The Zombie Zovels (Book 1): Zombie Suburbia

by Lake, D. K

  “C'mon,” I said to Lane.

  We quickly walked back to the house we had originally stayed in. Once inside, Lane quietly closed the door, kicking a dead zombie out of the way. The other two were on the floor in a bloody heap from where Lane had finished them off with the bat. I checked the living room to make sure there were no hiding zombies, there was only the dead one on the couch and the other one on the floor. “Stay there.” I mouthed to Stacey.

  Lane crept up the stairs and I edged my way down the hallway and into the kitchen. The kitchen was empty. The counter tops were almost bare and all the items were now on the floor, cooking utensils, the kettle, pasta shells, even the toaster was on the floor, and an empty box of sparklers. I closed the back door and bolted the top. Lane came back down the stairs and I let out a deep breath, one I had been holding. The zombies were gone... for now.

  Stacey walked into the kitchen and stared out the window.

  “There are garden tools in the shed, I remember seeing a shovel.” Lane said.

  I nodded, and Lane crossed the kitchen, wanting to get this over and done with.

  I looked back at Stacey, she was now sitting on the kitchen floor hugging her knees. “Hey,” I said, crouching down beside her.

  She was staring at the dead zombies in the hallway, unable to tear her eyes away. “Don't worry they're definitely dead.” I pulled out my gun and held it out to her. “Take this,” I thought offering her my gun would help her feel safer, she was a wreck, I didn't know how else to comfort her. I couldn't even hug her.

  She didn't take it, she didn't even lift her head to look at me.

  I showed her how to take the safety off, I didn't want her blowing a hole in her foot, I wasn't sure how much of what I was telling her was actually going in, though. I left the gun by her feet. “We're going to be right outside, but you should be safe in here, you can bolt the door behind us if you want.”

  Still no response, I straightened up and walked over to Lane. I was having second thoughts about leaving the gun. What if she decided to put a bullet in her own head. Lane unlocked the door and walked out with his bat in one hand. I was still holding the fire poker. I realized it had zombie blood all over one end, I hadn't touched that end, but I still wasn't going to take any chances. I dropped it on the grass and Lane looked at me questioningly.

  “My hands are trashed, that thing has got zombie blood on it. It's a real death stick.” I always called Lane's cigarettes death sticks, so he knew what I meant, even though he ignored me. He walked across the overgrown grass to the shed, opened the door, reached in and handed me a shovel, then he pulled out another. He spent five minutes walking around the garden. If you'd have asked me yesterday morning what I'd be doing this time today, picking out burial spots for Jasper would not have crossed my mind.

  “It's pretty.” I said, referring to all the different flowers.

  Dumbest thing ever to say.

  Lane didn't care about the flowers. He decided on a spot and left the shovel on the ground, but held onto his bat. I kept hold of the shovel he had given me and followed him around the side of the house. I slowed down just before we reached Jasper. His face was looking straight at us, chunks of flesh were missing, it was so bad I could see all of his teeth and cheekbones, and he was missing an eye. I took a few deep breaths and looked down the street. The image of Jasper's body was going to be playing on my mind for months, possibly even years. Lane handed me his bat, then grabbed Jasper by the feet, the safest part with the least blood, and dragged him across the street. He didn't ask me to help. I wouldn't have been able to touch him anyway with all my cuts. I walked behind him, keeping a lookout, avoiding the trail of blood leaking from Jasper's body.

  Lane laid Jasper on the grass and picked up the shovel, and got straight to digging. In the far distance the sky looked almost black, we needed to get this done before the downpour. After a few minutes of digging my hands were in pain and irritating me, and preventing me from helping Lane with the digging.

  “Go get cleaned up,” Lane said, looking at my hands, before driving the shovel into the ground again.

  “Okay, but keep a lookout while I'm gone.”

  I walked in through the back door, Stacey was still on the floor, she hadn't moved, or bothered to lock the door. I searched the house for my bag and found it at the bottom of the stairs upside down. I carried it back into the kitchen and dumped it on the side, I pulled out my water bottle, took a few sips, and used the rest to clean myself up properly by using some paper towels I found under the sink. I did the best I could, I really needed a hot shower and a pair of tweezers. I went upstairs and dug through the bathroom cabinet and was lucky enough to find unopened gauzes. I wrapped both my hands, it would have to do until I got back. I left Stacey in the kitchen, completely zoned out, staring at the floor. I guess this little trip into town wasn't what she was expecting, once we got her back I doubted she would ever go outside again.

  I helped Lane as much as I could without getting in his way, and after nearly an hour and a half of digging, the hole was deep enough and I was exhausted, thirsty, and my limbs ached. I didn't complain out loud, though, at least, I still had all my limbs.

  Lane dragged Jasper over, laid him down, then rolled him over the side. He tumbled down into the dark hole, landing face down. Not the best way to enter one's grave.

  “Do you want to say anything?” I asked, thinking he might like to say a few words. But he just picked up the shovel and scooped up a load of dirt and tossed it into the hole. I'll take that as a no.

  We both quickly shoveled the dirt back into the hole, I think Lane wanted to get out of here now. After the last shovel load, he crossed the garden without saying a word. I wondered what he was doing until he walked back over with the birdbath and positioned it on top of the grave. Nice touch, maybe we can plant some flowers while we're here. I thought, inappropriately joking inside my head.

  “You ready to get out of here?” Lane asked, walking back to the house.

  I ran around the grave, I didn't like the idea of running over it. I dashed inside the house just as the rain started to pelt down. Inside I grabbed my things and located my hoodie behind the couch that had the dead zombie sprawled out on it.

  “Stacey, we're going, get you stuff.” I said, walking back into the kitchen. She reached for my gun, keeping a firm grip on it, and slowly stood up, but she wasn't all there.

  Lane walked into the kitchen. He had his rucksack on his back and Jasper's slung over his shoulder as well. He looked at Stacey then pulled out his smokes.

  “I'll be waiting outside.” he said, picking up his bat beside the door.

  “Stacey?” I snapped my fingers in front of her face, she didn't react.

  “Wait here, I'll get your bag.”

  I walked back into the front room shining the flashlight around, it was still dark as no one had bothered to move anything away from the windows and the dark skies outside weren't helping. Most of her stuff was still in her bag, and I found her jacket hanging over the banister, and my bat on the floor.

  I tried to hand her hoodie to her, but she wouldn't take it, and, in the end, I had to physically dress her myself, then I lifted her bag over her head, and positioned it across her chest comfortably. She continued to stare over my head. It was starting to freak me out.

  I quickly searched the house for an umbrella, but, unfortunately, didn't find one. I grabbed her sleeve and pulled her across the kitchen and out through the back door. Lane was waiting, leaning against the wall. We started walking and I let go of Stacey, hoping I wouldn't have to pull her along the whole way back. After a few steps, she started to follow us on her own. I pulled my hood up and trudged after Lane. When we reached the corner, I looked back down the street, it was the last time I would see suburbia, I didn't plan on coming back.... ever. We had everything we needed delivered to us at the prison, there was no need for unnecessary trips anymore. I'm sure Lane and Stacey would agree with me.

  We walked
down a street I recognized from yesterday and followed the signs, making our way back to the main road, and out of town. We didn't see a single zombie, every house we passed, every store, every abandoned vehicle, I was looking through windows, wondering where all the zombies had disappeared to. Not that I ever wanted to find out. Over an hour and a half later, the prison finally came into view, a tiny spot in the distance. The rain had stopped and the sun was out again. Lane had walked ahead and left us trailing behind. He looked back at me every so often, but I was moving at a snails pace waiting for Stacey.

  She had been twenty feet behind me for most of the journey. I stopped at the side of the road and waited for her to catch up. Her feet scuffed along the ground and she wiped her nose with her sleeve, still holding my gun in her other hand. I hadn't taken it from her, I figured she needed it more than I did at the moment.

  As she approached I could see her eyes welling up again, which soon crescendoed into full on sobbing. She collapsed onto the road, then placed the gun on the ground and sobbed into her hands. Lane stopped to see what the hold up was, then he sat down at the side of the road and pulled out his cigarettes. I let out a sigh and looked up at the sky, I didn't really know what to say to make this any better. Jasper was dead, gone, there was no way of fixing that, and I didn't think anything I said to Stacey would help. She needed to grieve in her own way to get over him. I just wished she could wait until we got back. I left her alone and moved away a few steps, giving her space, and because her constant blubbering was starting to annoy me. God, I sounded like a real bitch. I pulled the gauze down, inspecting one of my hands. Then my back started to itch. I rubbed at the spot on my hoodie. It felt sore, maybe a piece of glass had found its way into my back, I had been so distracted with outrunning zombies, digging graves, and trying to stay alive I hadn't noticed it was hurting before.

  I lifted the hem of my hoodie and tried to see over my shoulder. Stacey had stopped snivelling and was watching me. I spun around trying to see the spot, but my bulky hoodie was in the way. “What's wrong?” Stacey asked, sniffing.

  “I don't know, I think I got glass in my back.”

  I heard the sound of an approaching motorcycle in the distance, but was too distracted trying to get a look at my back, I briefly glanced in the direction of the bike.

  Maybe someone from the prison.

  I could probably guess who it was.

  I dumped my bag on the ground and felt around my back with my fingers.

  Shit.

  I could feel little indents. Teeth indents.

  I pulled off my hoodie, flung it aside, and lifted up my T-shirt, straining my neck around to see. A crescent shape of teeth marks was visible. I had been bitten. I let out a gasp, and my whole world came crashing down around me. Stacey was watching me with wide eyes. I slumped to the ground and hung my head between my legs sucking in air. I heard Stacey scuffling around on the ground, scrambling to her feet. She was probably planning on running away from me, back to the prison. I lifted my head and looked back at Lane. He was back on his feet, heading our way. His pace quickened and he soon started running toward us. I blinked away a tear and turned my head back to Stacey. She stood facing me, her eyes locked onto mine.

  Oh, crap!

  She held out a shaky arm, aiming a gun at me, my gun, my very loaded gun.

  This was it... the end of the road.

  I couldn't blame her, though, it was exactly what I would have done.

  Game Over!