“Can we keep the flashlight on?” he asks, burying himself in his mother’s sleeve.
“That’s fine, honey,” June agrees. “We’ll just need to keep it near the floor.”
She finds a position where we can all see each other’s backlit faces. Shifting uneasily on our blankets, we study our weapons and each other for what feels like hours. I’m reminded of a camping trip with my family, sitting around the fire, enjoying the warmth and good company. Only today’s ghost stories are real.
After a while longer, Levi whispers something to June.
“What was that, honey?” she asks, not quite hearing him.
He whispers again.
“You want to play chopsticks?” She looks down at him, her pupils wide in the dim lighting. “Not now, Levi.”
“But Dad used to do it, when I was scared,” he says, in a voice just above a whisper.
June’s eyes go glassy; she looks away. “Now’s not a good time. We need to stay alert.”
“But it always made me feel better.”
Noticing the questions on our faces, June explains, “It’s a game we used to play with Trevor. Trevor’s grandfather taught him. They played it when they were bored…or scared, I guess.”
“Will you play?” A tear trickles down Levi’s cheek.
Looking into the little boy’s terrified face, I can’t imagine saying no. “Sure.”
“I’m in,” Cody says with an uneasy smile.
“I’ll explain the rules,” Levi says quietly, fighting against his nipping fear. Holding up his hands, he tells us, “You start by putting up a finger, like this, and then touching another person’s hands. They put up a finger, and you keep count, putting up that many fingers on your hand. When you have five fingers up, your hand is ‘dead’. The person with the last hand out is the winner.”
I look down at my blood-speckled fingers.
“We can point to each other, rather than touching,” June suggests, her face pale.
“Okay!” Levi says, making an obvious effort to get into the game. Anything seems better than this fearful silence.
June explains the rules more clearly. When she’s finished, I whisper, “Let’s give it a try.”
The game is confusing at first, but with a little patience and some practice—and plenty of time to kill—we limp through a few games in the near-blackness. Soon, we can almost ignore the stink of death and the monsters creeping just outside the walls. Levi’s smile grows more genuine the longer we play. Before we know it, we can see each other clearly. It’s almost morning.
29
Parting Gift
“Hannah? Are you awake?”
I jolt upright and look around, confused. A splash of light pokes through June’s peephole in the board over the living room window. Turning, she appraises me with red-rimmed eyes. I find myself underneath a blanket that someone draped across me. I can’t imagine how I fell asleep, but at some point, my body must’ve succumbed to exhaustion. I blink, ridding myself of a few awful images. Thankfully, none stick.
“How long was I asleep?” I ask Cody, uncovering myself.
He shrugs. “Maybe an hour or so? I think you just dozed.”
That explains why my nightmares weren’t worse. “Did you pull the blanket over me?”
He nods, and I smile with appreciation. Before I can thank him, June interrupts.
“We should get out to the bus while we have a clear path.”
I pull my weary body upward. The reek of death immediately sours my nose. I look around, getting the first clear glimpse of the aftermath of our precarious night. Blood pools beneath the furniture we’ve used to barricade the living room door and window. Long, dark streaks of it spiral from the living room to the dining room, culminating in the pile of bodies we dragged there during the night’s darkest hours. I study the collection of corpses through the dining room threshold, suddenly certain that they’ll rise and wreak havoc. None so much as flinch.
“First things first,” June says. “Let’s get them out of here before they really start to stink.”
With a last look through the peephole, she turns, waving us in a tired march toward the side entrance and the bodies. She and Cody move the bureau while I stand with Levi and await direction.
I study the little boy’s face. Other than some sleep sand in the corners of his eyes, he seems as normal as before.
Opening the door, June sets foot outside first, scouting the area.
“Clear,” she says. After a moment, “Let’s go.”
We cross the threshold behind her, emerging as a grim parade to a cloudless morning. None of us has to remind the other to keep alert. Rays of early light stripe the tips of the overgrown grass. A patch of woods that I hadn’t noticed sits far in the distance. Behind the house is a small fire pit and an old, rusted grill. Thick weeds and grass rise around them.
“Let’s bring them far out in the woods, so we don’t attract animals,” she says. “Cody, can you help me? Hannah, you can stay with Levi.”
With his task assigned, Cody hands me the gun, giving me a quick tutorial. I promise to holler if I see anything, watching them stride away with the first body. Walking a few more steps from the house, I gain a better view of the property. The house is in even worse shape than I remember—pieces of vinyl siding hang off the front, pulled away by wild, depraved hands. Lying in the grass beneath the window are the victims of June’s defensive shooting. Already, the crows have discovered the bodies, cawing and carrying away fresh pieces. For a while, Levi and I quietly appraise the farm, the barn and stables, and the distant bus. It’s impossible to tell the condition of our vehicle from here; I send out a silent plea that it’s suffered no damage.
When June and Cody finish, June locks the door, and we head across the field in a quiet group. Passing the barn where Cody and I had our first scrape with farm death, I spot a few erratic paths cutting through the weeds, but we see no sign of any new creatures. I keep an eye on the orchards, but those seem clear as well.
“We were lucky last night,” June says. “Things could’ve been worse.”
“You’re not kidding,” I agree.
“If it wasn’t for you two, I’m not sure how we would’ve managed.”
A rare smile crosses June’s face. Turning toward us, she says, “I might’ve been a little harsh with you at the beginning. I’m pretty glad you showed up.”
And then we’re at the bus.
Approaching, June regards the front driver’s tire, still sunken in the divot.
“You really got it stuck, didn’t you?”
To my relief, I see only a few new dents and dings, and lots of frustrated handprints. The bus’s height and its thick doors prevented anything from getting inside.
“Before we get this puppy loose, we should probably make our trade,” June says. She instinctively glances at Levi, and I know it’s time to get the injections we promised.
With a nod, I retrieve the bus keys from my pocket and open the doors. The familiar stink of old, stale air-fresheners and plastic, sun-warmed seats gives me a nostalgic feeling. I consider my conversation with Cody the night before. Maybe I did miss the old beast, after all.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell June, Levi, and Cody, taking a step into the bus.
I’m only up one stair when a small voice calls out behind me. “Can we come, too?”
Levi’s eyes widen with wonder as he looks from seat to seat, window to window, his mom in tow.
“This is so cool!” he says, stretching his arms out and walking the aisle. He takes one seat, testing it out, before quickly finding another, looking out each window with awe. “I don’t even know where I’d sit if I was to ride it!”
June smiles. “Levi’s never been to school. He was supposed to go last year, but that didn’t happen, for obvious reasons.”
“This bus is smaller than the ones I’ve seen,” Levi observes. “And it’s white.”
“It belonged to a senior center,” I explain.
“You could say we inherited it,” Cody says with a smile.
I trade a glance with him, feeling the same sense of calm as before. Moving toward the back of the bus, Cody and I find Ian and Sarah’s small, leather satchel and unzip it. Together, we appraise the rows of fluid-filled vials and the needles. A chill runs the length of my body as I study the strange, clear liquid that saved us.
“My God…” June says, from over our shoulders. I turn to find her standing right behind us. “It’s true.”
I pull two needles and three vials from the bunch, holding them up.
“I thought for sure it was baloney. Maybe I was just afraid to believe it.”
Tears silently drip down her cheeks, and she sniffles as she takes the supplies from me, studying them. A gleeful laugh brings our attention to the front of the bus. Levi stands near the front seat, batting at the Dwight bobblehead.
“I hope you won’t need them,” I whisper.
“Me too,” June agrees. “But if I do…”
She holds up the vials and needles, and I smile warmly. Obviously, we have no answers, only hope.
“And to think I almost shot you,” she says, quickly blotting her eyes.
“I’m glad you didn’t,” I tell her, pulling June into a hug I think she needs.
She turns awkwardly toward the front doors, before looking back at us. “Would you like to stay for breakfast?”
“We’ve really got to go,” I say.
Cody holds up his hand, interrupting us. “A few more minutes couldn’t hurt.”
“I still have to get your bus unstuck,” June says generously. “I’ll even give you a little bit of that gas you were trying to steal.”
“Sure,” I tell her, blushing. “We’d appreciate the help.”
It takes us a while to get the bus moving, but with some persistence and some creative driving, we’re able to gain the traction we need. June promises she won’t charge us for the board or the gas, and we all laugh.
“Can we take a ride, Mom?”
June looks down the driveway, and out over the field. “Maybe a lift home wouldn’t be so bad.”
Reversing, I head out to the road and down the street a few blocks, before circling back to June’s house. During the short trip, Levi changes his seat four times.
“I think I like the back better than the front,” he reports.
“That’s where all the cool kids ride,” I confide.
When we’re done, I park behind June’s truck, noticing a few dirty, stricken prints on the bumper. Thankfully, the vehicle seems intact.
“I start it regularly, just in case we need it,” she explains. “It runs on diesel, too.”
We have breakfast in the kitchen, the sun shining through the cracks around the boarded-up windows. After a few more games of cards—and another tour of Levi’s room—we finally head to the door, saying our goodbyes. June watches us with a melancholy I never would’ve expected, after our terse introduction.
“Be careful out there,” she says.
“We’ll do our best,” I promise.
“Will you come back and visit?” Levi asks, cradling his globe.
“We’ll see,” I say, messing up his hair.
I look at the little boy for a long moment, hoping for the best-case scenario—that Levi’s immune. It’s what he deserves. And then June’s opening the door for us, stepping back outside.
“I’d hate myself if I didn’t say this…” she struggles with her words, looking between Cody and me. “Your existence has given me hope—not only for Levi, but for all of us. If this cure works, it means there’s a chance at life again. A chance for everyone.”
I smile appreciatively and nod.
“You’re important, Hannah and Cody. Don’t forget that.”
Before we can thank her, she’s back in the house, shutting the door, sliding the deadbolt home with a click.
Back in the driver’s seat of the bus, I reverse down the driveway, keeping a careful watch for prowling stricken. Reaching the road, I turn my head, taking a last good look at the house where we fought two fierce battles and spent the night.
“Do you think we’ll be back?” I ask Cody.
“It’s hard to know…” he says, “but I’d like to think so.”
Movement from the forest across the road distracts me. An infected woman hobbles from the underbrush, dragging a lame leg behind her. Weeds cling to her hair and clothes. My heart beats faster. I blink hard, certain that I must be imagining things. There’s no way it’s…
“Mom?”
I clench the wheel and stare at the emerging woman, who bats at the last of the overgrown weeds, then breaks for the bus. She gropes the air and takes a big step toward our lane, as if she might catch us with a single lunge. I blink hard again; suddenly, I’m looking at a middle-aged woman with only a slight resemblance to my mother. It’s not her…of course, it’s not her.
Cody leans toward me, concerned. “Hannah, are you okay?”
“Sorry. I must be seeing things,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m super tired.”
I hit the gas, speeding off before the woman can reach us.
Despite my mistake, the image puts a scare in me that I can’t shake.
It’s time to get home.
ALIVE AGAIN BOOK 2
COMING THIS WINTER!
READ ON FOR A SAMPLE CHAPTER!
Afterword
I hope you enjoyed the first book of Alive Again!
The idea for this book germinated with a short story I published in 2014 in an anthology called All Things Zombie: The Gathering Horde. I later renamed the story “The Wakeup”, including it in my short story collection Better Guns & Gardens and giving it away to newsletter subscribers. You might recognize that same story as the first chapter of this book.
In the years since its publication, readers have contacted me asking: what happens next? They enjoyed the tale, but they were curious.
I was curious, too.
The idea of a “cured zombie” always spoke to me. How would someone react in such an unfathomable situation? How would you deal with the recurring nightmares, the trauma, the constant reminders of what you had been? More unpredictably, how would the world deal with you?
Expect a lot more twists and turns for Hannah and Cody as the series continues. For a sample chapter of Book 2, simply turn the page!
If you enjoyed Alive Again, please leave a review! A few sentences about what you liked would mean the world to me. Thanks so much for checking out the book!
Tyler Piperbrook
October 2021
Preview of Alive Again Book 2
Chapter 1: Wrong Turn
The engine groans as it lugs the ten-thousand-pound bus up the steep slope, rattling over deep cracks in the road, casualties of a long, cruel winter. A winter Cody and I ravaged through, living in a waking nightmare remembered only in dreams that we’re undoubtedly better off forgetting. I look over my shoulder at Cody, who runs a hand through his shaggy hair, peering out at the summer morning. It’s still appalling to think of what we once were…and what we did. But Ian and Sarah cured us of the Frenzy. Or did they?
The jury’s still out on that.
Sarah and Ian were clear about the second vaccine and booster shots we needed to keep the virus at bay; they also told us about the Outpost, a base that we may never find.
Right now, all I can think of is Mom and Jared, getting back to them, hoping they’re alive and still…human.
I turn my attention back to the rising hill we’re driving, invaded by green, overgrown foliage. Power lines sag under the weight of unmaintained pine and oak limbs, creating a canopy of shade and a carpet of leaves and needles, a layer of debris that will eventually bury the road. Cars occupy every ditch like dead soldiers on a battlefield. Every so often, I pass a speed limit sign spray-painted with a cryptic message, a person’s name, or a bold obscenity, expressing anger at a world too destroyed to care. Adjusting a mirror, I concentrate
on the rural two-lane highway, steering around an abandoned sedan with a white sign affixed to the roof: Olee’s Pizza.
“Thirty minutes or it’s free,” Cody remarks, pointing at the slogan. “I hope they got their pie before the world ended.”
I smile at his morbid joke. Despite my lack of sleep and the crumbled world in which we’ve found ourselves, things are looking up. June’s breakfast this morning gave us a nice boost of energy; hopefully, it’s enough to keep us on the road. Looking down at the full gas gauge, I feel grateful. We’ve got supplies, full bellies, and a vehicle to protect us from raging lunatic monsters, undead and otherwise. These days, that’s more valuable than a fat Swiss bank account overflowing with nines and zeros.
Dragging a finger along a page of the atlas, Cody says, “It looks like we’ll want to keep on this road for another two miles.”
I nod. We’re driving past an unmarked pull-off, teetering over a windy, wooded trail. Normally I’d expect to see a hiker shouldering a heavy bag or a family checking out the terrain, their happy dog on a leash; but there’s no one, infected or otherwise. The absence of the stricken is a welcome change. Soon, we’re at the top of the hill, cruising past a bank, a gazebo, and a dilapidated town hall. An electronic sign remains dull and black, its last message unknown.
“Kenton,” Cody repeats the name of the town off the side of a building.
“I think Dad, Jared, and I passed through here once on our way out for a canoe ride.” I look from a church to a pharmacy, advertising very different types of cures.
“On a lake?”
“The Housatonic, actually.”
“Ah…the river. I don’t think I’ve ever been there,” Cody says honestly. “Actually, I’ve never been canoeing.”
Alive Again | Book 1 Page 14