The Zombie Uprising Series: Books One Through Five

by M. A. Robbins

  The middle-aged woman crouched in the aisle, her yellow eyes locked on the frightened passengers. She leapt onto the pile and tore a young man’s neck open. His blood sprayed over the crowd and they went into a full-blown panic, shoving and pushing to get away.

  Two other dead passengers turned and joined in the bloody feast.

  Another volley of rounds penetrated the door and only missed Zeke by inches. The agents were nearly on him.

  Zeke pressed himself against the bathroom door.

  Trapped.

  3

  Jen flung the beer at the old man and leapt for the cover of an aisle. She slammed onto the cold tile floor as the shotgun blast blew past.

  Chunk-Chunk.

  Rolling onto her side, Jen drew her pistol. Another shot from the old man, and several boxes of cereal exploded above her. Dammit.

  She popped up and fired, missing the old bastard, but taking a chunk of wood off the doorway and forcing him to duck.

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” she yelled. “Just put the gun down and I’ll leave.”

  “Not a chance. I’ve got you trapped and the cops are coming. That reward money is as good as mine.”

  Jen jumped from the aisle and shot at the old man. He gasped and fired off-balance, the pellets shattering the front window.

  Jen aimed at his chest and squeezed the trigger. The pistol recoiled in her hand and a hole appeared in the man’s chest just below his right shoulder.

  He howled, dropped the shotgun, and stumbled backward into the room.

  Jen darted outside. D-Day had taken cover behind an old pickup that was peppered with bullets. He held his gun at the ready, but wasn’t firing. What the hell?

  Aiming her pistol at the attendant, she saw why. That asshole’s hiding behind a pump.

  She took off her sunglasses and holstered her handgun. Let’s see what he thinks of my pretty yellow eyes.

  The attendant shot at D-Day again and Jen bull-rushed him. He turned and his face slackened as his eyes locked onto hers.

  “Zombie eyes!” she screamed.

  Jen slammed into the attendant and drove him into a pump. They both bounced off, and the attendant collapsed onto his back. Jen kicked out and cracked his jaw with her heel. He lay still.

  D-Day ran over and checked the attendant. “He’ll be out for a while. What happened inside?”

  Jen put her sunglasses back on and climbed onto the motorcycle. “Had to shoot the old man. Gave me no choice.”

  D-Day frowned, then looked around. “What about my beer?”

  “Are you serious?” She slapped the seat. “Get your ass on this bike and get us out of here. The old man called the cops.”

  D-Day hopped on and started the bike, then kicked up gravel as he steered onto Route 62. Jen’s stomach ached. The zombie’s still somewhere nearby.

  She tapped D-Day on the shoulder. “Go left.”

  D-Day hit the gas and followed her instruction. She closed her eyes. The tingling picked up and centered on her right side.

  Sirens howled from behind. A cop car swung into the convenience store parking lot. D-Day accelerated.

  Her right side had damn near gone numb. She yelled in D-Day’s ear. “Take that next right.”

  He shook his head. “Cops.”

  “I don’t give a shit. There’s a leader over there somewhere.”

  Shaking his head, D-Day took the right, and the gas station, now almost a mile away, disappeared behind several buildings.

  The numbness was so intense, Jen could barely lift her right arm.

  A one-story building came up, a sign in front. In a flowery font, it said Sikeston Nursing Home.

  “There,” Jen said.

  D-Day sped up and passed it.

  “What the hell?”

  “We can find a leader somewhere else,” D-Day said. “No need to get caught here.”

  Jen gritted her teeth, but had no choice. Every minute I’m not in contact with Butler, more people die.

  D-Day cut over to Route 55 North. The highway had little traffic and he goosed the accelerator. Jen stewed as she watched green fields zip by.

  Forty minutes later, they rolled off the highway at Exit 95.

  Cape Girardeau. Never heard of it.

  Another gas station with a convenience store came up on their left, and D-Day pulled in and stopped. Jen squeezed out from behind him and rubbed her sore butt. “Still wish we’d kept the sidecar.”

  D-Day scowled and turned off the bike. “You can be a pain in the ass when someone’s trying to keep you out of trouble.”

  “Speaking of a pain in the ass,” Jen said, “you should’ve stopped at the nursing home. Nothing’s more important right now than contacting Butler.”

  D-Day crossed his arms. “What’s your deal? Do you think just because you have your special super zombie powers that you don’t have to listen to anyone else?”

  Jen’s face grew hot. “Why not? I’m the only person in the world who can stop this shit.”

  “No,” D-Day spat. “You’re not. Everything we’ve done has been as a team. It wasn’t just you when we fought off the horde on the train. Seems to me it wasn’t just you in Rhode Island. And from what I’ve heard from Zeke, it hasn’t been only you since this whole shit started.”

  Jen balled her fists and got in his face. “I didn’t ask for this, but I got it, and nobody but me bears the burden of it.”

  D-Day took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. “Look. You don’t take advice well and you run head-on into shit. It’s part of your charm, and it’s worked out so far. I get that. But the day’s gonna come when it costs you.” He looked down at his feet. “And I don’t wanna see you hurt.”

  D-Day being sentimental? Who would’ve guessed?

  Jen stepped back. “I’m sorry. I know what you’re saying, but it’s the way I roll.”

  “Maybe it’ll roll you right into a grave,” D-Day said.

  “I’ll try to remember that.”

  D-Day nodded.

  Jen spread her arms. “Still friends?”

  D-Day grinned and pulled her into a bear hug. “Always.”

  A middle-aged man in faded jeans and a cowboy hat left the convenience store and jumped in a beat-up pickup. A cloud of black smoke blew out the tailpipe when it started. The truck rumbled down the road and disappeared in the distance.

  Quiet enveloped them.

  “This place looks dead,” Jen said.

  She took a step toward the store and D-Day took her arm. “What happened at that last stop? Why did those guys start shooting at us?”

  Jen pulled the wanted poster from her pocket and handed it to him. He unfolded it and whistled. “So you’re public enemy number one.”

  “I just thank God they didn’t use the picture from my driver’s license. I look like a total dork in it.”

  D-Day crumpled the poster and threw it in a trash can. “We can’t have a repeat of that here. Maybe you should stay outside.”

  “Hell, no.”

  D-Day folded his arms. “I can get whatever you want.”

  Jen sighed. He has a point. “What I want is that cell phone so I can call Zeke and Wayne.” She frowned.

  D-Day nodded. “You got it.” He took a step toward the store’s front door.

  “And get me another bag of chips,” Jen said. “I didn’t get to finish the last one.”

  Jen leaned against the faux brick wall of the store and surveyed the area. She turned away and pretended to look at something on the ground when a green sedan cruised by.

  “Shit’s got me paranoid now.”

  D-Day sauntered out of the store a few minutes later with a plastic bag in hand and a smile on his lips.

  “You got what I asked for?” Jen asked.

  He lifted the bag. “Got your phone right here.”

  “Great. What about the other thing I asked for?”

  D-Day reached in, pulled out a bag of chips, and tossed it to her.

  “That’s what I’m tal
king about.” She tore it open, spilling a few chips on the ground, and stuffed a crisp overcooked one in her mouth.

  “How come these bags never open right?” she said. Crumbs fell from her mouth. “Oops. Sorry.”

  D-Day took out the disposable phone and read the directions to activate it. A few minutes later, he smiled. “Good to go.”

  Jen crumpled her chip bag and tossed it into a garbage can. “Let me have it.”

  Sitting on a picnic table next to D-Day, she took the phone, turned it on, and punched in Zeke’s number.

  I’d feel a lot better if he and Wayne were here. She pressed the Call button and then the Speaker button.

  The ringback tone played loud and clear.

  4

  Zeke pressed against the bathroom door wishing he could melt through it. He jiggled the handle. Locked. He had the murderous agents in one direction and an evolving zombie horde in the other. And here I am, the monkey in the middle.

  With a guttural moan, a beefy man in a torn and bloody business suit crept forward. Half of his face had been ripped away and his muscles and teeth lay exposed.

  Zeke shot wildly and missed. The zombie approached as if it had all the time in the world. Zeke lined up his sight on the zombie’s forehead and squeezed the trigger, but it didn’t fire. He glanced at the pistol. The slide was open.

  Empty.

  The zombie leapt at Zeke. Without the time or room to unsheathe his katana, he brought his knees up and kicked the zombie in the chest as it landed. It flew into the aisle and scrambled back to its feet.

  A fusillade of rounds came from the other car with a few of them hitting the zombie. Damn thing didn’t even flinch.

  Zeke drew a six-inch blade from his boot. The zombie sprung and landed inches away. Zeke brought the knife up and shoved it into the zombie’s throat. Blood sprayed everywhere as the zombie pressed in, his teeth snapping inches from Zeke’s face.

  Holding the creature back with his free hand, Zeke pulled the knife out and ran it into the bottom of the zombie’s jaw, through the roof of its mouth, and into its brain.

  Its yellow eyes rolled up and it slumped on top of him.

  The gunfire from the agents continued. Zeke wrestled the dead zombie and positioned it between him and the agents. He stuck his gun through the window and fired blindly into the agents’ car. The gunfire paused for several seconds, then picked up again. Several bullets hit the dead body hiding Zeke.

  The feeding frenzy in Zeke’s car was coming to an end. Everyone else was either a zombie or food. Some of the undead broke through to other cars. Victims’ screams filled the air.

  Zeke leaned against the bathroom door. Guess this is my last stand. “I hope you get away, Wayne. Find Jen and protect her for me.”

  The bathroom door opened and Zeke fell backward, landing on his ass.

  "Get up.” Wayne grabbed his arm and tugged.

  Zeke stumbled to his feet and Wayne slammed the door shut. Something large hit the other side.

  "You were in here the whole time?" Zeke asked.

  "Wasn't sure it was you until I heard you say my name. What the hell's going on out there?"

  The gunshots paused, then picked up again. Shadows under the door had coalesced into a single large one.

  "Those agents were trying to kill me," Zeke said. "Now it's Zombie City out there."

  The train jerked and slowed again. Wayne peered out a small outer window. "Almost there," he said. “But we aren't getting out of this shitter anytime soon."

  A yell came from outside the door.

  "That sounded like Thurmond," Zeke said.

  Bodies banged against their door and footsteps ran past. "They're moving," Wayne said. "One of the leaders must've opened the door. Those agents are screwed."

  "What about Dr. Preston?” Zeke asked. "What happens if she's killed or turned? Isn't she the last best hope for a cure?”

  The train came to a sudden stop, tossing Zeke into Wayne. Zeke steadied himself and looked out the window at a platform filled with armed cops and militiamen. Someone yelled, “Prepare to fire."

  Zeke grabbed Wayne and pushed him to the floor.

  "What the hell?" Wayne said. "Do you know how nasty this place is?"

  Zeke jumped on top of him. "Stay low."

  "Fire," came the bellow from outside.

  The sounds deafening, bullets slammed into the car, broke out their window, and penetrated the wall. The zombie growls couldn't be heard, but the bodies running into the door and dropping to the floor could.

  What took a few minutes felt like an hour. Someone yelled, "Cease fire." After several seconds of scattered gunfire, it went silent.

  Zeke's heart slammed his chest. He studied the bullet holes in the wall. "How'd we not get shot?"

  Some growling and movement came from the car, but it was mostly quiet. Zeke stood and held out a hand to Wayne. His brother took the offered hand and pulled himself to his feet while wiping his pants.

  "Squad A, enter the cars from the rear. Squad B, from the front."

  Boot steps came from the front of the train, followed by scattered shots. Within minutes, only the purposeful pace of human footsteps paced through the train car.

  A slow, heavy set of footsteps came from the back of the car and stopped a few feet away. "Any sign of the targets?" a raspy voice asked.

  "No, Captain," answered another. "Agents Dickson and Thurmond reported them on board as late as five minutes before arriving. They can't be far."

  Targets? Us?

  "What about Dickson and Thurmond?"

  "Dead."

  "And the doctor?" the captain asked.

  "Same.”

  "Son of a bitch."

  "Orders, Captain?"

  A sigh came from the other side of the door. "Send another team through to mop up. I've got to call command and let them know their people are dead and the traitors have escaped."

  The men left and Wayne opened the door. “We’ve got to get the hell out of here.”

  Zeke choked as the smell of slaughter assaulted his nostrils. He coughed. He put an arm across Wayne’s chest. “Are you nuts? They’re calling us traitors. We’ll never get past all those militiamen. We need to wait until they’ve gone.”

  Wayne frowned. “Didn’t you hear that guy? They’re sending more in to mop up. What if they look in the bathroom?”

  More boots nearby. Shit.

  Zeke eased the door closed and pushed down on Wayne’s shoulder. “We need to get on the floor and play dead.”

  “Why the hell do I have to be the one to get on the floor again?”

  “You’re already dirty. Why should both of us stink?” Zeke pressed harder. The militiamen were almost in their car. “Hurry,” he whispered.

  Wayne sank to his knees and splayed out on the floor. Zeke placed his sheathed katana on the floor next to Wayne and draped himself over his brother and sword, while facing away from the door.

  Two voices came from the car.

  “Would ya look at all these freaks,” the first voice said with a slight lisp.

  A deeper voice replied, “I hope they ain’t gonna make us clean this shit up.”

  The bathroom door opened and slammed into Zeke’s side. He clenched his teeth. I think they broke a freaking rib.

  “Two in here,” Lisp Voice said. “Dead.”

  Deep Voice sighed loudly. “Why do we get all the shit jobs? We didn’t even get to shoot any of these fuckers.”

  A boot planted firmly onto Zeke’s back and pressed down. Zeke stifled a gasp.

  “Come on, Dan,” Lisp Voice said. “You’re wasting our time.”

  The boot’s pressure released and a pistol was cocked a few feet away. Wayne stirred beneath Zeke. Don’t move, bro.

  “I’m gonna shoot some of these things anyway,” Dan said. “Like they do in war movies. Make sure they’re dead.”

  “They woulda attacked by now if they weren’t dead,” Lisp Voice said.

  The boots tromped away
from the bathroom and stopped nearby. A gunshot boomed.

  “See,” Lisp Voice said. “Waste of time. And don’t let the chief find out you wasted bullets.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” The boots clomped to the back of the car. The external door slid open. “Let’s go get some chow,” Deep Voice said.

  Zeke let out a breath. “Let’s get the hell out of here while we can,” he whispered to Wayne.

  The phone in Zeke’s back pocket vibrated.

  Shit, no!

  The damn thing screamed, “Get to the choppa! Get to the choppa!”

  5

  Jen bit her lip as Zeke’s phone rang once...twice...three times from the phone’s speaker. “He’s not answering.”

  “Give him time,” D-Day said.

  The phone clicked. A lispy voice answered. “Hello.”

  Jen looked at D-Day, who shrugged. “Who is this?” she asked. “Where’s Zeke?”

  “This is Max.”

  Max who? “What number are you at, Max? I think I may have dialed wrong.”

  “Hell if I know,” Max said. “You wouldn’t happen to be calling some guy with a punk-style haircut and a long dangling earring with a skull at the end, would you?”

  Jen swallowed. “Yes.”

  D-Day scowled. “His name is Zeke and his brother Wayne was with him. What the hell are you doing with his phone?”

  Jen put a hand on D-Day’s arm and pressed the phone to her chest. “Let’s use honey on this one,” she whispered.

  D-Day folded his arms, but said nothing further.

  “I’m with the Pittsburgh Militia,” Max said. “A train of infected arrived at our station. We were just mopping up when we heard this phone. I took it from the pocket of the punk rocker. He’s dead.”

  Jen’s hand opened and the phone bounced off the ground. The world swam before her eyes. She leaned against a wall to keep from falling over.

  “What was that?” Max asked.

  D-Day picked up the phone. “She dropped the phone.”

  “What about Wayne?” Jen said. “His brother. He was with him. About an inch taller and five years older.”