Date: 2011-07-17 04:00:00+00:00

In the Dead: Volume 1

Jesse Petersen

Check out these other books by Jesse Petersen:

Married With Zombies (Living With the Dead 1)
Flip This Zombie (Living With the Dead 2)
Eat Slay Love (Living With the Dead 3)
“Shambling With the Stars” – short story

Copyright Jesse Petersen, 2011
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced without written permission. For information address Jesse Petersen, PO Box 6205, Bloomington, IL 61702

Bonewrecker 2

Zander had been playing his game for six days straight. Not counting, of course, the occasional piss break and fridge run. This after he’d sat outside of a Game Hut, in the pouring Seattle rain, for three days, waiting for the store to do their midnight opening and hand over the copy he’d reserved six months before.

So he was almost ten days into his addiction. He smelled funky and he hadn’t seen another human in almost a week.

But it was worth it.

Bonewrecker 2 was the most awesome game ever made. Ever. Closely followed by Bonewrecker: Origins, of course. But now, he was watching the credits roll, naming off all the coders and voice actors who had filled his past week with such joy. And once that was done, he planned to log onto his online account and make the transition to the online version of the game.

“At least it’s socializing,” he muttered to himself as he put one controller back into the recharging station and removed the other. He got up and stretched his back as the final Thanks for Playing screen flickered across his plasma TV. “Sort of.”

Well, others might differ with that opinion, including his ex-girlfriend, his former boss, his parents (rest their souls), but he was pretty happy with his life. Or lack thereof. So whatever. He had plenty of friends online who shared his hobbies. He would hook up with hardhabit1982 and glittergirl and shootfirst and soon they’d be shooting the shit (and some monsters and zombies) and saving the world.

He backed out of the game and into the main menu to highlight play online from the menu system. Please wait, please wait, please wait… He downed a sip of a very flat diet coke and rolled his eyes. Fuck the system was slow. Probably from everyone playing the game online. He always played story mode before he dove into online play. So everyone would be pretty far ahead of him.

No connection.

Zander blinked at the screen. “What the hell?”

He pressed the play online icon a second time, but in a few moments it timed out again with the same notice.

“Damn internet is down,” he grumbled.

For the next few minutes he tried all his tricks. He reset his box, he checked his connections, but every time he tried to play, the same No Connection message greeted him.

“Fuck!” he grunted as he tossed the controller onto the couch and stomped to the door. It was probably the building. Having free internet was a perk of living in Garden Terrace Luxury Apartments, but during the day sometimes these spotty outages occurred when everyone was out at work. Everyone but him, of course.

He unlocked his door and stepped out into the hallway. Immediately, he blinked. The light was out in the hall. Not normal. Roger the super might be lax about important things like internet, but Zander had never known him not to replace a light bulb immediately. Roger had weird priorities.

Of course, by the time he’d had all these thoughts, his eyes had adjusted to the dim light and he could see the elevator at the end of the hall. But when he reached it and pressed the down button, it didn’t light. There was a faint buzzing from behind the door in the shaft.

“Shit,” Zander muttered as he tried to slip his fingers in the space between the doors and jam them open. That didn’t work, of course.

He glanced at the stairwell. He was on the twelfth floor. There was no way he wanted to walk all the way down to the second floor where Roger’s apartment was located… and then find out the super was out. Because then there would be walking up the stairs after that and what the hell?

With a sigh, he looked back down the hall. He might not want to go find Roger, but he also didn’t want to go back to a no-internet gaming experience. So what were the other options?

He stepped over to 1212 and hesitated. Mrs. Floyd lived here. Fifty-five year old, extremely bitter divorcee. She hated him. Always turned her nose up at him in the elevator and her little dog (the one she carried in her purse) had tried to bite him like three times in the last year. But he really wanted to know if anyone else had internet, so…

He knocked and found himself praying she wouldn’t be home.

No such luck. He heard shuffling and muffled voices behind the door. But no one answered.

“Great,” he muttered as he rolled his eyes. “Now she’s trying to pretend she’s not there.”

He knocked again, this time louder, but there was still no reply.

“Hey!” he finally said, loud enough that he was sure whoever was inside would hear. “Sorry to bother you Mrs. Floyd, but I was wondering if you had internet? Mine is out and I’m just trying to figure out if it’s the building’s wireless or something about my connection.”

Now the muffled voices behind the door got loud and alarmed. Zander could have sworn he heard words like, “Internet? What the…? Monster!”

He gritted his teeth. “Look, I know you don’t like me, but I’m not a monster.”

There was another long pause and then the door opened, but it was only an inch. Mrs. Floyd still had the chain in place.

One of her watery blue eye poked into the open part of the door and she stared at him. “He looks… well, he looks like he always does.”

Zander frowned. That didn’t sound like a compliment.

“Of course I look the way I always do,” he snapped. “So do you have internet or not?”

Another female voice came from the apartment, this one way younger. “Open the door, Mom, I want to see this doufus.”

Zander blinked. Mom? He had no idea Mrs. Floyd had a daughter. She sounded young. And kind of hot.

The door shut in his face and then there was the sound of the chain sliding free of the lock. He rolled his eyes as the door opened. And then stopped to stare. There was a pistol being pointed right between his eyes.

“Um…”

He started as his stomach did a massive flip into his feet. He forced himself to look at who was pointing a weapon at his head and was surprised that it was Mrs. Floyd, herself, holding the pistol, without even a tremor. It was a Glock, he could now see that that he could breathe and really concentrate.

“Walk into the apartment slowly,” she said. “And keep your hands where I can see them.”

Zander did as he was told, holding his arms out to his sides. As Mrs. Floyd shut the door behind her, he saw that a younger woman, probably about his own age, was also armed, though she had a sweet shotgot and she had it leveled at him, too. Her brown hair was pulled back in a slick ponytail and she was wearing a black tank top. She sort of looked like a heroine from a video game, which was awesome.

And terrifying.

“What the hell is going on?” he said as he backed up against the door.

“Are you infected?” Mrs. Floyd asked in a no-nonsense tone.

“In…fected?” he repeated with a quick glance at the other woman. But she didn’t act like this was a weird question. In fact, her eyes narrowed and her finger was pressed firmly against the trigger. “What the hell are you talking about?”

The younger woman shook her head. “He’s got to be infected. They say they can manipulate for some time after infection but before full outbreak.”

“His pupils aren’t red, though. And he doesn’t have any obvious bites.” Mrs. Floyd wrinkled her nose. “He smells terrible, but like Cheetos and sweat, not death.”

“What the hell are you two talking about?” Zander asked as he did a quick pit sniff. Yeah, she was right, but that really wasn’t the point now. “Infected, red pupils, manipulation? Have you lost your minds?”

Or maybe he’d lost his… people told him if he didn’t get out of the gamer world, he might forget the real world. Could he be in a weird game-induced… fugue or something?

“Are you seriously saying you don’t know what’s going on?” the younger woman said, her tone thick with incredulity. “Where the hell have you been?”

He shifted. “Um, in my apartment. Playing Bonewrecker 2.”

Mrs. Floyd stared at him. “Doing what?”

He glanced at the younger woman, sort of hoping she might help him out here, but she was still glaring at him, annoyed and completely unimpressed by his existence.

“It’s a video game,” he admitted and was annoyed when hot blood rushed to his cheeks. Whatever. He had nothing to be embarrassed by.

“A video game,” the younger woman repeated and slowly lowered her shotgun. “Seriously? You’ve been playing a video game for so long that you really don’t have any idea what’s going on?”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah, I guess not. What is going on?”

Mrs. Floyd lowered her Glock and walked away from him with a heavy sigh. “I don’t have the energy for this. I’m going to go check on our supplies.”

After she’d gone, the younger woman shook her head. “She doesn’t like you.”

“You think?” he laughed. “Yeah, she’s always made that clear. So who are you? Her daughter?”

She nodded. “I’m Carrie.”

“Zander,” he said, holding out his hand.

“Zander the Gamer,” she replied without taking it. “Perfect. Look, I don’t have much more energy than my mother does, so I’m going to give you the short version. About five days ago, something happened in a lab on the University of Washington campus. A virus was released and it made… well, I guess you’d have to call them zombies. The whole city is pretty close to being wiped out. So basically, you missed the closest thing to Armageddon I can see. Congrats.”

Zander blinked and then looked around. The room looked normal. No hidden cameras. And the girl, Carrie, she didn’t seem high or crazy. She seemed totally serious.

“C’mon,” he said.

“C’mon what?”

He laughed. “Look, I’m not stupid.”

She rolled her eyes. “Aren’t you? I mean, you don’t have any idea what’s been going on. Haven’t you heard the sirens outside? Your phone ringing? The yelling in the hallway?”

Zander bit his lip. “Well, I had headphones on for part of the time I played. Your Mom complained if I played too loud, so I started wearing them.”

She sighed. “I can’t believe you’re so out of touch.”

“I can’t believe you’re trying to convince me there are zombies,” he replied, just as snotty as she was.

“Okay, buddy,” she snapped and then headed for the terrace that was connected to the living room. She tugged the curtain back and slammed the sliding glass door open.

Zander followed her to the window, stepped out onto the concrete terrace and looked down the twelve floors to the ground. He gripped the metal railing with both hands and sucked in a breath.

Armageddon was an understatement. Smoke curled up from fires scattered as far as the eye could see in the forest of tall buildings. Cars were flipped on the streets below, crashed up on sidewalks and parked across intersections. And then there were the people, roving in big pods, jerking and wandering in a very zombie-like fashion.

“Shit,” he whispered.

“Yeah,” she said, just as quietly. Then she touched his arm. “Come on, we can’t stay outside long. We don’t want to draw any attention.”

Zander stared at the scene below one more time and then stepped in. Carrie closed the glass door and curtains.

“Zombies,” he said with a shiver. “For real. I guess this means no online game.”

She stared at him. “Seriously? You’re worried about your online world? How about the rest of the world? Before the TV went out two days ago, it looked like the thing, the infection, whatever you want to call it, was taking over the whole coast. By now it’s probably moved inland and we’re talking the whole country in less than a week. And you’re worried about Bonesquisher?”

“It’s Bonewrecker,” he corrected. “Bonewrecker 2, actually. And I just mean I guess nothing will ever be the same.”

“Yes, dear, that’s true.”

Zander turned to watch Mrs. Floyd coming into the room with a tray. But instead of tea or cookies, like you’d normally expect from a woman of her type, her tray had a few crackers, a glob of peanut butter and a couple of slices of apple.

“Sorry it isn’t more,” she said as she set the tray down. “Rationing, you know.”

Zander swallowed. Jesus, rationing. He hadn’t even thought of that. To be honest, he had no idea what was even available in his apartment to eat. Chips maybe. Some old bread that was either moldy or stale. Maybe some soda. Shit, for a guy who lived in a zombie-infested game world, he wasn’t really prepared for a reality of the same.

“So I have to ask you a question,” Carrie said as she grabbed an apple slice and began to nibble on it slowly. “How is it you can afford an apartment in this building, but spend a week playing a video game?”

He shifted and once again hated the blush that warmed his cheeks. He didn’t talk about himself much, beyond the persona he’d made for himself online. “Uh, my parents died when I was a kid and left me a big trust fund.”

Mrs. Floyd looked at him for a moment and it was the first time the biddy had been even remotely friendly toward him. “I’m so sorry, dear. I had no idea.”

He shrugged. “Well, I guess that means less people for me to worry about now that the world is falling apart, right?”

He smiled, but Carrie and Mrs. Floyd exchanged a pained look that made him feel sick.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “I guess that means you’re still missing people.”

Carrie nodded. “We haven’t been able to reach my brother or my sister.”

He looked at Mrs. Floyd. Somehow he’d never pictured her as a mom of three. She seemed too… mean and snobby to be anything but a doggie Mommy.

“So when are you going out?” he asked.

The two women looked at him and Carrie tilted her head. “What do you mean, go out?”

He wrinkled his brow. “You don’t think you’re going to stay in this apartment forever, do you?”

Carrie glared at him. “Why shouldn’t we? We’re safe here. Once I busted the elevator and blocked the stairwell, the zombies stopped making their way up. I don’t want to go down to them and offer them a free taste.”

Zander blinked at Mrs. Floyd and then Carrie. “This isn’t how it works, you know.”

Mrs. Floyd tilted her head. “What do you mean? Up until ten minutes ago, you didn’t even know what was happening outside and now you’re saying you want to tell us how this ‘works’.”

“Come on, haven’t you ever played a zombie video game?”

“Oh, Christ,” Carrie said and paced away from him.

“Seriously, what about seen a zombie movie?” he insisted. “Staying holed up isn’t going to work. We have to get out and try to get somewhere safe. Or at least find some other people to work with and share supplies with.”

Carrie spun on him. “Great idea. We’ll just head out onto the zombie-infested streets and meet up with a band of merry men and-”

“You said this has been going on for five days, right?” he interrupted.

Mrs. Floyd nodded. “Yes.”

“And you want to stay here because I assume you think help is on the way, right?” he continued.

“It has to be,” Carrie said, but her tone sounded uncertain.

And for good reason.

“I just looked outside and I don’t see any National Guard or military. No planes, even. So where’s the cavalry?” Zander asked softly.

Carrie opened her mouth, but then shut it as she looked at her Mom silently.

“We’ve been wondering that ourselves,” Mrs. Floyd finally answered.

Zander nodded. “Yeah, this is pretty typical zombie stuff. In all the movies and games I’ve ever seen or played, there is one of two scenarios. Either the army comes and saves the gang from annihilation. Or… well, or they abandon the city and any survivors. Sometimes they even destroy the cities to keep the virus from spreading.” He frowned. “Not that it ever works.”

“So we’re now basing what we should or shouldn’t do on zombie games or movies?” Carrie asked as she rubbed her eyes. He hadn’t noticed before, but there were dark circles under them. That never happened in video games or movies.

“No,” he said. “But how long until you run out of food? I assume you already looted the other apartments on this floor?”

Mrs. Floyd nodded slowly. “We did.”

“And I know you just looked over your supplies,” he continued. “So how many days do you have left?”

Carrie pursed her lips like she was annoyed that he was being reasonable.

“It-two days,” Mrs.Floyd muttered. “Three if it’s just my daughter and me.”

Zander blinked. “You were figuring you’d share your rations with me?”

“Of course,” Mrs. Floyd said with a shake of her head. “I may not like you, but I don’t want to kill you.”

Zander drew back in surprise. That he had not expected.

“How much food do you have?” Carrie asked, her weak voice even weaker. “To add to the overall rations?”

He swallowed. “I was trying to think of that, but… not a lot. Maybe a day or a little more. I stocked up before I bought my game, but used up most of what I had during my play time.”

“Shit,” Carrie said under her breath.

Zander shrugged. “But that’s what I’m saying. We have to get out of here, to at least get supplies. And maybe there’s still a safe place out there. A military or a survivor camp where we can get protection.”

“Does that usually work in zombie movies?” Mrs. Floyd asked.

When Zander glanced at her, he was surprised to see she was smiling at him. Weakly, yes, but a smile nonetheless.

“Well,” he began.

“Sometimes it works,” Carrie offered. “But you know as well as I do that at least one or two people die in those movies. Good guys.” Zander arched both eyebrows and Carrie shrugged. “I watch movies, too.”

He paced across the room and peeked around the curtains a second time. The smoke in the air was twisting on the wind as it rose around and above the buildings.

“I guess I’d rather try to get out, though, then starve to death in an apartment.” He let the curtain fall. “But that’s just me. I’m going to try to figure out how to get out of here. But if you two don’t want to go, I understand. I can try to send someone back for you if I find any kind of organized survivors or military.”

Carrie swallowed and looked at her Mom. “Can we talk about it for a minute?”

He nodded. “Sure. While you’re doing that, maybe I’ll go back to my place and just check out the ration situation.”

He moved toward the door, but Carrie stopped him by reaching out for his arm. “Hey,” she said. “Take my shotgun. You never know.”

He stared at the weapon, then took it. “Thanks.”

She nodded and then motioned her Mom toward the kitchen. When he stepped into the hall, he heard her lock the door behind him.

He drew a deep breath and looked at the dark hallway. Now that he knew there was something so sinister and terrible going on, he noticed things he’d been oblivious to when he first entered the corridor. There was a smudge of blood on one of the other doors near the elevator. And the clear window that led into the stairwell had been blocked from the hallway side by cardboard. Probably thanks to Carrie.

He shivered and moved toward his apartment. He hesitated as he put his hand out. He hadn’t locked the door behind him. Why would he? His only plan had been to run down, confront Roger about the internet problem and then run right back up. Normally that wouldn’t be an issue, but now he couldn’t help but imagine zombies filling his apartment, waiting for him.

“Calm the hell down,” he said out loud so he would hear the words. “Carrie locked the… zombies… or whatever out of the hall. They aren’t in there.”

Still he double checked that the shotgun was loaded before he turned the knob and peered into the main room. It was empty, of course, lit up by the game screen from Bonewrecker 2 and a lamp he’d forgotten about days ago.

With a sigh, he stepped inside and shut the door behind him. He headed for the kitchen. It was a big, open room with an island in the center that was scattered with crumbs from the chips, cookies and microwave pizzas he’d been living on the last few days. An empty Safeway bag sat next to the leftovers and he grabbed it to fill it with whatever food he could carry with him back to Mrs. Floyd’s apartment. There wasn’t much to choose from. A quarter of a bag of chips, a box of sugar cereal with a cartoon gorilla on the box (he could only imagine what Carrie would say when she saw that), and a couple of cans of beans and soup.

A sad little collection and one that wouldn’t get him through more than a day or two. Less since he intended to share with the women if they joined him on the road. Not that he knew where he was going.

He moved back into the living room and stared at the game screen. It was the hand of Bonewrecker, the military hero of the game. He was holding a big ass gun and in the background were an army of monsters and zombies.

Would the ones he found downstairs be worse or better than the ones he’d been fighting for years in video games?

There was a rattle and the door to his apartment squeaked open. Out of pure instinct, Zander raised the shotgun and swung it on the intruder. As the door hit the wall and revealed Carrie, she froze, their eyes locked for a long moment.

“Sorry,” Zander muttered. “You should have knocked.”

“You should have locked the door,” she retorted, but there was no heat or anger in her tone. She shut the door behind her and locked the deadbolt. “So did you find anything of value?”

He lifted the plastic bag of leftovers and she frowned. “That’s it?”

He shrugged. “I’m a bachelor, what do you want?”

She glanced around the room and sniffed in disgust. “You’re a slob, dude. Bachelor or not. So is this the famous game?”

He nodded as the two of them stared at the play screen. She laughed. “Actually, they get the zombies pretty close to right.”

He stared at the image on the screen. Dead eyes, gray skin, black sludge around the lips. He shuttered.

She looked at him in surprise. “I would have thought you’d be excited.”

“Why?” he asked with an incredulous laugh. “I don’t even like to talk to the pizza guy, let alone fight a real zombie.”

“Yeah, you do need to get out more,” she said. “But I guess you’ll get your chance now. My Mom and I decided to try your plan and make a move before the situation gets even worse.”

Zander was surprised that relief flooded him. He didn’t even like people as a whole, Mrs. Floyd specifically, but he was happy not to have to head out into zombie-infested streets on his own.

“Ok, well it’s still pretty early. What do you think of starting out today?”

Carrie shifted slightly and he could see she was nervous. Scared. But then she nodded. “Yeah. Now or never, right?”

“Right.”

#

The stairwell was eerily quiet. So quiet that Zander’s heavy breathing echoed in the empty space around them and sounded like freaking Darth Vader. He peered around and then motioned behind him so that Mrs. Floyd and Carrie would follow. Mrs. Floyd had surrendered her Glock to Carrie and Zander kept the shotgun, so Mrs. Floyd was right behind him, flanked by the two of them with high powered weapons. Not that she was unarmed. She had a heavy iron skillet raised up like a battle axe and Zander wasn’t so sure he wanted to find out if she could wield it.

“How did you two end up with guns, anyway?” he whispered as they crept down the first set of stairs and rounded the corner past the 11th floor. “You don’t exactly seem all Pro-Second Amendment to me.”

Mrs. Floyd answered. “Well, a woman of my age, living alone in an expensive apartment. I wanted to be protected.”

Zander shot her a look over his shoulder. Shit man, there was a lot about this old lady he was totally shocked to find out.

“And what about this guy?” He raised the shotgun higher.

Carrie sighed. “I took it off a dead security guard on my way to Mom’s apartment after the outbreak started. And the thin amount of ammo we have left. By the way, shoot accurately because we don’t have a lot of ammo.”

Zander shot her a look. “So I gathered. Man, I wish this was a video game.”

Carrie snorted out a laugh. “Isn’t it? Scary stairwell, only two guns and three people, not to mention the freaking zombies.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Zander sighed. “But in a video game you can set the ammo to infinite.”

“That would be nice,” Mrs. Floyd said with a sigh or her own.

“And I’d also have double D boobs,” Carrie said. “But wishing for that is as useless as wishing for infinite ammo.”

Zander glanced back and tried not to be too obvious about checking Carrie out. Her boobs looked fine to him, but he doubted bringing that up would win him points with either woman. And Mrs. Floyd had that skillet, after all.

Luckily he didn’t have to come up with a reply because there was a noise in the stairwell. Unfortunately, the noise was the faint moaning of people. Plural. Well, maybe not people. Zombies.

“Oh my God,” Zander couldn’t help but mutter. “Oh my God, oh my God.”

“It’s okay,” Carrie whispered from above. “You’re going to be fine. Just aim for the head. Don’t get bitten.”

“Great. Good advice,” Zander said through clenched teeth as he peeked down through the spiraling stairs below and caught a glimpse of their prey (and their predator, but that was another story).

There were ten of them, gathered up together in the middle of the stairs between the sixth and seventh floors. They swayed back and forth, drooling and grumbling in a nonsensical collection of terrible sounds that were hardly even human.

Zander hadn’t seen any of them so close before and his stomach turned. They were people, but not people anymore. Monsters in t-shirts and jeans and one even had a purse still bouncing around on her shoulder against her side. The same side that had a huge bite mark in it. He could see the white bones of her ribs through the hole.

“Why are they stopped?” Mrs. Floyd asked as she peered over his shoulder.

He leaned slightly to the left at a pile of debris in the way of the zombies. “Looks like someone set up some dining chairs or something to block them.”

Zander examined the situation. He was put to mind of the first Bonewrecker. There had been a similar situation in that game, with a bunch of monsters barely blocked from the hero and his band of survivors. How had he gotten out of that mess?

“Carrie, give me that Glock,” he whispered.

She stepped around her mom and held out the gun. They traded. “Why?”

He lined the site up on the head of one of the zombies. “The shotgun is great, but I want to use something with more precision.”

He swallowed. The person down there, he could tell she was sick. Her grey skin, black drool, empty, red eyes were all so damn creepy. But the person was still… human… ish. She was wearing a University of Washington Huskies t-shirt that had been two sizes too small in life. Her blonde hair was dirty, but still pulled back in a loose ponytail. A few days ago, she’d probably been pretty hot.

“What are you waiting for?” Carrie hissed.

He shook his head. “I’ve never shot a person before. I’ve never shot anything before that wasn’t, you know, computer rendered.”

Carrie stared at him and nodded. “I know. At first it was hard for me, too. But that thing down there, all those things… they aren’t human. And they’ll kill us in a heartbeat if they get to us before we take them out.”

He met her eyes for a minute and then nodded. “Yeah.”

This time when he raised the Glock, his hand didn’t share nearly as much. He pressed the trigger firmly, kept the girl’s head in his sites and fired.

The sound was deafening in the echoing confines of the stairwell and his ears rung with the explosion of gun powder and fire. He blinked and stared through a weird haze. The zombie he’d been targeting was now a headless corpse, collapsed against the barrier of chairs that separated human from monster. She was definitely not hot.

The other zombies jerked their gazes up and Zander’s blood ran cold. They were looking, seeing and it was clear they were all thinking the same primal thing:

FOOD!

All at once, they rushed the barrier, clawing and climbing in a disorganized fashion.

“Shit, they’re going to get through,” Carrie cried, her voice echoing in his still ringing ears. She raised the shotgun, but he put a hand against the barrel to keep it low.

“Don’t waste the spray weapon,” he snapped, his mind turning to gaming tactics. “Save the shells for when they get through. Position yourself at the top of that stairwell and blast them once they’re past the barrier.”

Carrie stared at him for a minute and then nodded as she ran down one flight of stairs lower and waited for the horde to break through.

Zander reloaded his weapon from the precious collection of bullets in his pocket and said, “Mrs. Floyd, I need you to go up one flight of stairs. Your frying pan is a last resort weapon. If the zombies get past Carrie and get to me, run! Lock yourself in your apartment.”

She stared at him, her lips parted and pale with fear.

“Now!” he ordered and smiled when she jerked out a nod and scurried up the stairs.

He turned his attention back to the zombies below. In Bonewrecker 2, one of the unlockable achievements in the game was called…

“One Shot, Two Kills,” he muttered and lined up the site on the head of another zombie. He held his breath as the others milled around and finally another stepped behind the first. He depressed the trigger gently and the bullet exploded, slicing through both soft skulls and splattering infected brains across the back wall of the stairwell. Shell casings bounced off the floor with a metallic clink and he fired again.

“Shit!” he snapped as the zombie lurched out of the way and the bullet only hit his shoulder. Flesh exploded, but the… thing didn’t even seem to register any kind of reaction. He continued to paw at the chairs in his way, even though his arm now hung at his side by just a thin collection of shattered bone and stretching sinew.

“The head!” Carrie screamed from the stairs below. “Aim for the head!”

“I know,” he snapped back, clenching his jaw as he lined up the next shot.

This time when he fired, a zombie dropped but before he could move along to the next shot, the two who were climbing on the stack of twisted dining chairs applied the right pressure to the right place and the teetering stack of wood and cushion collapsed, the barrier shattering as zombies staggered backward.

“Get ready!” Zander cried as he fired off another shot and caught one of the zombies as he staggered to his feet and started toward the gaping hole in the only thing separating them from imminent death, dismemberment and cannibalism. “They’re coming through.”

“I know,” Carrie muttered, her tone tight.

Zander continued to fire his handgun a few more times. He had to force himself not to just go crazy, not to just unload on the monsters without any precision. Every time that wild fear threatened to overtake him, he thought of Bonewrecker and all the other video games he’d played over the years and somehow he stayed calm and in control.

The zombies had gotten themselves back together now and started streaming past what was left of the dining chair barrier. There were five of them who made it past the last splinters of wood and Zander cursed as he rushed toward the stairs where Carrie was crouched.

She started firing the shotgun before he got there. The smells of cordite and blood filled the air as he vaulted to her side and continued to fire his own weapon.

“Nice shooting,” he panted as he looked at the two dead zombies who were already collapsed against the stairs one level down from them. The remaining three were already starting to crawl over the bodies, drooling and growling out their desire for blood and brains.

“I hope it’s worth it,” Carrie said as she shot him a side glance. “Because I’m out.”

He jerked his head toward her. “Out-out?”

She nodded. “That was my last shell. I told you we didn’t have much ammo.”

“Ok,” he breathed as he fired off another shot at the zombies below. He cursed as the it went wide and hit the wall and not the male zombie with the sideways baseball cap. Seattle Mariners. “I think I have about five bullets left. Use your shotgun as a bludgeon and go up to where your Mom is waiting.”

She stared at him. “But-”

“Do it!” he snapped.

“Be careful,” she said as she ran off behind him.

Zander grunted an acknowledgment of her advice and fired again. This time he hit the baseball fan and he collapsed back against the zombie behind him, sending them both toppling out of sight on the stairwell.

“Four zombies, four shots,” Zander said to himself.

His hands started to shake. What the hell was he doing anyway? Really shooting things, really killing monsters? He was a gamer! A slacker! He wasn’t built to be a real hero.

Except if he wasn’t, then he would die. And so would Carrie. And so would Mrs. Floyd.

The zombies who had fallen down the stairwell had already climbed their way back up and around into his sightline again. One of them had broken his arm in the fall, too. The bone stuck out of his rotting flesh in a twisted, sickening manner.

Zander swallowed back the vomit that had risen into his throat and fired at the zombie with the broken arm. With a hissing gurgle, it jerked and the bullet hit the side of his head. A flap of skull and hair flew off into the distance, revealing brain, but the zombie kept coming.

“Shit!” Zander said, stunned momentarily by the image of exposed brain material and unstoppable hunger.

“Shoot it!” Carrie screamed from somewhere above him.

Zander shook his head. Yeah, he could not get too distracted. Not if he wanted to live. The four remaining zombies were coming faster up the stairs now, sniffing at the air like rabid dogs and screaming and gurgling with hunger and rage.

He fired his final three shots in rapid succession. One after another, three of the zombies fell as they moved up the stairs. But the last one, Mr. Exposed Brain Matter, kept coming.

Zander backed up in horror, and without thinking, threw the gun at the thing.

The weapon bounced off the zombie’s face, breaking his nose off at the tip and making the thing hiss and vomit sludge. Then the damaged monster leapt forward. Zander raised his arms and the zombie landed on him, his dead weight crushing Zander against the stairs and forcing his elbows to bend with the pressure.

“Oh fuck!” he screamed, though he hardly recognized his own high-pitched, terror-filled voice.

The zombie pushed toward him, growling as he snapped his teeth and tried to bite. His breath smelled like rotten meat and something metallic.

“Get off!” Carrie’s voice came from somewhere behind him.

And then, miraculously, the butt of the shotgun swung dangerously close to his head and connected squarely with the zombie’s face. The monster flew back off of him with a hissing whine. Zander sat up and scooted backward, away from the creature and watched in horror as Carrie swung her shotgun three more times, pulverizing the skull of the creature until it released one last shudder and then lay still.

The stairwell was quiet again, just as it had been when they first entered it. The only sounds were those of his own breathing, as raspy and broken as it had been a less than a quarter of an hour before.

And yet everything seemed different. More terrifying.

More real.

Carrie turned toward him and Zander held out his trembling hand so she could help him up. Instead, she stared at him, her shotgun still held like a club.

“Did he bite you?” she asked, her voice echoing in the stairwell.

Zander felt the blood leave his face. He hadn’t noticed, he’d been too afraid.

“I-I don’t think so.”

“Not good enough.”

He turned to find Mrs. Floyd coming down the stairs, and she had her cast iron skillet lifted menacingly. There was no doubt he’d end up with as squashed a skull as the final zombie if he didn’t prove he wasn’t cut or bitten.

He looked at his hands and saw there were smears of sludge on them. He wiped them on his t-shirt and breathed a sigh of relief. No cuts.

“Anything on my face?” he asked.

Carrie shook her head slowly. “Lift your shirt up.”

Zander did as he’d been told and looked. Nothing.

“I think you’re okay,” Mrs. Floyd sighed with relief.

“But we’re out of ammo in both guns,” Carrie whispered.

Zander swallowed hard as he pushed to his feet. “Yeah. Even if I find the Glock I threw at the last zombie, it was empty.”

“Maybe we should go back up,” Mrs. Floyd whispered and her gaze slipped to the top of the stairs where they had come from.

“Where’s your dog?” Zander asked.

Both Carrie and her mother stared at him. “That’s your question, when we’re debating what to do?” Carrie asked.

Zander nodded.

Mrs. Floyd shuddered. “On the first day, when everything was so confused, I came upstairs and there was a man in the hallway. You know how Sierra was…”

Zander chuckled. “Evil?”

Mrs. Floyd glared. “Protective. She started barking at him. I tried to hush her, but before I could, he spun around and it was clear he was… one of them.”

Her eyes filled with tears and Zander swallowed. “The dog went after him?”

She nodded. “And he tore her to pieces right there in the hall. I hid in my apartment with my gun.”

“So they made it up the stairs before,” Zander said softly, moving his gaze to Carrie. “And they were making a way up and would have broken through that barrier at some point whether we sped up their progress or not.”

“What are you saying?” Mrs. Floyd asked.

He shrugged. “If they came up once, if they tried a second time… eventually they’ll get to the apartment. Some time they’ll get through the door. And they’ll either find whoever is in there has starved to death… or they’ll attack. Either way, you lose more than your dog.”

Carrie stepped toward him. “Hey-” she began, but Mrs. Floyd lifted her hand.

“He’s right.” She glared at him. “Cold, but correct. Staying upstairs isn’t going to save us. It’s just going to prolong the inevitable. I vote we go down, try to find some other weapons… and at least try to make it somewhere safe.”

“That’s what I vote, too,” Zander said. He smiled at his neighbor. “See, turns out we can agree on something.”

Carrie shut her eyes. “Okay,” she finally conceded after a long pause. “Okay.”

There was a moment when they all just stared at each other. Then Zander motioned for the staircase. “Keep an eye out for the Glock. And for any other weapon. And be ready to swing on anything that moves and looks remotely infected.”

Carrie pushed in front of him and they began to move down the stairs again. They made it down two more flights when they found Zander’s empty Glock. He took it, though without ammo it was almost not worth the carry.

The rifle they found in the grip of a dead hand another flight after that, however, was worth something and Zander led the way again, with the rifle poised for battle.

It never came. After what seemed like forever, they reached the entrance to the parking garage and stopped.

“Anything could be out there,” Zander said. “It’s going to be dark. The generators that have keep the building lit have never been hooked up to the parking garage. Check your corners, go slowly and does anyone have keys to a vehicle?”

Carrie reached into her pocket and dangled a set from her fingers. “Assuming no one stole my SUV and zombies didn’t eat the tires, we’re good.”

Zander breathed a sigh of relief and slowly opened the garage door.

He looked around. It was nearly pitch black. Only a slim few lines of sunlight came in from the entryways from the streets and that barely cut through the inky darkness. His eyes adjusted slightly, but not enough where he could really see, so he closed them and tried to focus on his hearing.

But there was nothing.

“I think we might be okay,” he said softly. “I don’t hear anything.”

“Me neither.” Carrie touched his arm and he jumped. “Sorry. We need to go to the left and I think it was one row over and about three spots up. I’ll click the locator button when we’re closer.”

“Gotcha.” Zander reached back and took Mrs. Floyd’s hand and they moved forward as a human chain. Step by step, slowly, slowly until they had moved in the general direction Carrie had indicated.

“Okay,” she whispered. “I’m going to hit the locator button.”

There was a click and then the parking garage erupted with the blaring sound of a horn over and over. The lights of an SUV a few feet away started flashing on and off, on and off, lighting up the darkness.

“Shit, I hit the alarm,” Carrie said and began to fumble with her keys to find the off button.

Zander stared as the lights came on and off again. When there was brief light he saw them. So many of them.

“Run!” He began dragging Mrs. Floyd toward the beeping, sirening vehicle. “Run! There are twenty or thirty zombies over there!”

The light flickered again. The zombies were on the move and if they hadn’t been able to see the creatures, the growling thunder of their bloodthirsty screams made the intent clear.

“Fuck!” Carrie said and jumped for the SUV door. She flung it open and dove into the driver’s seat.

Zander drug Mrs. Floyd forward and went for the back door on the driver’s side because it was closest. As he opened it, he flung Mrs. Floyd forward into the backseat and dove in behind her. As he started to close the door, the zombies in the parking garage swarmed the vehicle, growling and drooling on the windows and banging on the doors with bloody, stumpy hands.

“Start the car, Carrie,” Zander said as he locked the door on his side and reached across Mrs. Floyd to lock the other.

Not that it would help. They weren’t going to open the door to get in. They were going to break out all the windows or flip the car.

“Start the car!” he repeated.

She fumbled for the ignition and the engine roared to life.

“Buckle up!” she barked and floored the SUV.

Zander scrambled for the seat buckle and Mrs. Floyd seemed to wake up enough to do the same as the vehicle lurched forward. Zombie bodies rolled under the wheels until the bumps were as bad as on the worst road. Others slid across the front window and clung to the side of the car, flailing off as Carrie swerved and sideswiped other vehicles to shake them off.

The light that had barely touched the parking garage, keeping their enemies hidden, grew as they screamed toward the exit. The parking garage arm was already broken so Carrie burst through and they all blinked as they hit the street and swung wide onto the sidewalk.

The zombies wandering around looked at them with blank eyes, then went back to shambling and the ones still half-stuck to the car fell away as Carrie spun the car south toward the I-90 entrance.

“So where do we go?” Mrs. Floyd asked, her voice soft and frightened.

Carrie looked at them in the rear view mirror briefly and her eyes met Zander’s.

“East,” they said in unison.

And no one said anything more until the freeway.

Company’s Here

Nadia stared at the horoscope staring up at her from the paper.

Aquarius: Company from out of town could mean trouble.

She rolled her eyes and folded the paper up before she tossed it in the fire bin. It wasn’t like she believed in horoscopes. The stars couldn’t dictate what was going to happen to her on any given day any more than she could by dumping out a bunch of letter magnets and arranging them into random sentences.

Anyway, no company ever came out here.

She stepped outside and smiled as the waves in the distance banged up on the rocky shore. She and Randy had moved out here, away from Seattle, away from the bustle of the city… away from the problems they’d left there, six months before. Yeah, life was different now. No fancy dinners, no high powered meetings, but no investigators popping up to ask Randy questions about insider trading, either.

“Hey!”

Nadia shook off her thoughts and waved as Randy started toward her up the beach. Their dog, a retriever named Duncan was two steps ahead, wagging his entire body rather than just his tail.

“Hi,” she said as he got closer. “Looks nice out there today.”

He nodded. “Going to be hot. It might be a good day for a swim.”

“Sure.” She leaned down to give Duncan a scratch behind the ears.

“Did you look at the papers?” Randy asked.

She lifted her gaze slowly. “Yeah. Nothing in there about the case or you.”

His lips pursed. “Then why do you look freaked out?”

She felt the blush fill her cheeks. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing. I know you better than that. What’s up?”

“My horoscope freaked me out,” Nadia muttered under her breath.

Both Randy’s eyebrows lifted. “Your horoscope.”

The blush started to feel uncomfortably hot and Nadia folded her arms as she glared at him. “You’re going to make fun of me? Really?”

He bit his lip and she could see he was making a lame effort not to laugh. “No, of course not. So what did the stars tell you was your ultimate doom?”

Nadia lifted her hand and slowly extended her middle finger, then she started off toward the beach. Randy caught up with her in a few long steps. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and gave her a playful squeeze.

“C’mon, I want to know. What did it say?”

“Just something about company coming and causing trouble, that’s all.” She shrugged as she looked off at the gray-blue waves as they rolled up and over the sand. “I know it’s stupid.”

But Randy wasn’t laughing anymore. “Look, if they weren’t talking about me or the case in the papers, they aren’t coming out here. They don’t care enough about insider trading to chase us out to the ocean.”

Nadia sighed. “Just enough to send you to white collar jail for what? A year? Two? Five since you aren’t Martha Stewart and can’t get time off for good candle making or flower arrangement or whatever?”

“No, my hair isn’t blond enough for that,” Randy said as he ran a hand through his brown hair, much longer now than it had been when he worked in Seattle and wore a suit every day.

Nadia couldn’t help but smile. There were benefits and disadvantages to getting off the grid. Randy might always be looking over his shoulder, but at least he smiled more while he did it.

She took his hand and they walked out to the beach together. Nadia kicked off her flip flops before they reached the water’s edge and smiled as the sand bunched between her toes. Duncan jogged down the beach a few yards, digging in the sand and looking for driftwood to carry around.

She opened her mouth to say something to her boyfriend, but before she could Duncan started to bark. Both of them looked down the beach and Nadia started. Far down the beach was another person.

“That’s weird, right?” Randy said.

Nadia nodded. There was a reason they’d picked Sandhill, Washington as a place to lay low. It was a beach town, sure, but one of the tiniest ones on the coast. It wasn’t a Spring Break Mecca or a hideaway for Seattle’s rich and famous. Normally, on a weekday morning like this one, she and Randy were the only people on the beach. Only in the evenings and on the weekends did they see their “neighbors”.

Duncan came to a halt as he stared at the figure coming toward them in the distance. He was a friendly dog, a big gallomphing, drooling, idiot, but a friendly one. He tilted his head at the figure and then started running toward the person at his full-out sprint.

“Aw, c’mon Duncan!” Nadia called after him. “You’re going to scare him!”

“He’ll be fine. He only sniffs their crotches and tries to get them to play catch,” Randy reassured her. He let go of her hand and grabbed for a flat shell that had washed up on shore. “Anyway, it gives us some alone time.”

Nadia laughed as she rolled her eyes. “It’s true. We never can talk about the important household matters in front of the dog.”

“Little pitchers,” Randy said with a grin. “No, I do think we need to talk about stuff, though, Nadi. I’ve been thinking. Maybe it’s time I go back and just turn myself in.”

She spun on him with a gasp of air. “What? What the fuck do you mean?”

His eyes went wide. “Language dear.”

“Don’t joke around,” she snapped. “Not about this.”

“Well, I was joking around about the language thing, but not about the turning myself in thing,” he said and this time he was totally serious.

She blinked. “But… you’ll go to jail.”

He hesitated for a minute and then shrugged. “Maybe. I mean, I was part of a group of people. They might not care much for one person versus ten.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. “Except that you ran. They could easily make you an example.”

He reached out and caught her hand. “What if I call the lawyer and just get his advice? See if he can work out a deal.”

She shook off his touch. “Why are you bringing this up now?”

“Because horoscopes about ‘company’ are making you tense. And we’re running out of money. It isn’t fair to make you live in a crappy one bedroom house in a shitty little town because I fucked up.”

He expelled his breath in a long burst and walked further into the ocean. The water lapped around his calves. Nadia stared at him.

“Language,” she said softly and he shot her a smile over his shoulder.

Duncan barked in the distance and Nadia glanced down the beach with a frown. “That doesn’t sound like his normal bark,” she said, more to herself than Randy.

Normally Duncan’s bark was welcoming and bouncy, but now a snarl echoed from the beach and they both watched as the dog circled the person who was now within two hundred yards of them. He barked again and then ran full on toward Nadia and Randy.

“What is his deal?” Randy asked. “I’ve never seen him do that before.”

“Maybe that guy,” Nadia said, because she could see now it was a man coming toward him. “Yelled at him.”

“We would have heard that,” Randy reasoned. “Think he used one of those pitch whistles?”

“You mean the ones only dogs can hear?” She shook her head. “I guess that could be it.”

Duncan raced closer and Nadia crouched down to look at him as he moved toward them. “You okay-”

The dog didn’t stop but bolted past her and down the beach in the opposite direction. He had wild eyes like he was scared.

“Duncan!” Randy snapped, using his best ‘listen to me, dog’ voice. The one they’d learned in the dog training course last year when they income for such silliness. Duncan usually listened to that top dog voice, but this time he kept going, running around a bend in the distance where he disappeared from view.

The guy Duncan had been barking at was closer now and Nadia tilted her head as she looked at him.

“What’s up with that guy?”

Randy wasn’t looking at the guy, though, he was still peering down the beach where Duncan had gone. “What guy?”

She motioned toward the visitor to their beach. “The guy, Randy! There’s something wrong with him.”

Randy looked down the beach where she was motioning. The stranger was moving at a steady clip toward them and was now about a hundred yards away… but he wasn’t really walking. He was… dragging toward them, one shoulder hunched downward and his left leg didn’t lift, but pulled a trench in the sand behind him.

“Oh my God,” Nadia cried as she moved toward the man. She could now see his face was bloody. “Are you okay?”

The man didn’t answer, but continued up the beach with a faint moan that dissipated on the air like smoke. She moved to get closer, but Randy caught her arm.

“Nadia, go in and call 911, okay,” Randy said.

She blinked as she looked at him then stared at the man who was coming closer with every step. His eyes were so blank. And red.

“Be careful,” she said, squeezed Randy’s arm, then ran for the house.

#

Every hair on Randy’s arms and the back of his neck stood up, kind of like they had the last day he’d been at work and everyone was whispering about investigations and jail terms and staring at him like he had sprouted a second head that was humming the National Anthem.

He’d always had the knack to know when bad shit was about to go down and looking at the stranger who continued to stagger toward him, he figured the guy couldn’t be bringing good news.

“Hey, mister,” he said, taking one step closer. “Are you okay? You get hurt in a car wreck or something?”

He didn’t believe that was the case when he said it. After all, the road was almost a mile away. It wouldn’t really make sense for someone to come all this way. Though judging from the way the man moaned in response, maybe he was just so fucked up he didn’t even know where he was.

“Sir?” Randy repeated as the man reached him.

Instead of answering, the man vomited up black sludge all over the front of his white t-shirt. Randy gagged, but managed to keep his own puke reflex at bay and grabbed for the man’s shoulder.

“Shit, you might have a concussion or something. Sit down and-”

He didn’t get to finish. Before he could, the stranger grabbed for his hand and sunk his teeth into Randy’s palm.

“Mother fucker!” Randy screamed as he punched his attacker square in the face.

The man grunted as he staggered back and his jaw loosened enough that Randy was able to pull his hand free. He stared at his palm. The skin was broken and the outline of ragged tooth marks was already starting to be blocked out by blood and some kind of weird black material.

“What the fuck, man?” he asked the intruder. “Who the fuck bites someone?”

The man moved forward again with another moan and this time there was no doubt he had bad intentions. He reached for Randy and caught his shoulders, pulling at him with surprising strength for a person Randy was pretty sure he outweighed by a good twenty pounds (he’d stress-eaten a few donuts since he ran from the law).

He shoved back, but the stranger clung tightly. His jaws snapped toward Randy’s face and he drooled that disgusting black material down his chin as he snarled and muttered.

As they grappled, the door to the cottage opened and Nadia came down the steps carrying the cordless phone in one hand and her disposable cell in another. “Hey, all the lines are dead-” she started and then she caught sight of Randy’s predicament.

She tossed both phones on the sand at the bottom of the steps and ran toward them at a full spring.

“Get off him!” she screamed as she pushed the stranger.

Even with their combined weight, though, the intruder clung to Randy and wouldn’t let go. Nadia hit him this time with a right cross that Randy swore she’d learned from UFC, but all the man did was snarl in her direction and keep snapping his teeth at Randy.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Randy asked as he pushed back with as much force as he could muster. The guy still didn’t let go, but he did stagger backward. Randy saw the big driftwood log a few feet away and pushed harder, guiding his attacker toward the debris.

Just as he’d hoped, when the man’s ankles hit the log, he lost his balance and toppled backward, taking Randy with him. But his grip loosened as they hit the sand and Randy was able to roll free. He popped back up on his feet immediately and lifted his hands up in a defensive stance.

“What the fuck, asshole?” he asked a second time as he looked down at the stranger who had attacked him.

The man wasn’t moving, just lying there, staring straight upward with blank, open eyes.

“What’s wrong with him?” Nadia asked as she looked down with Randy.

“I don’t know. Stay back.” He pushed her behind him and leaned down to shake the man’s leg. He didn’t move and he didn’t blink. “I-I think he’s dead.”

“How could he be dead?” Nadia asked, her tone growing high pitched. “He just tripped.”

“Maybe he was sick or something.” He stared down at his hand. It hurt like a son-of-a-bitch and the skin around where he’d been bitten was starting to turn gray. “He was definitely sick.”

Nadia crouched down and poked the man with her finger. He didn’t move, of course, pretty much solidifying the fact that he was dead. And wasn’t that going to be fun to explain to the cops when they came.

“What are you doing?” he snapped as he watched Nadia lift the guy’s head from the sand and look under it.

“I just can’t believe that he would-” She started and then let out a gasp of breath and dropped the dead man’s skull against the sand. It made a hollow thud. “Oh Jesus,” she whispered as she dropped back on her ass and scooted away from the corpse. “Oh, Jesus, Randy. He hit his head. There’s a rock under there and his skull is half-crushed.”

Randy blinked. They hadn’t fallen that hard. Had they?

“His skull is crushed?” he repeated.

She nodded. “It looks like somebody went all ‘Goodfellas’ on him.”

Randy bit his lip and then grabbed the corpse’s shoulder and flipped him over. Sure enough the back of his head was a bloody mess of broken bone, hair and brain matter. His stomach turned as he let the body go and turned to pace off a few feet.

“Oh shit,” he whispered. “I’m going to go to jail. Not white-collar jail, either.”

“No!” Nadia insisted as she rushed to his side. She grabbed his arm and made him face her. “You were defending yourself.”

“It’s not going to look that way when the back of this dude’s skull is crushed in on the beach behind the house where I’ve been hiding out from the feds!” Randy insisted. His chest was starting to feel tight now as he imagined the headlines.

Fugitive Turns Murderous in Seaside Village

He was going to end up getting featured on Dateline or 48 Hours.

“Did you call the police?” he asked.

His voice sounded flat and faraway. For a long moment, Nadia just stared at him and then she shook her head. “I-I couldn’t. Both the phones were dead.”

He wrinkled his brow. “Both?”

She nodded. “The cell couldn’t find a signal and the regular jack phone was just a weird busy signal thing.”

“Look, let’s go in and turn on the radio and see if they’re talking about a car wreck up on the highway. And then… I-I just have to think and I’ll walk up to the next cottage and see if we can use their phone.”

Randy ran a hand through his hair. Everything was over. He knew it now.

Nadia glanced at the body again. “Should we… cover him up?”

He shuddered. Since he’d flipped the corpse, he didn’t see the blank, cold eyes anymore, but there was still the matter of the gaping hole in his skull. “Yeah. I’ll grab the blanket from the porch. You go in and turn on the radio.”

She squeezed his arm once and then moved into the cottage. Randy followed her and grabbed the blanket from the porch that they used to picnic and wrap up in on cool ocean nights. They wouldn’t be doing that again, at least not with this blanket. Probably not at all.

He tossed the blanket over the body and then moved into the house. There was only a small combined living and dining room, a door that led to the small bathroom and another to the bedroom. It was a summer cottage really, not meant to live in. But the rent was right.

Nadia stood behind the couch, staring at the TV. When he shut the door, she flinched and faced him briefly. “You should come look at this.”

As she turned the volume up on the television, Randy stepped up beside her. The television was showing scenes of utter and complete carnage in Seattle. People roamed the streets, attacking each other. The reporters were pale and gaunt, like they were freaking out.

“I-I turned on the radio, but there was only an emergency signal,” Nadia whispered. “So I went to the TV and found.. this. It started yesterday, I guess, in Seattle. The whole city is almost… gone.”

“What is it?” Randy asked. “A riot?”

A reporter in a studio flashed onto the screen and stared into the camera with a “Serious Newsanchor” face.

“Good afternoon. The Outbreak happened less than twenty-four hours ago, but it’s already taken over a large portion of the Pacific Northwest even as we report. The cities of Spokane and Portland are already reporting an influx of attackers. Zombies, they are being called.”

Nadia blinked and stared at him. “Zombies? That’s a joke, right?”

Randy moved to the door and stared past the screen at the dead body under the blanket. Zombies. He looked at the screen again.

“It doesn’t look like it’s very funny,” he whispered. “And then there’s him.”

He motioned toward the yard and Nadia paled three shades. “Lock the door,” she whispered.

He shut the main door and locked it, then moved back to the television.

“Just a reminder,” the reporter droned on. “If you or someone you love has been bitten or scratched, isolation is the best response. At this point, there is no cure and eventually the victim will experience an intense hunger, heightened senses of smell and scent, followed by an uncontrollable bloodlust. Depending on the location of the bite, this transformation can take anywhere up to an hour. Once it is complete, severing the brain seems to be the only way to stop the onslaught of the zombie victim.”

Nadia shook her head. “I can’t believe this.”

Randy hardly heard her. All he could do was stare down at his hand. His gnarled, bloody, bitten hand. Bitten by that man out there. No, that thing.

“Nadia,” he said softly.

She didn’t look away from the screen. “Look, the symptoms are flashing across the bottom of the screen. Red eyes, graying skin, black drool or vomit…”

“Nadia,” he said, this time louder.

“That totally sounds like that guy outside,” she said, still staring at the screen in utter disbelief. “Shit… he was a zombie?”

“Nadia,” he said, this time sharp. “He bit me.”

She didn’t stop staring at the screen for almost a minute, but he knew she’d heard him. He could tell by the way her shoulders hunched and then stiffened, by the way her neck got red and her hands started to shake.

Finally, she faced him. Her skin was pale and sticky, her eyes wide and filled with tears. “That isn’t funny.”

He held up his hand so she could see. “Nadi, I’m not laughing.”

#

The blood was rushing to Nadia’s head and ears, roaring and making everything around her seem distant and echo-y. Maybe this was a dream. That was it. She was just having a really screwed up dream, maybe brought on by eating too close to bedtime.

Except that when Randy reached out to touch her, he felt real. And the echoing distance faded and left reality behind.

“You okay?” he asked.

She blinked. Was he really asking her that after telling her he’d been bitten by that… thing outside? After hearing what would happen if that thing was really a zombie?

“Let me see it,” she said. Her voice sounded weird. Sort of broken and soft.

He swallowed hard and then lifted the hand that wasn’t touching her arm. His hand was tanned. Somehow that was the first thing she noticed. In Seattle he’d been pale and his hands soft from working at the firm. Now they were rough and brown.

Except for the gash across the top. There were definite teeth marks that broke the skin and dragged, almost like the man outside had twisted in an attempt to get more… food, she supposed was the driving force when he’d attacked Randy. Not that motives really mattered to her.

No, what mattered to her most was that the skin around the bite wasn’t pink or red or even pale from loss of blood. It was grey, with black-tinged edges that seemed to be spreading from the source of the injury like a poison had been put there and killed the skin.

“Randy,” she said as she looked up into his face. He was pale and his skin was sticky with a cold sweat.

“I know,” he said, just as softly before he wrapped his arms around her and drew her against his chest. She could hear his heart through his shirt as they stood in horrified silence in the middle of the cottage. Only she could have sworn his heart sounded… slower.

But that was just her wild imagination.

Randy sighed. “Nadia.”

She nodded against his chest.

“Baby, you’ve got to go.”

She jerked back and stared up into his face in surprise. “What?”

He tilted his head. “You heard the news report as well as I did. You know what’s going to happen to me and you know there’s no stopping it.”

“We could call the ambulance,” she insisted, trying to get out of his embrace, but he held fast.

“Phones are dead,” he reminded her.

“Then we’ll get in the car and drive to the hospital,” she insisted. “The news has to be wrong, they have to have a treatment for this.”

He shut his eyes. “It takes thirty minutes to get to the closest hospital, Nadia. And I’m not going to last that long.”

She flinched. “What do you mean?” Her voice barely croaked past her lips.

“It’s like the reporter said.” He let her go now and backed away, but now Nadia found herself wanting to stay close, to hold him like it would stop him from saying what he was going to say next. “I feel super hungry and I can…”

He stopped and turned his face.

She stepped closer, but he moved backward so she stopped. “What? What else, Randy?”

“I can, um, smell you. Smell your blood,” he admitted on hardly more than a whisper.

Now Nadia stepped back as horror overtook her. “This can’t be happening.”

“But it is. And in a short time, I’m not going to be able to control what I do and who I am,” Randy said. “I can feel that already. So I need you to go. I need you to run now. As far from the Pacific Northwest as you can get. I need to know that you got away from me… from this Outbreak, or whatever it is”

Tears filled her eyes and Nadia made no attempt to quell them. They slid down her cheeks as she reached for Randy, but didn’t touch him. He didn’t let her. And that told her too much.

“Please don’t make me go.”

“Nadi, I’ve dragged you into my mess for far too long,” he said. “I ruined your life when I took you from Seattle and made you a fugitive like me. But I’m not going to kill you. And if you leave here and I know you have a chance, that will make this… well, I wouldn’t say easier. But better, somehow. Please, do this for me.”

Nadia stared at him for a long moment and seriously considered ignoring his order. At least they’d be zombies together.

“Please,” he repeated.

She nodded, though she didn’t remember wanting to agree to this madness. She grabbed for her keys, her wallet and her cell from the table, she had to believe there would be service at some point. She moved toward the door. She wanted to hug him, to kiss him, but his lips were graying and she didn’t think he’d let her. And maybe if she touched him, he would lose his mind and attack her.

“Randy,” she said. “I’m going to Vegas. Karen lives there. I’m going to Karen’s. If you’re ok… well, try to meet me there.”

He looked up at her. His eyes were wide and dilated. He was gasping for breath and it killed her.

“Okay. Now go. Please!”

She ran out the door, hardly able to see thanks to the tears in her eyes. At a full sprint, she rushed to the front of the house and the SUV that was parked there. The vehicle was the last remnant of the life she had shared with Randy in Seattle. She clicked the auto-unlock and grabbed for the door. Before she could get in, though, she heard barking.

She turned and watched with a stupid smile as Duncan rushed around the house and bounded toward her.

“Duncan!” she sobbed and let the animal hop into the car. He climbed over to the passenger seat and sat there, perched on the leather he was never allowed to sit on and drooled at her.

“Good,” she muttered as she got into the car and shut the door. She locked it and started the engine. “I’ve never traveled well alone.”

The dog barked his response and she backed up the sandy drive way and peeled out on the road that led to the highway a few miles away. In the rearview mirror, she looked at the cottage and her heart stuttered.

Randy had dragged himself around the house. He was shambling toward the car, his body limp and lifeless even as he moved toward her. She reached up and flipped the mirror so that she could no longer see and then floored it away from the cottage, away from the life she’d once known, and away from the love of her life.

The Treehouse

“You can’t just shoot an eight-year-old boy,” Robin said as she watched Carl point his rifle at the kid in the tree a few hundred yards away. The oak rose from a field of wheat and the boy in question clung to one of the bigger branches. “There may not be laws anymore, but there are morals.”

Carl turned toward her and blinked a few times. “You want to talk to me about morals when there are zombies roaming the nation, killing everyone?”

Robin sighed. This was a conversation they seemed to have at least once a day. Sometimes she thought she just didn’t have anything in common with Carl at all. Of course, they’d only met a month before. And they’d only teamed up because they were two of the few survivors left in the world. And he’d had canned beans. And she’d had energy bars.

It was a match made in heaven.

Except for this one little thing.

“Have you ever seen a zombie climb a tree?” she asked, folding her arms in challenge.

That made him stop. He lowered the rifle and lifted his eyes skyward as he pondered that question

“If you have to think that long, then the answer is no,” Robin said as she drew her 9mm from its holster at her waist. “So why don’t we just roam on up there and see if the boy is a zombie before we just splatter his brains all over the branches, hmmm?”

He sighed. “Fine.”

Robin stared. The wheat field hadn’t been harvested or treated in any way since the Outbreak, so it was now overgrown and wild. The greenery was almost to Robin’s waist. It was the perfect place where zombies could be laying in wait, maybe even with their legs severed. She’d seen people grabbed by the ankles and get turned from one little scratch on a calf. She hated shrubs and brush. Where were all the landscapers in this apocalypse? Hadn’t any of them survived?

“Sure you don’t want me to just shoot him after all?” Carl asked with a smirk.

Robin glared at him, then took the machete from its sling across her back. With a sweep of the blade, she started clearing a path toward the tree and the boy in the branches. Carl had a blade, too, but he stayed behind her, meandering in the path she’d created.

“So you’re not going to help?” she asked over her shoulder.

He laughed and it was a pleasant enough sound. She actually liked his laugh.

“You wanted to do this, I figured you’d take the lead.”

She would have glared at him over her shoulder, she really wanted to, but safety was more important than letting him know how annoying he was being, so she kept her eyes on the overgrown wheat in her path.

She was almost instantly glad she did, because one more sweep of her machete revealed the torso of a zombie hidden in the brush. A living torso, of course. A woman wearing what was left of a flowery dress. She had been injured at some point, her legs were gone, but that didn’t stop her. She dragged herself forward with the bloody stumps of her arms and growled at Carl and Robin in hungry bloodlust.

Robin sighed and then smacked her machete into the woman’s skull with a wet thunk. The zombie whined softly, then the light went out of her hungry, red eyes and she was still.

“It’s weird,” Carl said as he watched Robin step on the woman’s rotting back to yank the machete from her skull. She wiped it on the wheat next to her.

“What’s weird?” Robin asked. “There’s so much to pick from, you’ll have to be more specific.”

“Like six months ago, if I had seen half the body of a woman inching toward me, I would have freaked out,” Carl explained as he stepped over the fresh corpse. “But now, it hardly registers.”

“It’s called desensitization,” Robin sighed. “We’re just becoming better killing machines, less distracted by our… um… enemy?”

It was hard for her to think of the zombies as an enemy. The word implied some kind of animosity and the zombies didn’t really have any. They didn’t feel anything except for a primal drive to attack and devour. Robin couldn’t really hate them, though she knew plenty of people who did.

Like Carl. But then Carl had watched his entire family, including a baby sister, get destroyed by the Outbreak. Robin hadn’t.

She swiped away the last bit of brush in her way and crested the little hill where the big tree rose up over the field below. With a sigh, she looked at Carl.

“I know you don’t want to do this, but can you just keep an eye out for the zombies while I’m looking up in the tree.”

Carl gave a put-upon groan, like she was asking him to do something so hard, but he nodded. “Sure. I’ve got your back. And once you’ve realized the kid is a zombie and we’ve put him down, then you can apologize for wasting my time.”

“Wasting your time?” Robin laughed. “What, do you have a meeting to get to or something?”

Carl rolled his eyes, but Robin trusted him to have her back. They might not always see eye-to-eye, but in the short time since they met, he’d proven he was a good protector. And that he trusted her to be one, too.

Sort of.

Robin looked up in the tree. They weren’t directly below the boy, that would be suicide if he did turn out to be a zombie, but even from the angle, she had a good look at him.

He was naked except for a dirty pair of what had once been white underwear. His skin was dark from the sun and peeled around his shoulders like he’d had a sunburn that was fading. His hair was long, dark and dirty and she could sometimes smell the child when the wind turned just the right direction.

But he didn’t smell like death to her. Just like he needed a dunk in the river and a bit of soap and shampoo. They had plenty of that in the duffle bag attached to the motorcycle and sidecar they’d been using to tour the good old U.S. of A. Or what was left of it anyway.

“Hey,” Robin called up to the kid.

He was curled up in a ball, and he clung to one of the big branches of the tree with scabby hands. He stared down at them. From the distance, she couldn’t tell if his eyes were red-rimmed from infection or not. She’d ask Carl to use his rifle site to get a better look, but she wasn’t sure he wouldn’t just “accidentally” kill the boy and be done with it.

“You know zombies don’t talk, right?” Carl asked from beside her.

She shot him a look. “If he was a zombie, why wouldn’t he have attacked us by now?”

He opened his mouth and then hesitated. She smiled. Once again she had halted him with post-apocalyptic logic. Yeah, she kind of rocked that way. Maybe it came from being a teacher in the Before Zombie world.

“Hey, honey?” she repeated.

The little boy hunched up tighter, like he was trying to disappear and made a little dissatisfied grunt.

“See, he’s making those weird zombie sounds,” Carl snapped. “We should just shoot him.”

“That wasn’t a damn zombie sound and you know it!” Robin said as she shot him a dark glare. “Now stop thinking shooting is going to solve everything and shut up while I try to get this kid down so we can check him out.

“What’s your name?” she asked, reverting to her teacher tone. Nice teacher, not mean teacher. Caring teacher who hadn’t been jaded by years of working in the system. What? She could fake it.

The little boy just stared at her. But he seemed like he understood she was a person, not a walking Happy Meal.

“He’s not a zombie,” she said softly. “He’s just a scared kid.”

Carl craned his neck to look up the tree. “How do you know?”

“Well, for starters, if I can smell him, he can smell me. And he hasn’t gone all ‘bloodlust’ on our asses. Second, he’s looking at me. I can’t see if his eyes are red, but zombies never really look. Finally, he’s holding on to that tree branch for dear life. And zombies don’t protect themselves from falling or getting shot or anything else. Hurting doesn’t hurt them.”

Carl scanned the immediate area for zombies another time and then leaned back to look at the kid again. “Okay, maybe you’re right. So what do we do? I mean, we just can’t leave him up there.”

She stared at him briefly. So Carl had a heart after all. Good.

“Well, he’s scared, that much is clear. Probably traumatized, though he should get in line. I’m a little traumatized, too.”

“Maybe you should climb a tree,” Carl said with a wink.

She stuck her tongue out at him and then wondered how she’d gotten to the point where she was acting like one of her fifth graders.

“I remember talking to a child psychologist for a seminar and she suggested that sometimes music can reach a child.” Robin said. “Maybe I could sing him something. What was popular before the apocalypse?”

She scanned her brain. One of the nicest things about a zombie outbreak was that she no longer had to listen to the shit that passed for music to her students anymore.

But it all flooded back when she stopped blocking it out.

“I guess there was Bieber,” she said with a heavy sigh.

Carl stared at her. “If you sing a Justin Bieber song, I will shoot that kid. And then I’ll assume you are turning into a zombie and I’ll shoot you.”

Robin smiled, despite herself. “Ok, ok. I’m sorry, I won’t sing that crap. How about the Beatles?”

Carl sighed. “Thank God, you know a good band. If you hadn’t, I might have had to shoot you anyway.”

Robin wrinkled her brow. “You’re talking an awful lot about shooting me. It makes a girl nervous.”

Carl rolled his eyes. “Just sing a song. How about Hey Jude?”

Robin smiled. “One of my favorites.”

She glanced back up the tree and smiled at the boy before she started a soft rendition of the song. The boy stared at her, mesmerized as the melody moved through the quiet and filled the air. He inched forward on the branch and leaned down like he was trying to hear better.

“It’s working,” she said as she finished the song.

“God knows why,” Carl laughed. “You would never make it on Idol.”

“Haha.” She stepped back. “Come on, I think if we move away and I sing something else, he’ll come down.”

Carl shrugged and they both moved back toward the path they’d made in the wheat.

“I think I’ll try U2,” Robin said and then started in on a new song. Just as she’d hoped, the little boy grunted in displeasure and clamored down a few branches to get closer to the sound.

They repeated the same process a few times more, backing up, Robin singing a new song and the boy moving lower and lower on the tree until finally he stepped down onto the ground and stared at them.

“Stay back and watch for zombies,” she whispered. “I’m going to see if I can get closer.”

She started humming, a low meaningless sound that was still musical, but not specific to any song. The boy tilted his head, but not in the “zombie dog” way, just in curiosity and interest. He tensed as Robin got close, but didn’t run or bolt back into the tree.

She crouched down when she was within a few feet and stopped humming.

“I’m Robin,” she said softly. “What’s your name?”

He drew in a short breath and then stared. Now that he was closer, Robin could see there was no redness to his eyes. He was filthy, though. Skinny, too.

“How long have you been out here?” she murmured, more to herself than to him, since she knew he wouldn’t answer. “Where did you come from?”

“What’s up with him?” Carl asked as he stepped up behind her.

The boy cowered against the tree trunk and Robin reached back to swat Carl on the legs. “Shhh, keep your voice down. I think he’s…. he’s sort of feral.”

Carl stared. “Feral, you mean like a cat?”

She nodded. “The trauma and probably being out here alone for… well, God knows how long has made him wild. I’m not even sure he knows what we’re saying or if he can speak.”

“That’s fucked up,” Carl muttered.

Robin stood up and turned to look at him. “Shit, dude, did you get that diagnosis from your years of school?”

“It is fucked up, Robin,” he argued with another glance at the kid. “So what do you propose we do with the wild child?”

“We take him with us,” she said with a shrug. “I can’t leave him out here on his own.”

She pulled her backpack from her shoulders and set it down. From it, she withdrew a cereal bar. She unwrapped it and pulled the stale bar out.

“Hungry?” she asked.

The boy stepped forward and sniffed at the bar, but didn’t take it. He stared at Robin with his wide, sad eyes. Then he looked at Carl. He moved a little closer and examined him carefully. Robin glanced around for zombies and then watched as the boy stepped up and touched Carl’s hoodie.

“Cold?” Carl asked. “Are you cold, er,… Jude?”

“Jude, that’s what we’re going with?” Robin asked.

Carl shrugged. “He liked the song, we have to call him something more than ‘Hey you’.”

The boy… Jude, touched the jacket again. Carl unzipped it and slipped it from his shoulders, then held it out. The boy looked at it, touched it, but didn’t take it. Carl sighed, then stepped forward and put the jacket around the kid’s shoulders.

“Put your arms through,” he encouraged Jude, taking one hand and putting it through the arm hole. Jude smiled and then stuffed his other arm through.

The jacket was three sizes too big and hung down almost to Jude’s knees, but he seemed happy enough. Without warning, he grabbed for the cereal bar Robin still held out and sat down under the tree to eat it in three big bites.

“What do you know,” Carl said as he sat down next to the boy. “He’s trainable. Want to try fetch?”

“Hush,” Robin scolded. She smiled at Jude. “I wonder what happened to him.”

“The same thing that happened to everyone,” Carl said.

Robin was quiet for a moment, just watching the boy. She didn’t know what to say. Her training as a teacher could only take her so far. She wasn’t equipped to deal with a feral child.

“What if we-” Carl started, but before he could finish, Jude jumped to his feet and made a little squeal in his throat.

“What?” Robin said, getting up and looking at him. “What is it?”

He grunted and moaned, his eyes wide and wild. Finally, he lifted up his hand and started motioning off into the distance.

Carl looked, then lifted to his tiptoes to see better. Finally, he let out an exasperated sigh and jumped onto the trunk of the oak where Jude had been hiding earlier. He climbed up onto one of the lower branches and lifted his rifle so he could site in on a further distance.

“Fuck!” he cried, then jumped back down. Jude stared at him in wonder and made an approving grunt in his throat.

“What?” Robin asked.

“What do you think?” Carl snapped. “Zombies. Like ten zombies. Coming this way.”

“Shit!” Robin said.

She grabbed for the boy, but he jerked out of her hand and backed up against the tree. He made whimpering growls, warning sounds as he lifted his hands up to ward her away.

“Jude,” she pleaded. “There are zombies coming. Bad guys. We have to go. Please!”

She reached for him again, but this time the boy swatted at her hands with a grunt.

Behind her, the field was rustling and the faint moan of zombies floated over on the breeze. She stared at Carl.

“What do we do?” she asked.

Carl stared at the little boy. Then he reached into his pocket and drew out the keys to the motorcycle. Robin couldn’t help but smile. When they’d found the bike, both of them had commented on the key ring. Bugs Bunny in a leather jacket with a carrot hanging out of his mouth like a cigarette. Rebel Without a Paws, Carl had joked at the time and it was the first time Robin had really liked him.

Jude’s eyes lit up and he moved toward Carl with a grunt. Carl jangled the keys.

“Come on…” he urged. “Come on.”

Jude inched forward. When he reached out to grab for the key ring, Carl caught him, slung him over his shoulder and started to run.

“Run, Robin!” he called.

Robin blinked and started to jog behind them. Jude was facing her and was wailing and pounding on Carl’s back as they ran. Behind her, the sound of the zombies got louder. She peeked over her shoulder. They had burst from the field in a mass of drool and arms and gnashing teeth. There were at least ten, and some of them were doing the zombie sprint and gaining on them.

She yanked the handgun from her holster and tuned slightly to fire. Her shot rang true and the zombie in the lead dropped in a heap. That gave her enough space that she faced forward again. Jude was smiling now and clapping.

“Shooting zombies is like TV for him.”

Carl glanced up at the boy over his shoulder. “Good, now we know how to keep him entertained. Run faster, a few of them are starting to catch up.”

Robin fired back toward the zombies and from Jude’s giggling reaction, she hit at least one. She could see the bikes in the distance and there was something else in the side car storage area that she knew would take care of their zombie problem.

“Here,” Carl said, handing her the little boy as they reached the motorcycle.

She took him, and to her surprise, he didn’t struggle against her as he had when she tried to take him in the first place. Carl wrenched open the storage area and pulled out…

The grenade.

They’d found it a few weeks before on the corpse of an army private rotting along the side of the road. Carl yanked the pin and threw the grenade toward the crowd of zombies. Then he grabbed Robin’s hand and pulled her behind the motorcycle.

They all peeked over the bike seat as the grenade exploded with an ear-ringing concussion that rocked the earth. It also blew the zombies back in a wave of shattered limbs, busted heads and bloody stumps.

Jude squealed in utter delight and clapped like he had when Robin shot the first zombie. Slowly, Carl stood and surveyed the damage. Most of the zombies lay dead (really dead, not undead-dead). A few were still making an attempt to get back up.

“Got it,” Carl said, yanking the rifle from the sling on his back. He lined up one shot after another and took down the last few zombies who might still be a threat.

And once again, Jude chuckled and smiled up at Robin. She couldn’t really blame him. If she had been abandoned alone for who knew how many months in a zombie wasteland, she’d probably enjoy watching them get shot, too.

“Are we good?” she asked as she swung Jude to balance him against her hip and stood up.

“For the moment,” Carl said. “But all the shooting and exploding is going to bring more. You know that.”

She nodded. Yeah, she knew that.

“I’ll put Jude in,” she said and turned to the sidecar. She set the little boy into the protected shell of the sidecar. She pulled her own helmet from the floor of the car and set it on his head. It was huge and half covered his eyes, which made him giggle.

“Yeah, I know,” she said with a smile as she pushed it back from his face. “We’ll pick up a kid’s one as soon as we can.”

He stared up at her, examining her face and then he cleared his throat.

“Robin,” the little boy said, his voice hoarse from months of not using it.

Robin smiled as she climbed onto the motorcycle behind Carl. As she wrapped her arms around his waist, she asked, “See, aren’t you glad you didn’t just shoot him?”

He glanced at their new companion. When the little boy gave a small smile back, he shrugged.

“Yeah. I guess there’s hope after all. Now come on, let’s go.”

He gunned the motorcycle’s engine and they headed off down the deserted highway.

Property Lines

Bobby Madison pushed off the wall near the front doors of the Clawson County Courthouse as Rex Ryan walked out.

“Are you happy now?” Bobby called out.

Rex smirked. “You ain’t building that fence on my property, so yeah. I’m pretty fucking happy.”

Bobby clenched a fist at his side. “You think one ruling is going to change anything. This isn’t over.”

Rex chuckled and flipped him off before he strolled down the staircase and over to his beat up truck parked across the street.

“Bobby!”

He turned. Maggie, his wife, was hanging out the window of their own car, which was parked on the side street next to the courthouse. She shook her head. “Come on, baby. I’ve got to get to the airport and you beating yourself up over this isn’t going to change anything.”

He sighed and got into the car. He started up the engine and rested his hands on the wheel. Maggie reached over and patted his shoulder. “Let’s go.”

He nodded as he pulled into traffic. “I can’t believe we lost.”

She shrugged. “Well, is it really that big of a deal to build a fence? We’ve been fighting this for three years and all we’ve managed to do is throw a bunch of money down the drain. Maybe this is a sign that it’s time to give up.”

Bobby stared at her for a brief moment then forced his gaze back to the road. “I can’t believe you would say that. Not after everything that’s happened.”

“What’s happened except that you and Rex have screamed and yelled at each other, dragged each other to court, called 911 at all hours of the day and night, given yourself an ulcer…”

Bobby shook his head as he pulled into the small local airport. “Come on, it’s way more than that. That bastard killed our tree, ran over my flower bed with his mower and I swear he poisoned the dog.”

Maggie sighed as he pulled into a short term parking space. She faced him. “The dog was fourteen years old, Bobby. He died of old age.”

“He wasn’t sick, Maggie!”

She rubbed her hand over her face. “Bobby-”

“Seriously, how can you not be pissed about this?”

She laughed, but the sound was anything but amused. “Oh, I am pissed. Pissed that two grown men have wasted so much time and space fighting over a foot of difference on a property line. Twelve inches, Bobby. That’s what I’m pissed about. At both of you.”

She got out of the car and slammed the door behind her before she reached in the back seat and grabbed her wheeled travel bag. She pulled the handle out and tugged it around to the other side of the car where Bobby stood.

“I’m just going to be at Momma’s for a week. When I come back, I don’t want to talk about property lines ever again.” She arched a brow. “Got me?”

Bobby pursed his lips and nodded. She leaned up and kissed him. “Now you go on and go,” she said with a motion for him to get back in the car. “I can get in myself.”

Bobby blinked. “You don’t want me to go in with you?”

She shook her head. “Nope. You’ve got some thinking to do. Start doing it now.”

She patted his cheek and then rolled off toward the terminal. Bobby watched her until she reached the little street that separated the terminal from the parking lot. Then he got in the car and started it. For a long time he just sat there, staring at nothing in particular.

Maggie was pretending to be ok, but she was tired. Hell, he was tired of fighting, too. But he didn’t agree with her that this was a petty fight. It was a matter of principle, damn it! A matter of pride and ownership. Why didn’t she get that?

But she was right. This needed to end. And he had to end it. One way or another.

#

Rex grinned as he got out of his truck and stared out at his yard. All of his yard, including the foot that the court had verified was his today. Yup, life was good. He’d won and that was all there was to it.

He heard Bobby coming up the street before he saw him and turned to watch him pull into the driveway next to his own. He stopped at the end, sending rocks flying up onto the grass and threw himself out of the vehicle without even shutting the door behind him.

Rex tensed. He and Bobby had come close to blows over the years, but now his neighbor looked pretty damn serious.

“You’re an asshole,” Bobby said as he crossed the lawn and onto Rex’s driveway.

“You’re on my property,” Rex replied. “I could call the cops about you trespassing.”

“Again?” Bobby shrugged, but the way his jaw tensed made it clear that he was anything but nonchalant about this situation. “I could probably break your nose before they got here, too.”

Rex shook his head. “But you won’t. Because then you’ll get arrested and poor Maggie will have to come bail you out. And I’d bet you already spent part of this month’s mortgage money paying that shitty lawyer you had in court with you today.”

“You’re a motherfucker,” Bobby bit out as he advanced on Rex.

Rex set his feet, but when Bobby shoved him, he still staggered back a few steps. But now he was seeing red and nothing else mattered anymore. He lunged forward and shoved Bobby even harder than he had been shoved. Bobby caught his arms and the two of them started grappling.

Bobby was stronger than he looked with his wiry frame and glasses and Rex was almost impressed. Except that he hated the guy with every fiber of his being, so he refused to allow that.

“You killed my dog,” Bobby growled through clenched teeth.

Rex shook his head. “What?”

“I think you killed my dog!” he repeated, this time louder. “And I know you killed my apple tree.”

“That tree was more on my property than yours.” Rex pushed him back and they hit Bobby’s car. The door slammed shut with their combined weights. “And you destroyed my mailbox.”

“It wasn’t my fault it sticks out too much in the road.” But Bobby was grinning like he was proud and that pissed Rex off even more. “What about you mowing my flowerbeds?”

“On my property,” Rex shouted and shoved hard. Bobby staggered back and managed to catch his balance when he hit the grass. He straightened up and glared at Rex.

“There’s only one way to resolve this, you know-”

Rex smirked. “Oh yeah, what’s that?”

Bobby opened his mouth, but before he could speak the loud, piercing whine of the tornado siren filled the air. Both of them stopped and looked up at the clear summer sky.

“Not a cloud,” Rex muttered. “And it’s not the right time for a test.”

Bobby nodded. “Could it have gone off accidentally?”

“The box is locked,” Rex said. “You have to have a key to open it. And I know they just checked all those boxes for shorts, so I doubt it was that.”

Bobby blinked. “How do you know that, smart ass?”

Rex looked at him. “I work for the city, dumb ass.”

“Oh yeah, that’s probably why you’re such a jerk.” Bobby looked up. The siren was still blaring. “So if you’re so smart, why are they firing that thing off in the middle of the day, off schedule and without a tornado threatening?”

“There must be some other emergency,” Rex said with a frown. “I don’t smell smoke, so not a fire. The river isn’t close to flood stage, so it can’t be that.”

“A terrorist attack?” Bobby said, more to himself than to his neighbor.

Rex shook his head. “Why would anyone attack here? There are what, three thousand people in this town and no infrastructure that would make it worthwhile.”

Bobby motioned behind Rex. “I guess we could ask Jenkins. I see him over there in his yard.”

Rex turned. His neighbor on the other side, Jenkins, lived further down the street than Bobby. He’d never had any problems with the man. He lifted his hand to wave, but Jenkins didn’t wave back. He just stood there in his yard, staring at them.

“Think he saw us fighting?” Bobby asked and he looked chagrined.

Rex felt it, too. Acting like an adrenaline-fueled asshole was one thing. Getting caught acting like one was another.

“Maybe. Look I’ll walk down there and see what’s up.”

“I’m coming with you,” Bobby insisted as Rex walked away. “I don’t trust you to tell me the truth even if you did find out what it was.”

“Christ man, whatever,” Rex sighed. “Come with me, stay at your house, I don’t give a shit.”

He didn’t look at Bobby as his neighbor followed him up the street toward where Jenkins was standing. Just standing, staring at them. As they got closer, Rex frowned. Jenkins had a weird expression on his face. Sort of blank and faraway. His skin was pale and he had a little something red on his shirt. Like blood.

“Hey man, you okay?” Rex called out as they entered Jenkins’ yard. “Do you know what this whole siren thing is about?”

Jenkins looked at them for a long, silent moment. Then he opened his mouth and vomited a thick, black, bilious fluid. It sprayed onto the ground and also all across his plaid button-up shirt.

“Oh shit,” Bobby said as he shoved past Rex to their other neighbor. “You okay man?”

Jenkins didn’t seem fazed by the vomit. He swayed gently and then, without warning, lifted his gaze to Bobby as he came closer.

“Um, Bobby, his eyes are all weird.” Rex wrinkled his brow. “They’re like, red or something.”

Bobby tilted his head. “Trippy. Jenkins, buddy, you’re sick, okay. You should sit down and we’ll call for an ambulance.”

Jenkins stared at Bobby, watching as his hand extended to rest on Jenkins’ forearm. Then he let out a weird roar and grabbed for Bobby, pulling him closer and biting at him.

“Fuck!” Bobby shouted as he braced his fists against Jenkins’ shoulder and shoved backward. Unlike Rex earlier, Jenkins didn’t move. It didn’t seem to matter how much Bobby strained, Jenkins, who probably gave up ten pounds to Bobby, didn’t move.

“What the hell?” Rex jumped forward and grabbed Jenkins from behind to tug him away. “Get off!”

Jenkins swiveled and began snapping at Rex. His breath smelled terrible, like rotting meat. Rex flinched away from him and barely dodged his grinding teeth. He shoved with all his might and Jenkins careened away, tripping over his own feet to sprawl across the grass.

“What is wrong with him?” Bobby asked as the two men watched Jenkins flip over and begin crawling toward him, still snarling and biting.

“It’s like he’s rabid or something,” Rex said with a shake of his head. “Come on, we can call 911.”

“My cell is in my car,” Bobby said, and sprinted after Rex toward his house. “I’ll go grab it.”

Rex looked up ahead. There were more people now in the yards. In Bobby’s yard. And they were all swaying and staggering the same way Jenkins had been. A sick feeling started in his stomach.

“Um, I’m not sure your house is the best choice,” he said, motioning up ahead. “Look.”

Bobby blanched and his steps faltered as he saw the same group of people Rex did.

“Come on, into my place,” Rex barked as he sprinted into his garage. Bobby got inside just as he hit the door button and the garage shut with a clank of gears.

“God that thing is loud,” Bobby snapped. “You know it wakes Maggie up some morning?”

“Right now you want to talk to me about the garage door?” Rex asked while he unlocked the back door and let them both into the house. “Don’t you think we should deal with the people outside first?”

Bobby snapped his mouth shut. “Fine. You think they are why the tornado siren is going off?”

That stopped Rex as he passed through the mud room and into the small kitchen. He turned to stare at Bobby. “If they fired the siren for that, it would mean some kind of mass sickness.”

Bobby moved past him, through to the living room where he looked out onto the street. “Yeah, I’d say this might qualify.”

Rex stood in the kitchen for a minute and then slowly made his way to join Bobby. There were at least twenty people milling about on his lawn now and even more up and down the street. By the way they held their limbs, some were clearly injured. Others vomited that same black material Jenkins had. Even others were carrying what looked to be… meat in their hands. Raw meat that they gnawed on.

Rex turned his face. “I’ll get the phone.”

“Yeah,” Bobby said softly. “You’d better do that.”

Rex moved to the end table next to his couch where his cordless phone was resting in its cradle. He picked it up and turned it on, but when he lifted it to his ear, there was no dial tone waiting for him. Instead, there was dead air on the line. He clicked the phone off and on a second time, but it was no use.

“Phone is dead,” he said softly. “And I don’t have a cell.”

Bobby turned toward him. “How do you not have a cell?”

He shrugged. “Just don’t need one. You said yours is in the car?”

Bobby looked outside. There were four or five infected people next to his car. “Um, yeah. But I’m not going out there.”

“Chicken shit,” Rex muttered.

Bobby glared at him. “You want to do it?”

Rex looked outside and shook his head.

“Yeah I didn’t think so.” Bobby moved away from the window. “Turn on the TV, maybe they’re talking about… whatever this is.”

The remote was next to the phone, so Rex grabbed it, clicked on the TV and sank into his comfy LazyBoy to watch. He had been watching “The Deadliest Catch” on Discovery the night before, so he was ready to change the channel to CNN or a local channel, but he was surprised that there was already news on Discovery. They were sharing a feed with MSNBC.

The news reporter had her “serious” face on and she was talking about infections, outbreaks and… to Rex’s utter surprise, she said the word “Zombie.”

Bobby moved to the couch where he could see the television. “Did she say zombie?”

Rex nodded. “That’s what I heard.”

They both leaned forward and for the next hour they just watched, taking in how an Outbreak had started hundreds of miles away in Seattle and spread like wildfire across the West. And that word: zombie. ZOMBIE. They said it over and over. Until it was no longer shocking.

Until it seemed normal. Just like the pictures of people like their neighbors, roaming through cities and killing each other. It gave Jenkins’ attack a whole new element.

“I’m going to take a piss,” Bobby said.

Rex flinched. He’d almost forgotten his neighbor was sitting with him. “Yeah. It’s the first door on the right in the hall.”

“Huh, just like in my house,” Bobby muttered as he walked away. “They must have the same floor plan.”

Rex got up and paced closer to the television. He leaned against the wall and stared as pictures from the initial Outbreak flashed over the screen. Seattle. Death. Blood.

With a shake of his head, he clicked the TV off just as Bobby came back into the living room.

“Why did you do that?” Bobby asked.

Rex shrugged. “I’m not sure we’re learning anything new. And I don’t want to look at it for a few minutes.”

Bobby shook his head. “Who knew you were such a softie.”

When Rex didn’t answer, Bobby walked over to the shelf near the couch where Rex’s movies were stacked. He looked over the selection and smiled. “Hey, some of my favorites. Eastwood, a little Die Hard…”

Rex stared. “You mean we actually have something in common?”

“I guess.”

There was a moment of awkward silence and then Rex stood up straighter. “Hey, where’s Maggie? Is she okay?”

Bobby paled. “She was going to visit her mom in St. Louis today. She’s on a plane right now. I would text her, but my phone…”

“Is in the car.” Rex looked outside. “With the zombies.”

Bobby moved to stand next to him. “Yeah.”

There were five of them actually at the car and four more between the car and Rex’s front door.

“Well, I’m sure it will take a while for any of this to reach the Midwest,” Rex reassured him. When Bobby frowned even deeper, he reached out and patted his arm.

Bobby looked at him out of the corner of his eye and Rex removed his hand.

“Did you kill my dog?” Bobby asked.

Rex shut his eyes. “No. I swear. I thought about it, since I knew you wanted to build that fence to keep her in… but I’d never hurt a dog. I was actually kind of sad when she died, she was a good dog.”

Bobby smiled. “Yeah. Sorry about letting her shit in your yard.”

Rex turned on him. “I knew you did!”

He shrugged. “Well, all’s fair in love and war. Mostly war.”

“Over a foot’s worth of property.” Rex shook his head. “It really feels stupid now.”

“Yeah.”

“When you pulled up you said there was only one way to resolve this,” Rex said. “So what was that? Kill me?”

Bobby laughed. “I thought of it, too. But I was actually going to offer to buy six inches of lawn from you. Split the difference.”

“Why?” Rex asked. “After all this time?”

Bobby shifted uncomfortably. “Before she left, Maggie told me to knock it off. And I thought it might be nice if she came back and found out we wouldn’t ever have to go to court again. That I ‘acted like a grown-up’ like she always said I should.”

“I’ll tell you what,” Rex said after they’d both been quiet for a while. “I’ll give it to you. I’ll even help you build the fence once there aren’t, you know, rabid killers in my… our yards.”

“Yeah, about that, I don’t suppose you have any guns in here?” Bobby asked. “Because the news keeps saying the only way to control these things is to kill them with headshots or sever the head somehow. I assume at some point they might try to make it in here. Or we might decide to get out.”

Rex laughed. “Oh yeah, I’ve got a collection. It’s small, but it will hold us against a siege, at least for a while. Come on, I’ll show you where the safe is.”

He turned to go, but Bobby stopped him by saying, “Hey Rex?”

“Yeah, man?” Rex turned back.

Bobby shifted. “Thanks. You let me come in here without even hesitating.”

“Well, you would have done the same for me,” Rex said. “Now come on. This ain’t no time for Oprah shit. We’ve got guns to load.”

Til Death

“I swear to God, Donna, if you fuck up my hair, I’m going to punch you.”

Donna squeezed her eyes shut and counted to ten before she smiled at her sister Heather in the mirror. “I promise, I won’t mess up your hair,” she reassured you. “You’re a beautiful bride.”

Her sister smirked as Donna gently smoothed some of her sister’s blonde hair across her forehead. “Of course, I am. I’ve only eaten watermelon and laxatives for the past three days.”

“Huh,” Donna said as she blinked in disbelief.

Heather half-turned to look her up and down. “You might have tried it and then you wouldn’t look so sausagey.”

Donna’s mouth dropped open. “Did you just call me sausagey? As in, I look like a sausage?”

Heather shrugged one shoulder before she went back to admiring herself in the mirror. “If the casing fits…”

Donna pursed her lips and reminded herself, for what seemed like the thousandth time in the past six months, that this was her sister’s big day. She had to be forgiven, at least on some level, for being a bridezilla. A big, huge, fucking bratty bridezilla.

“Look,” Donna said, “I’m just going to grab some air. I’ll send Aunt Liddy in to finish your make-up.”

“Whatever.” Heather pursed her lips in the mirror. “Just not Mom. Don’t send it Mom, you know she’ll just cry all over and screw up her make-up and wrinkle my dress.”

“Check,” Donna said as she left the room. “Don’t send in Mom.”

Out in the hallway, her mother’s sister Liddy was chatting with the minister’s wife. As Donna moved to slip past her, her aunt leaned over. “Dear, how is Heather?”

“Just finishing up with her hair,” Donna said through clenched teeth. “She asked for your help.”

“Of course,” Liddy sighed. “I do love a wedding. I wish you would hurry up and follow in your sister’s footsteps. You’re not getting any younger, you know.”

Donna nodded before she walked away. Not that anyone cared. Her aunt was already rushing into the bride’s room to take care of Heather’s whims and coo over her.

“I wish I still smoked,” Donna muttered as she burst through the front doors of the church and into the warm summer air. Even the weather was insuring Heather a perfect day.

“I have one if you want to start up again,” came a voice from behind her.

Donna turned and found a guy leaning on the wall of the church. He had a cigarette hanging from his lips, but it wasn’t lit. He was wearing a tux, one that matched the ones she’d seen Heather’s future husband, Rick and his groomsmen wearing when she passed by them earlier in the day.

“Shit, I didn’t know anyone else was out here,” she said, then covered her mouth and looked up at the church. “I guess I shouldn’t swear at a church, huh?”

“I won’t tell,” the new guy said. “About the swearing or the smoking.”

He held out a cigarette from a pack in his front pocket. It looked awesome, but she shook her head. “Better not. My sister smells cigarette smoke on this awful meringue of a dress and I’m toast.”

The guy looked her up and down and then laughed. Donna blushed. She knew she looked bad. The dress was orange, her worst color, and had puffed sleeves and a big bow that made her ass look huge. And gold trim and gold shoes and it was just awful.

“Laugh it up, fuzz ball,” she muttered.

His eyes lit up. “A Star Wars girl.” He held out a hand. “I’m Carson, Rick’s cousin and one of the ushers.”

“Hi Carson,” Donna said. “Donna. I’m Heather’s sister.”

He blinked. “Really?” She smiled at his honest reaction, even when he winced. “I mean, that’s great.”

“Not really. But thanks for trying.” She motioned to his cigarette. “So what’s up with the unlit cigarette?”

He shrugged. “Rick would probably kill me, too. Plus, I told everyone I quit.”

“Ah.” She looked around. “Well, I should probably go back in. We’re starting in just a few minutes.”

“Maybe you can save a dance for me after?” Carson asked.

She smiled. Okay, he was cute. And not smarmy cute like Rick, who she’d never liked. He came from money and he was just a prick about it. Heather would be very happy… until he cheated on her with a secretary or a maid or something.

“Yeah,” she said. “I promise.”

She was blushing as she came back into the church. And still blushing as she heard her sister yelling her name from down the hall.

#

“The bride and groom have…” the minister paused with a small, put-upon sigh. “…written their own vows, which they will now share with us.”

Donna couldn’t help but mirror his sour expression. She could only guess what the two most shallow people in the world had written about this day. If only there were liquor, she could make it a drinking game based on how self-centered and inappropriate it would be.

She glanced over her shoulder. She could see Carson standing at the back of the church. Would he join in a drinking game with her? Could be fun…

“Heather, you may begin,” the minister said.

Heather stared at Rick with a smug smile. “Rick, when I met you in that bar in Cancun, I was so drunk, I didn’t know-”

Before she could continue, there was a banging on the church doors. Everyone turned to look back, but the sound cut off.

“-um, I was so drunk I didn’t know-” Heather began again.

She was interrupted a second time by the banging at the door, this time louder, like there was more than one person behind the barrier.

“What the hell?” Heather snapped. “Who the fuck is interrupting my wedding?”

Donna flinched and prayed it wasn’t some jilted boyfriend come to “speak now” before he was told to “forever hold his peace”. Heather would love that, she’d live on it for months and Donna wasn’t sure she could hold her tongue that long.

The ushers both moved to the church doors. Carson reached for the mechanism but before he could open it and see who the intruder was, the doors burst open. They hit Carson and he flew back with a grunt that echoed and mingled with the gasps of the wedding guests, who had all begun to stand up and stare.

Donna craned her neck and saw that three people were coming through the door. Staggering was more like it. One was a man dressed in a police uniform, one a female nurse from the hospital down the street and one was a woman in shorts and a tank top. They started up the aisle, grunting and moaning with every step.

“What the-?” Rick started.

“You can’t come in here,” the minister said as he moved past Heather and Rick and toward the intruders. “This is a private ceremony.”

No sooner had the words left his mouth than the lead intruder, the cop, let out a loud growl and started sprinting up the aisle toward the minister. He tackled him, sending him flying back between Heather and Rick and against the steps that led to the alter. Heather yanked her dress out of the way with a scream as the cop sank his teeth into the minister’s face and shook his head back and forth like a dog with a bone.

Screams echoed from the congregation as the other intruders dove into the crowd of witnesses and started attacking the same way the cop had attacked Father Ken.

Heather squealed and rushed toward Rick. “They’re ruining our wedding! There’s blood on my dress!”

Donna stared as Rick shoved his “dearly beloved” out of the way and started running for the exit behind the alter.

“Rick!” Heather screamed after him. “Richard!”

But he was gone, ducking into the private room for the minister and slamming the door behind him.

“Donna!” Heather yelled. Her tear-stained, furious face now focused on her sister. “Help me!”

“Help you what?” Donna barked as she shook off her shock and tossed her bouquet aside. “We have to get this guy off of Father Ken.”

She made a move for the cop and the minister, who was now missing most of a cheek and screaming like a banshee. Heather grabbed for her arm, though and pulled her back.

“No! You’re my maid of honor and you have to help me,” Heather insisted.

Donna shoved her back. “Heather, you are the bride from hell. People just came into your wedding and started attacking your guests, so get it together. It isn’t about you anymore!”

“But it’s… it’s MY special day!” her sister screamed at the top of her lungs.

Donna ignored her and started for Father Ken and the cop again, but before she could grab for the police officer and make an attempt to shove him off the minister, he turned on her with a hiss. His face was covered in blood and a black sticky substance. His eyes were red and glassy.

“Oh shit,” Donna muttered, backing away from the alter. “Run, Heather! Run!”

Her sister didn’t need to be asked twice, nor did she make any attempt to help Donna. She just grabbed her skirt and run down the aisle toward the double doors in the back.

Which left Donna with the cop, who was now getting up and moving toward her. And then Father Ken sat straight up, vomited some of the same kind of black sticky liquid that was all over the cop and turned his attention toward her.

Donna felt the first pew hit her ass and reached back. Most of the guests had fled already, there was no one to help her.

“S-Stay back,” she stammered as she pulled a bible from the pew pocket. She raised it like a weapon. “I’ll throw it.”

Father Ken pushed up. She could see his teeth through the part of his face that was missing and she swallowed back puke at the disgusting sight.

“Father Ken,” she started. “Are you okay?”

He growled at her and joined the cop in his slow stalking of her. She slid along the pew, hoping to reach the side aisle before they got to her. The cop lunged and she screamed, lifting her hands to somehow protect herself from the attack.

But it never came.

She opened her eyes to find Carson had made his way to the front of the church, grabbed the cop and thrown him to the ground. He kicked at him, landing shot after shot to his skull until the officer whined and went still.

“Look out!” she screamed as Father Ken lunged toward Carson.

She pitched the bible as hard as she could and it bounced off Father’s Ken’s head. He staggered left, then right and finally tripped over the stairs to the alter. Carson grabbed for her hand and dragged her toward the door to the church. She blinked in horror as she really, truly looked at the congregation for the first time since the interruption. Friends and family were scattered in the pews, bloody and battered from the attack. Worse, some of them were standing, vomiting the same sludge that she’d seen from the cop and Father Ken. As she and Carson raced by, they growled and moved toward them.

“What is going on?” she screamed as they burst outside.

“Run now, talk later,” Carson ordered.

She tripped and staggered in her heels as he hauled her across the church lawn toward the cars parked in the parking lot. All around her, there were more people. Injured people. People staggering. Some had been part of her sister’s wedding, others were strangers, milling around in confused, animal rage and attacking anyone who got within arm’s length of them.

“Oh God!” she squealed as she watched a little girl, probably no more than four or five years old, grab for a little old man and gnaw his leg until he screamed in terror and pain.

“Don’t look, just run!” Carson barked and tugged harder.

Donna’s feet got tangled with each other as he pulled and she toppled to the ground. Her dress tore and her knees scraped against the sidewalk.

“Donna!” he cried in a tone more filled with exasperation than with concern.

She shook off his hand and pulled her high heeled shoes off. She threw them toward a man who was staggering toward them with his arm dangling at his side. It was attached only by a thin sliver of bone.

“Go!” she barked as she got up. This time she was the one who grabbed Carson’s hand and dragged him away from the injured man. “Go!”

#

The convenience store was empty, but it was evident it hadn’t started that way. The shelves were flipped and black sludge and blood pooled in the middle of the floor.

“God,” Donna whispered.

“Shhh,” Carson said as he motioned toward the cash desk. He moved behind it and looked around.

“What are you doing?” Donna asked as she peeked toward the door. There were a dozen or more of those… those… things outside. She could only imagine they would figure out where she and Carson had gone before too long. “This is not the time to steal from the register.”

Carson glared at her. “I’m not stealing from the register. I’m doing-” he hesitated and pushed a button behind the desk. “-this.”

As he said it, the security gate came down in front of the store doors and locked in place.

“There,” he said as he came around. “That should keep us safe for a minute.”

“Unless there’s someone lurking in the bathroom or the back office,” Donna said.

Carson blinked. “Shit. Okay, let’s check.”

Donna shook her head. “I don’t want to find any more of those things.”

“You’ll like finding them less if they catch us off guard,” Carson said with a shrug. “We’ll go together.”

Donna’s first reaction was to just shake her head, ball up in a corner and eat ice cream while she sobbed, but she shook that off. This was not the time to sink into full panic mode. At least, not until they were certain the store was empty.

“Let’s at least look for weapons first,” Donna said with a heavy sigh.

Carson nodded. “Good idea. Lots of times these stores have a gun behind the register. I’ll look there, you see if you can find anything else on the shelves.”

Donna wrinkled her brow as he moved back behind the desk and started opening drawers and peering under shelves. “Why do you get the gun?” she muttered to herself, but she started into the aisles in the small store anyway.

There weren’t many weaponry choices. The store was filled with small items like candy bars and chips, beer and soda. But in one of the freezer cases were a few bottles of cheap wine. With a sigh, Donna pulled the biggest one she could find from the freezer and returned to the front of the store where Carson was waiting for her, a shotgun in hand.

“It kind of freaks me out that whoever was working in here when this whole thing started didn’t grab the gun,” he said.

Donna shivered. “Maybe he didn’t have time.”

Carson nodded and they were both silent for a moment. Then he glanced at her wine bottle. “Drinking already?”

She grinned. “I wish. No, this is the closest thing I could find to a weapon since someone took the shotgun for himself.”

“I’m guessing there might be another in the back office,” he said with a shrug. “We can check there first.”

She nodded and fell into step behind him as he walked to the shut door behind the register. He tried the knob and it opened, revealing a tiny room that could hardly be called an office. The desk was wedged into the space and it barely allowed the door to open all the way. Donna flinched as she peered around Carson into the tiny room. There, sitting at the desk, was a man in a white shirt with his name stitched onto the pocket. In his hand was a pistol and his brains were splattered all around the tiny room.

“I guess that explains why he didn’t take the shotgun,” Carson said in a small voice.

Donna didn’t answer, but grabbed the garbage can from near the door and puked in it. Carson touched her back gently, in some kind of attempt to comfort her as she set the trashcan back into the office.

“Guess I better get that gun, huh?” she said with a flinch.

“Want me to?” he asked. He shifted the shot gun and freed one hand.

She shook her head. “If I want it, I should get it.”

He stared at her as she stepped closer to the corpse and grabbed for the handgun. It was locked in the man’s dead fingers and she tugged it.

“You are really nothing like your sister, are you?” he said.

She glanced over her shoulder. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I met her a few times with Rick and she is a little… um…”

“High maintenance?”

Donna grunted as she tugged and finally freed the gun from the dead man’s hands. She grimaced as she wiped the blood from his fingers onto his shirt.

“I was going to say bitchy,” Carson said with a small laugh. “But your word is fine, too.”

“Bitchy fits,” Donna admitted as she turned toward him. “She’s going to go on about this for months, you know. Once things get back to normal, it will be martyr-central about how her wedding got ruined.”

Carson stared at the dead body at the desk. “Yeah, when things get back to normal.”

He shook his head before he pulled the office door shut and then slid a chair up in front of it.

“Why are you doing that?” Donna asked.

“Just in case that guy… um wakes up like Father Ken did in the church.” Carson shuddered. “If the chair is moved, we’ll know to be on the look out.”

Donna stared at him. “Cute and smart. The double whammy.”

Carson actually blushed and then motioned for the bathrooms in the back of the store. “One more place to look and we can feel safe. Safe-ish, anyway.”

Donna nodded. “Right now, I’ll settle for safe-ish.”

Carson took a deep breath as they hesitated outside the men’s room door. He nodded toward her and Donna suddenly felt like they were in a TV cop show. Only there wasn’t going to be a “cut” or a guaranteed happy ending at the end of an hour.

He hit the door with a shoulder and it swung in and banged against the back wall. Both of them tensed and lifted their guns higher as they waited to hear movement or growling inside. But nothing. Donna’s gun shook as she followed Carson inside the tiny room that smelled faintly of urine.

There were only two stalls, as opposed to four urinals lined up along the wall across from the door. Donna shifted. It was weird being in a men’s room. She felt like the bathroom police were going to show up at any moment. And hopefully they’d have guns and answers for why people were freaking out and attacking each other outside.

“You take one door, I’ll take the other,” Carson whispered, his harsh voice interrupting her weird thoughts.

She nodded and moved in front of the stall closest to the door. Carson nodded and then both of them kicked in the doors at the same time. Empty.

“Phew!” Carson lowered his gun. “So just check the ladies and we should be good, right?”

“I’m not sure I’d go that far,” Donna said.

She followed him to the women’s room, but at the door he stopped. “Um, should I go first?”

She shook her head. “Um, why wouldn’t you?”

He blushed again. “Well, what if someone’s in there?”

“We’ll probably have to kill them,” she laughed. “But I get it. I felt all awkward in the men’s room, too. I’ll take the lead.”

She nudged past him and into the bathroom. There were no sounds except the drip, drip, drip of the faucet.

“Wow,” Carson said as he moved in behind her.

“What?”

“I expected it to be cleaner, I guess.”

Donna looked around. It was pretty rank. “It’s a crappy convenience store. I guess they just don’t-”

She didn’t get to finish because the stall door in the corner of the bathroom flew open and a woman burst out. Well, at one point, she’d been a woman. Now she had grayish skin, black sludge down her chin and red eyes. She was wearing shorts that were down around her ankles, along with black panties. Whatever had happened to her, she had gotten sick while using the toilet.

Embarrassing way to go, for sure.

“It’s one of those things!” Carson barked.

Donna had never fired a gun. It just wasn’t in her repertoire, so she was surprised at how easy it was to lift the firearm and pull off a shot. She hit the girl between the eyes and immediately the woman collapsed in a heap in front of the open stall.

“Nice,” Carson breathed.

Donna stared. She had just killed a person. Or at least, something that had once been a person. And now that girl was dead, staring up with unseeing eyes and blood and gore pooling beneath her.

It was a good thing she’d already puked.

“I-I have to go out,” she said as she dashed into the main convenience store area again. She set the gun down on the counter and covered her mouth with one hand.

Carson stepped from the bathroom a few seconds later. “The rest of it was clear. Are you okay?”

She nodded. “It isn’t like I didn’t know it was going to be a bad day. I mean, you saw my bridezilla of a sister. But I didn’t think this would happen! I didn’t think I end up murdering someone.”

He stepped up and wrapped an arm around her. “You had to. We’ve already seen that those things… whatever happened to them… it makes them attack. Kill even.”

She nodded, but inside she didn’t feel much better. “I guess. And when this is all over, when everything is normal, the cops will understand, right?”

Carson stared at her for a minute and then nodded. “I’m sure when things are normal, a lot is going to be forgiven, Donna. Here, you fell earlier. Mind if I look at your knee?”

Donna nodded. “I think I ran through some glass, too, after I took off my shoes.”

She sat down on the linoleum floor by the front desk and pulled her skirt up around her thighs. Both her knees were skinned and one foot was covered with dried blood.

“Sorry,” Carson said as he grabbed for some antibiotic ointment and bandages from the shelf. “I didn’t think about your shoes when we started running.”

She shrugged as he started wiping her cuts clean with a handiwipe. It stung, but it had to be done.

“I can’t blame you for that. I’m just glad you came up to the front of the church to get me. You could have just run for it yourself and not helped me.”

He smiled up at her as he wiped the ointment into her cuts. “We’ll find you new shoes if we can.”

She nodded. She was going to need them if they planned to go back out at some point. But maybe the cops would fix all this before they had to.

“Are those scissors?” she asked as she looked down one of the aisles toward the office supply area. It really only had a couple of small notebooks and some pen packs, but the scissors glittered in the overhead lighting.

He reached out and caught them with the tips of his fingers and handed them over. “What are you going to do with them?”

“This,” she said with a laugh as she cut the bottom ruffle of her skirt off so that it hit her at the knee instead of the ankle. “And this.”

She moved to the hideous ribbon on her ass and cut the fabric away.

“Better,” Carson said with a sigh. “That thing really is terrible.”

“My sister hates me, I think,” Donna laughed. She got to her feet and stepped toward the window gingerly. Her feet felt better even after just being cleaned and wrapped.

She looked out past the security gate. People continued to rush back and forth on the street outside. The people who were sick attacked the healthy. Bodies rose from the pavement after lying there a little while and began the whole process over again. She was mesmerized by it.

And then she saw the bride. From a distance, she couldn’t be sure it was Heather. And it was a Saturday, right? In the summer. There could easily be more than one wedding the area.

And then the bride got closer and she recognized her sister’s blond hair and the slinky cut of her ten thousand dollar wedding gown (paid for by dear Mom, even though she couldn’t afford it). Her sister was lurching and staggering. Her skin was gray. Her eyes were red.

“Heather,” Donna breathed and blinked at tears. For a long time Carson didn’t speak and neither did she. She just watched as her sister caught sight of a person riding a bike at breakneck speed. Heather bolted after him and disappeared around a corner.

She turned back to Carson. “Nothing is ever going to be normal again, is it? Whatever this is… it’s bad.”

He swallowed and then attempted a weak smile. “Hey, don’t I owe you a dance?”

“What?” She shook her head.

“Outside the church,” he explained “You said you’d save a dance for me. So may I have this one?”

Donna nodded. Carson stepped behind the counter again and clicked on a radio. No music came out, only the terrified voice of a reporter talking about the carnage they could both see outside the gate. Carson flipped the channel, but every one of them was the same. Reporters yelling, describing terrible things.

With a sigh, Carson came around and took her hand, then began to slow dance her around the store. She buried her head into his shoulder as the reporters in the background said things like, “carnage”, “Armageddon” and finally, “zombies.”

Then the radio cut out and switched to an emergency three-beep system.

And Carson and Donna just kept dancing.

I Call It Lost Wages

The Vegas sign had seen better days. The word welcome was missing the W, L and M, all the lights had long since been broken and one of the blue posts was hit by a car at some point, so the whole thing was listing to the right side like a soon-to-be-sinking ship.

Samantha looked up at it as she stopped the car. She had imagined coming to Las Vegas for years, but never found the cash or the time between school, a crappy job and a lousy string of boyfriends.

This wasn’t how she’d pictured it.

In the backseat, Troy, the guy she’d been traveling with since they met when they were involved in a fight with some zombies back in Southern California, stirred from his nap and sat up.

“Are we here?” he asked, rubbing his eyes.

“Fabulous Las Vegas,” she said. “Or so the sign says.”

He looked out the window at the burned out buildings, sandy streets and zombies roaming through the deserted parking lots and in the middle of the wide streets that stretched out toward the strip.

“It is pretty fabulous.” He climbed over the gear shift as she started driving again. As he clicked his seatbelt into place he pointed. “Hey look, a hooker zombie!”

She craned her neck and sure enough, there was a female zombie, dressed in a super short skirt and skanky top. She was dragging her leg behind her, with a broken four-inch heel on one foot and a bloody stump for the other. She tilted her head as she looked at Sam’s car. She sniffed the air and started dragging toward them at a faster clip.

Sam shrugged. “She might not be a hooker. She could just be a party girl zombie.”

Troy tilted his head to look out the window at the angry zombie. “What’s the difference?”

“Not a lot. It’s subtle. Mostly has to do with method of payment.”

He laughed and scanned the streets. All around were more of the undead, some chewing on carcasses, others dragging themselves around aimlessly through the wrecked cars and burned out buildings. Sam shivered. No matter how long she lived in post-zombie, she hadn’t gotten jaded to the fear yet.

“There are a lot of zombies here. Are you sure you want to stop?” Troy asked, as if he read her mind.

“I heard there were survivors here.” She gripped the wheel. “A safe place. We have to at least look.”

He rested his head on the seat behind him. “I don’t know, Sam. I think this drive of yours to find that ‘one safe place’ is crazy.”

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “But you haven’t bailed on me yet.”

“Well, crazy is a lot more normal now.” He shrugged. “Plus I sort of want to see if you’re right anyway.”

“Ha!” She swerved around a small pod of four zombies and gunned the car down the Strip. “I knew it.”

“So where is this ‘safe place’ supposed to be this time?” he asked as he pulled an atlas from the backseat of the car.

She turned into the drive in front of one of the first casinos on the South side of the Strip. It was an older place, one that had probably been set to be torn down at some point before the Outbreak changed everyone’s plans.

“Club Cash-Out.” He shook his head. “Sounds classy. How come no one ever holes up in the Venetian or the Bellagio… you know, a nice place?”

“Too big,” Sam said as she pulled the hand brake on the car. “The Bellagio has almost 4000 rooms and there are literally hundreds of thousands of square feet in that place. Can you imagine all the zombies in there? No, this place only has a hundred rooms. Much better odds to protect it and block additional entrances.”

Troy stared at her. “You think about this stuff too much.”

“That’s how come I’m still alive.”

He reached in the back seat and grabbed for the arsenal they’d been collecting for the past few weeks. Shotguns, handguns, rifles, a bayonet, a machete and a chainsaw.

“Load it up,” he said as he started handing over weapons to her. Now came the tricky part.

“Look, you can’t have the 9mm and the shotgun,” Sam laughed. “It isn’t fair.”

“You and your negotiations.” He rolled his eyes. “Okay, I want the 9mm, so you take the shotgun.”

They continued that way until they had split up the weapons and gotten them into their rightful holsters and slings. Sam sighed.

“Are you ready for this?”

Troy shrugged one shoulder. “No, but there really isn’t any choice, right? It is what it is.”

“Indeed.” She opened her car door. “Be careful.”

He got out too and both of them scanned their surroundings. She had the bayonet and he had the machete. Over the months they’d learned gunfire generally brought more zombies… sort of like a monster dinner bell. They had begun to reserve those kinds of high caliber weapons for emergencies and tight situations with no other choices. As they approached the big automatic doors under the awning, Sam could see that they were barricaded.

A very good sign.

“Stop there!” came a voice from behind the blockade.

Sam froze and so did Troy. Barrels of guns were poking out from strategically placed holes. At least ten that she could count with a quick scan.

“What’s the password?” the voice from behind the wall asked.

Sam looked at Troy and he shrugged. “Um,” he said. “We’re not zombies.”

There were muffled voices in discussion and then a creak as a few sections of the barricade were slid away. “Hurry, hurry,” the voice encouraged them.

They rushed inside and a group of a few young men shoved the barricade back into place behind them. The original sliding doors of the casino were propped open and a weak light from inside cast an eerie glow on the ragged group of survivors behind the barricade. Mostly young people, probably not a one of them was older than twenty-five. Not that Sam or Troy were much past that, themselves, but it was still weird to see all young faces, some of them probably barely out of high school.

“Was that really the password?” Troy asked.

One of the kids shrugged. “Naw,” he said. “But zombies don’t talk. So really anything that’s English is the password.”

Introductions were made all around, not that Sam would remember who anyone was. She hadn’t been very good with names before the apocalypse, why remember someone’s name who would probably be dead in five minutes? Hell, it had taken her a week to remember Troy’s name. He still gave her shit about calling him Tim, Tom, Trey… even Tron (which was still her favorite). She really needed to find some of those “my name is” sticky badges to hand out to new people.

“Come on in,” one of the kids said… was it Mark? Well, it didn’t matter.

They followed him into the main area of the casino. All the gaming machines had been moved, used for parts and as portions of the barricades around all the main entrances. What was left was a large, open area where cots and mattresses had been set up in long rows. There were twenty-five, maybe thirty people milling around. Music played from some kind of battery operated boom box in the corner. Sam winced as she realized it was teenie bopper pop echoing in the room. Just like behind the barricade, the kids inside were all really young and didn’t seem to have much drive or purpose as they roamed around, chatted in small groups and played Hackensack in the corners.

Sam frowned. This wasn’t a safe place. This was just a mini-camp run by kids. Once again, there was only disappointment in the rumors. For a brief moment, the swell of regret was overpowering. She almost couldn’t breathe.

“So how come you guys are all so young?” Troy asked.

“We were here for a Summer Break trip sponsored by our college,” the kid who’d let them in explained. “When it all went down, we stuck together. Only lost five.”

He grinned in pride and Sam couldn’t really blame him. Those were pretty good odds.

“What are your plans, Mark?” she asked.

“Mike,” the kid and Troy said together and Troy smothered a smile.

“What do you mean?” Mike asked with a confused blink.

Sam put her hands on her hips. “I mean, are you thinking about leaving? Building? Expanding?”

He shrugged. “Um, we’re probably just going to wait it out. Wait until someone comes to get us.”

“Comes to get you?” Troy repeated with a glance at Sam. “You really think someone is going to save us all?”

Mike blinked like he didn’t understand. “Our parents must be looking for us.”

“Oh Jesus,” Sam muttered as she paced off away from them for a moment. She didn’t think anyone was so naïve anymore. Even without access to many outsiders and the news they might share, even as kids who were in their late teens or early twenties… they should have known better. After a couple of months of zombie hell… they should have known better.

“Look kid, we’ve been out and about for months,” Troy said, semi-gently. “No one is coming. If you’re staying, it should be because you feel like you’re safe or you have some kind of long term plan.”

Mike smiled, like he knew something they didn’t. “Oh, no. We’ll be fine until things get back to normal. We have a lot of food conserved from the rooms before we locked the upper floors down and from the hotel kitchen. You guys are welcome to stay if you want.”

Troy blinked and Sam’s spine stiffened. They’d been together for a while, but they’d never made any promises to stay together. He wasn’t her boyfriend or anything (despite one heavy make out session a couple weeks back that they hadn’t really ever talked about or repeated). Maybe he was tired to following her from ‘safe place’ to ‘safe place’. She really couldn’t blame him.

“Thanks,” Troy said and her stomach sank. “But naw. The two of us have our own thing planned.”

He looked at her and smiled. “As long as you can put up with me a while longer.”

She nodded and covered her relief with a shrug. “I guess.”

“All right.” Mike shrugged. “You guys want to trade before you go?”

“Sure.” Sam said as she followed him toward the back of the room where supplies were piled up in no particular way or form. She bit her tongue as she pawed through it and offered a bit of what they had.

By the time she was done, Troy was standing by the door, waiting for her. He smiled as she held out a two-liter of his favorite flavor of soda.

“Sweet.” He reached out and took her hand unexpectedly. She stared at their intertwined fingers as he moved toward the door and the outside world. “So, where’s our next stop? Where’s the next ‘safe place’?”

Sam smiled. “How do you feel about Albuquerque?”

“Like it’s six hundred miles away?” he laughed.

The kids at the barrier let them out and they let go of hands to raise their weapons as they scanned for zombies.

Sam clicked the remote entry system for the car. “Then it’s settled. We’re going to New Mexico.”

“Hey Sam?” Troy moved to the driver’s seat and hesitated there.

“Yeah?”

“There is a safe place out there. I know it.”

She smiled. “Me too. Now let’s go find it.”

They’re the Lions Now

The line around the August Memorial Zoo stretched into the parking lot. People shifted from foot to foot, talking and laughing as they waited for the gates to open for the day. At 9AM exactly, a guard came out and slid the metal bars behind the fake rock walls and motioned the people forward to the payment gates.

Ryan looked at his brother. “Why are we doing this again?”

James stared at him as they inched forward. “Um, because of the new exhibit, asshat.”

A lady behind them glared and shot a meaningful look down to the kid she had strapped into a stroller. James turned his back on her and ignored the daggers shooting from her eyes.

“Are you really telling me you think it’s going to be worth ten bucks to see this?” Ryan sighed.

James shook his head. Ryan was fourteen and nothing impressed him anymore. Even the Outbreak halfway across the country had been yawn-worthy and though their Mom said it was just his way of coping with the carnage, James wasn’t sure it wasn’t just his younger brother’s annoying way of rebelling against everyone else’s horror.

“I’m paying, so what do you care?” James asked, a bit more sharply than he had intended. “Look, we’ll check out the new exhibit, maybe take a pass around the lions and the snake house and then we’ll be outie.”

Ryan laughed. “You are such a geek.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” James said with a shrug. “Geeks end up ruling the world, so I say… bring on the geek.”

“Go!” Ryan pointed ahead of them. The lady in the booth was motioning them forward.

James paid, grabbed a map and hauled his brother into the big open area that was beyond the gate. There was a souvenir shop, a set of bathrooms and a bigger, wooden version of the map he held in his hand. No one was looking at that stuff, though. Everyone was moving toward the same area.

“Come on before they all block everything and we can’t see,” James snapped.

Ryan let out a put-upon sigh and followed his brother, sneakers dragging on the ground. James suppressed the urge to smack his brother and abandoned him, hurrying through the crowds of people, dodging the strollers with crying, whining kids.

He hesitated at the archway that said, “Scenes of the Outbreak” in big, red letters. His heart leapt. This was it. What he’d been waiting for over the last six months… ever since the zoo had been renamed as a memorial to the Outbreak of the Summer of 2010 and they’d announced they would be caging and displaying…

“Zombie!” one of the little kids squealed.

The crowd gathered around a cage gasped and stirred and James sprinted forward. He elbowed his way through the crowd, ignoring the grunts and protests of the people he was running over in his zeal to see…

“Whoa,” he whispered.

The cage had iron bars and there was an expanse of grass between those bars and the barrier that everyone was currently leaning on. Behind the bars, though, that was the best part.

There were two zombies in the exhibit. A male and a female. Both were dressed in tattered rags, the remnants of what they had once been before the Outbreak.

“Oh look, this tells us more about them, Timmy,” said a lady a few people down to James’s right. She looked at the metal sign while her kid swung around without a care. “The zombie was created due to an accident in a lab in Washington State. Though it isn’t known when these particular zombies were infected, the state of their clothing suggests some time in the last 8-12 weeks. The male was once a bus driver for the Topeka Kansas transit system. The female appears to have been a traffic cop for the City of Austin, Texas. Zombies are extremely dangerous, so please stay behind the barrier.”

James stared. He had only seen zombies on television. Once the government had realized the Outbreak was out of control, they’d built that Wall in the middle of the country and cut off the infection before it got as far East as Kentucky. For a while, people had been scared. Every night they analyzed the possibility of infection on the news.

But soon, things got back to normal. The news still covered the Outbreak, of course, and there were a few weird reality shows about it. But it was no longer the lead story.

“Whoa, they are way uglier than I thought they would be.”

James jolted and found that his brother had forced his way to the barrier, too. For once Ryan didn’t look bored or jaded. He actually looked impressed.

“Look at how her cheek is rotting,” James said, pointing at the female zombie. “You can see her teeth through her face!”

“Gross!”

“Timmy, get down now.”

James leaned over and looked down. The same woman who had read the description of the zombies out loud to her kid was now checking her cell phone while “Little Timmy”, who looked to be about eight, climbed up on the barriers that blocked them from the cage with the zombies.

“Jeez!” James grumbled. “Look at that?”

Ryan leaned around him. “Yeah? So what?”

James pursed his lips. “Why don’t people watch their kids? Seriously, the barriers are there for a reason!”

“God, you are such an old fogy for a guy just out of high school,” his brother laughed.

“Apocalypses will do that,” James said with a glare for his brother. “Just because you don’t care, doesn’t mean no one else does.”

His brother shrugged. “I care. I just don’t think we’re in an ‘end of days’ type scenario. Not much has changed except no more planning for that vacation at the theme parks in California.”

“Sick,” James said with a look at his brother. “Just sick, man.”

“Hey, lady, your kid!” a guy in the crowd cried out and there was a fair amount of panic in his voice.

James and Ryan looked down the way again and to James’s horror, the little boy had managed to sling himself over the barrier and was now on the grass between the wall and the cage of zombies. Worse, it seemed like the zombies saw it, too. They had been pacing aimlessly, but now they rushed the cage, reaching through the bars, drooling black sludge and making a horrible, rasping hiss.

“Timmy!” the mother cried. She tossed the cell phone she’d been so interested in and vaulted over the barrier.

But Timmy clearly had some experience in escaping his Mom. He was already running toward the cage and he was a quick little bastard. Everyone else just stared, mesmerized and terrified as the mother rushed after him.

“No!” she squealed and jumped for him with her arms outstretched.

The female zombie caught her wrist and the crowd gasped in unison and leaned forward.

“Why isn’t anyone stopping this?” James whispered, though he was perfectly aware that he wasn’t any better.

“Desensitized by seeing zombies on TV,” his brother explained.

The woman screamed again as the female zombie yanked her against the cage. Hard. The little boy flew forward, pinned by his mother’s body as she flailed and pulled against the female zombie. Zombie Lady bit down on the woman’s hand and there was a horrible spurt of blood as she tore a hunk of flesh away.

Meanwhile, the male zombie rushed the cage and bit the little boy through the bars.

“Get help!” someone in the crowd yelled and that seemed to wake everyone up. A few people started running, yelling for the zookeepers to come.

James stood frozen in his place, staring as the zombies tore and bit their victims. This was just like he’d seen on the news during the first few days of the Outbreak. Only it was just a few feet away.

“Um, James?”

He ignored his brother, still mesmerized by the carnage playing out before him.

“James?” When he still didn’t move, Ryan grabbed him and shook him. “Jamie!”

James shook his head and looked down at his brother. “What?”

Ryan blinked and he actually looked scared. Really scared, not ‘annoyed teenager who knew everything’.

“When they get bitten, they turn into zombies,” his brother said, voice shaking.

James nodded. “Yeah.”

“So that means those two will be zombies sometime in the next few minutes.”

“Yeah.”

James actually felt badly for them as he looked. The woman had stopped screaming and gone limp. The little boy was also down and the male zombie had disconnected his arm and was now shaking it like an angry dog.

“There’s no gate separating us from them, James,” Ryan said. He grabbed James and shook him again. “Jamie, when they wake up, they’re coming for more people. We have to run.”

The words sunk in. “Shit, you’re right!” James said and he looked around them.

Everyone else in the crowd was too shocked to have made his brother’s very intelligent leap of logic. Part of James said that he should remind them of Ryan’s observation and get them moving for the gates.

The other part knew that would cause a stampede and that he and Ryan could get separated, trampled or zombie-fied in the process.

“Stay cool,” he whispered. “And stay close. Let’s go.”

His brother nodded slightly and James felt Ryan’s fist close on the back of his shirt as they started moving through the crowd. He breathed a sigh of relief. At least if Ryan held his shirt, they wouldn’t get separated.

If he lost Ryan, his Mom would kill him. Not to mention that he’d probably miss the little creep.

They moved through the crowd, which had more than doubled since James had gotten there earlier. They were stirring and screaming and moving to fill in any space and get a better look at an unscheduled live feeding of the new zombies in exhibit.

And then the “zoo keepers” showed up. Only they were CDC guys, dressed in full hazmat gear and with cattle prods. James had read it cost them over a million dollars to get the zombies into exhibit. He guessed they weren’t about to shoot them and destroy that investment.

“Step out of the way,” the CDC guys said through their respirators.

“Hurry,” James whispered as he edged past the biggest CDC guy. He had a feeling that bad things were going to happen in a minute.

They made their way past the crowd and started toward the front gate. James wanted to run, but he feared that would only make their escape attempt that much more obvious and inspire the rest of the cattle people in the zoo to freak out, too.

The screams began behind them. Loud wails from the group. James knew what was happening. Timmy and his Mommy Dearest had reanimated.

“Ok,” he said, “Run! Run!”

His brother let go of his shirt and they both started running, but within minutes, the terrified crowd behind them had caught up. James tried not to look, but there were people with blood on their shirts. He wasn’t sure if it was residual spray or if they’d been bitten.

“Why aren’t they shooting?” Ryan asked as they made for the front gate.

It was almost like someone read his mind because at that moment, the sounds of gun fire echoed through the air. One shot, then silence.

“That isn’t enough to kill them both,” Ryan said and began to run faster.

By the time they reached the turnstyles to let them back out into the parking lot, people were crowding them, stuck in twos and threes. Ryan started to elbow his way through the crowd, but James caught his arm.

“We’ll get held up, come on, this way!”

Ryan followed him without argument (possibly for the first time ever) and they hurried toward the entrance gates. The woman behind the toll booth jumped up as they burst through.

“Hey! You can’t go this way!” she said, her voice muffled by the glass.

James ignored her and they kept running toward the parking lot.

“James!” his brother cried and James stopped and turned.

Ryan was standing in front of where the exit turnstiles would normally dump people out into the parking lot. James stared at what he saw. The people who had gotten stuck were now screaming. And behind them, the zombies were swarming the crowd.

“How many are there?” James asked, his tone low and blank.

“Looks like ten.” Ryan shuddered. “But there are about to be fifty.”

“Yeah, so let’s go.”

James caught his brother’s hand and they ran toward the parking lot. Cars swerved, nearly hitting them as they darted down the aisles toward the last row where James’s beater of a Honda was parked.

He moved to unlock Ryan’s side, when his brother pointed.

“Look at all the people trying to get out.”

James swiveled toward the single exit of the East Parking Lot and scowled. Cars were run up on the sidewalk and the grass, they were slammed against each other in a twisted mess of metal that would take hours to escape. And judging from the fact that the screaming in the distance had faded, they didn’t have hours. Not anymore.

“Forget the car,” James said and motioned to the park that was just beyond the wall around the zoo. “We’ve got to go on foot.”

“The house is ten miles away!” Ryan protested. “It will take us hours to walk home.”

“If there are zombies, I doubt we’ll be walking. And as soon as we’re at a safe distance, I’ll call Mom to come get us.” James stared at his brother. “Please. Please don’t argue and just do this.”

Ryan stared at the traffic jam at the exit and nodded. “Fine.”

James stifled a sigh of relief and started for the wall around the lot that kept people from sneaking in without paying. There were security guards in the parking lot who would normally keep them from scaling it, but they were busy with other things. Like the crazy drivers. And the zombies who were now climbing over the turnstiles and heading into the lot.

“Shit, hurry,” James said as they reached the wall. He motioned to a car that was parked close and helped his brother scrambled up on the hood. “And don’t look back.”

Of course Ryan immediately did just that and his face paled beneath his freckles. “Oh shit.”

He hit the roof and vaulted over the wall and James followed. It was a bit longer drop than he’d expected and as he hit, he felt his ankle turn. A fiery burst of pain shot up the back of his leg and he grunted as he crouched down and grabbed for his ankle.

“What?” Ryan asked. He pivoted to stare at James. “Are you okay?”

He nodded, but he doubted his expression said anything but pain. “I’m fine. Let’s just go.”

His brother opened his mouth to argue, but when James started limping across the park, he didn’t say whatever he was going to say, he just followed. Behind them, James heard more screaming, tires squealing and occasionally, gunfire.

“Why didn’t they shoot them right away if they had guns?” Ryan asked between panting breaths.

James shook his head. “Protecting the asset, I guess. But they waited too long, obviously. Hey, there’s Cortez Tower. We can climb up there and call for Mom, okay?”

Cortez Tower stood in the center of the old downtown section. It had been some kind of Civil War Monument or something and had fallen into disrepair, but now that the city council was trying to revitalize downtown, they’d cleaned it up. It was about a mile from the zoo, which seemed like forever the way James’s ankle was screaming in pain with every step.

“Can you make it?” his brother asked.

James didn’t answer, but kept up his limp/run at the same pace. It really hurt, but he wasn’t about to tell Ryan that and open the door for arguments and time wasting discussion about splints and stuff. They just had to get to the Tower. That was it.

The rest of town hadn’t quite figured out that all hell was breaking loose at the zoo. By the time they were just a quarter mile away from the carnage, people were strolling along the sidewalks, out in their yards doing some work in the sunny morning or drinking their iced latte’s as they went about their weekend activities. Again, James wondered if he should start screaming out warnings, but he didn’t really want to be in the midst of panic. He’d seen what had happened in some of the cities during the zombie apocalypse. People were trampled and shot for what they had. Chaos had reigned more often than not. Until he and Ryan were in a safer place with a vantage point and a blocked door, he wasn’t about to start calling for the cavalry.

He stumbled as pain rocketed up his leg.

Ryan skidded to a stop in front of him and turned back. “How bad?”

James blinked. He was tearing up from the pain, though he hated to share that with his brother. Still, he couldn’t exactly hold back.

“Bad,” he said through gritted teeth. “But we’re not far enough away from the zoo to stop. We are about half a mile from the tower.”

“Why are you obsessed with the tower?” Ryan asked while he came back and put James’s arm around his shoulder to support him. They started running again, this time in tandem like they were in a weird three-legged race.

“We’ll be able to see if the zombies come toward us,” he explained. “The door is heavy, too. If we close it and lock it, we’ll be able to block it off. The zombies won’t figure it out.”

Ryan shot him a look. “Wow, you’re pretty smart.”

James laughed. “Thanks, I guess. I could do without the utter shock, of course, but I’ll take the backhanded compliment.”

“I see it,” Ryan panted as they burst through a back alley into the town center. “Come on.”

They hobbled into the center of the roundabout and up the marble stairs to the base of the monument. Even though it was a nice day, when they moved into the tower, no one else was inside. The desk, which was unmanned most of the time, was empty.

“Close the door,” James grunted as he sank down on the staircase next to the old, creaky elevator. “And I’ll help you block it with the desk.”

His brother did as he was told and James pushed himself back up and the two boys shoved the desk in front of the door. Ryan tugged on the door and it held.

“Good enough. Now let’s go up.”

They got on the elevator, which was hardly big enough for two and they pressed the button. Up and up the old elevator creaked, groaning and protesting every foot it climbed. Finally it stopped with a jolt and the old door slid open.

The top of the tower was a tiny little observation deck that could hold no more than four or five people. It looked down over the whole city and James and Ryan moved to the side where they could see the zoo.

From thirty feet up, they couldn’t see much detail, but smoke was coming from the mass of cars still situated at the exit to the parking lot where they had fled. People ran around and some of them didn’t look like they were really thinking.

“Are those zombies?” Ryan asked.

James nodded. “They move like them, that’s for sure.”

Ryan flipped his phone open and pressed a button. “Hey Mom?” he said after a pause.

James could hear her squealing and yelling. Apparently word had gotten out about the zoo thing.

“No, we’re okay. No we got out. No we’re not bitten. We had to abandon the car and James twisted his ankle…. Cortez Tower. We’ll wait. Just be careful. I love you too.”

He closed the phone and looked at James.

“She’s on her way.”

“I figured.” James stared down over the city again.

“So do you remember when we were little and Mom and Dad took us to the zoo every month?” Ryan asked.

James nodded. “Yeah.”

“I always went for the bugs and the monkeys,” his brother continued. “But you wanted the lions and the poisonous snakes. I asked you why once.”

James stared at him. “Jeez, I don’t even remember that. What did I say?”

Ryan shook his head. “You said that unless something could kill you, unless you could see it plotting against you… it wasn’t that interesting to you.”

James laughed. “Yeah. I guess that’s true.” They both stared out at the zoo parking lot. There were bodies laying there. Not moving.

“They’re the lions now,” Ryan said softly.

James shivered. “Yeah. And now I wish I’d just been happy looking at the bugs.”

Mr. MacGyver

The camp smelled like a toilet and looked like the county fairgrounds after all the festivities were packed up. Dirty, beaten up and overly used. Only here there were more people.

Meghan sighed as she grabbed for her sister’s hand and dragged her toward the big board in the middle of the camp.

“You look on one side, I’ll look on the other.”

Ashley didn’t answer, but just took her place at the message board like she had a dozen times before at a dozen different camps. Meghan squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed them before she started scanning the bulletins from the top to the bottom. She was so tired of this.

“Anything?” Ashley’s voice came softly from the other side. Her sad tone told Meghan that she didn’t see any messages from their parents.

“Nope.” Meghan rubbed her eyes. She tried to smile as Ashley came back around the message board but her sister was fifteen, not stupid. She didn’t return the expression.

“How many times have we done this?” Ashley asked.

Meghan shook her head. “I’ve lost count.”

They linked arms and started toward the center of the camp where they could apply for a tent for the night and see if there was any food to share. Meghan tried to think about anything else but their predicament, but it was impossible.

In September she should have been going to college, so in August, she and her sister had flown to California in order to spend a last week as kids with their grandmother. And two days into the trip the worst thing had happened. The Outbreak. Z-Day. Grandma had died of a heart attack when the first zombies tried to break into the house. And the two of them… well, they’d been running ever since. Trying to get home. Trying to find their Mom and Dad.

And knowing that in Colorado, just like everywhere else, the grey menace had come and maybe… probably…. taken everything they’d ever known.

But they still looked.

“The motorcycle isn’t going to work much longer for us,” Ashley said as Meghan wrote their names to claim a tent for the night.

“I know. It’s just getting too cold for it.” Meghan shook her head. “And the further north and west we get, the colder it’s going to get. So we need to figure out a car situation and then I think we should really consider the cabin.”

Ashley stiffened. “But it’s not near anything.”

Meghan squeezed her hand. “That’s why it would be the perfect place to go, Ashley. Mom and Dad loved that place, they dragged us up there every summer. If they were going to run somewhere, that’s where they would go. And if we can get enough supplies together, even if they aren’t there, it would be a good winter hole up spot.”

Ashley shook her head. “But there have been three different times when the only reason one or both of us hasn’t been eaten by zombies is because other people have swooped in to save us. Up there, there won’t be anybody.”

Meghan motioned to the chow tent and followed her sister inside. There were a few people milling around and seated in makeshift cafeteria-style tables. They grabbed plates and stood in a short line for a very lean selection of stale breakfast bars and warm juice. Meghan sighed as they sat down. It was going to be a hungry night. Again.

She glanced at her sister. Ashley had been thin before the breakout. Now she was bordering on unhealthy. They really needed to find a place to stay for more than a day or two. Parents would be awesome, but a home and a regular routine would help, too.

“Look, Ashley, the first two times we almost bit… er, got bitten the big one it was at the very beginning of the Outbreak.” She sighed as she tried not to think of zombies swarming, jumping, growling, chewing. “So I don’t think we can count those as real attacks, we know a lot better now.”

“And what about Reno?” Ashley asked as she picked at her breakfast bar without looking at her sister. “That was last week.”

Meghan shut her eyes. There was that.

“I was distracted. It wasn’t the norm. And we learned from it, right?”

“I think ‘never go into a warehouse without a light’ is probably one we should have known before that afternoon.” Her sister shrugged. “But whatever.”

Whatever. Meghan hated that word. She actually felt for her parents more than ever after playing parent to her sister for the past couple of months. Teens sucked. She didn’t feel like one anymore, so she was sure she could say that with a straight face.

“I know you don’t like this idea, but in my mind, the further we are from people, the more likely we’re going to avoid zombies all together. And since we need a place to stay for the winter anyway, well I’m more interested in going to the cabin where we might find our parents than say… searching through houses of dead people we don’t know.”

Ashley shrugged. “You’re the brrrraaaaains of this operation.”

Meghan rolled her eyes, but if her sister was cracking zombie jokes, she knew it was ok. For the moment anyway. She pulled out a notebook from her pocket. “Then let’s make a list of the kinds of supplies we’d need for this operation, okay?”

They moved closer together and started scribbling items on the list. Everything from food to weapons to a trailer to haul stuff up to the cabin. When they were done, there were two sheets of notebook paper filled.

“Some of this stuff is going to be hard to find,” Ashley said with a sigh.

Meghan nodded. “Some of this stuff doesn’t even exist anymore.”

“You could always go see Mr. MacGyver.”

Meghan and Ashley turned and found that an older woman was sitting at the table behind them, staring at them. She was probably their Mom’s age. Her brown hair had little hints of gray in it and was pulled back in a tight ponytail. Her face was dirty. Their Mom wouldn’t have run around with a dirty face, even in an apocalypse.

“Who?” Ashley asked.

“Mr. MacGyver. He lives just outside the camp in a house down about fifteen miles south of Highway 40 near Vernal, Utah.”

Meghan took her backpack off her shoulders and pulled the map they carried from it. They had a highlighted route that led them into Colorado. A quick check showed that the woman’s direction wasn’t too far off their beaten path. But still…

“So who is this guy?” Meghan asked. “Why would we want to go see him?”

“He has access to a lot of things that don’t exist anymore.” The woman smiled. “And of course he can build anything out of practically nothing. No one knows his real name.”

“His real name isn’t Mr. MacGyver?” Ashley asked with a blank expression. “I thought that was what you said.”

The woman blinked twice. “No! Everyone just calls him that after the show.”

Ashley and Meghan looked at each other, then Ashley shrugged. “What show?”

“MacGyver? The 80s show?” the woman said, her eyes wide with disbelief. “Richard Dean Anderson?”

“I was born in 1995,” Ashley said with a shrug. “Sorry.”

“God,” the woman muttered, more to herself than to the girls. “I feel ancient.”

“So this MacGyver guy,” Meghan interrupted. She didn’t want to get off track… well, any more off track than they already were. “He can find things-”

“No,” the woman corrected her. “He doesn’t leave his place so he doesn’t find things. He collects things people bring him and makes stuff out of it. It’s sort of a barter system.”

Meghan shrugged. “Okay, so he builds things. He isn’t like… creepy is he?”

“What do you mean, creepy?” the woman asked.

Ashley folded her arms to cover her breasts just like Meghan wanted to do. “I mean, that over near Sacramento, we found a guy willing to ‘help’ us too. He just wanted to see us naked first. That kind of creepy.”

The woman paled. “But you’re both so young!”

Meghan gave a brittle smile. “Yeah, I think that was the point for him, unfortunately.”

But he’d ended up with a very sore pair of balls thanks to a swift kick with a steel-toed boot and hadn’t gotten to see anything despite his shotgun. Asshole.

The woman shook her head. “Um, no. I haven’t heard any stories like that about this guy. If he’s trading, it isn’t for that.”

Meghan looked at her sister and Ashley shrugged. “Push comes to shove, we have guns, right? It’s worth a try.”

Meghan nodded then smiled at the woman. “Thanks for your help.”

The woman smiled and there was a sadness in her eyes that was all too familiar to Meghan. “No problem. If we don’t help each other, there’s really no point in any of this anyway. I hope you find what you’re looking for. And who you’re looking for.”

The woman got up and left the tent. When she was gone, Ashley rested her head on Meghan’s shoulder. “Do you think we’ll ever get home?”

Meghan put an arm around her. “We’re together. So we’re always home.”

#

Meghan leaned over the motorcycle and let off on the throttle a little as they turned down a long, grown up driveway that was almost hidden by the weeds and trees that had sprouted up, unchecked, since the Outbreak. She would have missed it altogether if they hadn’t asked around the camp a bit more about this MacGyver guy and found out that he had a big billboard on the side of the road just a quarter of a mile up from his driveway that he had sprayed with a red “X” to let people know they were close.

She slid to a stop when they moved over a small hill and a house and barn came into view. Both were surrounded by a makeshift, but extremely strong-looking fence built from all kinds of junk.

“I guess this is the place,” Ashley said as she leaned in from her seat behind Meghan. Ashley was terrible at driving a motorcycle, so they always shared. Plus, it was good to have someone to be in charge of weapons and firing when the zombies started in. Unlike a car, a motorcycle wasn’t terrific for one-handed driving.

Meghan nodded. “Are you loaded?”

Her sister lifted up the Glock she carried at her waist. “Full up. Ready to put down zombies or creeps who want to look at my boobies.”

“Or both,” Meghan muttered as she drove off toward the house.

When they reached the “gate” on the makeshift wall, she was surprised to see what appeared to be an intercom next to it that was propped up on a rusty bar which had once held a road sign. There was a sign pounded out of metal (it seemed to have once been a stop sign, so maybe it went with the bar at some point) that said, “push green to talk”.

There was a green button below the speaker of the intercom, so she pressed it.

“Um, hello?” she said into the speaker. She felt like an idiot doing it, since there was no way the thing worked.

There was a moment’s hesitation and then a voice crackled over the line.

“Can I help you?”

The sound was like a telephone, which Meghan had all but forgotten, and she nearly fell off the bike.

“Yeah,” she said. “We’re here to see MacGyver?”

“Fuck,” the voice said. “I told them not to call me that.”

“Are you him?” Ashley asked.

“I guess. You two don’t look like too much of a threat.”

Meghan glanced at her sister. “Look?”

Ashley shrugged and then pointed up above them on a tree branch. “There are cameras.”

“Four of them to be precise,” said the voice. “I’m opening the gate. Please drive through and park your motorcycle near the junkyard. I’ll be out in a minute.”

Meghan glanced at her sister. “How the hell is he powering a gate and an intercom? There hasn’t been electric for months.”

“Guess we’re going to find out,” Ashley said.

The gate creaked and then with a bang and a whine, the metal swung inward. Meghan pulled inside, far enough that when the gate swung shut, it wasn’t going to hit the bike, then turned off the engine and got off. As she stretched and willed her ass to wake up, she looked around.

Inside the perimeter of the wall was a tall pile of garbage and scrap metal, but it seemed to be sorted. In fact there were even labels. An old red farmhouse was about two hundred feet away, the doors and windows blocked by more metal sheeting. And a barn was down behind the house. It was reinforced but the sliding door was open and from it a man emerged. He lifted up what appeared to be binoculars and looked at them for a long moment. Then he wiped his hands off on a towel from his waistband and started down toward them.

“Keep the safety off,” Meghan whispered.

“Way ahead of you,” Ashley reassured her and her hand slipped behind her back where Meghan knew her sister was touching the handle of her gun in readiness.

“You don’t have to keep a hand on the gun,” the man said as he got within earshot. “I don’t intend to pull mine.” He lifted a hand and pressed two fingers together. “Scout’s honor.”

Meghan examined him as he got closer. He was older than her Dad, but not quite as old as her grandparents. Probably in his fifties or early sixties from the white that was beginning to creep through his brown hair. He had brown eyes that seemed nice enough, though Meghan had met enough weirdoes lately to know that the old saying, ‘the eyes are the window to the soul’ wasn’t exactly correct.

Still, he wasn’t lying. He hadn’t made any move for the revolver at his waist, even though he had correctly guessed that Ashley was ready with her own weapon.

Meghan shrugged at her sister. “Just don’t expect us to give our weapons up.”

He nodded. “Why would I do that? This isn’t a camp, it’s civilized.” He looked them up and down. “Well, you’re younger than you looked up in the barn. Is it just you two?”

Meghan hesitated. Sometimes it wasn’t best to advertise how alone in the world one was. Not in the zombie apocalypse. The people could be a bigger threat than the monsters.

“You don’t have to tell me.” He shrugged. “Now since you called me by that name they gave me in the camps in this area, I have a feeling you didn’t come here by accident.”

Ashley shook her head. “No. We’ve heard you can build things.”

He nodded. “I’ve been known to put something together from time to time. There’s certainly plenty of material to choose from nowadays…” He hesitated. “When I find people to bring it over.”

Meghan glanced at the trash heap. “Like that stuff?”

He smiled with a gleam of pride in his eyes. “Yeah, exactly. And that’s just from the last couple of months. Imagine the selection I’ll have in six… or even a year. But I’m being rude. Why don’t you two come up to the house, we’ll have some iced tea and we can talk about what exactly you need from me.”

Meghan blinked. “Iced tea?

He nodded and again there was the pride. “If it makes the girl feel better, she can hold that pistol on me until she’s sure I’m not going to become the boogie man.”

Ashley looked at Meghan, but she shook her head slightly. “Why don’t you lead the way, mister?”

He nodded and headed up to the house. The sisters walked behind him and Ashley leaned over to whisper, “What do you think?”

“I don’t know yet,” Meghan admitted. “I’m still trying to figure it out.”

He opened the front door and stepped inside to motion them in. “Mind if you take off your shoes?”

“Why?” Meghan asked as she glanced down at her feet. She was wearing boots and Ashley had on heavy sneakers made for hiking. They never took them off except for in bed at night or when they were changing. Zombies liked feet. Especially toes. Meghan sometimes caught herself wondering if they were tender, but always cut that thought off before she started feeling like eating brains.

“New carpet,” he said as he motioned to the expensive beige carpeting that started after a square of ceramic tile at the door. “I’d hate to ruin it, it was trouble to come by the right kind, I can tell you.”

Ashley blinked. “You put in new carpet since the Outbreak?”

He shrugged. “Well, what else did I have to do? This place needed some fixing up, so I fixed it up.”

Meghan blinked. She wasn’t sure what to think of that. Most people had been busy running like hell the past few months, not building walls of garbage and installing new carpeting.

“Um, well it’s very nice carpet. But we’re looking for something a bit more practical. You see, we’re heading for a cabin in Colorado and we might be staying up there for a long time-”

“And so you’re here.” He finished her thought as he turned and headed into the kitchen.”Because you heard I can make things.”

The girls exchanged a look before they both toed off their shoes and followed him. The kitchen was a big place with granite countertops and all new appliances and cabinets. When he moved to the fridge of open it, the light went on.

Ashley backed up. “What was that?”

He turned toward them holding a pitcher of tea. “What?” he asked.

He opened the freezer to take out an ice tray and the light went on again.

“That!” Ashley cried in girlish excitement that should have been reserved for learner’s permits and proms, but had now moved to more mundane things.

“The light,” Meghan whispered. “I think she means the light. How is there a light? How is there ice?”

“Oh.” He shrugged as he poured three glasses of iced tea. “Solar generator. I built right when this all started. I don’t overuse it, but it’s enough to run the fridge and heat the water for a shower a few times a week.”

“Showers!” This time it was Meghan who couldn’t resist the girlish squeal.

“You’re free to use them, but first let’s talk.” He sat down at the kitchen island and motioned to the bar stools across from his.

Meghan sat down, still stunned by the concept of showers. Ashley grabbed her glass with both hands and ohhed and ahhed over the slippery cold of it before she guzzled the drink in a few long sips.

“What are your names?” he asked with a little smile.

“Meghan and this is Ashley.”

Ashley was digging for the ice in the bottom of her glass with her tongue and only managed a grunt.

“And how old are you?” he asked.

“Eighteen and fifteen,” Meghan admitted. “But we don’t trade for, um, favors, so if that’s what you want, forget it.”

His face twisted in disgust. “You two are younger than my kids were before-” He stopped with a frown. “Well, let’s just say I’m not interested in that, okay? But I’m worried that you’re on your own. Where are you heading to exactly?”

Ashley looked at him. To Meghan’s surprise her younger sister, who had been shy of strangers since “the incident” in California, was actually smiling at this man.

“Our parents had a cabin about sixty miles past the border into Colorado,” she said. “We thought they might have run there after the outbreak. If not, we want to stay there until spring and then we might try the house over in Fort Collins.”

He frowned. “That’s a long way to go for such young women. Especially now.”

Meghan rested her elbows on the countertop and met his eyes evenly. “Mister, we came from California all alone. We can make it a few hundred miles more. We just need a little help.”

She pulled the list they’d made in the camp the day before from her pocket and set it face down on the counter. “This is what we need. I’ve put stars next to the things we can find on our own or already have. We’re hoping you can help us with the rest for a reasonable price.”

He didn’t take the note, but just held her gaze. “Why don’t you two try out those showers,” he said. “And there are some clothes in the drawers and closet in the second bedroom to the left that might fit you. I’ll look at your list and let you know what I can do for you when you come down.”

Meghan and Ashley exchanged a glance and her sister shrugged. “We could take turns watching for the other.”

He smiled. “That sounds like a plan, though I promise not to set a toe upstairs. I’ll just be down here.”

Meghan looked at him. She had learned to read people better since the “incident” in California. And with this man, she felt something she hadn’t for months.

Trust.

“Okay. We’ll hurry.”

The girls got up and moved toward the back staircase that led into the kitchen. But at the bottom of the stairs, Ashley turned to look at him.

“So if your name isn’t MacGyver, what is it?”

He shrugged. “Doesn’t really matter anymore. They call me Mac when they come see me, so I guess you can go with that, too.”

Ashley bit her lip and seemed troubled, but then she nodded. “Okay. Thanks Mac.”

#

“Why won’t he tell us his real name?” Ashley asked as she pulled a Skye High School t-shirt over her head and then shook some of the water from her long blonde hair. The shirt was too big and Meghan almost smiled. Her sister looked fifteen right now.

It was so unfair that she couldn’t act like it.

“I don’t know.” She shrugged as she combed through her own damp locks and then pulled them back using a clip she’d found in the bathroom. “He lost his family to the Outbreak and God knows what else. Sometimes people want a fresh start. And a new name is a definitely that.”

“Yeah, but we all got a reset button pushed on us in August,” her sister insisted. The jeans she was wearing were too big, too, so she rolled them up around her ankles. “And I still use my name. Don’t you worry he’s a serial killer or something?”

Meghan pondered the idea. “I guess he could be. But he didn’t come up here while we were getting ready. We aren’t locked in. We still have our guns. And he doesn’t look at us like we’re… um… fresh meat. Don’t get me wrong, we’ll keep an eye on him. But for now, I think we just have to take it at face value that he’s just a guy that can get things done for people. And that’s how he survives out here.”

Ashley sighed. “Okay, maybe you’re right.”

“Either way, let’s go downstairs and see what happens next.”

Ashley followed her out. At the top of the stairs, Meghan checked for the gun in her waistband and the knife attached to her thigh by a stretchy piece of lycra she’d fashioned at least a month ago. When she was satisfied she was still armed well enough to handle any kind of attack, she started down the stairs.

Mac was still at the kitchen island. He had their list spread out over the counter and was leaning over it, his brow wrinkled. When Meghan entered the room, he looked up and smiled.

“Better?” he asked.

Both girls nodded. “Are you sure taking the clothes is okay?” Meghan asked. If they were his daughter’s, she didn’t want to walk out with them without verifying.

He shrugged. “Sure. Might as well use them.”

Ashley stepped forward. “Look, I appreciate the use of the shower and the iced tea. But we need to know, can you help us? Because if you can’t, we have to get on the road before we run out of light.”

His eyebrows both lifted and then he smiled. “Well, you are direct aren’t you?”

“You kind of have to be nowadays,” Meghan said with a quick glance at her sister. “So can you help us?”

He held up the list. “You want a modified vehicle.”

Meghan nodded. “Yeah.”

“You realize that motorcycle isn’t going to cut it. I can’t do anything useful with it.”

Ashley shrugged. “We’ll go get a car. We saw one on the way in.”

“Stripped it a few weeks ago.”

Meghan stared at him. “How do you know?”

“Is it the red car on the exit ramp about twenty miles back?”

Ashley pursed her lips. “Yeah.”

“Stripped. Trust me, I have a lot of people coming here to get my help. Somebody stripped it. But, I do have something you might be able to use. If you do something for me.”

At that, Ashley’s gun was out of her holster and she pointed it across the counter in Mac’s face. “Seriously?”

He leaned back. “Not that, little girl. How many times do I have to tell you?”

“Then what?” Meghan asked. She hadn’t reached for her gun like her trigger-happy baby sister, but she was ready to do it if she felt like the situation got messed up.

“I need you to get something for me. Something from my house.”

Ashley lowered her gun and shot Meghan a questioning look. “Your house? Isn’t this your house?”

He barked out a laugh. “This? No way. I was here doing some work when the Outbreak happened. The guy who owned this place was killed and I locked myself in. I haven’t left since.”

Meghan blinked. “But-then how do you know that your family is dead?”

He shrugged, but his face was now a mask of blank, emotionless control. “My wife managed to make it over here on the second day. She was bitten, but before I had to… take care of it, she told me the girls were dead.”

Meghan swallowed. She hadn’t had to kill anyone she knew. She could hardly imagine having to make that kind of decision about her parents. Or worse…

She looked at Ashley and found that her sister was staring at her. They were thinking the same thing. They never talked about it. But it was clear that would change as soon as possible.

“I’m sorry,” Ashley whispered as she looked away from Meghan. “I’m so sorry.”

“I want a picture,” he said without acknowledging Ashley’s attempt at comfort. “From my house.”

Meghan wrinkled her brow. “But you’ve had people coming to you for weeks and weeks. Why didn’t you ask one of them for it?”

He shifted. “You girls are almost the same age my girls were. Just a few years younger. And seeing you reminds me… Look I just want the picture. If you get it for me I’ll help you.”

“How far is your place?” Meghan asked.

He shook his head. “Not far. Ten miles Northwest.”

“Why don’t you get it?” Ashley asked.

He bit his lip. “I don’t leave.”

Meghan wrinkled her forehead. “You don’t leave? What do you mean?”

“I don’t leave,” he said, this time through clenched teeth. “I’m safe here. I don’t leave.”

Ashley tilted her head. “But you’re… you’re a grown-up.”

Meghan sighed. “Doesn’t mean he can’t be scared.”

He frowned but didn’t debate that. “So is it a deal? You get the picture, I’ll get you the car.”

“And a solar generator like yours,” Ashley said.

Meghan turned toward her. “Ashley!”

“We need it. The cabin will be cold and dark. It would be good to have limited access to electric for certain things.” Ashley held out a hand. “Is it a deal?”

Mac laughed. “You’re a natural negotiator, my dear. It’s a deal.”

Meghan sighed. “Well, I guess we better start out. The sooner we go, the sooner it will be over and we’ll be back.”

Ashley nodded. “Get the car ready. We have a picture to find.”

#

“The GPS says to turn right on the next street,” Ashley said over Meghan’s shoulder and Meghan steered the motorcycle the way her sister said. “It should be on the right… 1910, 1912, there it is… 1914.”

Meghan cut the engine and pulled the revolver from her waistband. “Stay sharp. These are exactly the conditions where we’re going to find zombie pods.”

Ashley nodded as both of them climbed off the bike. Ashley dug the key from her jeans pocket.

“Where did you get that?” Meghan asked.

Ashley shrugged. “Mac gave it to me while you were getting your boots on and he was setting the GPS. He wasn’t sure if his wife locked the door behind her.”

Meghan squeezed her eyes shut. “When she was getting attacked by zombies, you mean?”

Ashley shivered as they approached the front door. “Yeah. There’s that. Cover me?”

Meghan nodded and readied her gun as Ashley turned the knob. It opened without the key, so her sister tossed it over her shoulder. It clinked against the sidewalk and into a flower bed. When Meghan glared, Ashley shrugged.

“What? It’s not like anyone needs it anymore.”

“Good point, now pay attention. Reno. Think Reno.”

Ashley straightened up and the barrel of her gun was suddenly very straight. “Go,” she whispered.

Meghan kicked the door in and flattened against the wall on the other side like she’d seen done in a million cop movies over the years. Her sister did the same on the other side and closed the door. Meghan reached around to lock it and took a deep breath. The house was dark because the shades were drawn and it smelled faintly of death and decay.

Not a good sign.

“Curtains,” Meghan whispered and grabbed the cord to lift the shade closest to her. Light flooded the room and she flinched at the brightness and looked around. Dust covered every surface of the furniture, but otherwise there would have been no way to guess that the people here were gone. Everything was in its place. Everything was still ready for the family to return.

It was kind of creepy. Like they’d somehow stumbled into a life-sized doll house.

“Looks like a living room to the right,” Ashley said, ever focused on the business at hand. Meghan smiled. Her sister was younger, but sometimes wiser. Though she wasn’t about to admit that out loud. Ever.

“And a kitchen to the left,” Meghan said. “Let’s clear the living room first.”

With a nod, Ashley followed her into the living room. The house was small, so the room was a little cramped and the furniture was well-worn. It was also empty except for the emaciated corpse of what had apparently been a dog.

“That explains the smell,” Meghan sighed. In some way, she was relieved by the discovery. If the rot was from a dead animal, that might mean they’d escape without encountering zombies.

“Kitchen?” Ashley asked, her face pale and drawn. She’d always been sucker for animals.

“Sure, lead the way,” Meghan motioned her toward the entryway. “Carefully!”

Ashley shot her a look but she did slow her creeping as they passed through the main hall and into the cramped, out-dated kitchen on the other side of the house. It, too, was empty.

Meghan set her gun down on the dirty counter. “Check the cabinets for non-perishables.”

Ashley nodded and took one set while Meghan took the other. They loaded up their backpacks with stale bags of chips, a cheapo bag of chocolate chip cookies and a few cans of beans and store-brand soup.

“Fridge?” Ashley asked.

Meghan shook her head. “No way. Everything in there has got to be rotted. I don’t want to unleash the smell, I’ll have it in my nose for hours.”

“But there could also be stuff in there like medicine or something,” her sister reasoned.

Meghan folded her arms. “Still not worth the-”

She didn’t get to finish the word “smell”. Before she could there was a sound behind them. Meghan pivoted to see a zombie standing in the kitchen entryway. She was a girl with what was left of a ponytail, though much of her dark hair had fallen out as her flesh rotted. She was wearing what was left of a t-shirt that seemed to have once said something about cheerleading.

And even though her face was gray and damaged, Meghan could see she was the spitting image of her Dad.

Mac.

“Oh shit,” Ashley muttered as the girl lunged for Meghan.

Meghan scrambled for her gun, but before she could get there Ashley fired. The zombie stiffened as the bullet pierced her forehead and splattered the rotting remains of her brains on the wall behind her. Then she toppled backward and lay still.

“Didn’t he say he had two daughters?” Meghan asked as she grabbed for the gun she had stupidly set aside.

Ashley nodded and her hand was shaking while she reloaded the chamber so that it was full. “He did.”

“Ok, then let’s clear the rest of the house, then we’ll find this stupid picture and get out of here before it gets to be dark.” Meghan smiled, but it was just a mask. It was always just a mask.

They moved toward the back of the house in the narrow hallway. Meghan could hear a faint, muffled thumping from the very back room and she swallowed hard. The other sister.

“Is that her?” Ashley asked.

Meghan nodded. There was a door at the end of the hallway that had been blocked by big boards nailed to the walls around the door. They were streaked with blood and Meghan shook her head. “Looks like she’s in that back bedroom.”

“I think they blocked her in there too late,” Ashley whispered. “Since both of them went zombie anyway.”

The zombie on the other side of the door was banging against it. The boards shivered and Meghan could see where she had already nearly clawed through the door itself. There were thin spots that were almost transparent, she could see movement through them, but not the zombie girl behind it.

“I’ve been thinking about the story Mac told us. About having to kill his wife after she made it to the farm.” Meghan looked at Ashley.

Ashley bit her lip. “Me too. We’ve never talked about… it. You know, what would happen if one of us… if we…”

Meghan nodded to interrupt her. “You don’t have to say it. Don’t say it. But what he did was right. If anything ever happened to me, you have to shoot me, okay. Don’t go doing what Mac’s wife did and lock me up somewhere. Obviously that didn’t work for them.”

They both looked at the door and Ashley shivered. “She’s been in there for two months, Meghan. Trapped in that room, roaming around in zombie rage and hunger. All alone. She would have been better off dead.”

“Exactly.” Meghan grabbed for her sister’s hand. “So let’s just promise it right now: Love before mercy, right?”

“It’s pretty messed up that love is now putting a bullet through your sister’s skull,” Ashley said with a shiver. “But you’re right. Love before mercy.”

“Okay, so let’s put this poor girl out of her misery because this is the stupid room that Mac’s picture is in.” Meghan sighed. “And then let’s get out of here.”

“Steel toed boot to the thin part of the door,” Ashley said as she peered at the barrier in front of them. “When she pokes her head out, shoot her.”

“Sounds like a plan, General Ashley,” Meghan laughed.

Her sister stepped back and took a deep breath. “Here’s hoping my foot doesn’t get caught.”

With that comforting statement, she kicked the door. The damaged wood splintered and as Ashley backed away, the zombie trapped in the room stuck her head of the hole that had been created. She growled and spit sludge at the girls while she struggled to get an arm past her head and out of the tiny hole.

“Sorry,” Meghan said and then pulled the trigger.

The girl inside fell backward and then there was only silence in the room.

It took a minute for Ashley and Meghan to get the barriers down off the door and get inside. Once they did, they both stopped and stared.

The zombie daughter had torn the room apart in her lust to escape. The walls were battered and bloodied, the furniture overturned in mindless fury and worst, the corpse of the floor was missing all her fingers. She had worn them down to the knuckles over the weeks with her attempts to claw out of the room.

“Look for the picture,” Ashley said as she stepped over the dead girl in the doorway. “I don’t want to be here anymore.”

Meghan joined her sister and they cleared through the mess in the room. Behind what had once been an end table next to the bed, Meghan found what they were looking for. The family picture had been in a nice frame, but that got smashed pretty early on. She swept away the broken glass and then opened the back of the frame to retrieve the picture.

“Our family,” she read on the back. “Alice, Chelsea (20), Polly (22) and Vern.”

“Vern,” Ashley repeated as she sat down on the bed to look over Meghan’s shoulder at the picture when she turned it over. They were a nice family. Vern/Mac standing behind the girls next to his wife. They were smiling.

Tears stung Meghan’s eyes at she stared at the happy faces, completely unaware of what was about to happen to them. In a way, they were her own family,. They represented everything she lost.

But also everything she still had.

“Let’s go,” she said as she got to her feet. “But we’re not going to tell Mac about this. We’re not going to tell him his daughters were trapped in the house for the last two months, okay?”

Ashley pondered that, then nodded. “He doesn’t need to know.”

#

It was almost dark when they pulled the motorcycle back up to the fence around the old farmhouse. Meghan didn’t even have to push the green button before the gate opened to allow them in.

She parked the motorcycle and smiled. Mac had already parked a reinforced SUV with a small trailer attached to the back next to the junk pile. For them, she assumed.

He came down the hill from the house. “You find it?”

Ashley pulled the picture from her backpack and held it out. He hesitated and he was blinking a lot. Meghan cleared her throat and looked away to let him have his tears in private.

“How was the house?” he asked.

The girls exchanged a quick glance and then Ashley shrugged. “Quiet.”

He smiled and there was relief on his face. “Good. Good.”

Finally, he took the picture, but he left it facing down in his hand. Meghan grabbed her sister’s arm. “Hey, do you mind if we freshen up a bit?”

He nodded without looking at them. He was just reading the back of the picture. Meghan dragged Ashley into the house and they sat down at the kitchen counter to wait for him. After a few minutes, he came inside. The picture was folded in his front pocket and his eyes were clear.

“Well, thank you. This means a lot to me.” He sat down across from them. “You saw the SUV?”

Meghan nodded. “It’s for us?”

“Yup. And I loaded up the trailer with a few necessities. Including your solar generator, Ms. Negotiator.”

Ashley smiled.

“Then we should head out tomorrow morning,” Meghan said.

“You should come with us,” Ashley added as she looked across the counter at Mac.

Meghan stared at her. They hadn’t discussed that.

“Look, we’re not stupid,” Ashley continued. “I know we’re probably not going to find out parents.”

Meghan flinched. That was another subject they hadn’t brought up. She’d thought she was protecting Ashley by not bringing up that touchy fact, but her sister was not stupid. Just fifteen.

“And we could use a man like you,” Ashley said with a smile for Mac. “And I think you might need us, too.”

“Leave here?” Mac repeated as he stared at the girls. “But this is my home.”

Meghan reached across the table and touched his hand. “No. It’s not.”

He thought about it for a long moment. “Well, I’d hate to see you girls get hurt all alone out there. And I am getting sick of having everybody stop by here demanding my services.”

“So you’ll come?” Ashley asked.

He opened his mouth and shut it again. “Well, I can’t believe I’m saying this but… yeah. It might be nice to see Colorado again. I’ll come with you.”

Meghan grinned at her sister. “So do we still have to call you Mac?” she asked.

He pulled the picture from his pocket and stared at it for a long moment.

“Naw. I think you’d better just call me Vern.”

Reality Bites

“Network Z has seen advertising revenue fall by fifty percent in the last three months,” Frank Rose screamed in his usual red-faced, angry executive way. “Why?”

Caroline fought the urge to sigh and once more motioned to the graph that explained exactly why.

“Mr. Rose, as you can see, public interest in the zombie outbreak peaked right around the time the wall was built. But once they felt “safe” from the infected, their desire to watch a 24-hour news network dedicated to zombie news faded considerably. And since new television programming is being produced out of Indianapolis now and limited internet access is again available, they have other options for entertainment.”

Rose squeezed his eyes shut. He was turning purple. Caroline would have been worried about him if she didn’t hate him so much. He was just… awful. The worst person she’d ever worked for. But with the movement of the Hollywood establishment (or what was left of it) to Indianapolis after the Outbreak, she didn’t have all that many choices.

“I don’t give a flying fuck about what viewers want,” Rose barked. “I want my money. Fix it.”

Caroline swallowed hard. “Yes, sir. I was just about to get into that.”

She glanced at her co-workers. All of them were pale, Annalise was crying (no help at all for their cause) and Roy had that expression on his face that said, “I’m going to throw you under the bus if I feel like this goes south.”

So she was basically on her own.

“Get to it faster.” Rose gripped his pen so hard that Caroline was surprised it didn’t explode all over the table and his starched white shirt.

“Yes, sir. We have done a great deal of research and we think that the answer to this problem is original programming.”

Rose opened his mouth with a big gasp of air, like he was going to start screaming, but then he hesitated. “Go on,” he said, his voice low for the first time since the meeting started.

She smiled, but her armpits felt really sweaty.

“When the original networks started to feel the pinch in advertising and budgetary concerns, they turned to reality television. Shows like Survivor and Amazing Race and others really saved their bacon until they could rebalance their scripted shows.”

Rose rubbed his chin. “Yes. I was a junior executive at a big three at the time. You’re right about reality television.”

“Good, I was sure you’d understand,” Caroline said with a sweet smile that made her sick. Brownoser. She was a total brownnoser. “What we propose is the same route. We continue our news coverage, of course, but we also start presenting a few reality shows which still fit with our overall theme of All Zombie, All the Time.”

“Such as?”

Before Caroline could answer, Roy was on his feet. “Well sir-”

“Sit down Simmons,” Rose said with a wave of his fat hand. “Let Caroline finish.”

Roy paled and then did as he’d been told. Caroline wanted to high five her boss, but she was pretty sure she’d be left hanging.

“There are several B and C-list celebrities who made it to Indianapolis. Obviously some of them got picked up by networks to fill in spots or create shows that were vacated by dead stars, but a few are still lower ranking. If they lost someone in the Outbreak, we could follow them around and tell their stories.”

“Real Housewives of Z-County,” Rose said with a nod. “All right. What else?”

“We have tons of existing footage from over the Wall and to be honest, sometimes zombies are funny. They stagger around, take ball shots, the usual infantile stuff that America loves.” She smiled. “We could do a Badlands Funniest Zombies-type show. Add funny sound effects and let the watcher have a chance to win some money or a trip.”

“Good.” Rose wasn’t red anymore. “Anything else?”

“Well, this last one is a little… out there,” Caroline said. Nervousness flooded her. If Rose hated it, she was probably out of job. It was that kind of out there.

He arched a brow and leaned back in his chair.

“So, I have it on good authority that the government has a few… prisoners who they might be willing to part with to help us start a reality show with humans battling zombies. They fight it out. If they get turned into zombies, great. They are become new grist for the wheel, so to speak. If they win… they get set free into the Badlands to survive on their own.”

Both Rose’s eyebrows lifted now and he stared at her in silent shock for a few moments. Long enough that poor Roy couldn’t contain himself anymore.

“I told her it wasn’t a great idea,” he burst out as he jumped to his feet. “But she doesn’t listen, sir.”

Rose glared at him. “You’re an idiot, Simmons. I love it. It’s a great idea. And you’re fired.”

Roy blinked. “F-fired.”

“Yes. Get out.”

Roy’s lip quivered as he gathered up some papers and made for the door.

Once he was gone, Rose looked at Caroline again. “How long until you can spin this up?”

“That’s the beauty of reality, sir,” she said with a smile. “We can be up and broadcasting any one of these shows within a week, maybe two for the battle show.”

“Good.” Rose leaned back. “Then let’s do it.”

#

The fog in Chris’s brain blurred his vision as he opened his eyes. His ears were ringing. His mouth tasted like cotton balls dipped in three-day old cat litter. And when he lifted his head…

“Ow,” he groaned and lowered it back to the cold concrete.

It took a minute for that to sink in. Cold. Concrete.

He opened his eyes and tried to force some focus. The room was bright, lit by what seemed like a hundred blazing lights. The floor was concrete as were the walls. He lifted his head up from the hard floor and saw that there were three other people, a woman, a teenaged boy and an older man lying in the room. All of them were in various stages of stirring and all of them were wearing bright orange jumpsuits.

He looked down at himself. Jumpsuits just like his. He didn’t remember putting it on.

He pushed to his knees. What was the last thing he did remember?

“What is this place?” the woman asked as she grabbed for the wall closest to her and pulled herself up. “And why do I feel like I was on a bender last night?”

Chris shook his head. “I don’t know. Hey, are you two all right?”

The kid stared up at him sullenly. He was a bit pudgy and his jumpsuit strained against his belly as he got up. The older man staggered when he tried to stand and Chris moved to his side to give him a hand.

“Thank you.” The old man stretched his back. “I’m Gus Hardwick.”

“Chris Lloyd.”

He glanced at the woman. “Kelsey Quick.”

“The news reporter?” the teenager asked.

She nodded and Chris looked closer. Yeah that was her all right. Just without her normal shellacking of make-up. She actually looked better in person.

“What about you, young man?” Gus asked. “Who are you?”

“Tyler.” The kid shrugged.

“So what the hell are we all doing here?” Chris asked. “Anyone have a guess? Anyone remember what they were doing before they woke up here?”

Tyler nodded. “I was on my computer.”

“Doing what?” Kelsey asked.

He raised his eyebrows. “Not looking at porn if that’s what you mean!”

She shook her head. “It wasn’t, but now it is.”

“I was…” Tyler looked around and dropped his voice. “Hacking the governmental firewall.”

“Whoa.” Chris whistled his approval. “Nice. I was developing some pictures.”

“Of?” Kelsey pressed.

“Of survivors on the other side of the wall.”

“Funny.” Kelsey shrugged. “I was writing a story about the very same thing. Gus, can I assume you were involved in something similar?”

He nodded. “I connect with some underground people via ham radio, yes.”

“I guess that answers our question about why we’re here,” Chris muttered. “We’re all trying to break the barrier the government has put between the people and the truth of the Outbreak. But that doesn’t answer where we are.”

High above them a crackling sound burst from the concrete walls, bouncing off and around them in an eerie echo.

“What is that?” Gus asked.

Tyler looked up. “Speakers. They’re attached up near the top of the… cell or whatever.”

“Tonight on Zombie Wars:” came a game show host voice full of false excitement and perfect pronunciation “Four convicted criminals fight ravenous zombies for a chance at a new life outside the wall.”

“What?” Kelsey screeched. “Convicted? I wasn’t convicted of anything! I’m a reporter. I have First Amendment Rights. I demand a lawyer.”

“I see mikes up there,” Tyler said, craning his neck. “But I don’t think they’re on. They’re probably filming but people at home can’t hear us. If this is a TV show.”

“They’ll be provided limited weaponry,” the voice from the speakers continued. “And unlimited zombies in a timed set of rounds.”

“Oh shit,” Chris muttered. “This is bad.”

“Are they serious?” Kelsey turned toward the others. Her eyes were wide and wild.

“I think they are, my dear,” Gus said with a sigh. “So we had best get ready.”

Heavy music played and Chris could just imagine that they were showing credits now, maybe even flashing pictures of him and his fellow “contestants” doing God knew what kind of criminal acts. He doubted that the producers of this “show” were telling the audience that all of them were working against the lies of the government.

Robbery, murder, treason… sure, he would guess that would get an audience worked up. They might even root for the zombies.

A bunch of rattling, banging sound echoed from above and the sound of metal doors slamming open.

All four of them jerked their gazes upward. A shadow was descending and Chris’s heart started to pound against his ribcage so hard that it hurt. What the hell was coming toward them? A platform of zombies? A bunch of makeup and wardrobe people?

The answer came soon enough. The platform stopped at about shoulder height and revealed weapons. Three weapons. A machete, a crossbow with about ten arrows and a baseball bat.

“There are four of us,” Tyler said. “And only three weapons.”

For a moment all of them looked at each other, then the teen snatched up the crossbow and arrows and headed across the cell.

“What the fuck, kid?” Chris barked.

“Stay back!” Tyler lifted his crossbow and loaded an arrow. “Don’t make me use this.”

“Asshole,” Kelsey said. “Okay, two weapons and three of us. What to do?”

“The prisoners have thirty seconds before insertion of zombies,” the voice from the speakers announced. There was a thrill from the voice. Like this was awesome.

It was not awesome.

“Chris should take one,” Gus said. “I’m a bit weak on my right side, I’m not sure I would do well.”

Chris glanced at Kelsey, who shrugged, so he grabbed the machete. She took the bat. With a smile for Gus, she said, “Stay close to us. We’ll try to keep you safe.”

Gus nodded. “Thank you, dear.”

The platform that had held the weaponry rose up and away and then there was more banging. And it was joined by growling.

“They’re coming,” Gus whispered as he backed closer to Kelsey.

She nodded and maneuvered herself in front of him. One of the cement panels lifted with a grinding sound and revealed four zombies. They were half-rotten ones, obviously turned months before. Their clothing was tattered and dropped around their emaciated bodies. They were so decomposed that it was hard to tell if they had once been men or women.

Not that it mattered. Zombies were zombies. Sex, religion, color… none of that mattered. Undeath was the ultimate equalizer. As the door clanged against the ceiling, the zombies turned and the caught sight of the four humans. They growled in unison and rushed in toward them.

“Fight!” the announcer ordered from the speakers.

“You don’t have to tell us twice, asshole!” Kelsey snapped as she swung the bat toward the first zombie who came close to her. She connected squarely, although only with an arm that went flying across the room like a boomerang.

“The head, right?” Chris said with a glare in her direction.

“You think I don’t know that after all this time?” Kelsey barked and swung again. This time her shot was true and she collapsed the skull of the zombie, crushing it like a tin can. “Ha!”

Chris switched his attention to the three remaining zombies as he did his best to keep unarmed Gus behind him and away from harm. One of the zombies lumbered toward him, whimpering and grumbling in that annoying and repetitive way the creatures had. He slashed the machete toward him and neatly separated his rotting head from his decomposing neck. Across the room, Tyler fired his crossbow wildly.

“Watch it, kid,” Gus said. “You don’t want to shoot us. Aim!”

Tyler fired again and this time he hit his target right between the eyes. Kelsey finished a second zombie with her bat and the room was quiet again.

But only for a moment. The speaker high above crackled again. “All our contestants have survived the first round. When we come back, the second wave of zombies! After this word from our sponsors.”

The speaker went dead.

“How long do we have?” Tyler asked as he crept back to the middle of the room.

Kelsey glared at him. “Thirty to forty-five seconds. Better start gathering up those arrows.”

“Why?” Tyler asked.

She shrugged. “They never said anything about us being given more weapons. I’d want to reuse them if I had the crossbow.”

Tyler cursed under his breath and dove for the body on the floor. With a grunt, he pulled the arrow free and then ran around the room trying to find his wild shots. He held one shattered arrow up.

“This one hit the wall,” he whimpered.

Chris shrugged. “Better aim better next time.” He turned toward Gus. “You okay?”

The old man nodded. “Oh yes. Just trying to stay out of the way. If you need any help from me, let me know.”

“I have no idea if the zombies are going to start coming from different sides of the room,” Chris said. “You could try to let us know if we’re being flanked.”

Gus nodded. “Sure thing.”

“And we’re back,” the speaker voice said. “The second round starts in three… two… one…. Fight!”

“Oh my God, it’s like a messed up video game,” Tyler said as the same wall that had lifted before lifted a second time and revealed eight zombies.

“Two for one special,” Chris said. “Head’s up.”

Tyler started firing, Kelsey swinging and Chris did his best with the slash and hack. They were able to get half the zombies taken care of before the remaining four got into close range. Kelsey staggered back and Gus caught her elbow and steadied her while Chris slashed the zombie who had gotten near her. She quickly recovered and swung her bat to clear out another.

“Nice shot,” Chris started when there was a thwack from Tyler’s crossbow and then Chris was thrown back against the wall. Searing pain exploded from his shoulder and he looked down to see what he already knew.

An arrow was sticking out of his shoulder.

“Oh Christ!” Tyler screamed. “I’m sorry.”

“Chris!” Gus said as he moved toward him.

“Shoot you little fucker,” Kelsey shouted as she swung her bat at another of the circling zombies. She caught him, but though his forehead dented, he was still lucid enough to hurdle himself toward Chris and Gus on the ground.

He hit Gus with all his weight and the old man tumbled forward against the cement floor. He shouted and tried to flip over, but before he could the zombie sunk his teeth into Gus’s neck. Blood squirted from the wound and sprayed across the floor.

Kelsey screamed and brought her bat down on the zombie with all her might. He shuddered and then went still on Gus’s prone body. Tyler shot the final remaining living dead and all of them stared at each other, then Gus as the voice above crackled to life again.

“Round two is over and it looks like Gus Hardwick, convicted child molester, is our first causality. When we come back, round three.”

Gus shook his head as he flopped onto his back. “Child molester? I would never- I could never-” His eyes welled with tears.

“Shhh,” Kelsey whispered. “Of course you wouldn’t. They’re just trying to spike ratings and not let people know the truth. I’m sorry.”

Chris glared at Tyler. He could hardly see straight, his shoulder hurt so bad. The teenager swallowed hard before he turned his back and started a secondary search for fired arrows.

“You shouldn’t be sorry,” Chris muttered. “Tyler should.”

The kid spun on him. “What?”

“You shot me and that made Gus try to help me. He got attacked because of you.”

“Speaking of that,” Kelsey said. She leaned over Gus and grabbed the arrow in Chris’s shoulder with both hands. “Sorry.”

Then she yanked. Chris screamed as the arrow slid from his body. Kelsey threw it toward Tyler and then reached out to cover the wound with her palm. “We need something to bind this before the next wave.”

Gus coughed and sat up. “Here, take my shirt,” he said and opened his orange jumpsuit. He pulled off the white undershirt beneath. “Wrap it up and then… well, you need to kill me.”

“No!”Chris jerked his head toward the old man even as Kelsey started wrapping his shoulder.

“You know you have to,” Gus insisted. “Kill me before the next wave comes or else you’re going to have one extra zombie on your hands.”

Kelsey tied her make-shift bandage and looked at Chris. “We have to.”

Chris swallowed. “Okay. Who should do it?”

Kelsey blinked and he could see her blue eyes had filled with tears. He reached for his machete, hand trembling and hesitated. “I-”

There was a thwack from Tyler’s crossbow and an arrow cut through the air and sliced through Gus’s temple. The old man let out his breath with a long sigh and went still.

“What the fuck?” Chris asked, jumping to his feet to lunge for the kid.

Tyler backed up, crossbow already reloaded and ready to fire.

“Look, he was going to be a zombie and since you two weren’t doing it, I had to. I had to.”

“You little punk-” Chris started.

Before he could finish, the speaker voice came again. “Ready? Round three!”

The wall slid up a third time and Chris could see feet beneath it before it lifted entirely.

“Get ready!” he said, forgetting his issues with Tyler, at least for now. “It could be sixteen if they double again.”

“Oh God,” Kelsey sobbed. “Please don’t let it be sixteen.”

Of course it was. The wall cleared and there they stood, a pod of mindless, emotionless killing machine. They stared at the three remaining humans for a moment and there was a united cry of primal hunger from the zombies.

“Oh shit,” Tyler screamed. Then he turned his crossbow around and fired it toward himself.

The arrow sliced through his skull like a hot knife through butter and the kid collapsed forward, sending the crossbow skidding across the cement floor toward the zombies.

“Shit!” Kelsey said. “We could have used that.”

“Just swing,” Chris shouted as he started doing the same. “Swing at everything.”

She dove behind him, put her back to his and both of them started to do exactly that. Zombie arms flew, blood and sludge made the concrete slick beneath their feet and occasionally a skull bounced away like a basketball.

“Look at the technique!” the speaker voice said with enthusiasm. “Kelsey and Chris have killed six of the sixteen zombies in the span of three minutes. Amazing!”

“It’s only amazing if we survive,” Chris shouted with a glare of annoyance at the cameras. “Keep swinging, you’re doing great!”

“Thanks,” Kelsey grunted as she threw her entire body weight into her next pass of the bat. “You aren’t so bad yourself.”

They continued for another few minutes. And finally, zombies lay in piles all over the floor, dripping sludge and drool and festering bodily fluids to stain the porous concrete.

“Is that it?” Kelsey panted.

“We’ll be back!” the voice above them promised.

“I guess that’s it,” Chris said, trying to catch his breath. He looked around. There were more bodies than spots of clean floor. He turned to Kelsey. “If we have a round four, it’s going to get hard to maneuver. What do you think of trying to move some bodies over in front of that door they come out of?”

She nodded with a grin. “They’ll trip! Perfect. Hurry.”

Together they started dragging bodies off the main floor and toward the sliding section of wall. They piled them up, crisscrossing them to create the biggest road block they could manage.

“I’m going to grab the crossbow,” Chris said and started across the room to where it had slid.

Kelsey bent to grab another body. “You know-” she started, then let out a blood curdling screen.

Chris spun around to find that the zombie she had been dragging hadn’t been dead after all. It had her wrist and had sunk its teeth into her flesh. It tugged, pulling her skin away from bone.

“Fuck!” Chris bellowed as he loaded up the crossbow and fired. The zombie collapsed against the concrete and Kelsey yanked her hand free. She cradled it against her body and began to weep.

Chris hurried to her side. “Oh shit! I’m sorry, I had no idea.”

She sniffed. “I-It’s not your fault. I should have looked closer. I can’t believe I slipped up.”

He reached for her, but she slid away. “Don’t, please,” she whispered. “It will only make it harder when you have to-”

She broke off but she didn’t have to finish the sentence. He knew what she meant.

“Kelsey.”

“Will you do it before they come back from commercial?” she asked. “I don’t want to be executed live. They should at least have to go to the tape.”

Chris swallowed and nodded. “Close your eyes.”

She squeezed them shut and he fired the crossbow. She made a tiny gurgle before she flopped back on the concrete, her hands still clenched together against her chest.

Chris turned away. He felt sick. Behind the wall, it had been months since he saw death like this. Since he had to fight zombies. Since he had to kill a… well, they were friends in a way. Comrades in arms at the very least.

And now he was alone. And there was probably a “round 4” coming for this sick little battle.

As if on cue, the speaker above crackled. “Welcome back. During the commercial…”

There was a long silence and Chris could only imagine that Kelsey’s death was now being played live.

“So now we are left with Chris. And our time is up for today’s episode. So Chris survives our first edition of Zombie Wars! Congratulations Chris. But as a murderer of several innocent people, we can’t allow you to run the streets. So your prize is to be released into the Badlands behind the Wall. You will be released unarmed.”

Chris shut his eyes. Unarmed. In the Badlands.

“Tune in next week when we’ll unleash zombies on four more convicted criminals. Will any of them survive Zombie Wars?”

“Hey!” Chris shouted as the voice went silent. “When do I get out? When do you let me go?”

The creaking from above that they had heard before came a second time and the shelf that had lowered for the weapons came down to shoulder height a second time. The speaker activated again and a new voice came on. A woman’s voice.

“Deposit all the weapons onto the platform.”

Chris hesitated. “I can’t take anything?”

“Deposit all weapons on the platform, now,” the voice repeated.

Chris tossed the bloody machete onto the shelf, found the crossbow and did the same. Finally he pried Kelsey’s bat from her dead fingers and placed it beside the others. The platform lifted away again.

“Now what?” he asked the voice from above.

It didn’t answer, but instead a different wall panel in the cell began to slide upward. Chris tensed. Shit, if there were more zombies… well, he was dead.

Only when the wall finished lifting, there was nothing behind it but another wall.

“Step inside. Once the wall closes, a door will open and that leads to the Badlands.”

Chris swallowed. “How do I know you aren’t just going to close me in there and let in more zombies?”

“Those aren’t the rules,” the voice said. “Now go.”

Chris shrugged. Since he had no choice…

The wall moved shut behind him and he stood in pitch blackness for moment before there was a creak, a pop and a door flew open in front of him. Sunlight streamed in from outside. And he looked out over the barren desolation on the other side of the wall. There were zombies roaming around in pods here and there. They hadn’t noticed him yet. But he knew they would.

So he did the only thing he could.

He ran.

Enjoy these short stories? Be sure to check out Married With Zombies, the first in the “Living With the Dead” series! Here is Chapter One:

David and I became warriors in the zombie plague on the first day, but don’t think that means we were front line soldiers or something. In truth we stumbled into the zombie battle because it was a means for pure, physical survival.

But I never would have guessed that unlike therapy, unlike the self-help books that littered our apartment at the time, killing zombies would save my relationship.

But let me back up. It all started on August 10, 2010. Wednesday was couples therapy day. It had been for six months, although I was beginning to think that all this talking and sharing and role playing that our therapist Dr. Kelly preached was nothing but a bunch of bullshit.

Despite her advice, despite all our visits to her office, David and I were on the brink. I had even researched divorce lawyers in our area on the internet. The thing was when I put “divorce lawyer” into the search engine on our shared computer… well, let’s just say that I didn’t have to type the whole phrase before it popped up in the system memory as something that had been searched for before.

So by the time we were driving down I-5 South into the heart of downtown Seattle toward Dr. Erica Kelly’s tidy, sterile little office, I was just going through the motions of therapy and making a mental list of all the things I didn’t like anymore about my husband.

The item I added to my list on August 10th was the CDs. You see, we share the car and the deal we’d struck was that since six CDs can fit into the changer, I could pick three and he could pick three. But as I cycled through the changer, keeping one eye on the road ahead of me, I realized that every CD was his.

Every. Fucking. CD.

That probably seems like a little thing, and in retrospect it was. But I guess that just goes to show you how far off the track we’d gotten.

I switched the stereo off with a flick of my wrist and glared at David from the corner of my eye. As usual, he was so wrapped up in one of those handheld games he loved that he didn’t even notice my annoyance. Or maybe he was so used to it, he didn’t care anymore. Either way, it sucked.

“Traffic seems pretty light,” he said without looking up.

I glided onto the off-ramp and looked around. As much as I hated to admit it at that point, he was right. We’d lived in Seattle since our marriage five years ago and traffic was one of the main things that drove me nuts about the city. At any time of day or night there seemed to be thousands of cars crowding the highways. Sometimes I wondered where the hell they all came from.

But today, at four-thirty in the afternoon, when there should have been bumper to bumper cars and trucks honking their horns and blocking the street, instead there were no more than a handful of vehicles around.

I shrugged as I stopped at the red at the bottom of the ramp and checked to my left before I started to roll out into the intersection to make a right. Just as I touched the gas, an ambulance screamed by. I slammed on the brake with a gasp and barely avoided getting t-boned, first by the veering ambulance and then by the five police cars that raced behind it.

“Shit, Sarah,” David barked, bracing himself on the dash of the car as he glared at me. His seatbelt strained against his shoulder. “Watch yourself.”

“You know, if you’re going to drive, maybe you should sit in my seat,” I snapped, though I couldn’t really blame him for being freaked out. I don’t think I’d ever come so close to having a major accident and my heart was pounding. Without saying another word, I waited for the green before I double checked for cars and made my turn.

Within a few blocks we pulled into the parking garage at the downtown office building we had been going to once a week since February. I sighed as I slid up to the guard box to check in and get our parking pass. But as I came to a stop, I realized that Mack, the usual security guy who greeted us every week, wasn’t at his station.

You may think it’s weird that I remembered his name, but I have a reason. You see, every time he checked us in, he asked who we were seeing and when we said Dr. Kelly he gave us the look. The pity look. It stands out in your mind when a perfect stranger is giving you a “your relationship is doomed, how sad” face once a week.

When there wasn’t the usual banter with the security guard, David looked up. “Not there, huh? Weird.”

I glanced at him quickly then back to the empty box. “He must be around here somewhere. His TV is on, I can see the light of it flickering below the window line.”

“Maybe he just went to take a leak or something,” David said with a shrug. “Look, let’s just park. We’ll only be here a bit over an hour. If we have a ticket on the car when we come out, we’ll go talk to him about it. He’ll remember us, I’m sure we can work it out.”

I stared again at the empty booth and gave a shiver. It just seemed so weird that after 24 visits with the same routine, today was suddenly different.

“You’re right,” I said as I put the car in gear and inched into the garage.

David let out a snort as he pocketed his game system in his hoodie and unbuckled his seatbelt. “Wow, I hardly ever hear that.”

I swung the car into a space close to the elevator bank and slammed on the brake, purposefully making David catch himself on the dash a second time.

“Nice,” he muttered with a glare in my direction as he got out.

So what I did wasn’t subtle, but I couldn’t help but smile as I followed him across the quiet parking complex to the elevator. It took a minute for the elevator to come and since we apparently had nothing to say to each other, we just stood there with the sounds of the streets outside the garage echoing around us as the only accompaniment to our dysfunction.

There were cars honking, sirens wailing, even the drone of a helicopter as it swooped in low overhead. I hardly noticed any of them. Now I kinda wish I had, though I don’t know if I ever could have put two and two together at that moment. At the moment, it was just city noise, only magnified to the nth degree.

Once the elevator finally came, we rode up in silence, not even standing close to each other until the car dinged and came to a stop at the fourteenth floor of the complex. This ritual was so commonplace to us by now that neither of us needed to even look where we were going to find Dr. Kelly’s office.

Dr. Erica Kelly, MS Psychotherapy, Marriage and Family Counseling.

I hated how the little letters etched on her door were so even. I can’t even draw a straight line. The letters were a damned judgment.

The office was quiet as we stepped inside. Dr. Kelly had once rambled on and on about creating a calming “Zen” environment. I had only just kept myself from asking her if she wanted “Zen”, why did she pipe in musak versions of Nirvana songs that made my music-loving heart stop and my stomach turn every time? Today, though, the musak wasn’t a good band. I think it was Miley Cyrus, which was probably worse.

I turned toward the sliding glass area where Dr. Kelly’s receptionist, Candy, generally sat. But, just like in the garage, the enclosed area was empty, though her little rolling chair had a pink sweater draped across the back of it and a half drunk bottle of Diet Coke sat on the table top.

“Hey, Candy?” I called into the back office area as Dave flopped into a cushioned chair. “You here?”

There was no answer so I signed the sheet that sat on the counter. It had a smiley face in the corner and Dr. Kelly’s name and credentials in pretty lettering across the top. I wondered if they’d notice if I drew devil’s horns on smiley? If Candy did, I guessed I’d have to explain myself to Dr. Kelly. I wasn’t really in the mood to discuss which of my feelings had inspired me to be so naughty, so I fought the urge and set the pen down.

With a sigh, I took a place next to Dave. The couch was uncomfortable.

“What is up with everyone today?” I asked as I grabbed for a Cosmo Magazine with the article title “Please Your Man — In Bed and Out!” emblazoned across it. I didn’t flip to it, but went straight for the horoscopes in the back.

“Just chill, Sarah,” Dave said as he pulled his game out of his pocket. It lit up as he opened the case. “I’m sure she’ll be back in a second.”

“Yeah, I guess,” I said as I looked at the empty vestibule a second time.

“So were the Wonderful Wilsons signed in?” Dave asked in a sing-song voice.

I let out an involuntary groan. The Wilsons. They were the couple who had the appointment right before ours. God knew why, seriously. They totally held hands on the way out, making little coo noises at each other. It was borderline disgusting.

Once I’d asked Dr. Kelly why the fuck they came to therapy and she had tilted her head in that “how-do-you-feel-about-it- Sarah” fashion that made her perfect blond hair swing prettily around her heart-shaped face. Her smile was so calm it kind of made me want to punch her. Hard. Twice.

Then she said, “They come here for maintenance. Don’t worry, Sarah, we’ll get you and David there.”

Maintenance. Like we were a car. Oh yeah, except that since I was spending a hundred and fifty dollars a week on a therapist, I couldn’t afford the maintenance for my car and now it made this weird clunk sound whenever I turned left.

I glared at the clock. It was almost five now and Candy still wasn’t at her desk.

“Do you think Candy Cane quit?” I asked in a hushed tone.

Dave laughed without looking up. I mean, really, who named their kid Candy and didn’t expect people to crack that joke? I think it was her whole name, too, not short for Candace or anything reasonable like that.

“Okay, it’s after five,” I said as I watched the minute hand slip past the twelve.

“One minute.” He looked up briefly. “Maybe the Wonderful Wilsons actually had a problem to discuss today. Do you really want to derail their perfect existence?”

“Their problem is that stick up their asses,” I said as I tossed the magazine aside and got to my feet. “And now it’s two minutes, Dave. Didn’t Dr. Kelly lecture us about punctuality and how it equates to respect?”

“God, you are obsessive,” he said as he snapped the game system shut and pocketed it. “Do you want to barge in there and demand two minutes worth of cash from the woman?”

I stared at him, looking up at me from his slouched position on the couch. Sometimes I caught myself and remembered why I had liked him when I met him. Even now he looked… bad. You know, in a good way. Just a little tousled, just a little imperfect. Sort of sexy.

But then he glared at me and the moment passed, so I went back to cataloguing his faults, instead. Unsupportive, I added to myself.

“Yes. I do. I’m paying for this shit-” I ignored his flinching reaction to that. “-so I want my full benefit of it,” I said as I pulled the door to the back room open and moved down the hall to the suite where we always met with Dr. Kelly. “Two minutes of money at a hundred fifty an hour can buy me-”

“A bottle of water and pretty much nothing else,” Dave snapped as he followed me. “Come on, Sarah. There’s no reason to be such a bitch.”

“I can’t believe you just called me a bitch!” I said, staring at him over my shoulder as I yanked the door open. “Dr. Kelly, do you approve of my husband calling me a-”

I turned toward the open office and stopped talking. There was our therapist of six months, wearing one of her impeccable black pant suits with the usual silk shell underneath. This one was a bright blue that matched the pretty necklace dangling around her neck. And she was with the Wonderful Wilsons, just as we had suspected.

Only instead of sitting behind her desk with her notebook, looking over the rims of glasses I was sure were fake as she counseled the couple, Dr. Kelly was kneeling on the floor, her suit covered in blood. Mrs. Wilson, I think her first name was Wendie (with an “ie”), was sprawled out beside her with her throat still leaking blood from a huge bite on her neck. Her eyes were cloudy and blank.

As for Mr. Wilson… maybe it was Mark, I couldn’t really remember… Well, Dr. Kelly was paying special attention to him. She had his limp hand in hers as she leaned over him… eating great hunks of flesh from his shoulder.

Check out these other books by Jesse Petersen:

Married With Zombies (Living With the Dead 1)
Flip This Zombie (Living With the Dead 2)
Eat Slay Love (Living With the Dead 3)