel Killshot (Icarus Series, Book One), as well as its companion novella Before the Sky Fell. In addition to her career as an author, Aria is an avid reader, die-hard zombie fan, and enthusiastic lover of bonfires and red wine.
When she is not glued to her computer pouring out the voices in her head, Aria can be found playing in the dirt with her boys, painting, or binge-watching The Walking Dead with her husband.
Don't let her mild-mannered smile fool you...Aria is a woman with lofty ambitions that include complete, global domination. She is determined to live in a world where every pair of yoga pants comes with a free book, salted-caramel mocha, and a magic force-field that repels the sound of screaming children (of which she has six). In the meantime, Aria is hard at work on Ballistic, the next installment of the Icarus Series. She is living the dream and reveling in her role as instigator of literary mayhem and stealth assassin of fictional characters.
For more information about Aria Michaels and the Icarus Series, be sure to check out her website at www.ariamichaels.com
"You are never more than one choice away from a different future." --Aria Michaels
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To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Dear Aunt Matilda,
Missy and I are super worried about these zombie outbreaks. This one kid, Danny, died from it. What if it's, like, an epidemic waiting to happen? Like it's testing our immune systems or whatever and figuring out what kills us? We don't want to turn into zombies and die. That virus hasn't gotten us yet, but it got our boyfriends last time and we think it's only a matter of time before... before it comes back.
We're so scared we're hardly sleeping. Concealer can barely cover the dark bags under our eyes, and Missy doesn't care — doesn't even care — that she hasn't washed her hair in, like, two days. She's freaking me out with being depressed or whatever. She's my twin, I love her, but seriously. I feel like I don't know who she is anymore.
If the zombie stuff isn't happening there, will you figure out a way to get us our diplomas early and get us out of here? I mean, after football season. We're in the playoffs, and we get to cheer on live tv. It could be our big break!
Love,
Peoria
GLOBAL UNIVERSAL CELLULAR
Dear Security Systems Chief Filipe Espinoza:
Sir, it is with a deep sense of regret that I tender my resignation. Effective immediately I do hereby resign my position as Digital Security Constable for the Metro Chicago area. I know this may come as a shock to you (probably not as big a shock as the zombies running through the building). We have spoken on many occasions (most of the time you look through me like, I'm not even there) and you know I love my job. However, I have made this job my life (which will probably be ending soon along with everyone else's). I had a sad epiphany (too little to0 late I suppose). SSC Espinoza, you have a family (I've seen their pictures on your desk but I don't know their names). I pray that they are alright and you made it home to protect them. I, on the other hand, have no one (I fell out of contact with my parents, never dated due to self-esteem issues, I don't even have a pet). It is heartbreaking that I have been given a glimpse at my life in retrospect. I have spent years watching other people live their lives and not once living mine. So as I sit here in my office (I'm trapped in my office with ravenous zombies pounding at the door) or cell, or tomb at this point (opinions may vary). As I sit here in the dark, I find it ironic that not a single piece of my wireless technology has any power (my smartphone and digital glasses died as I was trying to follow the news in the first few hours). I trusted machines more than I trusted people (until I needed people).
I haven't written a letter using pen and paper since college.
To be honest, my hand is cramping and I keep wanting to hit the spell check button (there isn't one it's handwritten remember). Let me tell how pathetic my life is (oddly enough, I thought, I was cool HA!). I'm sitting here by the light of the emergency exit sign and What am I doing? I'm writing to my boss (who I'm pretty sure is either dead, a zombie or took off in one of the executive helicopters on the roof). You are the only person I could think of to talk with. I feel like crying (but the noise upsets the zombies in the hall drives them crazy). The exit sign of above the door is glowing like a beacon (I know that if I take the signs advice I'll be torn to pieces). I imagine it's like the light at the end of the tunnel people who have near death experiences see. I think I'm going to live a little be free so to speak. I'm going to go out the door (and take the exit sign's advice). I plan to drop this letter in the mail chute to your office (did you know we still had a mail chute?) Whatever happens after that happens. I'm not a fighter (hell I can't even run fast). So I'm sure what my end will be. But it will be on my terms, not anyone else's. Anyway, in closing, I'd like pass on a few things. First if you encounter any of the zombies shoot them in the head kill the brain (I saw Yen at the East University store do it and it worked). Second there a people alive in the Oak Park store (I overrode the system and locked them in). I know what I just told you is grounds for termination (but you'd have to get into my office to do that). Third if you see Robert the security guard at the gate (he's the big jovial, loud obnoxious guy you know him). Tell him I'm sorry for always being so short and dismissive with him (introverts like me don't understand extroverts like him). Let him know that, I wished, I had come over to his place to watch the Mobster's football games sometimes. Tell him I think he was my only friend and I didn't know that then. You know what? Fuck it I'm going to go find him and tell him myself (I pray to God he's not a zombie).
Sincerely,
Franklin Wells
ENTRY START
My name is Gustav and I refuse for these to be my last words. I have regrets, more so than most. But I will not let this virus be my demise. I still have so much to do. I've been so focused on my work I missed out on life. I lost life while trying to better it for mankind. I need the soft touch of a lover, to smell a woman’s hair as she rests her head on my still beating heart. I want to have a home cooked meal prepared and enjoyed by loved ones. I want to stand on the summit, arms out stretched with a scotch in one hand and a fine cigar in the other. Head up and chest out. I want to look over the edge at all my mistakes and my triumphs. I want to feel the wind in my hair and the sun on my cheek and think about what life's challenges lay before me. I refuse to let this be my un-doing. I will find a cure before the aggression takes over, before my brain shuts down. I have little time to do it so I shall leave now and get back to my work. My name is Doctor Gustav and time is4:20am and this will not be my final recording...
ENTRY STOP
To Alex, my only son,
Today, your eighteenth birthday, it’s time that you knew the truth about your father. My husband, Jason, the man you know as your dad, is not your father. His brother, the man you know as Uncle Auggie, is your real father.
I’ve loved Auggie from the moment we met, but time, and the laws of our society, forced Jason and I to stay married. Auggie has found a way for to escape to another safe part of the country, away from the ravages of Mother Nature and the plaque of the Prior humans, both tamed and wild.
You’re old enough to decide for yourself whether you wish to stay with Jason, or come with us to a new life.
No matter your choice, I will always love you,
Your loving mom,
Lucia.
--Letter found by Reclamation Enforcement agents on the mutilated body of Lucia O’Neil. Human female had been attacked and her brain consumed by an illegally reclaimed Prior human believed to be her son, Alex O’Neil.
Acknowledgements
:
This book would not have been possible without the help and guidance from so many. Eric A Shelman, Chris Philbrook, Aria Michaels, Shawn Chesser, everyone at ATZ, and of course our loving parents to whom we’re forever grateful. Shannon Walters: you MADE this book. There would be no book without your insight and hard work. I’m a lucky man to have you alongside of me. Casey Skelton: you came out of nowhere and swung for the fences. Welcome to the team, my friend. ALL of our Facebook friends around the globe: you make us the real deal and we hope we did you proud. And to zombies. Cuz… zombies.
JC
Table of Contents
A Word from Shawn Chesser
Origins
Fairy Rings
The Librarian
The Worst That Could Happen
Lost and Found
My Socially Awkward friend
Sink or Swim
The Monitor
All the Pretty Birds
Alice’s Posse
Gone Viral…Again
Red and yellow eyes:An Irish Zombie Journal
Operation: Homecoming
Life after Consequences
Boys
The Treehouse
Nights in White Satin
A Warriors challenge
Restoration
Welcome To The Jungle.
To Grandmother’s House We Go.
All Things Must End
Acknowledgements
All Things Zombie: Chronology of the Apocalypse Page 48