Tim Meyer

LESS THAN HUMAN

For my Pops, the best man I know…

Special shout out to Pete Draper and his red pen of destruction.

And of course, my wife, Ashley Meyer, for if it wasn’t for her, none of this would be possible.

CAGES

CHAPTER ONE

Gunshots removed him from a dream he wouldn’t remember. The hotel room came into focus faster than it had faded hours before. Dim light entered his eyes. The other man in the room rushed over and helped him to his feet, his arm still throbbing from where the car had barreled into him.

Gunshots again. Screaming.

From the look on his face, the man could tell what he was going to ask.

“They’re okay,” the man said. “They’re still in their rooms.”

The kid nodded. Opening his mouth, he found speaking difficult. His throat burned, sore and scratchy from heaving into the bushes earlier that day. He still tasted vomit, spat dry air.

The kid nodded at the door as the firearms continued singing their thunderous songs.

“I dunno,” the man said. “Other survivors, maybe.”

More gunfire. A man cheered unnecessarily loud, like an overly-proud parent at a soccer game.

“They sound happy,” the kid croaked. Short rounds of shells being emptied into the groaning horde, their chatter echoing in the night.

Then, they heard a voice that made their hearts sink.

“Help us,” a girl next door called. “We’re trapped. Please… help us!”

“Help us,” Brittany Torres begged through the small crack between the door and the jamb. A walking corpse that had passed their room suddenly changed direction, started shambling toward them. Its head splintered into a thousand pieces when a man standing in the bed of a black, muddy pickup truck aimed his shotgun and pulled the trigger. Brit recoiled. A minute later, after several additional rounds of shotgun chatter, she returned to the cracked doorway, pleading for help once again. “We’re trapped in here!”

“Brittany, get away from the door!” her mother hollered.

Huddled in the corner of the room, Victoria Torres cradled Emily, Brit’s younger sister. The three of them had been watching the parking lot for the last hour, unable to move as the slow-moving corpses quickly multiplied. As the minutes passed, their chances of leaving diminished. They waited for the dead to break down their door, bringing their doomed journey to an end.

That’s when the three Good Ole Boys showed up toting shotguns, swigging whiskey straight from the bottle, and blowing away the flesh-crazed corpses with their boom sticks. Redneck-looking motherfuckers sporting flannel shirts with the sleeves cut off and the bottom of their jelly-bellies slightly exposed. Trucker hats covered their balding heads. Brit noticed two of them had full-grown beards, while the other sported an unruly goatee. They appeared drunk, shouting wildly. Celebrating as their shotguns popped the corpses’ heads like balloons at a dart-throwing contest.

Brit called to them once again. This time, they heard her.

“Who dat?” asked the one standing in the back of the truck. The burly man reminded her of alligator wrestlers she had seen on television. “Someone out der?” he said. “Quiet ya’ll,” he hushed his companions. “Think I hurd sometin’.”

“We’re in here!” Brit shouted over the groaning horde and their shuffling feet.

The man in the truck scanned the lot, spotted Brit waving to him from the motel room. “Well, I’ll be goddamned! Cooter, Floyd, looks like we gots ourselves other survivors!” Then he bellowed “Heeee-hawww,” which attracted several dead folk. They crept over to him, their arms outstretched, craving the taste for the shotgun-wielding man’s organs. He put them down without any hesitation, laughing as their heads exploded like light bulbs, splattering against the pavement. He reloaded, letting out another alcohol-induced battle cry. “Come on out der, lovely lady. Don’t worry. Ole Otis T. Barker has come to save yer pretty little ass. Ain’t he boys?”

The boys cheered, raising their bottles in agreement.

Brit turned to her mother and her sister. “They’ve thinned the pack by half. We can make it if we run.”

“What about Ben and Josh?” Emily asked.

Her mother ignored her. “How do we know we can trust those guys?” Victoria asked. “They sound… drunk. And crazy as hell.”

“We don’t have much of a choice, Mom. We can either hope they’re decent country folk or stay here and get torn apart by zombies.” Brit arched her eyebrows, impatiently waiting for her mother’s response. “Your choice.”

“Shit, Brittany. I wish you’d discuss things with me before calling out to strangers for help,” she said, scrambling to her feet. “Come on, honey.” She helped Emily to her feet, wrapping her arms around the young teenager.

Together, they walked out into the zombie-populated parking lot.

“Well, well,” Otis T. Barker said. “Ain’t ya’ll a sight fer sore eyes.”

“They’re leaving the room,” Josh said.

“What?” Ben asked.

Josh had been watching the whole scene unfold, informing Ben about the three inebriated gentlemen in the pickup truck, firing off rounds left and right, leaving a long crimson trail of headless bodies before them.

“Yup,” Josh said. “They’re moving through the zombies. There’s only about two dozen left. That guy in the truck bed took most of them out. Dude’s a pretty good shot.”

Josh’s admiration for the man in the truck didn’t exactly comfort Ben. He slipped his heel into his shoe, then sprung to his feet. “Help me grab some things.” Ben started packing snacks and bottles of water into the plastic bags he had collected the day before. Josh scurried away from the window and helped him.

“So much for waiting for sunup,” Josh said.

Ben packed the last of their supplies, then headed toward the door. Josh grabbed the blood-stained baseball bat, resting it on his good shoulder.

“Ready?” Ben asked.

Josh nodded.

Ben pushed the door open, then sprinted toward the truck. Josh followed him. The parking lot smelled like rancid meat. A limping dead man greeted them, mouth open, ready to consume whatever flesh it could. Josh silenced its snarls by swinging the bat level with its cheek. The zombie’s jaw disconnected from the lower half of its face, disappearing into the darkness. It continued after him, hands grasping for Josh’s sweaty, warm flesh. Although it had no means to bite him, it pursued Josh anyway. Once again, he raised the bat, aiming a little higher this time. He swung for the fences. The corpse’s head snapped sideways, became detached. Well, sort of. The rotten cranium clung to the zombie’s neck by a thin strand of sinewy material. Blood oozed from the dent on the zombie’s skull. It stumbled around for a brief moment before its knees buckled, sending the thing that used to be human to the ground. Josh almost puked when he saw maggots spill out of the empty cavity where its head and neck were once attached.

He didn’t waste time ending the creature’s misery. Josh weaved between the dead, trying to catch up with Ben, who was only about ten paces away from the truck. He saw the girls had already been huddled into the bed. The burly hunter extended his arm in Ben’s direction, a drunken smile somewhat hidden in his bearded face. The man squealed when his comrade took the head clean off a zombie’s shoulders before yanking Ben into the back of the truck.

Josh hurried toward the truck, dodging the lazy attacks from nearby cadavers. He hustled, making it there, struggling to find his breath. The big oaf helped him into the bed. Josh swung his legs over the side of the truck, away from several of the approaching dead. Otis Barker took them out with ease. Josh watched in grotesque awe as their heads exploded, leaving wet clouds of crimson in their wake.

“Let’s get the hail outta hur!” Otis yelled to the driver.

The driver pointed out of the window. “Look, Otis! It’s one of dem runnin’ kinds!”

“Shee-it,” Otis muttered.

Out of the darkness, a freshly-turned corpse materialized. The running corpse moaned incoherently between bites of another man’s hand. The flesh-eater raced toward them with the quickness of an Olympic sprinter. No longer concerned with his current meal, the zombie chucked the gnawed hand, concentrating solely on the bags of meat in the back of the truck.

Otis aimed his gun. Fired. The shotgun roared, the barrage of bullets bringing the runner to the ground. The zombie crawled on the road, gnashing its teeth together, craving the coppery taste of blood.

“Say g’nite, mo-fucker,” Otis said, then blew the zombie’s head to bits, leaving a red smear on the asphalt.

The boys howled into the night like wolves at the moon.

As they drove off, Ben wondered if the girls had made the right decision.

“Ain’t no sense goin’ back now,” Cooter said, once they had distanced themselves from the motel. “It’d be suicide.”

“My car is back there,” Ben argued. “There are essentials in there. More water, snacks, toothpaste—”

“We got all dat sheet,” Floyd told him through his long, strawberry-blond goatee, which ended near his abdomen. He reminded Ben of ZZ Top. “Sheet, ya’ll can come back with us. We got plenty.”

“Really?” Victoria asked. “We wouldn’t want to be a bother.”

“Ain’t no bother,” Cooter said. “We like helping strangers. Lots a folks need help now. Especially since we da’ only ones with power in deez parts.”

Ben looked at him curiously. “Did you say power?”

“Sure as sheet did. Got generators. Three of dem. Big fuckers. Got ’nuff gasoline to last us years.”

“Holy shit,” Brit said, smiling. She hugged her mother and her mother squeezed back so tightly she thought her ribs might crack.

“Mister, you don’t know how happy we are to hear you say that,” Ben said. “You don’t happen to have a working telephone, do you?”

“Yessir, we do,” Otis said. “Only, don’ know who’d pick up in a time like this.”

“I’d like to call my ex. She lives in Pittsburgh with my son. Even if she doesn’t answer, I’d like to leave a message. Let them know I’m coming.”

Otis shrugged. “Don’t see the point, but whateva. What dem Mexicans say? Mi casa, su casa, oh some sheet.”

Everyone smiled. Even Josh. His face glistened beneath the moonlight. Sweat dribbled down his neck. His hands twitched uncontrollably. Come on, man. He closed his eyes. Get a grip of yourself.

“Fucks wrong wit dat one?” Floyd nodded at Josh.

“He’s sick,” Ben answered for him.

Josh shot him a thankful glance.

Otis peered at Ben, squinting. “He bit? Don’t ya lie to me now.”

“No. No, he’s just—”

“Sheet. Looks like he tweakin’.” Otis chuckled, stroking his mustache. “Need a fix, huh, son?”

Josh looked at the redneck with leery eyes.

“Sheet. I know a tweaker when I see one. You’s a tweaker.”

Silence fell over them.

“No matter!” Otis exclaimed. “Tweakers and non-tweakers be welcome at the Barker residence. Sheet.”

“We would pay you for your hospitality, but I guess money isn’t really an issue anymore, is it?” Brit said, laughing uncomfortably, hoping to end the awkwardness.

It only made things worse.

The Barker Brothers’ (the side of their pickup proclaimed) eyes fell on her, undressing her slowly. They made no effort to hide it. Brit averted their gaze, suddenly wishing she was someplace else. Sadly, they were stranded. They were in the middle of nowhere. In the dark. The salty smell of marsh was all around them. They had no car, no way of escaping. They were at the mercy of their rescuers. The tone of the evening had reversed itself. Brit suddenly wished she had stayed in the hotel room, living dead or no living dead.

“Der other ways of payment, missy,” Cooter said, puckering his lips.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Brit said, disgusted. They probably had six teeth between the three of them. The idea of her lips even coming within an inch of their mouths made her want to hurl. They smelled like stale tobacco and sweaty armpits. Even the marsh couldn’t overpower their unpleasant musk.

“If you think that—” Victoria started to say.

“We just joshin’ ya. We ain’t like that,” Cooter said. “Are we boys?”

“Nope,” Otis said, grinning.

“Naw, our momma raised us right,” Floyd added. “Ya’ll meet her real soon. Sheez a peach. Just the best damn lady ya’ll ever meet.”

Ben smiled. “Sounds nice,” he said, barely able to concentrate on what was going on around him. All he wanted was to hear his son’s voice again.

“Well, what’re we waiting fer?” Otis said. “Let’s get own home.”

The ride home was bumpy due to the many unpaved roads they had taken. The rocky trip made Josh queasy and he threw up over the side of the pickup truck several times. Otis smiled at him from the other end of the bed. Josh wrinkled his face at him, not quite grinning, and not quite telling him to go fuck himself, but somewhere in between.

About twenty minutes later, they arrived at the Barker’s residence. It was lit up like a Christmas wonderland, minus the faux snow and Santa Claus decorations. The two-story Victorian home loomed before them like a lighthouse amid the fog. It wasn’t just sanctuary, but a symbol of hope. Ben felt something flow and ebb through him, a sense that maybe everything was going to be alright after all. Judging from his companions’ faces, they felt the same way. Even Emily’s face cracked a smile.

“Won’t the zombies see this place? It’s lit up like an amusement park,” Josh said. His stomach had settled for the time being.

“Naw,” Otis said, as Cooter brought the truck to a stop in the middle of the endless front yard. The dark made it impossible to tell where their property ended. “Ain’t no folks live close to here.”

“What did you guys do before the apocalypse?” Ben asked timidly.

“Construction,” Otis grumbled. “Come on. We’ll introduce ya’ll to Momma Barker.”

Momma Barker greeted them on the porch, happy to see some new faces. “Welcome ya’ll!” she said enthusiastically. “Make yerselves right at home.” She was old—really old. Josh figured her days on earth were numbered even before the dead started reanimating. She could probably pass as one of the dead, Josh snickered to himself. She hobbled around on an old wooden cane, stained dark mahogany and clear-coated with something shiny. Her lips trembled when she wasn’t speaking. Perched on the end of her nose, her glasses were much too small for her face. “I got some fried chicken in the oven. Should be done in bout fifteen minutes if ya’ll wanna wash up while yer waiting.”

“That sounds excellent,” Brit said.

Her mother nodded.

Emily smiled as her stomach grumbled. The thought of eating fried chicken filled her mouth with water. She could almost smell it. It smelled the way Victoria made it every Wednesday night after Girl Scouts. Her eyes welled when she thought about her camp and what had happened there. Her friends. Ranger Steve. The old woman, what was her name? Emily tried her best to concentrate on something else.

“Ma’am? I was wondering if it would be okay to use your telephone? I just wanted to call my son, see if he’s alright,” Ben said respectfully.

“Absolutely. Come own in, come own in.” She waved them in and the five of them were herded like lambs lured to slaughter. “I’ll take—what was your name, sweetheart?”

“Uh, Ben. Ben Ackerman.”

“I’ll take Mr. Ackerman to use the telephone. Otis—you and Floyd show our guests where they’ll be staying.”

“Yes, Momma.”

“Such good boys,” she muttered, waving Ben on.

Ben nodded to the rest of the group. The rest of the group nodded back, wishing him luck. Then he turned, following the elderly woman as she limped her way down the hall, into the kitchen.

The smell of fried chicken entered his nostrils, his stomach calling for it in a series of gaseous rolls of thunder. The old woman must have heard it.

“Poor thing. Ya’ll must be starving.”

“Yes, ma’am. I don’t think any of us have eaten since this whole thing began.”

“I’ll fix ya’ll the best fried chicken ya’ll ever had. Popeyes ain’t got a thing on old Mae Barker. Ya’ll can take that to the bank.”

Ben chuckled at the old woman’s quirkiness. She seemed sweet. The southern grandmother he never had. “I can’t thank you enough for taking us in,” Ben told her. “You’re a mighty fine woman to be doing such a good deed.”

“Oh, stop it. Ain’t nothin’ but a little southern hospitality where I’m from, that’s all. Anyone over here’d do tha same damned thang.”

“I doubt that very much,” Ben said. “You from the south then?”

“What gave that away, I wonder?” Mae Barker asked. “The accent or the home décor?”

Ben glanced around the kitchen. “Little bit a both, I suppose.”

“Born and raised in Alabama. Moved to Pennsyl-tucky after the boys’ Pa passed away.”

“Sorry to hear that, Mrs. Barker.”

She shushed him. “Call me, Mae. And don’t be sorry. Calvin Barker was a cheating, lying, yellow-bellied son-of-a-beech anyway.”

Ben chuckled.

Through the doorway entered a girl no older than one of Ben’s high school students. She was wearing skin-tight jeans, tattered and holey by design. Her hair was braided into pigtails. She was wearing an old, stained tee-shirt, raggedly severed at the shoulders and beneath her tiny breasts, exposing her midriff. Ben could see she wasn’t wearing a bra underneath it.

“Bobbi-Jo, what in tarnation! Go put some dang clothes on for goodness sakes!” Mae Barker yelled. “We got company.”

Bobbi-Jo turned around, spotting Ben.

“I’m Bobbi-Jo,” she said in a high-pitched voice. “Sure is glad to meet ya!”

“Nice to meet you, too,” Ben said, adverting his eyes from her scant wardrobe.

“Ben and his friends will be staying with us,” Momma Barker explained. “Why don’t you go help your brothers get them… situated.”

“Sure thang, Momma,” she said. “I hope to see you around, Mister Ben.”

Ben nodded as she bounced out of the room.

Once she was gone, Momma Barker shook her head. “I sincerely apologize for that. I want you to know I’d never let my daughter leave the house that way. No sir.”

“I believe you, Ma’am.”

“Kids these days.”

You have no idea, Ben thought, thinking about all the dress code violations he had seen at school over the years, never reporting a single one of them.

“Well, there it is,” Momma Barker said, pointing to the telephone that rested on the kitchen table. “Guess I’ll give you some privacy. Holler when yer finished. I’ll send Floyd to show you to your room.”

“Thanks again.”

The old woman nodded, hobbling toward the hallway.

Ben removed the phone from the receiver, raising it to his ear. Dial tone brought tears to his eyes.

“Ya’ll goan be down here,” Otis told them, opening a door, revealing a staircase.

“In the basement?” Brit asked, sounding surprised.

“Well, sheet. Better down there, than out der wit the dead folk.”

Brit exhaled, realizing he was right. “Okay, fine. Let’s do it.” She looked to her mother, then her sister.

“At least we’ll be able to get a full night’s sleep,” Victoria said.

“Great! Follow me,” Floyd said. He descended into the dark. “Watch yer step. Light switch is in tha cellar.”

Brit followed. Her mother was behind her. Emily gripped her mother’s hand as they walked into darkness. Josh wanted to be the last to go, but Otis insisted. Hesitantly, he followed Emily and Victoria. As the steps creaked beneath his feet, uneasiness fell over Josh. He felt Otis’s overpowering presence behind him and he instantly felt trapped. You’re just paranoid, he thought. It’s just the drugs fucking with you. It had been a while since Josh felt normal and until now, he thought he was handling the strange feelings the withdrawals tossed at him quite nicely. Now he felt panicked, claustrophobic, like there was another person inside of him trying to writhe his way out. He almost turned around, wanting to push the overly-excited brute aside and scramble toward the exit. But then the lights came on, and Josh felt more at ease.

That was, until he exited the staircase and found his feet on the concrete floor. He stared around the room in a haze of confusion. He heard the girls gasp collectively. Josh felt his jaw slack, his mouth open. He rotated, trying to make sense of it all. He saw the decently-spaced basement was fenced in sections, from the floor to the ceiling. It took him a moment to realize these were cages, with locks on them. Dog kennels perhaps, although the Barker’s weren’t keeping dogs down there.

“What the fuck?” he babbled, stupefied.

A familiar voice answered on the second ring. Ben’s heart pumped so rapidly that he thought it might explode. Despite their past differences, Ben was glad to hear her in that moment. “Hello?” she answered, her voice groggy and half asleep.

“Melissa…” he said.

“Yes?” There was a pause. “Who is this?”

“It’s Ben.”

There was another pause and for a second, Ben thought she was going to hang up. He was about to open his mouth to tell her not to, when he heard the name he hated so much. “Benjamin?” she asked. “Holy shit, Ben? Is that really you?”

He wiped the tears away from his eyes, swallowing hard, trying his best not to cry too much. “Mel, is Jake—is he… alive?”

There was a deep sigh on the other end of the line. “Ben… he’s… Ben…”

Ben swallowed hard. Oh God…

“Jake is fine. He’s sleeping in his room as we speak. Ben—are you okay?”

“No, I’m pretty far from okay.”

“We’ve been watching the news. Everything they say…”

“I know it’s fucking crazy.”

“Ben, New York City is on fire. The whole city is burning to the ground. Other cities, too. We thought… We weren’t sure if you made it. We were starting to prepare for the worst.”

“I’m alive.”

“Where are you? Are you still in Jersey?”

“No… I’m…” Ben noticed some mail sitting on the counter. He thumbed through it. “I’m in Cold Creek, Pennsylvania.”

“How far is that from Pittsburgh?” she asked.

Ben heard another voice ask her who the hell was calling at that hour. At first he thought it was Jake, but the voice was too deep. Melissa told the voice that it was Jake’s father. The man sounded astonished that Ben was still alive. Disappointed too.

“I don’t know. Not too far I think. I can probably reach you in a few hours.”

“Well you better be quicker than that,” she said gloomily.

“What do you mean?” Ben asked, confused.

“Oh, shit that’s right, you can’t watch the news.”

“Mel, what the hell is going on out there? How do you still have power? Are there any zombies by you?” Ben asked.

“Well, yeah. There are zombies. But not many. The situation has been controlled over here. But by you… the entire East Coast, Ben… It’s…”

“It’s what, Mel? What’s wrong with the East Coast?”

There was a pause. “It’s completely fucked, Ben. And the government—well, what’s left of them anyway—they’re going to drop a bomb on it.”

Ben was at a loss. He opened his mouth but only a barely-audible squeak came out. He thought he heard Mel say something about going west, to where it was safe, but he tuned her out. A low-pitched drone was all he heard.

“Everything east of Philadelphia is going to be wiped off the map, Ben.”

Just before he was going to tell Mel that he was coming for Jake and to tell the little guy not to worry, that his father would be home soon, something hard hit Ben in the back of the head. His vision blurred before he could do or say anything. Strength abandoned his knees.

Ben collapsed into utter darkness.

Standing in the middle of the road, the kid was covered in blood from head to toe. His shirt had been reduced to tattered ribbons, his pants caked with filth and gore. His bare feet were scraped from dragging them against the pavement. Droplets of blood trickled down his fingers, forming a scarlet pool around his feet. Behind him, the sun peeked over the horizon. Rows of empty houses stood tall on both sides of the suburban road. Slowly, the kid stumbled towards Ben Ackerman, who rested on his knees, his arms open, ready to embrace his only son.

Ben heard himself cry, uttering Jake’s name.

“Daddy,” Jake said. “Daddy, you’re home.” Jake shambled toward him, zig-zagging drunkenly. “Daddy, I missed you.”

Ben told his son that he missed him too. Very much. More tears fell from his eyes. Ben watched his son grow closer, a tiny smile appearing on his blood-slicked face. His hair was matted with bodily fluids. Chunks of brains and bone rested in the tangled mess like dandruff. The white of Jake’s eyes stood out through the gore. Ben closed his, waiting to feel the warmth of holding his son again.

Once in range, Ben reached out, wrapping his arms around him. He hugged him with all of his might, so hard that he expected Jake to protest. But he didn’t. Jake hugged him back, repeating the words, “I missed you, Daddy,” over and over again.

Blood smeared Ben’s face, stained his relatively spotless clothes, but he didn’t care. The cozy sensation from holding Jake felt too good.

Suddenly, Jake pulled back. He looked his father in the eyes, smiling. “Want to meet my friends?” Jake asked. “They’re really cool.”

“Sure, Jakester.”

A horde of dead men and woman appeared in a circle around them instantly. Their appearances mirrored Jake’s, but most of them were worse. Flaps of skin dangled from their faces. Broken bones protruded through their thin, colorless skin. Some of the walking corpses were missing appendages.

Ben didn’t recoil. He didn’t run. He stared at his son confoundedly, awaiting answers to questions that went unasked.

“They’re my family now. Not you.”

“No, Jake,” Ben said. “No. I’m your family.”

Ben noticed one corpse in the crowd moving toward the front of the pack. Jake’s mother. Melissa walked toward them, weaving her way through the dead concourse. She groaned, reminding Ben vaguely of the times he’d been inside her. The noises associated with love-making were disturbingly similar. She pursed her lips back, displaying two rows of rotted teeth and black gums. She was holding the hand of another zombie, whose face was so badly decayed it was unrecognizable. Fuck buddy, Ben thought, as the circle enclosed on them.

“Join us, Daddy?” Jake asked. “Won’t you?”

“Sure, Jake. Anything for you.”

And as the famished monsters reached for him, Jake put his mouth on his father’s neck, and tore a hunk of meaty flesh—

Ben awoke abruptly, snapping out of the horrific nightmare. He realized he had awakened inside a new one. The concrete floor was cold beneath him. The room was dank and smelled like urine, as well as other unknown pungent odors. He glanced around, surveying several unfamiliar faces, and the four he had been with before he ended up…

Where am I? Ben asked himself.

“Welcome to Hell, mister,” the black man in the cage next to him said. He had his arm around a young man, whom Ben assumed was his son. They were sitting, backs propped against the heavily-textured stucco wall.

“Where are we?” Ben asked, looking at Josh, who had been tossed in the cage across from him.

“The basement. Motherfuckers duped us,” Josh told him.

“You,” a man uttered contemptuously. He was kneeling on the floor, in the same cage as Ben, pressing his face against the chain-linked prison bars. His face was badly cut, blood had dried in streaks on his cheeks. The victim of a few angry tree branches perhaps. His shirt had holes big enough to be fingered and his slacks shared a similar story. He was dirty. Smelled bad. Much worse than the other dozen prisoners. “I… know you,” he said to Josh.

“Excuse me?” Josh said.

“You’re Josh Emberson, right?”

Josh looked at the man, shaking his head. “Look, man—” And then it hit him like a swift kick in the crotch. It was his eerily familiar face, one Josh wasn’t particularly fond of. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

“It’s me. John Vander. Olivia’s father.”

“Yeah, I almost didn’t recognize you without your glasses and those cuts and bruises.” Olivia flashed into his mind, as she seldom did those days. Her nearly-perfect naked body. Her sweet smile. The magic tricks she could do with her tongue. “Where’s Olivia?” Josh asked, although deep down, he knew.

John Vander shook his head, his glassy eyes telling the whole story. “She didn’t make it. We were driving back from June’s mother’s house when these psychos abducted us. They… I don’t know what they did with Olivia and her mother. But… those bastards told me they didn’t make it.”

“Shit.” Josh took another moment to reflect on the good times he had with his ex-girlfriend. The drugs. The sex. The unfathomable sensation of mixing those two things together. “How long have you been in here?”

“A week.”

“I’ve been here four days,” a man sporting a trucker hat said. He was in the cage to Ben’s right, alone. Ben noticed a burgundy stain on the concrete next to where the man sat. He assumed it wasn’t spilled wine. The stain looked weeks old and the truck driver didn’t appear to be wounded. “They took me at a truck stop in Voorhees.”

“They took us out of our homes,” a woman in her forties said. She was with her son, a twenty-something year old. “Three days ago.” She had an accent that wasn’t quite southern, but not Jersey either.

“We need to get out of here,” Ben said. “And soon.” He recalled what he had been told right before the attack.

“Well, I tell you what—you let us know when you find a way out,” the black man said.

“What’s your name?” Ben asked.

“Me? Name’s Ross. This is my son. Landry.” He put his hand on Landry’s neck and gave it an affectionate squeeze.

“Well, Ross. I’m Ben. Sitting across from me, in that cage over there, is Josh.” Ben nodded to the cage farthest from him, to the right of the staircase. “That’s Victoria and her daughters Emily and Brittany.” He looked at the cage to his right. There was an old man sitting there with long silver hair and a cowboy hat. He reeked of smoked tobacco. Ben looked to the woman and her twenty-year old son. “I think we should go around the room and introduce ourselves.”

“What’s the point, man?” a middle-aged man rudely inquired. He was in the same kennel as Ross and his son.

“Because. If we’re going to get out of this thing, we are going to have to work together. And that means we have to trust to each other. The only—”

“There’s no getting out of this,” the bespectacled man interrupted. “I’ve been here for almost two and a half weeks. Two and a half weeks. Do you know what they do to the people they bring here? They take them, in small groups, and they never return. It’s been going on ever since I woke up here.”

“Two weeks ago?” Josh asked. “You mean… you don’t know what it’s like up there, do you?”

“I tried to tell Jason here about the zombies,” Ross said. “But he won’t listen.”

“Can you believe this fucking guy?” Jason asked. “Keeps going on about fucking zombies.”

“It’s true,” Ben said.

“I’ve seen them too,” the woman with the twenty-year old said. “I’m Tabby by the way. This is my son, Anthony. He’s mute, so he won’t be saying very much I’m afraid.” Anthony shot his mother a disdainful look, rolling his eyes, clearly embarrassed. She shrugged her shoulders, continued running her fingers through his hair. Anthony tilted his head down, staring at the floor. “The zombies are real,” she added, then peered at Jason, who shook his head disbelievingly.

“Yeah, yeah. You fucking people are crazy, you know that?” Jason chuckled somewhat madly. “There’s only one way out of his place, man. And that’s if those redneck motherfuckers drag you out.”

“Well, we better find another one.” Ben looked around the room, surveying their worried faces. They wore looks of despair. “Because what’s headed our way… is a lot worse than what those apes upstairs have planned for us…”

CHAPTER TWO

TWO DAYS AGO…

It had been over a week since Ben Ackerman felt alive. The past few days consisted of ambling back and forth between the couch and his bed. He was still unable to keep a meal down, which led to many trips to the bathroom. Salty crackers seemed to be the only food his stomach didn’t reject. The beginnings of a beard started to bother him. He hoped to find the strength to erase it soon.

Ben found himself in front of the bedroom mirror, appearing too thin. Much too thin. The emaciated reflection of himself was barely recognizable. The bathroom scale informed him that he had lost over twenty pounds since he got sick. Jesus. The number was alarming considering he was under his average weight before he started his saltine-only diet.

Despite his frail frame, Ben felt much better. He had an appetite, which relieved him greatly. The thought of eggs and sausage made his mouth water and his stomach growl.

After he ate, Ben decided to retrieve his mail. He wondered how large the collection had grown over the past week and how many bills awaited his arrival. Since the sickness hit him full force, this was first time he stepped foot outside. Slowly, Ben trudged toward the mailbox, shielding his eyes from blinding sunlight. Although he felt better, his muscles remained stiff from inactivity. Ben’s eyes were still acclimated to the dim indoor lighting, burning with intensity when sunlight hit them. It would be a few more days before he felt one-hundred percent again, however, he was thankful to be on his feet. Ben had never been a sit-around-the-house kind of guy. If his free time wasn’t spent grading papers or editing stories for the local newspaper, he was doing yard work or fixing up the old Mustang, which currently took up most of the room in his garage. That and hundreds of tools forced Ben to park his blue Sonata in the driveway.

Ben grabbed the pile of mail from the mailbox, flipped through the envelopes lazily. Electric bill. Water bill. Lawyer bill. Doctor bill. Oh, a Chowmart Ad. Nothing interesting, nothing that required immediate attention. He wedged the envelopes under his arm, journeying back toward the house. His legs ached like he had ran a marathon. The flu had gotten the best of him, hit him real hard. He couldn’t remember the last time he was that ill. Doctor Dillon had called in a prescription to help, but really the only thing to do was rest and wait it out. “You’ll start feeling better in about week,” he had told Ben over the phone. And sure enough, today, he felt much better.

As Ben dragged himself across the front porch, he noticed suburban life around him was fairly quiet, which seemed odd for summertime. The street was eerily grim, void of the everyday outdoor functions. It was like everyone had up and left. Maybe they’re all on vacation, Ben thought. Or at the beach. It was, after all, the first week of summer vacation, the first week the kids had off from school. People were most likely out and about, doing things that involved cool water and catching sun-rays. Especially since Red River was only a five-mile hike from the shore. The beach was probably packed, every grain of sand occupied. Although Ben hated trips to the beach since childhood, even he admitted today was the perfect day for sand and sun.

But…

Surely there should be someone outside; the kids from down the block riding their bikes; Mr. Weathers from across the street letting his dog out to shit on the sidewalk; the always scantily-clad Miss Andrews watering her plants while all the men on the block watched from their garages as their wives writhed their noses at her from their living room windows; the elderly Philip Morrow trimming his hedges symmetrically even though they were already immaculate.

Someone. Something. Anyone.

As strange as it was to see no one, Ben didn’t dwell on it for very long. Instead, he went inside and plopped himself on the couch, drained from his mailbox excursion.

Ben knew he had to call Melissa. She wasn’t his favorite person to talk to, and he knew she wasn’t going to have anything pleasant to say, but he had to do it. It was a phone call he dreaded, yet enjoyed at the same time. He missed her voice, her nice voice, not the screaming, psychotic voice she so frequently displayed when they were together. Every time he picked up the phone to call her, his thoughts wandered into memories of her, both joyful and painful. They had been married for ten years. They had good times and they had bad times. Ultimately, the bad outweighed the good, something he kept reminding himself of, especially when he was alone with his thoughts, missing the sound of her nice voice.

Ten years, he thought. What the hell was I thinking? Really, they shouldn’t have stayed together that long. They only tried to work things out for one reason, and that was Jake.

Jake was eight when his parents split. Like most kids when words like separation and divorce are brought to the dinner table, Jake blamed himself. He cried and moaned about it for days, telling everyone, teachers and classmates included, that his parents hated him and their main goal in life was to ruin his. He acted out in class, on the bus, and at home. Sometimes violently, but mostly Jake verbally disrupted daily routines, using words children his age shouldn’t. Before Ben started sleeping on his colleagues’ couches, Jake had been a real treasure. He always received fantastic grades and his teachers had nothing but positive things to say about him, especially when it came to manners. “A polite little boy,” a teacher once said. “A real joy to be around.”

That changed quickly once his mother threw his father out. Jake started playing the role of class troublemaker, spending at least one day a week in the principal’s office. Getting Jake to do schoolwork—or any work, for that matter—was like pulling teeth without any Novocaine. Teachers began hating him. He lost the friends he made the prior year, creating enemies. Many hours were wasted in after-school detention. Jake Ackerman began his trek down a dark, lonely path.

Then came the decision to leave New Jersey and take Jake to the state his mother grew up in: Pennsylvania. The decision came as quite a shock to Ben, considering he was told his opinion didn’t matter, that he had no say in the future whereabouts of his only child. Enraged, he argued with Melissa, even threatened to take her to court, but in the end he gave up fighting and Melissa got her way. Just like she always did. A kid needs his father, his mother’s voice chirped inside his head. She pushed for Ben to get a lawyer, but he declined. It was only going to make things worse for Jake, and the kid had been screwed up enough over their inability to stay cordial. So, for the sake of Jake, Ben signed the necessary paperwork and let him go, a decision he’d always second guess.

A kid needs his father.

Ben had no plans of being an absentee father. He would see Jake as much as he could, which the way he figured it, would be at least one weekend a month, sometimes two. The town they moved to was just outside of Pittsburgh, about a five-hour drive from Red River. It wasn’t convenient, but they’d make it work. Unless, Melissa wanted to be a bitch about it. And why not? She had been about everything else.

“It’s almost been a year,” she said. “It’s time to get over it, Benjamin.”

Benjamin. He hated that name. And she knew it. That’s all she called him since their separation.

“I think it’s time we make it official.”

Ben had been forced to call her the day his illness began. He was scheduled to drive to Pittsburgh the following day, but had to postpone his departure due to the unusually high fever and lack of energy. He knew Melissa wouldn’t give half a shit whether he drove out or not, but he was concerned how Jake would take the news. The last time Ben saw him was back in March. He had plans to see him a few times since, but Melissa unexpectedly canceled them.

Too long, his mother’s voice echoed in his mind. Way too long. He agreed with Mama Ackerman, but sadly, there was nothing that could be done about it.

“I know,” Ben said. “Look, I know I’ve been holding off as long as possible—”

“Benjamin, if this is another feeble attempt to persuade me to come back to New Jersey, then you can forget it.” Ben had held off signing any legal documents in case Melissa changed her mind and decided the things that came between them could be worked out, and that maybe they could reignite the flame that had kindled so many years ago. In reality, that wasn’t going to happen. “I need you to sign the papers… this is getting to be fucking ridiculous.”

“Okay, so mail me the papers and I’ll sign them.”

“I did mail you the papers. Six fucking months ago. You said ‘don’t worry about it, I’ll take care of it.’ Well, Benjamin, my lawyer hasn’t heard a peep from you since, so what the hell is going on with you?”

He could hear the hostility in her voice.

“Okay, okay. Look, I’m not feeling too well. I think I’m coming down with something. As soon as I start feeling better, I’m driving out to see you. I promise. We’ll get everything squared away and we’ll be done with it.” Ben took a deep a breath, then exhaled. “Fine. I lost them. I’ve had a lot of shit on my plate, Mel. Between work and my father…” He stopped. His father hadn’t been well. Not at all. The doctors claimed there was nothing that could be done for him. The bottom of his hourglass was almost full. (Their words). Ben usually made sure to visit him at least once a week, sometimes twice, depending how much Mama Ackerman begged him.

“I’m really sorry about your dad, I really am.” Finally, a little compassion. He knew it wouldn’t last long. “But this bullshit has gone on long enough. It needs to end soon.”

Ben agreed, only to spare himself the grief of listening to her bitch for another half hour or so. Then, he asked to speak with Jake. There was another moment of silence and Ben knew she was contemplating saying no. She had threatened him in the past, when Ben had been more combative about signing the divorce papers. But today, he was calm. Maybe if he had more strength he would have fought her, asked her to reconsider her life-altering decision, but he had been down that dead end before. Many times. And yet, he still clung to hope, the idea that one day they’d be a family again.

“Fine,” she said. She yelled their son’s name so loudly that Ben had to hold the phone away from his ear. Ben heard pitter-patter across the hardwood floor and a second later, he heard heavy breathing in his ear. It made him smile. His heart pumped aggressively.

“Hey, Dad!” Jake practically yelled.

“Hey, Jakester. How’s it going?”

“Eh, okay. I missed the last week of school. Wasn’t feeling too hot.”

“That stinks. You know, I’m not feeling too well myself. I think I have a fever.”

“That’s what I had!” Jake almost screamed. “The doctor said it’s real weird to get sick like that in June, but lots of people are getting it. He doesn’t know why.”

“That’s weird…”

“Anyway, have you seen the news?” he asked excitedly.

“No, I haven’t really watched any TV today. Why? What happened?”

“Oh, man. Crazy stuff is happening all over the place.”

“Really? Like what?” The first thought that popped into Ben’s head was another natural disaster. A hurricane, a tornado, or maybe even a tsunami. Something catastrophic that claimed the lives of a few hundred people. Then his mind went somewhere darker. Terrorism.

“Some guy went crazy on a bus in California. The police are saying he was eating people.”

“What?” Ben asked, almost not believing it. He turned on the television, flipping to the first news channel he could find. Sure enough, they were covering a story close to what Jake had described. Only, this event took place inside a diner in Boston. A man stumbled into the joint looking for something a little more exotic than lemon meringue pie. He gnawed on a man’s ear for several moments before some brave patrons attempted to subdue him. They succeeded, but not without casualties.

Ben flipped the channel to a different news station—CNN. Same story, different city.

People were going mad.

“David thinks it’s drugs. Bath salts or something. Dad, what are bath salts?” Jake asked innocently.

“They’re something you put in the water when you take a bath. It’s supposed to relax you. Jake, who is David?” Ben had never heard the name mentioned before.

“Mom’s new friend. He’s over like all the time. He’s really cool!” Fucking fantastic, Ben thought. Suddenly, he wondered if David was the first guy to be with his ex since her big move. Second? Third? Thinking about it made him nauseas. “He’s taking me to a Pirates’ game next week.”

“Super,” Ben said, trying not to sound bitter.

“Don’t worry, Dad. It’s not like he’s her boyfriend or anything.”

Oh, Jesus. “I know, Jakester. And you know what? Even if he was, it wouldn’t matter. Your mom and I, we aren’t together anymore. Remember?”

There was a pause. “I know…” There was no controlling the sadness in his voice. “I just… I thought…”

“We went through this, Jake. I thought we had an understanding.”

“We do… I just…”

Hope was the word his son was looking for. It was, after all, the same word that bounced around his mind daily.

“Look, Jake. I’m coming out to see you as soon as I’m better. I’m going to stay at a hotel near your Mom’s and we’re going hang out everyday, I promise. Sound good?”

“Yes…”

“Awesome. Don’t worry about anything else, bud. Everything is going to be fine.”

“I just miss you, Dad.”

“I miss you too, kiddo.”

They said their goodbyes and hung up.

Ben remembered wiping the tears away from his eyes with his knuckles before falling into a sickness-induced coma.

He awoke the next morning on the couch, mail scattered on the floor below him. It was dark, so Ben instinctively figured it was nighttime. He swung his legs off the couch, placing his feet on the carpet. They weren’t as sore as they were when he went to get the mail. He stretched, yawning simultaneously. He craned his head toward the battery-operated clock on the table next to the couch. It read five-oh-three. He had been asleep for almost fifteen hours.

Ben dragged himself across the carpet, stepping on the envelopes containing worries he’d soon no longer be concerned with.

As he moved from room to room, Ben realized he was back to his normal self. In fact, as the moments passed, Ben started feeling better than he had before the flu incapacitated him.

He grabbed his cell phone from the charger, searched for Melissa’s number. He was only calling to inform her that he planned on leaving once he packed a few things. That was all. Just a warning so she could prepare herself. Maybe tell her new boy-toy that it would be best to make himself unavailable over the next week or so.

A smirk found Ben’s face while he tried dialing her number, but the call was dropped immediately and Ben realized the phone had no service. He shrugged his shoulders. Strange, he never had issues with reception in the kitchen before. Ben tried the bedroom, achieving the same result. Zero bars. The bathroom, the living room, the spare bedroom, and the garage—all dead zones.

Hm, Ben thought. I knew there was a reason why I didn’t cancel the land line.

He took the phone off the receiver. No dial tone. He examined the connection, making sure it was plugged into the wall, and it was. He glanced around the living room, realizing the lights were off. Ben flipped the light-switch and nothing happened.

“Goddamn power outages.” They were common in June when the heat was almost unbearable, especially on his block. It would happen at least once a week, sometimes lasting an hour. But this didn’t explain why his cell phone wasn’t working.

Ben decided to give the power time to come back on. In the meantime, he could pack his clothes. If the power didn’t come back on by the time he was finished, he was going to drive and show up at his ex’s doorstep unannounced. He’d still try to call her on the way, but if she didn’t pick up… oh, well. Her problem, not his.

Packing his bags took a little longer than he expected. The power remained out when he finally finished. He peered out his bedroom window, staring at his neighbors’ houses, wondering if they were having the same issue. He suspected they were. The streets were darker than usual.

Ben decided to wait for the sun before beginning his journey to Pittsburgh, hoping the power would come back on by then. Unfortunately, it never did. Ben found himself sitting in the dark, contemplating his next move. “Fuck it,” he muttered. He wanted to see his son very badly, and a silly little power outage wasn’t going to delay his trip another second.

Before throwing his luggage in the trunk of his Sonata, Ben cleaned out the refrigerator, discarding everything that would begin to stink in a couple of days. The power company didn’t exactly have the reputation of being speedy. He recalled an incident a few years back, after a fairly-destructive hurricane, when it took them nearly a week to get things running again. He didn’t know how long it was going to take this time and he didn’t want to take the chance of coming home to a house reeking of spoiled food. After he filled a garbage bag with all of the perishables, he went out the back door and jogged over to the giant garbage can on the side of the house. He threw the bag in the big black can, then whipped out his cell phone.

No service, his cell phone informed him.

Dammit, he thought, moving to the front yard, passing the small bed of flowers that Melissa had once planted, but never took care of. Still no bars. He reached the driveway, holding the phone up in the air, as if it that were going to magically help him establish connectivity.

Ben slumped his shoulders. He was just about to head inside when he heard glass shattering inside his next-door neighbor’s house. Curiously, Ben stepped toward the Yoland’s two-story ranch. “Rose?” he called out. “Larry? You guys okay?” He crossed onto their property, bounding the steps leading to the front porch. He put his eye up to the front door’s obscured-glass window, peering inside. It was difficult to see. He could make out the hallway, but it was blurry. He tried the door knob, but it was locked. Once again, he put his eye to the glass, trying to see what the commotion was. “Rose?” he called again. “Larry?” He knocked on the door, but no one answered.

He was about to give up when Ben heard a noise coming from within. Someone was groaning, an agonizing cry that got Ben’s blood pumping. His first thought was one of them had fallen. The Yolands were old and deserved the attention a retirement home could give them. Another moan came from within the house. “Rose?” Ben yelled. “Larry! Answer me!” If someone had replied, Ben didn’t hear it. He took a step back, then bull-rushed the door, driving his shoulder into it. The frame cracked. On his second attempt, Ben lunged forward, his body colliding with the door, busting it open. He fell into the foyer, a long hallway lay before him. An awful smell entered his nostrils, instantly making Ben’s stomach lurch. He did his best to keep from gagging. He surveyed the area around him, unable to locate the noise he had heard from the porch.

“Rose? Are you okay?” Nothing. “Make some noise if you can hear me.”

The house reeked of death and decay. Ben thought he might become reacquainted with the eggs and sausage he ate for breakfast.

As he stood on his feet, Ben finally spotted what had caused the place to stink like roadkill. At the end of the hallway, Larry Yoland was sprawled on the floor, beyond the doorway that connected the corridor to the kitchen. “Larry?” Ben asked. “You okay, man?” Larry didn’t answer. He remained motionless.

As Ben neared the kitchen, the smell intensified. Larry’s body became clearer, each step revealing gruesome details. Ben gagged when he reached the doorway. A black cloud of flies hovered above his body, buzzing with fervent joy. The right side of Larry’s face had been torn off, exposing raw facial tissue and cavity-ridden teeth. A dark pool of blood circled his body. Most of it, Ben noticed, had come from the gaping hole in his stomach. His entrails were curled on the floor next to him. One of his arms was missing, ripped away at the shoulder, exposing the bone.

Ben shielded his eyes, unable to handle the grisly display. Then, he heard feet shuffling toward him. Whipping his body around, Ben faced the murderer. Rose Yoland stood in the doorway, her lips pursed, snarling. She looked ill, much worse than Ben had over the past week. Her skin was gray. Bloody spittle slowly dripped from her mouth. Her eyes were murky, undistinguished. A deep, animalistic growl escaped her lips.

“Rose? Are you okay?” he asked. Red smears were painted around her mouth. Ben took notice to the blood stains on her night gown as well. Red droplets fell from her filthy fingernails, onto the tile floor.

Ben backed away from Rose, tiptoed around the corpse of his elderly neighbor. Oh, Christ, Ben thought. She ate him. She fucking ate him.

Ben crept into the hallway, mindfully sidestepping the broken door. Slowly, Rose followed him, taking baby steps. She walked like an infant learning how to put one foot in front of the other. Once Ben was through the doorway and on the porch, he immediately felt safer. But that feeling was soon erased when he heard more inhuman chatter behind him. He turned and saw Jackson Harlan, the three-hundred pound bus driver from across the street, stumbling into the middle of the road. He looked the same as Rose. Ben watched in horror as the residents of Densberry Avenue came out of hiding. Each of them moved similarly—slow and awkward, as if they had just exited the bar after last call. Some of them groaned, making unintelligible noises, and some of them said nothing. There were maybe a hundred of them flooding their yards, ungracefully making their way toward the street. Most of them were covered in blood. Their clothes were stained, so were their faces. And they were—

Heading his way.

Ben stood on the Yoland’s porch, watching a flock of zombies scuffle toward him.

The term “zombie” entered his brain the instant he saw them occupy Densberry Avenue. Ben suddenly remembered the brief conversation he had with Jake the day before the flu left him bedridden. High on bath salts, a man went crazy while riding the bus and started eating his fellow passengers. Bath salts my ass, Ben thought. He’d seen enough horror flicks in his time to know what a zombie was, and these people—they were fucking zombies.

He forgot about the news reports. The past week was hazy. He was barely awake for most of it, and the hours he spent conscious weren’t wasted on television; they were spent with his nose in a book or with a pen and paper, jotting down notes about the next Great American novel he always dreamed about writing, but always lacked the time and motivation.

The world went to shit last week and he missed every moment of it.

Just as he was wondering how much of the zombie apocalypse had been televised, a snarling sound caused him to spin around. Rose Yoland was there, maybe four feet from him, grunting and dragging her feet toward him. Saliva flew from her open mouth. Ben took a step backward to avoid contact with her and her bodily fluids. Unfortunately for Ben, he miscalculated where he was on the porch. When he placed his foot on the stairs, he lost his balance. He landed hard on the wooden steps, rolled across the walkway and onto the lawn. He felt air vacate his lungs. Moaning, he crawled away from Rose, who awkwardly began to descend the stairs. Her uncoordinated body caused her to lose balance, and she too tumbled. She landed an arm’s length away from Ben. Immediately, she crawled after him, snarling like a rabid dog.

Ben saw the sea of zombies heading in his direction. They had multiplied since the last time he glanced at the street. Just as he realized how fucked he was, Rose reached forward, grabbing his foot. He tried kicking free, but the dead woman’s grip was something unnatural. He kicked again, more furiously. His foot finally broke away from her clutches. His shoe came off, but it didn’t concern him. Scrambling to his feet, Ben got ready to run. He sprinted toward his backyard without looking back.

Zombies, holy-fucking-shit zombies, he thought, as he bounded the steps of his deck, holding his ribs, trying to regain his breath. Ben wasn’t a doctor—far, far from it—but he had experienced cracked ribs before.

He entered the back door, immediately locking it behind him.

Outside, the dead horde swarmed 19 Densberry Avenue.

Ben paced around his living room, grabbing the sides of his head, muttering the same three words over and over again: “Holy-fucking-shit.” Air slowly crawled back into his lungs and he was momentarily thankful. He was going to need a lot of it, especially if he planned on running from the throng of dead Red Riverians eagerly awaiting his exit.

He continued pacing in circles, his mind wandering in and out of negative thoughts. He wrestled with the realization that the world had virtually ended, that there would be no more electric or cable bills. No more credit card payments. No car loan payment. No mortgage. No lawyer fees. No child support?

Keep it together, he thought. You need to get out of this.

Ben grabbed his suitcase, ran to the cabinet where he kept some snacks. He only packed a few, hoping to stop somewhere on his way to Pittsburgh. He didn’t know how bad it was out there, but he was prepared to go a few days without food if he needed to. He might not have a choice. He headed to the front door. Scratching and moaning sounds stopped him from going anywhere near it. Fuck. They probably had the whole place surrounded. He heard pounding on the windows. It was only a matter of time before they would break in. He saw shadows moving behind the curtains. Lots of shadows.

The roof. It was his only chance. Ben raced down the hallway, locating the attic stairs. He unfolded them, climbed quickly, and ascended into darkness. He almost tried pulling the chain on the light, but then remembered there was no electricity. Dumbass, he thought to himself. He cursed himself for not bringing a flashlight, probably one of the most important things he could have packed in his survival trunk. He debated whether or not to run back down the stairs and grab one out of the junk drawer, but the sound of shattered glass quickly determined that going back was not an option—unless he wanted to end up the living dead’s breakfast.

The inarticulate vocalizations of the zombies quickly filled the living room. Ben reached for his Smart-Phone. Even though it was useless for making calls, it proved resourceful in other ways. He selected the flashlight application and the tiny light on the back of the phone illuminated the attic. You lucky bastard, he thought, as he ducked trusses, rolling over pink tufts of insulation. He continued until he got to the far end of the attic, where a fan blocked him from getting to the roof. It was roughly the size of a manhole cover, and Ben felt he could squeeze through it, if only the blades weren’t there.

Ben started removing the metal grate that covered the fan. To his surprise, it popped out easily. Trying to stay calm, he closed his eyes, blocking out the noises coming from the rooms below. Then he thought he heard lumber behind him creak. He quickly spun, shining the light toward the stairs. There was no one there. His heartbeat slowly resumed its normal rhythm.

He turned his attention back to the fan, which he tried removing. It was screwed in and there was no screwdriver handy. Ben started to debate whether or not he had met a dead end. He also wondered if the zombies knew how to climb stairs. If they couldn’t, maybe they’d eventually abandon the house and decide to look for food elsewhere.

Ben started kicking the fan blades, hoping to break, or at least bend two of them back far enough so he could slide through. There was another grate separating the fan from freedom, but it was made of old, rotted wood. It looked flimsy and easy to break. He continued kicking the fan blades. The metal was thin and cheap, curved with each stomp.

Noises. Close. Behind him.

He stopped kicking, rotating toward his point of entry. He saw the top of a head peeking out of the empty square in the attic floor.

“Shit,” Ben muttered, turning back to his only way out. After the two blades were completely bent back, he realized that in order for him to squeeze through, he was going to have to do a third. He didn’t waste any time. He kicked the third blade back, granting him passage to the roof. He lay down, slid himself underneath the fan. He started punching the wood grate, the only thing standing between him and fresh air. The wood cracked, splintering with each attack. In less than a minute, the grate popped off and Ben finally had unobstructed access to the roof.

The morning sun peaked above the horizon, a faint orange glow filling his eyes.

Something grabbed his foot. He turned his makeshift flashlight on the lower half of his body, seeing his new shoe was being gnawed on by Teddy Rowland, a forty-year old computer nerd from three blocks over. Teddy’s head was split open down the middle, but he didn’t seem to mind. From the looks of the wound, it happened days ago. Black blood congealed on his face, his mouth leaking dark fluids onto Ben’s shoe. Ben lashed out, kicking Teddy in the face, sending him stumbling into his dead friends.

Ben didn’t have time reach for his suitcase. He pulled himself through the tiny passageway, landing on the asphalt-shingled roof. He jumped to his feet, ignoring the pain in his ribs. He hesitated, wanting to reach back inside and grab his belongings, but the hole in the siding quickly filled up with zombies.

Never looking back, he run to the edge of the roof. He peered down at the driveway, his eyes honing in on his Sonata. The area was surprisingly clear of walking corpses.

“Here goes nothing,” he muttered, jumping into the big bush. Some of the branches penetrated his skin, but he didn’t care. Adrenaline helped numb the pain. He rushed to the car as quickly as possible, key in hand. A few stragglers who were slow getting to the party turned their attention toward Ben. They changed directions and headed after him, stumbling along leisurely. In the distance, down the block, more dead came into view.

He started the car with only one thing on his mind.

I’m coming, bud, he thought. I’m coming for you. I promised, didn’t I?

Ben Ackerman had no intentions of being an absent father.

CHAPTER THREE

“What are you talking about?” Ross asked. He peered at Ben dubiously.

“I’m talking about getting out of here, before something really bad happens,” Ben told him.

“Haven’t you been listening, fucktard?” Jason spat. “Those fucking savages are going to come back any minute. And when they do, they are going to kill us. Probably torture us, too.” His head craned toward little Emily, who remained quiet throughout the arguing. “Sexually, perhaps.”

“Hey now—”

“Why don’t you shut up,” Josh told the kid, who looked no older than himself. “No need to freak everyone out more than they already are.”

“Oh, yeah, tough guy? What if I don’t? Huh?”

“Then I’ll have to make you.”

Jason lunged forward, pressing his face against the kennel. “You’re lucky this cage is here, or I’d kick your fucking ass, man!”

“Sit down, clown,” Josh chuckled.

“I’ve had enough of your mouth, you shit-nose little punk—” Ross started.

“Oh, yeah?” Jason turned toward Ross, grinding his teeth together. “What are you going to do about it, old man?”

Ross rose to his feet. “Old man? I’ll show you old—”

Before anyone could tell them to relax, Jason lashed out, socking Ross in the jaw. Everyone gasped collectively when his fist rocked Ross’s head backwards. He stumbled but kept his balance. Landry stood up, looking like he wanted to step in and take his father’s place in what had become a steel-cage match. Ross shoved him aside gently. Jason wound his fist and took another swing, a wildly-inaccurate haymaker that Ross sidestepped easily. He jabbed the kid in the ribs, deflating his lungs. Jason stumbled sideways. Ross caught him with a hook across the chin. The energetic, rat-faced punk went down hard, spitting bloody mucus onto the concrete floor.

A gunshot sounded, causing everyone’s shoulders to buck. Hearts skipped. Ringing in their ears left them temporarily deaf to other sounds. They hadn’t heard their three husky hosts enter the basement over their own outbursts.

The Three Little Pigs, Josh thought.

“Well, well,” Otis said, chewing tobacco as he spoke. He spit a long stream of brown liquid into truck driver’s cage, missing his feet by inches. The splatter touched his boots. “What we got hur?”

“Looky like we got ourselves a little alt-cation, Otis,” Cooter said.

“Hey, you… nagger.” Otis stared directly at Ross. “Yeah, I’m talkin’ to you, boy. Get your monkey ass over der. You can’t be goan round beatin’ up erry white boy you see, sheet.”

Floyd, the third and widest little piggy, rushed over and unlocked the cage. Cooter strolled inside and grabbed Jason by his neck, dragging him out. His knees and elbows scraped against the concrete as he cried out, but Cooter didn’t seem to care. In fact, Cooter laughed, hacked a giant wad of snot and spat on his face. “Dumb sombitch,” he sneered.

Otis and Floyd approached Ross, who backed himself into the corner of his cage. Landry tried to reach his father’s side, but Floyd collected him against his chest with his flabby arms. Landry screamed, tried to kick himself free. The big boy’s clutches were like a black hole, absorbing Landry with little effort. Ross instinctively reached out for his son, but Otis took the stock of his shotgun and jammed it into his face. Ross immediately saw stars and fell to the floor. He felt something warm trickle down his upper lip, into his mouth. He tasted copper.

“Looks like someone bought themselves a ticket to the game,” Otis whispered to Ross, who struggled to keep conscious.

“What game?”

Smirking ominously, Otis waved his finger. “Ya’ll find out soon enough.” He nodded to Floyd, who immediately let go of Landry. They exited the cage, Floyd locking it behind them.

Otis turned to Cooter. “Bring that sumbitch.” Otis and Floyd trotted up the stairs and Cooter followed, dragging Jason behind him like a sack of Christmas presents.

The prisoners listened to the kid scream his way to the top before wet slapping sounds silenced him forever.

CHAPTER FOUR

TWO DAYS AGO…

Despite his mother’s plea to always park in the street, Josh parked in the empty driveway. He exhaled, killing the engine simultaneously. Josh didn’t want to be there and he did very little to hide it. It wasn’t that he hated visiting her, and it wasn’t even the fact that he sometimes had to explain things to her over and over again; it was the fact that Josh would rather spend his free time doing other things. Such as riding around doing nothing, smoking cigarettes, smoking weed, finding girls to hook up with, hooking up with them, going to bars, getting drunk, occasionally—but not frequently—starting fights, playing sports, playing sports video games, and doing his best to be an all-around douchebag to everyone he meets. Recently, pill-popping made its way to the top of the list.

As he knocked on his mother’s front door, he surveyed the adult community around him. It was peaceful. More than peaceful. There wasn’t a single person out and about. He assumed old people in this kind of community didn’t get out very much.

Meridith Emberson, however, was not an old person. She was only fifty-nine. They accepted residents over the age of fifty-five, although most were much older than that. The award-winning staff was the reason Meridith decided to check into Pine Coast Village a few years early.

Meridith loved Pine Coast Village. She also loved when her only child came to visit. Unfortunately, she always forgot when he was coming, which made her even more excited when she opened the front door and saw him standing there, glassy-eyed and gawking at the neighborhood homes dreamily.

“Joshy!” she cried out, giving her son a powerful hug.

“Hey, ma,” he said, squeezing her gently.

“It’s been too long.”

“It’s only been three weeks.” It had actually been longer than that, closer to a month and a half, but she didn’t remember those kinds of things. It was cruel how he sometimes used her sickness to skate around visiting her. What she doesn’t remember, won’t hurt her. He repeated the same thing while he slipped a few twenties out her pocketbook whenever she ran to the bathroom during his visits. She always found a few bills missing, swearing she had visited the ATM earlier that day. In the end, she’d deduce that she hadn’t gone at all.

“Well… I can never see too much of my Joshy,” she said. “Come inside.” She patted him on the back as he entered the house.

As she was about to close the door, she spotted her next-door neighbor, Russ Lowery, taking his daily walk. He was stumbling over himself, came close to falling down several times. Meridith smiled, thinking the old coot had a bit too much to drink. She reminded herself that she didn’t want to be outside when Wanda Lowery caught up to him. She had met Wanda several times over the last four years and she was no joy to be around.

Meridith Emberson shut the door. She was going to lock it, but thought about offering her son a cup of coffee instead. In fact, she forgot to shut the door all together, leaving it slightly ajar with enough room for mosquitoes and other summer insects to get in.

Unfortunately for Meridith Emberson, bugs weren’t the only thing out there wanting to get in.

“How have you been feeling?” Josh asked.

“Fine,” she replied. She set two fresh cups of coffee down on the table, one for each of them. She sat down, sighing simultaneously with the creaking of old wooden chairs. “I have good days and I have bad ones. Mostly bad ones. The goddamn medication they have me on doesn’t seem to want to work. They rave about this shit like it’s a miracle drug—well, the only miracle it gives me are bad dreams and awful headaches in the morning.”

Josh grabbed the small bottle off the kitchen table and read the label: APEDESIAM.

“Never heard of it,” Josh admitted.

“Have you been living under a rock?” she asked. She slid a cigarette out of her pack of Misty’s and lit one up. Her son joined her, sparking a full-flavored Marlboro. “This stuff was all over the news. The cure for Alzheimer’s. Yeah, well, some days I wouldn’t be able to remember my name if it weren’t on every envelope that comes in the mail.”

“Sounds bogus.” Josh took a long drag and exhaled.

“What about you, honey? You keeping out of trouble? Got any future daughter-in-laws for me?”

He shook his head, laughing. “Na. Not really. Don’t have the time.”

“What do you have time for?”

That was the question, wasn’t it? He had time to buy drugs and plenty of time to do them. He had time to go to work, although, lately, he had burned through his sick time faster than hemp at Woodstock. Late-night security gigs wasn’t exactly a premier career choice, but it paid his rent and supported his drug habit.

“Not much, Mom. Not much at all.” Josh stamped his cigarette out in the glass ashtray, then stretched his arms behind his head. He was tired. The effects of the oxycotton he had popped three hours ago started wearing off. In an hour, he’d be completely drained and ready for bed.

Outside, something exploded with a thunderous bang. The power went out. Meridith nearly jumped out of her skin. “Oh, dear!” she yelped.

Josh giggled. “Relax, Mom. It’s just the power. It’ll come back on any minute.”

About thirty minutes after the power went out, Josh decided he had had enough. He longed for his cramped, grimy apartment. His mother’s house grew tiresome in no time at all. He only hung around hoping she would leave the room, so he could fish a few twenties out of her purse. He had a craving for Taco Bell and payday wasn’t until the end of the week. Instead, Meridith shuffled around the kitchen, occasionally peaking through the window into the dead world, reciting the names of those who walked around without any agenda.

“And there goes Brenda Johnston. What the hell is wrong with her? She keeps looking up into the sky and walking in circles,” she said, sounding confused.

Josh rested his head on his hands. Yawning, he struggled to keep his eyes open. He couldn’t wait any longer. Stolen money or no stolen money, he decided it was time to leave.

He stood up from the table, grabbing his cigarettes. Pocketing them, he headed around the counter. “I’m gonna run to the bathroom, then I’m heading out.”

“Head out? You just got here,” she whined.

“I’ve been here over an hour, Mom.”

“Well, can you wait until the power comes back on? I don’t want to be by myself without power.”

He sighed heavily as he entered the bathroom, never bothering to answer her question. As he listened to the sound of his piss rain into the toilet-bowl water, Josh swore he heard the front door swing open. There was a loud bang, something heavy colliding with the floor. Then he heard his mother shriek.

“Oh, Tilda. What happened to your fa—” Josh heard his mother say, but her words were cut short by another ear-scraping scream. Then there were other noises. It sounded like dogs growling. Quickly zipping his pants, being careful not to mutilate any parts he might need down the road, he rushed into the hallway.

“Mom? You okay? I heard—”

He walked into the kitchen and saw his mother on the floor, a sea of red beneath her. There was a woman—or at least it looked like a woman—kneeling over her, feasting on a long string of Meridith’s intestines. His mother was squirming, screaming out, extending her arms toward her son. She cried for help. Her eyes bulged out of her skull as she yelled frantically. The woman growled brutishly. She kept shoveling the long pink strand of meat into her mouth, devouring it ravenously.

Josh’s legs felt absent, as if they left the room without him. He froze, his stare locked on the woman’s eyes. They were hazy and lifeless. Gore had settled around her mouth. Some ran down her blouse, a once-pretty blue and flowery-patterned fabric, but now stained dark with blood. The woman’s hair was matted with crimson fluids mixed with chunks of raw meat.

Before Josh thought about rushing to his mother’s aid, a man appeared in the doorway. His gaze mirrored the woman’s. He too was covered in the blood of the people he had mercilessly feasted on. He leered contemptuously at Josh before bolting toward him like a bullet from its chamber.

Instinctively, Josh turned, running as fast as his rubbery legs would carry him. He felt the thing on his heels, the rotten aroma that perspired from its pores filled the air. Josh imagined the man’s fingers on the back of his neck, inspiring him to run faster.

Fear propelled him around the corner, his mother’s bedroom at the end of the long hallway inviting him to safety. Josh sprinted toward it, glancing over his shoulder just in time to witness the intruder’s uncoordinated legs twist, causing him to stumble to the ground. He didn’t stay down for very long. Snarling, the bloody man quickly found his feet and continued after Josh.

Josh scrambled to his mother’s room. He closed the door behind him, immediately locking it.

He jumped back when the zombie ran into the door full speed, cracking the frame, and busting through on its second attempt.

The dead man stumbled into the room drunkenly. His legs criss-crossed. He tripped, falling to the carpet. Josh looked beyond him, down the hallway. He saw the woman with scraps of his mother’s flesh hanging from her mouth rushing toward him. He sped into the bathroom, locking the door behind him.

Zombies, he said to himself. That’s what they are, aren’t they? Fucking zombies. He did not know what else to call them. He heard reports of people high on some unknown drugs walking around eating people, acting like zombies. The closest incident occurred in New Brunswick, at Rutgers University, about an hour from Josh’s apartment. A professor went berserk and stumbled into a freshman’s dorm room, killing three students, hospitalizing another seven before police were forced to put him down permanently.

Fists pounding on the door broke his daydream, forcing Josh to look for an exit strategy. His only way out seemed to be the single-hung window on the wall next to the toilet. He pushed it open. The door frame cracked behind him. He released the small clips on both sides of the window. The screen popped out and fell to the grassy ground below. Then, he dove headfirst out into the zombie-infested world.

Above him, something snarled. He glanced up, seeing the two zombies reaching for him. Not very smart, he thought. Just like the movies. As if on cue, they abandoned their hopeless efforts and disappeared, seeking an alternative way to reach their meal.

Josh ran to the front of the house, fishing through his pockets for his car keys. “Motherfucker,” he muttered. He removed his hands from his empty pockets, realizing he had left his keys on the kitchen counter. Josh quickly debated whether or not to sneak back inside and grab them. As he rounded the corner, he saw the residents of Pine Coast Village being flushed out of their homes by the living dead. Josh decided it was better to do the second idea that came to mind.

Run.

He witnessed an old lady being eaten alive while screaming for help that would never come. A man tried to flee from two zombies in white coats sporting name tags above their right-breast pocket. The old man could not run very fast; two zombies tackled him to the ground with ease. The sounds of his body being torn apart deafened his final cries for help.

Taking a moment to survey the chaos around him, Josh sprinted down the middle of the street, glancing at people being eviscerated on their front lawns. A car came barreling down the street, three zombies clinging to its hood. The driver ended up speeding into a house on the corner, crashing through the vinyl siding, ending up in the homeowner’s living room. The zombies started to pound on the windshield, their dinner helplessly trapped inside. Josh tried blocking out the murderous screams of the living.

Up ahead, flashing lights shone on the dusky sky. He became relieved almost instantly, hopeful he was going to make it out of this nightmare. Never did he think he’d say it, but “Thank God, the cops are here,” fell from his lips. With barely any air left in his lungs, he ran toward the flashing lights as if they were the finish line in a very long, enduring race.

The swarm of flesh-eating corpses outnumbered the cops. A few officers drew their weapons immediately, firing at the oncoming onslaught. Josh watched a few zombies take bullets in the head and fall to the ground like puppets suddenly cut from their string. The officers late to the trigger were slaughtered quickly. The zombies took them with ease. Within minutes, other police officers suffered a similar fate. Josh noticed the remaining policemen were running, returning to their vehicles in cowardly attempts to save themselves. The others were dismembered in the street.

Josh bolted into someone’s backyard. The fact that the authorities had no control over the situation got him thinking about the government and what they were doing about this, if they were doing anything at all. Jersey couldn’t have been the only place being ransacked by the dead. He’d seen the news reports. It was happening everywhere. Kentucky, Colorado, California, Florida, Pennsylvania—shit, Pennsylvania, he thought.

Josh tried concentrating on something else. Baseball season. Video games. The ceramic statue of a fire-breathing dragon where he kept his stash. Olivia.

Through all the madness, he had almost forgotten about her. Olivia, his ex-girlfriend of two years, was visiting her aunt in Harrisburg. It was a trip she took a few times a year. Josh had never been invited. It was mostly because Olivia’s parents hated him, which was fine by Josh, because he hated them equally, if not more so. They forbade him to see her on countless occasions, continuously reminding their daughter that Josh Emberson was a good-for-nothing druggie, who offered her very little in life and would eventually leave her broken-hearted and penniless.

None of that mattered to Olivia Vander. She saw whom she was going to see and that was the end of it. She was twenty-two for Christ’s sakes, capable of making her own decisions, however poor. Her parents pulled the old “if you’re going to live underneath our roof” speech-slash-ultimatum, but that never worked out in the end. They never had the guts to kick their baby out. They knew this, and more importantly, so did Olivia. She didn’t care. Fact was, she liked partying and getting high with him.

Josh thought about getting high again, as he did almost every other second. He almost thought about getting high as much as he did sex.

Josh crept around the corner of a quiet house. In the backyard, he spotted a child shuffling through the guts of her pet dog. The little girl brought handfuls of its innards to her mouth like it was the first meal she had in weeks. As she continued, Josh wondered if the little one could fit the whole dog inside her.

His movements drew her attention. She glanced up at him, her cheeks caked with the dog’s guts, and snarled. She hissed as she rose to her feet. Josh looked ahead, seeing nothing but woods. He decided it was better than heading back to the streets. He sprinted, his lungs still burning for air. Josh’s legs carried him into the wilderness, where branches and leaves met him with unwelcoming arms. He felt twigs brush against his face, scratching him as he flew by. He heard leaves being stamped into the ground behind him. The little girl’s beastly outbursts motivated him to run faster.

Turning his head, he saw the little girl keeping pace with him. Jesus, zombies aren’t supposed to be able to run!

Josh heard the little girl let out a high-pitched yelp, something a wounded cat might make. He looked back and noticed the girl was no longer following him. Instead, she was on the ground, trying to crawl after him. Her foot had sunk beneath the earth. Josh stopped running, stared back at the little girl. She was snapping at him, growling ferociously. She dug her fingers into the dirt, trying to pull herself free from the small sinkhole that held her.

He watched her for a moment, analyzing her actions. She struggled to pull herself forward, her leg bending awkwardly out of place. It wasn’t long before the bone snapped. Josh heard the break, reminding him of a thick tree branch being halved. He cringed as the sound filled the forest around him.

Then the girl was free. It appeared the leg had become detached, and Josh watched in horror as the little girl crawled toward him, stringing along red, gooey chunks of meat where her leg used to be. There was so much blood coming from the wound, Josh couldn’t see where the dismembered part lay. He turned away, still sickened from what he had seen earlier.

Josh wanted to puke, but forced himself to run instead. He continued in the same direction, as far away from Pine Coast Village as his legs carried him. Up ahead, he saw a clearing. A road waited for him beyond the pines. Josh didn’t know the area particularly well, so where he was going to end up was a mystery. Suddenly, Josh wished he had visited his mother more often. He thought about what a shitty son he’d been all those years, ever since his father left her for another woman, one much younger and with less problems. One who could remember shit. Josh failed her. Meridith needed someone, and her son was supposed to be that someone. This upset him to a certain degree, but Josh knew very well that if the apocalypse had not been triggered, he would not be at war with himself. He would’ve continued to feed off her, as he had done since he sucked the nutrients out of her nipples when he was a baby. He wouldn’t have stopped until she had nothing left. Much like the way the zombies never stopped. They were always hungry for more. Only, they were hungry for the flesh of the living, instead of drugs, money, and sex.

A horn honked, interrupting the peaceful silence around him. He found himself standing in the middle of the highway. A car barreled toward him. He could smell the rubber tires grinding against the asphalt, the squeal of the brakes slamming his eardrums. He had no time to react.

Josh Emberson remembered his shoulder hitting the hood really hard before the world went completely opaque.

CHAPTER FIVE

“You awake?” Ross asked.

Ben twitched. “Yeah, I’m awake.”

“Can’t sleep, huh?” Landry was asleep, his head resting on his father’s shoulder. Everyone else was asleep with the exception of Josh. He sat with his back against the wall, counting the minutes until their captors revealed their master plan. “Me neither. My adrenaline is still going I guess.”

“Thanks for doing that, by the way,” Josh said. “I would have done it myself, but…” Josh motioned to the four chain-linked walls around him.

“Yeah, well, it was my pleasure. Kid deserved it.”

“So where you from, Ross?” Ben asked.

“Carver’s Grove, New Jersey. Not sure how far we are from home. What about you?”

“Red River,” Ben said.

“We’re practically neighbors. I have a few buddies at work who live in Red River.”

“Ben is trying to get to Pittsburgh. To save his son,” Josh told him.

“Is that right?” Ross asked, rubbing Landry’s shoulder.

Ben nodded.

“Damn. If I were in your shoes, I don’t know what I’d do.” He peered down at his son, grimacing affectionately. “I don’t know if these chain-link cages could keep me contained.”

“Well, I don’t plan on staying here very long,” Ben said.

“Easier said than done, brother. You heard, Bozo. They had him in here for weeks. Weeks.”

“Well, we don’t have weeks. We have a few hours. Maybe less. I don’t know.”

Ross glanced over at Josh, who shrugged casually.

“What are you talking about, brother?” Ross asked, a trace of uneasiness in his voice.

“Yeah, Ben,” Josh said. “What the hell are you talking about? Before our friend started shooting his mouth off, you were saying something really bad was about to happen. What is it?”

Ben’s eyes darted around the room, surveying the other prisoners. “I didn’t want to say anything before because I don’t want to cause a panic. We’re in enough trouble, and if we’re going to get out of here, we have to have our wits about us.”

“Well, everyone’s sleeping,” Josh said. “Tell us.”

Ben inhaled unclean air, then exhaled. “Okay. I got in touch with my ex. Things out there… aren’t looking very promising.”

“What do you mean?” Ross asked.

“I mean the entire East Coast is one great big ball of fucked.” He closed his eyes, wishing he didn’t have to be the one to tell them. “The government has decided to contain the outbreak by dropping a bomb on us.”

Josh shook his head. “No.”

“Yes.”

Ross’s eyes became glossy as they drifted toward the floor. “Shit.”

“Yup.” Ben stood up. “If we don’t find a way to—let’s say Ohio—in the next few hours, we’re going to become awfully crispy.”

“They’re going to bomb us?” Paul Scott asked, removing his trucker’s hat. He wiped away sweat from his forehead.

“So much for everyone being asleep,” Josh muttered.

“Yes, Paul—it is Paul, right?” Ben asked.

Paul nodded.

“Paul, we would like to keep this a secret. We don’t need the others freaking out and panicking. Okay?”

“The government…” he repeated, almost catatonic. “Washington. They’ll bomb themselves, I suppose.”

“For the greater good, Paul,” Josh said. “Or because they simply don’t know what else to do.”

“I thought the government was supposed to look out for its people. Not destroy them because they don’t know what else to do,” Ross chimed.

“I don’t know,” Ben said. “But what I do know, is that my son is out there and I need to find him.” His eyes began to sting. “I will find him.”

Ross nodded. “I’ll help you, brother.”

“I appreciate that.” Ben turned to Josh. “You in?”

“Hell yeah. I’m not doing anything but waiting to become human charcoal.”

“Paul, do I have your word you won’t tell the others? Not until the moment’s right.”

Paul shrugged. “When is the right moment to tell a person such a thing?”

Ben shook his head. “We’ll know when it happens. Until then…”

“My lips are sealed.”

“Thank you.”

He wondered if he would even get the opportunity.

Hours later, some of the other prisoners started waking. Ben dozed off a few times, feeling as he had the night before: exhausted and running on empty. The sickness was gone, but he was dehydrated and malnourished like he had been with the flu.

Ben awoke to the sound of two voices arguing over something his brain had not yet processed.

“Oh, here we go,” Josh muttered.

“Here we go nothing,” John sneered. “Are we going to pretend that we don’t see the obvious? That man is right,” he stated, nodding to Paul, “the government doesn’t give a shit about us. If they did, they would’ve never let it come to this. Hell, they’re probably the ones who created this shit, letting it spread across the coast to see how many people it infected. Just to see what would happen.”

So much for the right moment, Ben thought. He scolded Paul Scott with his eyes, but the trucker intentionally dodged Ben’s hard gaze.

“And why would they want to do that?”

“Who knows. Maybe they’re testing biological warfare. Or maybe, they’re looking to thin the numbers. Population control, or something.”

“Oh, yeah. That’s believable.”

“What do you know? You’re just a pathetic junkie,” John grumbled. He coughed, softly at first, but grew louder in succession.

Josh smiled. “That’s right. Choke, motherfucker.”

“Quit it,” Ben said to both of them.

Glaring at Ben, John’s coughing subsided. “What? You didn’t know your fellow road-tripper was a junkie?”

“I did actually. And you know what? He’s well on his way to kicking the habit. So it’d be real nice if you got off his ass about it.”

John laughed raucously between another series of coughs. “Yeah, right,” he wheezed. “That’ll be the day.” John turned to Josh. “You know what I wished for when the dead started coming back to life?”

“That they’d actually listen to anything you had to say?” Josh said.

“That I’d be there to watch you turn into one of them. So when you came back to life I’d be the lucky one to put you down like a lame stag.” John Vander smiled hideously. “And the best part? No one would even give a shit. Not even Olivia. Because you’d be a fucking zombie!”

“Well, I’ll tell you what, whack-job. I didn’t kill your little girl. You did. And she died long before the zombies came along.” Josh pursed his quivering lips. He gritted his teeth as he continued. “You smothered her, John. And you know who she turned to? Someone like me.” He giggled softly. “Yeah, I’m a liar. I’ve cheated. Stolen things. Did drugs. Lots of them. And you know what makes girls want to date scumbags like me? Overbearing fathers who try to control their daughter’s lives, John. Like you. So do me a favor and kindly keep your fucking mouth shut.”

Josh exhaled. For a second no one said anything. He caught Ben smiling behind his hand. Ross smirked as well. Josh rested his head against the cage and sighed. Fishing for the smokes in his pocket, Josh remembered that the Three Little Pigs had cleaned him out before locking him up. He muttered an obscenity that no one heard.

“You disrespectful little sh—” John started to say, but another hacking fit interrupted him. The bundle of coughs was more throaty than the previous ones. John hunched over and retched blood onto the concrete, which alarmed everyone, bringing them to their feet. A wave of gasps circled the basement.

“You okay?” Ben asked.

More blood splashed onto the concrete.

“Fine,” he said hoarsely. “I can feel it coursing through me. The sickness. Whatever we’re infected with.”

At first, Ben didn’t understand. Then, John rolled his pant leg. A good-size chunk of his leg was missing, about enough to fill the average mouth. Ben recognized the teeth marks around the hole that exposed bone. The skin around the wound had purpled, almost blackened. The smell that emanated from the chewed orifice was nauseating. Body odor and urine were no longer the dominant aromas. The stench overpowered the other disgusting smells that wafted around the basement. Ben tried to cover his nose with his arm, but it did nothing to block the putrid stink. Josh grimaced while Victoria heaved air. Emily quickly pinched her nostrils with her fingers. Brittany buried her nose in her arm.

Ross closed his eyes, wishing he were somewhere else.

“Jesus Christ,” Paul muttered, turning his head.

Tabby held her silent son close, fearing what was going to happen next. The poor kid trembled in her arms.

“I’m turning into one of them,” John said.

Ben shook his head, pressing his back against the cage. He realized John would come after him once the sickness ran its course. And he wouldn’t stop until he he had Ben’s flesh between his teeth.

Jake… Ben thought. His heart sank into his bowels when John Vander opened his mouth to speak and froze, staying that way until his body reanimated.

CHAPTER SIX

TWO DAYS AGO…

It felt like the morning after a night of binge drinking and popping Xanax. The world around him blurred, slowly reshaping reality. When things focused, he found himself in the passenger’s seat of a car—perhaps the one that had bowled into him. He wasn’t sure. A fog enveloped his sense of clarity. The whole thing played out like a terrible dream. There was his mother. Then the zombies. Running and screaming. Mass hysteria. The little girl in the woods. The road, the car—

Josh tried to rise from his slumped position, but pain exploded into his shoulder. He cried out while returning to his original posture.

“Don’t try to move,” the driver said. “Keep your head down.”

Josh couldn’t see out of the window. He tried to peek, but the slightest movement sent waves of anguish throughout the upper half of his body. “What’s going out there?” he asked. Inhuman sounds coming from outside of the car pricked the hairs on his neck. Beneath the bestial groans was a woman’s final cry for help. A man followed shortly after, protesting his own demise. “Hey, what’s going—”

“Sssh,” the driver said. “Be quiet.”

Josh grumbled, “Dude, did you hit me?”

“Yes,” the driver said. “You came out of the woods. Fast. Couldn’t stop.”

Under normal circumstances, Josh would’ve berated the unkempt man. Threatened him. Possibly instigated a fight. He definitely would have cursed the guy out, called him an asshole and told him he should have watched where the fuck he was going, even if it was his own damn fault for running out in the middle of the road. But these were not normal circumstances.

Josh sighed heavily. “Don’t worry about it. I should’ve looked before I ran out.” He shook his head. “Stupid,” he muttered silently. “I’m Josh, by the way. Josh Emberson.”

“Ben Ackerman.”

“Nice to meet you, Ben—”

“Shit!” Ben yelled, and cut the wheel hard.

The car spun three times, finally coming to a screeching halt. Bodies of the dead filled the windows. Josh cowered, shrinking in his seat, watching the faces of the living dead appear around them. Bloody spittle flew from their mouths as they pounded on the glass, trying to smash their way in. They gnashed their ravenous teeth together, the life in their eyes stolen by mindless hunger. Josh studied their faces, void of human attributes. They were monsters, nothing more, nothing less.

Ben pressed the pedal to the floor and cut the wheel, shaking off a few zombies, but not enough. He could barely see beyond the windshield. He glanced back in his rear-view mirror and saw nothing but open road. He slammed on the brakes, dislodging a few more. Josh saw them tumble awkwardly to the pavement. As Ben spun the wheel, Josh clung onto the “oh-shit bar” tightly. The Hyundai one-eightied in the middle of the road, and Ben sped off in reverse.

“What are you doing?” Josh asked.

“I can see better like this.”

Josh glared at the dead folk crowding the front windshield. He closed his eyes, wishing he never left his bed that morning.

Ben cut the wheel once again, without warning. The remaining stragglers lost their grip, were tossed to the road like garbage. Ben stomped on the gas pedal. The car zipped down the street, free from the departed.

Ben pulled over on the empty highway, taking in deep breaths of air. Signs of tears appeared in the corners of his eyes. Josh was certain he wouldn’t be able to hold them much longer. The levee would break momentarily.

“You okay, man?” Josh asked.

Ben shook his head.

“It’s okay if you cry, man. I won’t think you’re a pussy or anything.”

Ben chuckled softly. Josh was glad he had kept some humor under grim circumstances. He suspected Ben was the laid-back type, someone who didn’t get angry very often.

The vague grin on Ben’s face quickly retired. His eyes leaked down his cheeks.

“We were in my parents’ neighborhood. I thought that…” Ben trailed off.

“What happened?”

“They’re everywhere, Josh. I mean, everywhere. Major highways are flooded with them. Suburban developments are overrun. I don’t want to even think about the cities.”

“I’m sorry about your parents,” Josh said. He thought about mentioning how he watched his mother become torn apart like wet tissue paper, but decided against it. It was Ben’s time to mourn, and he respected that. Besides, reality had yet to hit him. With the exception of his broken arm, he felt fine, unaffected by the day’s events. Am I that cold? Josh thought. He thought he’d feel something. Sadness. Despair. Hopelessness. But he didn’t feel any of those things. Instead he felt normal. Like nothing traumatizing had happened at all. It’ll hit me later, he thought, feeling better coming to this conclusion.

Minutes passed before either of them spoke again. Ben sniffled, pinching the bridge of his nose, trying his best not to burst into tears. Josh watched the grown man try to compose himself with great difficulty.

Ben wiped the tears away from his eyes. “Sorry about that.”

“I understand.” Josh fought his way through the pain. He inched his way up in the seat, sitting up, staring out the front windshield. Never had he experienced that kind of pain before. He had never broken a single bone in his body, which surprised him due to the countless hours he spent doing asinine stunts on his skateboard when he was younger. The pain seared through him, as if knives were being driven through his arm, poking the bone. He remained silent, but inside he was screaming. His eyes welled, but no tears breached the surface.

“You shouldn’t move around a lot,” Ben told him. “I’m pretty sure your arm is broken.”

“Yeah, I’d have to agree with you there,” Josh said. “Where the hell are we?”

Ahead was a long stretch of highway, vaguely reminiscent to the one Josh had been on when Ben came along. A vast, endless forest lay on both sides of them. Dusk was starting to settle. To the right, just over the branches, orange smears of sunlight were being absorbed by a bruised sky. To the left of them lay darkness.

“Route 77 South. About twenty minutes west of LBI.”

LBI, Josh thought. Long Beach Island. They were about forty minutes south of his apartment. The old shitbox. There was nothing back there for him anyway. He had some supplies they could have used, and an unregistered handgun he had stashed beneath his mattress, but that was it. Nothing worth risking their lives for.

“I have something I need to do.”

“And what might that be?”

“I’m heading to Pittsburgh.”

“Oh,” Josh said. “Why?”

“My son lives there,” Ben said. “With his mother. They might… still be alive.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Josh didn’t have the heart to tell him that he had seen news reports about cannibalistic attacks in Ohio, not too far from the Steel City. Instead, he shook his head. “Anything is possible.”

“Do you have any family that might be alive?”

Josh thought about it. He couldn’t be certain. His mother had been eviscerated in front of him. His father ran out on him when he was little. His uncle in Oklahoma was arrested for diddling kids. He had no siblings, at least to his knowledge. Every single grandparent died long before the end of times. He might have had a few cousins left in Detroit. He hadn’t seen any of them in over ten years.

“No,” he said.

Then he thought of Olivia again. Fuck, how could I forget her?

Maybe because you don’t care about her as much as you let on, you useless addict, a very harsh voice responded in his head.

“I’m sorry,” Ben said.

“I have this girlfriend, sort of. It’s off and on. Complicated.”

“Oh?” Ben tried to smile. “And… uh, is she…”

“Alive?”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t know. She’s on vacation with her folks in Harrisburg.”

“Really?”

“Yup.”

“It’s on the way.”

“Do you have a cell phone?” Josh asked. “I could call her.”

Ben shook his head. “No signal. I’ve tried everywhere.”

Josh closed his eyes. “How did this happen?”

“I’ve asked myself the same question.”

“The government will bail us out. I mean, they prepare for this sort of thing, right?”

Ben shrugged. “It happened so quickly.”

Josh rested his head against the seat, staring at the ceiling.

“I can take you to Harrisburg, if you want.”

He ignored Ben, leaning his head toward the window, trapped in some horrific reverie. Then he glanced over at the man responsible for the pulsating pain in his arm. “What?”

“I can take you to Harrisburg,” Ben repeated. “It’s silly to travel alone. At least together, we can watch each other’s backs.”

Josh nodded. “Okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Sure. Under one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“You’re buying the first round at the first bar we find.”

“Is that right?” Ben grinned, killing the engine.

“Absolutely. It’s the least you could do for breaking my arm.”

They chortled softly before deciding who was going to take the first shift watching for zombies. They needed to be refreshed for tomorrow. Brand-new horrors awaited.

“God is finished, sick of his creation and the abomination it has become, you hear? This is the end of times, the days that will lead us to the Rapture!”

Ben awoke to the fiery, southern drawl of an evangelist. His temples throbbed and the righteous man’s sermon was not helping. He switched the radio off, not remembering turning it on. Something pounded on the glass. His first semi-conscious thought was that the windshield wipers were swaying back and forth rhythmically. As the world became clear, he saw a dead woman gently smacking the windshield with her palm.

The zombie was once an old lady, but now it was just an it, barely resembling anything human. Half of her cheek was missing, exposing grayed gums and teeth blackened with rot. She stared at him with eyes displaying no intelligence, no sensible thought or reasoning. All it wanted, all it craved, was the taste of Ben’s flesh and blood.

She was unlike some of the other zombies he’d seen in his parents’ development. Some of them were quick. Really quick. Almost as fast as Ben could run. They had more will too, more motivation. The elderly corpse only made feeble attempts at breaking in. Her fists were doing little, except damaging her own body; her wrists were clearly broken, blood leaking from the torn flesh where bone peeked through. Ben turned on the wipers to wash the old woman’s blood away, and she didn’t seem to mind. She continued smashing her fist against the glass sedately.

Just as the wipers dragged across the patches of dry glass. Josh snapped out of his mini coma.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “I fell asleep.”

“It’s okay. Look.”

Before Josh noticed the walking corpse outside of the car, he lightly touched his shoulder. Pain shot up and down his arm. He couldn’t move it. Rolling up his sleeve, he found a big purple mark where the car got the best of him. “Motherfucker.”

“She’s so… slow.”

Josh finally glanced up and saw the old lady. She was as Ben had observed. Slow. She vaguely reminded him of his mother, only much older, and more… dead. He would never know what Meridith Emberson would have looked like in her eighties, but the walking cadaver was close to what Josh had imagined. It brought a certain sense of sadness to the forefront of his emotions, but hatred, confusion, and the pain that throbbed in his shoulder overpowered everything.

“Definitely not like the ones back in Pine Coast…”

“What?” Ben asked.

“Pine Coast. That’s were I was before you hit me.”

“You work there or something?”

“No, I was visiting,” he replied.

Ben heard something in his voice that gave everything away. He closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. “Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Josh said. He quickly wanted to change the topic. “I’m sorry I fell asleep during my watch. Could’ve gotten us killed if granny here was a little more hungry.”

“She looks hungry all right,” Ben said. The woman opened and closed her mouth like a fish.

“I say we get out of here before more come,” Josh said.

They drove west for almost twenty miles, not seeing a single person, living or dead. There should have been evidence that the world had ended, an indication that the dead no longer stayed dead. But there was nothing. Only open roads and derelict vehicles. They didn’t stop. Driving slowly, they peered through the windows. No signs of the living. They thought they might see the owners of those vehicles hoofing it a few miles down the road, but that wasn’t the case. It had been days since those cars and trucks had seen their drivers.

“Do you think maybe the infection—or whatever it is—has made it everywhere yet?” Josh thought out loud.

“I don’t know,” Ben replied. “But I find it weird we haven’t seen anyone or anything in almost an hour.”

“I don’t like it. It’s like the calm before the storm.”

Ben had that feeling, too. The arrow on the Sonata’s gas gauge approached empty. Considering they were nowhere near a gas station, it would have been a very bad time to run out of gas. They had no food, with exception of a few packages of gummy snacks Ben had found in the glove-box. More importantly, they had no water.

“Cigarette?” Josh asked, holding the pack in front of Ben.

“No, thanks. My wife made me quit years ago,” he said. “Well, ex-wife,” he corrected.

“It’s the goddamn zombie apocalypse. You’re probably not going to be alive long enough to catch cancer,” Josh said.

Ben wouldn’t allow himself to think that way. However, it was only one cigarette. Wouldn’t kill you, he thought. Ben plucked a death-stick from the pack, putting the filter between his lips.

“That’s the spirit,” Josh said, lighting it for him.

Ben sucked in the smoke, then exhaled. He coughed a lot (making Josh chuckle), and it took a minute for his lungs to adjust to the smoke he once craved so passionately. However, Ben now thought that cigarettes tasted like shit. The smell was even worse. The insane notion that he was going to come down with cancer immediately breached his thoughts. The headache he awoke with that morning was back with a vengeance. To be polite, he smoked the Marlboro halfway, then threw it out the window.

Josh observed Ben’s actions, but said nothing. Ben clearly wore the face of a man who didn’t enjoy a cigarette anymore. Laughing to himself, Josh shook his head. Then he started thinking about drugs, wondering how long he could go before needing them again. Specifically, the oxycotton. He would kill for a couple, hell, he’d probably bury a body for one.

They passed a sign that read, “DOORCHESTER NATIONAL PARK.” It claimed the place was “THE BEST CAMPGROUNDS IN ALL OF NEW JERSEY!” The sign also stated it was the last exit for the next ten miles.

“We have to stop,” Ben said. “We’re running low on gas. Maybe they have somewhere to gas up or something.”

“Sure. I have to piss anyway,” Josh admitted.

They came to a small clearing down a long wooded path big enough for one vehicle. An enormous recreation center lay before them, comprised of rotting wood shakes that had been stained eons ago. The haven was in desperate need of renovation, but neither Ben or Josh commented on its shabby appearance. Chairs for guests and employees to relax and enjoy the nature around them sat empty on the deck, stained to match the shakes.

Ben and Josh noticed several vehicles parked on the dirt lot separating the building from the forest. There was a Jeep, a few sedans, and some pickup trucks, all mud-splattered, in need of car washes.

“Seems… quiet,” Ben said.

“Hm, too quiet,” Josh said, smiling at the bad cliché.

Ben smiled too. “Well, here goes nothing.” He swung open the door, expecting dozens of zombies to come hobbling out of the woods. Instead, they saw nothing. Everything was silent. Not even the chirping of birds could be heard. No wind. No distant voices. No low drone of machinery. Ben was most thankful for the smell. The air was pure and odorless, free of that awful stench the dead brought with them. He’d gotten a good whiff of it inside the Yoland’s foyer and strong doses of it since then. The worst was when they were outnumbered in Ben’s parents’ development. He never wished to smell anything like that for the rest of his life, however short that might be. He walked around the lot taking in the fresh air, loving every second of it, hoping it would last forever. Wishing he hadn’t smoked that cigarette.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Ben asked.

“Yes. Simply wonderful,” Josh said sarcastically. “I have to hit the head.”

“Okay. I’m going to look for a hose. Maybe I can siphon some gas from these abandoned cars.”

“Good luck with that,” he said under his breath, so Ben wouldn’t hear. Ben yelled something about being on the lookout for food and water, but Josh wasn’t listening. He was off meddling in his own little world, worrying about how he was going to feed his dragon, the one that had recently awoken and started breathing fire into his veins.

Josh felt like puking.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Bobbi-Jo grabbed the keys off the kitchen counter, heading for the basement as soon as she heard the screaming from below. Her brothers were nowhere to be found. Probably out getting supplies for the next game, she thought, opening the door. She hopped down the stairs. The Three Little Pigs had been kind enough to leave the lights on for their prisoners, something she wasn’t sure Momma would have gone along with. Maybe they forgot.

She bounded down the steps, leaping onto the concrete floor as John Vander rose from his position on the ground. He had only been dead for a few minutes. Bobbi-Jo noticed a chunk of skin missing from the dead man’s leg. I gone told them idiots to check for bite marks when they brought them down here, she thought. Now the bastard was a zombie. If she didn’t let the cute guy she had met earlier out of the kennel, he’d be its first meal. She quickly rushed to the door where Ben was anxiously waiting. Vander looked around the room, first lashing out at Paul Scott, but the chain-link wall protected him. Then the Vander-Zombie realized there was fresh meat not but ten feet from him. Meat that was accessible. It snarled in delight, approaching its first victim.

“Hurry up!” Ben yelled, as Bobbi-Jo fiddled with the lock.

“I’m goan as fast as I can!” she yelled back.

Finally, the key slipped into the lock. The gate swung open. Ben rushed out of the cage. The Vander-Zombie lunged toward the opening, but Ben and Bobbi-Jo closed it quickly. The corpse crashed into the gate, the momentum driving Ben and the Barker girl backward. They were stronger, however, and able to slam the gate closed, keeping the zombie trapped inside. Ben held it shut while Bobbi-Jo placed the lock back onto the latch. She closed the padlock, backing away from the hungry stiff. It snarled ferociously, stretching its fingers through the spaces in the chain-link barrier. thinking it actually had a chance at the two living beings on the outside.

Ben backed away from the cage.

“Thank you,” Ben said, trying to catch his breath. “Thank you so much.”

Bobbi-Jo smiled.

“Now, free the rest of them.”

“What?” Bobbi-Jo asked.

Ben glared at her, wrinkling his eyebrows. He couldn’t have been clearer. “I said, open the other cages. Let them out.” He pointed to the rest of the cages.

Oh, silly, Bobbi-Jo thought. He thinks I’m setting them free.

“I don’t think she came down here to spring us,” Josh said.

Ben faced her.

“I just came to make sure ya’ll didn’t get eaten. Wouldn’t want to ruin the big game, now would I?” She grimaced dramatically, acting as if Ben becoming food would have been the worst thing to happen. Then she quickly put on a happy face, a smile that stretched ear to ear. She giggled softly, stuck her finger between her yellowed teeth. Ben grew uncomfortable. As she stood there, giggling and winking at him, he realized that Bobbi-Jo was just as insane as her three brothers. “Hey boys!” she yelled. “Ya’ll better—”

Ben lunged for her, putting his hand over her mouth, silencing her call for help. He twisted her around, driving her body against the cage. Ben pressed against her, keeping one hand over her mouth, wrapping his other arm across her midsection, keeping control of her movements. Slowly, he separated her from the cage. She tried to wiggle free, but Ben was stronger. She stopped twisting, finally accepting what had just happened. Ben pressed his lips against her ear.

“If you don’t do exactly what I say,” Ben whispered to her, “I’m going to break your fucking neck.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

ONE DAY AGO…

Josh expected to stroll into a room full of disemboweled carcasses, but the inside of the recreation center looked open for business. Nothing looked displaced. There were no traces of a struggle. The desk where someone might have welcomed him sat clean and organized. The cash register on the registration counter looked brand new. For brief second, Josh wanted to smash the register and steal the funds inside. But money was useless now and he knew it. Cursing himself for his thuggish mindset, he continued walking cautiously in search of the restroom.

Instead of finding the commode, Josh found a back office where he raided the desk and cabinets for anything useful. He hoped the desk belonged to an alcoholic, maybe there would be small bottle of brandy stuffed in the back of the drawers. It had been so long since Josh had a drink of anything. And right now, he needed something. Poison coursed through his veins, he could feel it. The dragon was hungry.

After coming up empty, Josh headed for the bathroom. A white door on the opposite end of the building displayed a stick-figure drawing of a man. He cautiously pushed open the door, peering into the restroom. Making sure the coast was clear, Josh sighed. No flesh-eating corpses snacking on someone who had trapped themselves on the shitter waited for him.

Josh tried the lights. Nothing happened. The bathroom seemed relatively spotless. Cleaned recently, Josh guessed. The tile on the floor and walls sparkled, even in the dim light a small window provided. As Josh approached the urinal, the dragon blew streams of fire into his chest. Try not to think about it, he told himself as he relieved his bladder. However, that’s all Josh could think about. The pills. Putting one in his mouth. Swallowing. The feel-good sensations that soon followed. The warmth that consumed him.

Sweat beaded on his forehead. His stomach lurched. He zipped himself up quickly, then stormed into the closest stall. He bent over, vomiting long streams of puke with the consistency of cake batter. Inside, the dragon continued its destructive path.

For what seemed like forever, he knelt on the floor, resting his head on the toilet seat. Thoughts came to him. Ugly thoughts. He wondered if he should even bother carrying on. What was the point, now that the dead had risen and claimed the world their own? He’d seen the movies. How quickly everyone became one. Sure, in the movies the heroes survive, but this wasn’t a fucking movie, and he wasn’t a fucking hero. He was pathetic. Worthless. He’d eventually end up one of them, one of the dead. And that poor man he was traveling with—Ben. He’d only hold him back, probably get him killed too. Ben would probably would never see his son again thanks to Josh and his filthy habit. Pathetic, Josh thought. What’s the point? I’m already dead…

What about Olivia? Surely you care about her. Surely she’s worth carrying on for.

Sure he cared, but his feelings for her were limited, or else they’d probably still be together. Their good times were in the past. They partied a lot, they drank a lot, they smoked a lot, and they fucked quite often. But there was something missing, something Josh couldn’t quite pinpoint, something he couldn’t quite wrap his brain around. Let’s face it—you’re never going to marry the girl. You never planned on it. So really, what’s the fucking point? The voice that spoke freely was right. The deep feelings weren’t there, no sense that he needed to have her. He liked her because she was into the same shit he was, and she fucked like a porn star. That pretty much summed it up. She was plain. Run of the mill. A dime a dozen. There were tens of thousands like her. She was replaceable, the flavor of the month.

So, back to the question: what was the point of carrying on?

He sat there, head on the toilet, contemplating suicide and not for the first time in his life. He reached low points during the past few years when he thought being dead had its advantages. No bills, no job, no stress. But now, he realized, the world had died. None of that mattered. There were no more bills to pay, or jobs to report to. The only stress was trying to survive a nightmare where the dead became living once again, and hey—that wasn’t bad, was it? No, in fact, Josh kind of enjoyed the past twenty-four hours in a sick, twisted way. It was like a video game, except… real.

Josh smiled, feeling somewhat better. This was a new world, one where he had the chance to better himself. Prove to himself that he was worth something. He could be anyone he wanted now. He was no longer street scum who stole money from his mother’s purse when she wasn’t looking. Instead, he could do the right thing. He could help Ben find his little boy. He could be that hero. He could slay that dragon.

The dead new world had given Josh Emberson a second chance.

I can do it, he thought. One day at a time. I’ll just take one day at a time.

Feeling good for the first time in a long time, Josh stood up, popping a cigarette into his mouth. He lit up on the way to the exit, not wasting time on washing his hands.

As soon as Josh opened the door, he was greeted by the dangerous end of a shotgun.

“Speak,” the man said, pressing the end of the barrel to his forehead.

“Um… don’t fucking shoot me…” was the only words that fell from his mouth.

“Put your hands up,” the man commanded.

Josh raised one arm up.

“Both of them.”

“My right arm is broken. Can’t move it.”

“Is this really necessary, Steve?” someone asked from behind him. Josh glanced past Steve and saw a woman twice his age, leaning on the information center’s desk. She rested her hands on the shoulders of a fifteen-year old girl, garbed in a scout’s uniform. Josh assumed the woman behind her was her mother. Next to them was another woman, much older, but not quite old enough to enjoy special discounts at movie theaters and all-you-can-eat buffets. She scrunched her face like she had sucked a bowl full of lemons. Something about her irked Josh the minute his eyes found her. “He’s obviously not one of… them. He doesn’t look dangerous.”

“Can’t be too sure,” Steve said. Beads of sweat seeped from his pores. The shotgun trembled in his clutches violently, his trigger finger twitching spastically. Josh feared the man’s sense of control, his misunderstanding of what was going on around him. The man in the shit-brown uniform and yellow patches that stated WILDLIFE PARK RANGER glared at Josh suspiciously. Perspiration ran from under the brim of his cream-colored campaign hat, down his cheeks. Mouth twitched, eyes narrowed. RANGER STEVE, as it read on his name tag, shook his head slowly. “We can’t be sure of a single thing, Victoria.”

“Christ,” she muttered, holding her daughter closely.

“Christ will help us, Vicky,” the older woman informed her, placing her wrinkly hand on her shoulder. “We should pray.”

Josh thought she was joking. He almost laughed. But as she closed her eyes and started humming a familiar hymn, he realized she was serious. She started reciting the words to “Our Father” under her breath, expecting the others to join in.

No one did.

“There’s someone else. Outside,” another young woman said from the far side of the recreation center, after the woman finished praying.

“Brittany!” Victoria yelled. “What did I tell you about standing close to the window? One of them might see—”

“Relax, Mother.” Brittany trudged across the room, joining the others. “Those things are gone…”

“You don’t know that, Brit.”

Brittany glanced down at her sister. “How you holding up, Emily?”

Emily shook her head, her eyes welling. Brittany squeezed her chin lightly, the way her father used to, while shooting her mother a scornful gaze. Victoria stared back. Her look was more intimidating, clearly having more practice.

“Look,” Josh said. “I’d really appreciate it if you got that gun out of my face, chief. I’m not a fucking zombie.” He noticed the praying woman curled her lips when he cussed.

Ranger Steve held the gun level with Josh’s face. Slightly turning his head away from the barrel, Josh expected the thunderous boom that would end his life. At this point, he knew the Ranger wasn’t going to intentionally kill him—if he had wanted to, he would have done so already.

Seconds passed. Josh wondered how long before his head looked like a pumpkin smashed against the sidewalk. Gunpowder traveled into his nose, turning his stomach.

“Dammit,” Ranger Steve muttered, finally lowering his weapon.

Josh sighed deeply. He crouched, relieved that his head was still attached to his neck. He was a little peeved it had taken the man so long to realize he wasn’t a flesh-crazed maniac, but he was thankful to still be breathing.

“You really need to work on your manners, Ranger Steve,” Josh said.

“I’m sorry,” Ranger Steve replied. “I really am. I just thought that you were one of those…”

“I believe zombies is the word you were looking for.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” the religious woman jeered. “They’re just… crazy people. High on bath salts, probably. Seen it on the news. Zombies aren’t real, kid.”

“Hey, whatever you say, lady.”

Ben had finished draining gas from the Jeep through a garden hose he found around the side of the building. It was too long so Ben used the pocket knife he found in the Jeep to cut it appropriately. After he finished transferring the gas from the other vehicles to his own, he raided them for food and supplies. Besides finding the pocket knife, Ben found some bottles of warm water, moldy sandwiches, some warm yogurt, useless camping effects, and a tire iron, which would be handy if things got hairy. A fucking tire iron. It was better than nothing. He hated thinking that in order to survive this new world and give himself a chance at finding his son, he was going to have to kill a few of those things, something he wasn’t sure he was capable of. You’ll do it if you want to see Jakey again, won’t you? Yes, he supposed he would. Besides, killing something that’s already dead really wasn’t murder, was it? They’re only dead because they were killed by another one of those things. Shouldn’t really be dead, should they? No, he guessed they shouldn’t. But they were dead. Weren’t they? There’s nothing human about them, not anymore. Right?

Ben started thinking if the zombies could feel anything. Pain. Sadness. Pleasure. Anguish. Did they have thoughts? Able to rationalize? Or did they only have the never-ending motor that ran on the consumption of human meat? He didn’t know, although he suspected the latter. His mind reverted to the woman he awoke to earlier that morning, the one mindlessly smashing her hand against the windshield. There was nothing behind her eyes, no signs of humanity lingering within. She was just a zombie, going through the motions, fueled by the hunger. That’s it. Nothing more.

It was just like the movies.

Only, was it? He began stocking the Hyundai with the loot he had found, thinking about how the zombie virus worked and how similar it was to the movies he had once forced himself to watch. Is it passed through bites and scratches? Can animals be infected? How long does it take to turn into one of them? These were the questions lurking in his mind, anxiously awaiting answers.

In that moment, something changed. A breeze blew through the clearing, moving trees like flames at a rock concert. The leaves whistled to him from above. Ben looked around, sniffing the air, trying to put his finger on the smell. It didn’t take long to decipher what it was. He smelled it at the Yoland’s house the day before. It wasn’t as strong as it was then, but Ben knew exactly what it was. It was an odor Ben would never forget.

It was the smell of the dead heading toward him.

“How long have you guys been here?” Josh asked. Victoria had just finished making a sling for his arm out of some unused tee-shirts that belonged to the recreation center. She had done a good job, too. Josh thought she might have been the camp’s nurse.

“Two days,” Ranger Steve said. “I was out there—with the Girl Scouts. Ranger Rick and I were showing them how to tie knots down by the lake when…” He stopped. The man was covered in sweat, his uniform drenched. Tears found the corners of his eyes, his lips trembled softly. For a second, Josh thought the man had reached his limit. However, he composed himself and continued. “They came out of the woods. Tons of them. Too many to count. Everyone ran. It was chaos. They started attacking the girls. Ripping them to shreds like they were made of construction paper. The chaperons tried to stop them, but… it was useless. They were taken too. Ranger Rick tried to be a hero. Got jumped by three of those fuc—” Stopping himself, he caught the cold gaze of the snooty religious woman. “Got jumped by three of them. They wrestled him to the ground. Ate him.” Ranger Steve wiped a thick layer of sweat from his forehead. “Sorry, darling,” he said to Emily.

She buried her head in Victoria’s midsection.

“It’s okay, Emily,” her mother said calmly. Josh could tell she was trying to keep it together for the sake of the kid. “We’re going to be okay.” Josh noticed red speckles on Emily’s uniform. She had been at the massacre near the lake. He could see it in her eyes. The poor child had seen some terrible shit happen, horrors that would forever warp her innocent mind.

As Josh surveyed their faces, he could tell they had all been there, seen the horrors this new world brought. Some hid it better than others. Like the Jesus-Woman, who seemed to act as if all were well, as long as they had the Lord in their hearts. There was no sadness in her eyes, only hope.

Ranger Steve was practically shitting himself. Josh figured one loud sound and he’d need a new pair of underwear.

“Your mother’s right, Emily,” Josh said. “You’re going to be okay. My friend Ben outside—he has a car, and there’s room for all of you—”

“You think we’re leaving this place?” Ranger Steve asked. “You’re outta your mind if you think we’re leaving this place.”

Josh glanced at him, his eyes narrowing.

“Steve’s right,” Victoria agreed. “I mean, we have food and water here. Enough to get us through the week. By that time, this whole thing’ll blow over and help will come. It doesn’t make any sense to leave.”

Josh frowned. “Look, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I don’t think this thing is going to blow over.”

“What do you mean?” Victoria asked.

“Yeah,” Jesus-Lady chimed in. “What the devil are you talking about?”

“What I mean is…” Josh began to say, then noticed Emily peeking at him, her head still resting against her mother’s stomach. “I think this thing might last a little longer than that.”

“So what do you suggest we do? Go out there?” Jesus-Lady snootily inquired. “Uh-uh, no way. I’m keeping my fanny right here. Couldn’t pay me to go out there with those… demons. The devil is out there, sonny-boy, and I plan to stay here with God. Yessir.”

“Okay, well that’s fine and dandy,” Josh told her. “But what’s going to happen when you run out of food and water? Or worse, what’s going to happen when those so-called ‘demons’ of yours find this place?” He could see his questions bothered Emily, but he didn’t care. Jesus-Lady was being intentionally stubborn and she needed to face the facts. “What’s going to happen then?”

“Someone will come for us. The police. The government. Somebody,” Victoria told him.

“Suppose they don’t.”

“God will provide for us. All we have to do is pray,” Jesus-Lady announced. She closed her eyes, humming a spiritual tune quietly.

“Jesus.”

“Hey!” she snapped. “Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain, mister!”

Josh waved her off, turning his back. He wondered how exactly to convince these people that it was only a matter of time before the swarm found them.

Ben watched one of them stumble out from the brink of the forest. It was a brownie scout, a little thing, no older than seven. She was walking with an uncoordinated limp, like she had broken her foot.

With the exception of dried blood caked around her mouth, she didn’t look very dead. Yes, Ben noticed the lifelessness in her eyes, but other than that—she appeared perfectly normal, unlike some of the other zombies he had seen on Densberry Avenue.

It’s because she’s fresh. It made physiological sense that the bodies of newly converted zombies were in better shape than those who had been dead for quite some time. Like Mrs. Yoland, who had probably been dead for close to a week, was badly decayed and reeked like something Ben never had the displeasure of smelling before. Just thinking about the awful stench was enough to make him gag.

He thought back to the old woman on the side of the road, and how unmotivated she was. Maybe the older they are, the less energy they have. It made good sense to him. Some of the zombies in the suburbs could flat out run. He supposed fresh corpses could do that. Maybe they hold onto something from their past lives, like their physical attributes. Sooner or later, though, their bodies would decompose, and left to rot. This made Ben think that if he survived long enough, maybe every walking corpse would rot away and become maggot-infested clumps of decayed flesh. But how long would that take? A year? Two? Five? Ten? He had no idea.

Ben watched in awe as the little girl slowly staggered across the dirt parking lot. She was twenty feet from him, her putrid scent wafting through the air, cutting away the freshness. Ben kept himself hidden behind the car. He doubted the zombies had any sense of smell, that their ways of locating their quarry were restricted to sight and sound only. She walked past the car without glancing in his direction.

Ben’s heart rattled in his chest.

As the little girl limped on, Ben heard something rustling behind him. He turned and watched another girl scout, slightly older than the first, emerge from the trees and foliage. Then another. Then a park ranger stumbled out of the dense shrubbery. His face was covered in blood. There was a gaping hole in his stomach where his intestines dangled like strings of pink sausage. They appeared recently gnawed on. The ranger’s left arm was missing, detached at the shoulder.

One by one, zombies came forth from the forest. Snarling. Hungry.

“So how’d you break your arm?” Victoria asked. She handed Josh a bottle of water.

“A friend hit me with his car,” he replied.

“Some friend.”

“We weren’t really friends at the time. It was more of an accident—it’s actually a really long story, and I’d love to tell it to you, but I really must insist that we get the hell out of here.”

“You’re not going to give up, are you?” Jesus-Lady asked. “Can’t you accept that the Lord Jesus is going to come down from Heaven and collect us into his loving arms?” The woman’s eyes narrowed as she looked Josh up and down. “Oh, I get it. The devil’s got a hold of you.” She paused, expecting Josh to argue. “Doesn’t he?”

“Maybe that’s enough, Ruth,” Victoria told her.

“I’m not listening to this crazy bullshit anymore,” Josh said. “If you want to stay, lady, then fucking stay. I don’t care. As for the rest of you, I suggest you come with me. Before whatever happened down at the lake happens here.” He glanced at Ranger Steve, glaring at him apathetically.

Ranger Steve kept his mouth shut, staring down at the floor.

“We’ll go,” Victoria said.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Vicky,” Ranger Steve snapped, immediately whipping his head toward her. “You weren’t out there when we were attacked. You don’t know what it’s like—”

“We don’t know anything,” she told him. “Josh is right. We can’t be certain that someone is coming for us. Usually in situations like this the government sets up survival camps, right?” She looked to Josh for verification, as if he were an expert on apocalyptic protocol.

Josh shrugged. “I don’t how things are going down out there. All I know is—if you stay here, it’s a deathtrap. You can’t hold them off forever. There’s too many of them.”

“That’s exactly why we stay here,” Ranger Steve said. “They overran us.”

“Sooner or later they’ll get in.”

“We’ll see.”

Something crashed into the sliding-glass door, causing them to jump. Victoria screamed. Emily gripped her mother tight, wrapping her arms around her waist. Ruth backed away from the direction of the sudden outburst, signaling the Stations of the Cross. Ranger Steve pointed the shotgun toward the unexpected commotion.

The noise repeated.

Josh faced the enormous sliding-glass door that practically made up the entire back wall. Beyond the glass was a massive porch, stained the same color as the rest of the recreation center’s exterior. On the porch, stood a little girl, clad in her scout’s uniform.

“Jessica!” Emily yelled. She broke away from Victoria’s grasp, sprinting toward the door.

Before Josh could protest, Emily was opening the slider. Josh seemed to be the only one who saw the writing on the wall. Ranger Steve appeared indifferent about the situation, but Josh knew better. He knew what she was, although, to Emily’s credit, her friend’s body didn’t showcase the familiar signs. She wasn’t missing half her face like some of the others Josh had seen. She wasn’t dragging her entrails behind her. She didn’t writhe her lips in contempt for the living.

Jessica appeared normal with the exception of her blood-caked clothes and the faint red smears around her mouth.

It’s her eyes, Josh thought. It’s her eyes that give it away. They lacked humanity. Two dead vacuums planted in the center of her face. Lifeless little circles. The girl was something less than human.

And Emily was letting it in.

Quietly, Ben climbed into his car. He shut the door slowly, hoping not to draw any attention to himself. Impossible. The clunk of the door closing was loud enough to turn the heads of the dead in his direction. Shit! Ben thought, discovering a few soulless eyes staring right at him. One woman—a camp counselor, her shirt read—hobbled toward him, exposing the right side of her face, which had been completely chewed away. Fresh droplets of blood oozed from the raw muscle. Ben’s throat burned with bile, but he prevented the stomach juices from climbing any higher.

Fuck, they’re changing fast. Judging from the woman’s wound, she couldn’t have been attacked more than a few hours ago.

Ben started the car, grabbing everyone’s attention. One by one the zombies changed their course and began shuffling toward the car. One sprinted ahead of the slow-moving concourse. An eleven-year old boy rushed the car. The little bastard jumped on the hood, crouching like a gorilla. Wildly, he began smashing his fists against the windshield with bloodthirsty rage. He managed to crack the glass after a few tries. Shocked, Ben watched the windshield spider-web. Instead of waiting for the dead kid to break through and rip his throat out, Ben stomped on the gas, sending the kid toppling over the roof, tumbling onto the dirt below. In his rear-view mirror, Ben saw the boy scramble to his feet, wounded, but still motivated by the hunger raging inside his belly. In that moment, Ben thought of throwing the car in reverse, running the little fucker over, making sure the tires crushed his skull in the process. Instead, Ben thought of Jake, wondering if the zombie had a father looking for him, and how he’d feel if he reached Pittsburgh and found his son in the middle of the street with tire marks over what was left of his cranium.

Ben decided not to put the car in reverse. Alternatively, he circled the lot, honking his horn, warning Josh to hurry up. They had overstayed their welcome.

“Don’t!” Josh said, but it was too late. Emily had opened the door, letting Jessica in. The recently-reanimated corpse lunged forward, mouth open, disease-coated saliva dangling from her blood-muddied lips. Emily screamed as Jessica tackled her, sending them both sprawling to the ground. Josh and Victoria rushed to Emily’s side, but Jessica was quicker. Snarling bestially, she mounted Emily, bearing her tiny, yet incredibly dangerous teeth.

Shoulder first, Josh rushed forward, colliding with the infected girl scout. He dislodged her from her prey, and Jessica fell to the floor. While the dead girl scout struggled to regain her footing, Victoria escorted her daughter away from the immediate danger.

Josh hopped to his feet and saw Jessica had already risen to her own. The little bitch growled, crouching like a sumo wrestler waiting for the round to start. Josh backed away cautiously. Jessica followed him like a cat waiting for the precise moment to pounce.

“Still want to stick around?” Josh asked.

Their silence answered for them.

Before Jessica had the chance to fling herself at Josh, a deafening boom made their hearts dive unexpectedly. Jessica’s head suddenly exploded into a million pieces, sending bits of brain matter airborne in a spray of red mist, splattering the oak paneling behind her. Her head had popped like an overfilled water balloon. Gore slowly ran down the walls.

Ranger Steve held his shotgun, tendrils of smoke wafting from the end of the barrel. He shivered as if he had wandered into the winter weather, wet and unclothed. “Oh, God,” he muttered, then scurried behind the receptionist’s desk, reaching the wastebasket in time.

The gurgling sounds of Ranger Steve vomiting was interrupted by the shrill shriek of a girl scout who had nearly been eaten by her friend.

Josh glanced at Emily. She pointed toward the sliding-glass door, mouth agape, unblinking. He turned to see what had caused her outburst.

“Ho. Lee. Shit,” Josh said.

At least thirty zombies were rapidly approaching the open doorway. Evidence that they had already eaten was painted around their mouths, yet their stomachs still growled in harmony.

“Come on!” Ben shouted. He continued circling the parking lot, wasting the gasoline he had just pilfered from people he would never come to know. He had a trail of dead folks in tow, their numbers growing with each lap. At least twenty of them followed Ben lazily, swaying drunkenly and gnashing their teeth together. Some of them approached head on. Ben avoided them by swerving around them. He knew he couldn’t keep it up for long. Only a matter of time before a runner, or a really motivated zombie came to the front of the pack. The boy he thought about crushing was no longer a threat; he had broken his ankle during the fall, only able to crawl.

The internal clock in Ben’s head rapidly approached zero.

The honking continued.

“Who the hell is that?” Victoria asked, yelling over the groaning horde, as they pounded on the glass door.

Josh had been lucky enough to shut it before the pack of killing machines reached the doorway. He knew it would only buy them a few minutes. Had there been a runner in the pack, he probably wouldn’t have made it in time. Josh watched with fascination as they hammered the door with their bloody fists, leaving red smears on the glass.

“Remember that friend I was telling you about?” Josh asked.

“Yeah.”

“Well, that’s him. And I’m pretty sure we shouldn’t keep him waiting.”

As if on cue, the glass shattered. The dead stumbled inside, bumping into each other, jockeying for the lead. Many of them tripped over themselves, falling to the ground. The zombies able to keep their balance trampled their counterparts, heading toward their food source.

The group appeared in the recreation center’s entrance. Ben spotted them immediately. He saw Josh with other people—other living people—and instantly became excited with the prospect of other survivors. Josh led them while a legion of zombies hurdled after them. The zombies clumsily followed, many of them falling to the ground while the more aggressive creatures stepped on them without care.

Ben saw some of his followers abandon their efforts, seeking the easier meal. The park ranger raised his shotgun and blew the head off of an approaching zombie. Ben watched its head disappear, bits of brain-meat raining on the wooden steps. He pumped and aimed, taking out the next contender in similar fashion.

“Into the car! Hurry!” Josh commanded.

Ben stretched across the seat, popping the lock on the passenger’s door. It’s gonna be a tight fit, Ben thought to himself, adding up the bodies that were going to squeeze into his four-door sedan.

As soon as Ben completed that thought, he watched the older woman trip on a loose deck board. She fell hard on the ground. This would have been painful to watch under ordinary circumstances, but the dozens of hungry dead folk ready to pounce on her made his adrenaline kick harder. The others didn’t hear her cries for help over the crowd of dead cannibals. Their animalistic groans reminded Ben of wind swooshing through an open field.

Ben rolled his window down, yelled something along the lines of, “Hey!” and pointed behind the survivors. Only Victoria understood what Ben was implying. She turned, seeing Ruth struggle to her feet. It was too late. The dead swarmed her. They grabbed her, pinned her down, and clawed at her flesh with dark, dirty, and—in most cases— already-bloodied fingernails. They tore her open like a Christmas present. The old woman tried to scream but her throat filled up with blood. No one would have heard her over the raucous noise of the zombie drove anyway.

“No!” Victoria screamed. She began to double-back, but the zombies had shredded through most of the old woman’s muscle, reaching her bones. What was left was no longer recognizable, a life-size lump of bloody sinew. Her head had detached during the carnage, rolled across the deck like a weakly thrown bowling ball. Victoria’s mouth dropped, color fleeing from her face.

The zombies continued their slaughter, uncaring.

“Shoot the fucker!” Josh yelled. He grabbed Victoria, turning her away from the clutches of a nearby walker. She had been so lost in the living nightmare that she hadn’t seen it coming, nor did she hear her daughters’ warning.

Ranger Steve stepped forward, lining the end of his shotgun with the head of the closest zombie. The groaning corpse had a flap of Ruth’s skin dangling from its mouth like a long string of spaghetti. One pull on the trigger and the zombie’s head disappeared, leaving behind a misty crimson cloud.

Emily slid into the back of Ben’s car. Glancing out of her window and seeing more than six ravenous expressions eagerly wanting in, she shrieked. They pawed the window like cats playing with bits of string. If the glass wasn’t between them, Emily knew she would’ve been torn to shreds much like the old lady.

Brittany came next, sitting in the middle. Quickly, she shielded Emily’s eyes, waiting to find out what had happened to their mother. Seeing their only parent become part the dead horde’s feast was the last thing Emily needed. “Don’t look, sweet pea.”

“Don’t call me sweet pea,” she snapped, hating the name her sister called her throughout her childhood. “Is Mom okay?”

Brittany didn’t answer. Instead, she glanced back to see what was taking so long.

Suddenly, Josh corralled Victoria into the back seat, slamming the door behind her. He heard the women rejoice, saw them embrace each other before turning his attention to his next dilemma—how Ranger Steve and he were going to share the last remaining seat in Ben’s Sonata.

“Come on!” Josh called to the park ranger, who continued firing into the crowd. “Let’s go now!”

Ranger Steve ignored him. He pumped his weapon and squeezed the trigger, claiming another kill.

“Let’s—” Josh shut his mouth when one of the biters rushed the park ranger’s blindside, grabbed him around his broad shoulders, snapping at his neck. Scarlet marks appeared on his jugular, red rivulets soon followed. Immediately, Josh knew the ranger was done for. He yelled in agony as two newcomers latched onto his waist, tangling his feet and sending him to the deck. In a matter of seconds, the horde descended on him, taking advantage of his heroic folly. Josh could only bear a second of the slaughter. The grown man’s blood-curdling screams stretched his eardrums. A vibrantly-red pool crawled out from under the pile of gluttonous creatures.

Josh turned, hoping to see the passenger’s side door open, inviting him to safety. Instead, he was met with an open mouth. Fresh blood ran down the zombie’s chin. It had fed on the old lady, now ready for dessert. Josh pushed the corpse aside like a heavy bag at the gym. The zombie didn’t resist, falling to the side like an inflatable clown. Josh rushed past him, jumping into the passenger’s seat.

He didn’t need to tell Ben to go, the car took off as soon as Josh slammed the door shut.

Zombies latched onto the hood, but Ben was able to shake them off easily. Josh glanced at the side-view mirror, watching them tumble into the distance.

Ben’s Sonata sped down a path only wide enough for one vehicle to travel.

GAMES

CHAPTER NINE

“Ya’ll hear something?” Otis said. “Sounded like it came from downstairs.”

The three of them sat in silence. Moments passed. Then Floyd went back to fucking around with his video camera. “You hur things, Otis. I swears.”

“Naw. I swears I heard somethin’. From the basement. I reckon I heard screaming.”

“Maybe dem’ fuckers are fightin’ again,” Cooter said. “Whose turn is it to check the tapes?”

“Momma’s down der. Ain’t she?” Floyd asked.

“It’s almost sun up, dick-fo-brains. Momma sleeping.”

“Sheet,” Otis said. “Well, Floyd. I’d say it’s your turn.”

“Me? Shee-it.” Floyd slammed the camera down on the table in front of him. “I’ll be right back. Ya’ll better have that sheet fixed by the time I get back. We got ourselves a hunt goddammit.”

Cooter and Otis agreed silently.

Once Floyd left the room, Otis turned to Cooter.

“You ready fo’ tonight, brother?” Otis asked.

“Sheet. Ready as I’ll ever be.” Cooter pointed the camera at his brother. He slid the screen out from the side. In the small screen, he saw Otis perfectly. The red light in the corner blinked at him. He pressed record. “Say something. Pre-hunt speech.”

“Brother,” Otis said, staring into the camera. “This is going to be the best damn hunt we ever held.”

“Sheet. Couldn’t said it better myself.”

Floyd ran into the room. “Ya’ll!”

“Sheet, what is it, Floyd?” Otis rose from his seat. “Just about scared the piss outta me.”

“It’s Bobbi-Jo.”

“What about her?”

“She goan got herself in some sheet.”

“Sheet,” Otis said, scratching his scraggly, dirty hair. “With the contestants I reckon?”

Floyd nodded.

Otis nodded.

Cooter looked worried. “Sheet, Otis. What we goan do?”

“Boys,” Otis said. “Looks like we goan have ourselves game.” He smiled, grabbing the shotgun resting against the wall. “Right fucking now.”

“Open it,” Ben commanded. She didn’t twitch. Ben squeezed her jaw harder. She groaned. “I said, fucking open it. The next time I have to ask, I’m going to do it myself. And that means there will be no need to keep you alive.”

“Um, Ben?” Josh said.

“Not now.”

“Um, yes now. Whatever suicidal thought that’s going through your head, you better hurry it up.” Ben looked at Josh. He was pointing to the far corner of the basement. “You’re on candid camera, buddy.”

Ben noticed what he was pointing out; a small red dot gleamed at them from a small, makeshift window in the concrete.

“Shit,” Ben muttered.

“What are you waiting for?” Ross said. “Break the bitch’s neck and get us the hell out of here.”

“Are you crazy?” Tabby asked him. “There’s no way we’re getting out of here, even if Ben gets us out of these cages. They have guns. We’re unarmed. We don’t stand a chance.”

Ross shook his head. “They can’t shoot all of us.”

“Yes they can!” Tabby yelled at him.

“Well it’s better than dying in here!”

“Stop arguing!” Ben shouted.

Silence fell over them, until the highly anticipated, highly dreaded footsteps broke it.

Otis entered the basement first, his shotgun drawn, aimed directly at Ben’s head.

“You might want to let go of her,” Otis told him.

“And if I don’t?” Ben asked.

“Then I have to kill my own sister to get to you. And that won’t make me too happy, I reckon.”

Bobbi-Jo stiffened in his arms.

Ben knew it was his only option. They might kill him for attempting to escape, they might not. It didn’t really matter at this point. If he didn’t surrender, they’d kill him for sure. Giving up was the only game in town, and Ben didn’t have any other choice but to play it.

He gradually let go. Upon realizing that Ben had loosened his grip, Bobbi-Jo broke free. She immediately turned, kicking Ben in the balls as hard as she possibly could. The blow caused Ben’s knees to buckle. He writhed on the floor, letting an emasculating whine escape his lips. Bobbi-Jo kicked him again, this time in the ribs, which had been feeling okay until then. Pain shot through him like a bullet. He cried out again, feeling wetness sprinkle his face. A long string of saliva hung from Bobbi-Jo’s mouth. “Motherfucker,” she muttered. “And to think I was going to pity-fuck you before the hunt! You motherfucker!” she screamed, kicking him again.

Ben crawled into a ball. He tried to regain his breath, ignoring the debilitating pain that sabotaged the lower half of his body.

Bobbi-Jo reared her leg back to give him one last kick, but Otis stopped her.

“Now, now. There’s no use ruining Mr. Ben here. He ain’t goan be much use crippled.”

“I say we feed him to that fucker over there, right now!” she snapped, pointing to John Vander, who was still trying to reach his way through the chain-link fence.

“Damn, Bobbi-Jo!” Cooter yelled. “I ain’t seen you this worked up since you got your first period!”

The Three Little Pigs chuckled. Bobbi-Jo continued snarling at Ben, who remained in the fetal position.

“Bobbi-Jo, why don’t you head upstairs and wake Momma,” Otis said. She pretended she didn’t hear him. “Now, Bobbi-Jo! Go on!”

She turned to him. “Wake Momma?” she asked, seething.

“That’s right,” Otis replied. A smiled formed somewhere beneath his bushy, dirty beard. “We got ourselves a game to play.”

CHAPTER TEN

They had been huddled inside a large barn. While they were glad to be out of the dank and unforgiving basement, the barn didn’t offer better scenery. The day’s first light peaked through naked windows. The air was tainted by horseshit. It was so strong they could almost taste it. Otis and the rest of the Barker family stood before them, red, cross-bucked doors at their back.

Tabby sobbed heavily, holding her mute son while he looked with fear. He had no idea what was happening.

Ben and Josh exchanged glances. Ben’s ribs ached like hell. Josh needed a fix. Ross held Landry in front of him, resting his chin on the top of his son’s head. Paul Scott sat in the corner, looking at the Three Little Pigs with contempt, his mind running through the scenarios where he killed all three of them and escaped. Delusions, nothing more. The old dude in the cowboy hat, Bob, rested against the barn door, chewing his own tongue, wishing it was tobacco. Emily latched onto Brit, whimpering softly, hoping no one would notice how scared she was. Victoria stood behind her daughters, tears glistening on her face in the dim light the morning sun provided.

“Here’s the deal-e-o. Ya’ll gonna run, and we gonna chase you,” Otis said.

The Barker family cheered.

“You can’t do this,” Victoria pleaded.

“We can, and we will,” Otis said firmly.

“Look,” Ben said. “The woman I called. She lives near Pittsburgh. She said the government is going to blow everything east of Philly completely off the map. New York, Newark. Trenton. Philly. Boston. Baltimore. All the major cities on the East Coast are completely, one-hundred percent fucked. The government knows there’s nothing that can be done. So instead of infecting the rest of the country, they’re going to blow it all to hell.”

Otis smirked, laughing through his nose. He glanced at his family.

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not. Otis, I swear that’s what she said. I didn’t get to finish my conversation with her, but it sounds like we don’t have a lot of time. It could happen at any point.”

Otis shrugged. “Well, I guess if that’s the case, then we fucked anyway. Might as well have some fun, right?”

“Otis, please—”

Bobbi-Jo stepped forward and punched Ben in the gut. He dropped to his knees. She grabbed his cheeks, hard. She steered his head so their eyes could meet. “I can’t wait to watch you die,” she grunted, then spat in his face.

The Three Little Pigs exploded into laughter. Momma Barker bent over while slapping her knee, finding her daughter’s actions hilarious.

Ben didn’t find it funny. Neither did the rest of them.

“We pros at this sheet. Guess now would be a good time to tell ya’ll that no one has ever made it longer than twenty minutes. And that means…” Otis said, gleaming at them as Cooter and Floyd pushed open the barn doors, letting the smell of the dead in, “…that no one’s ever survived.”

Bobbi-Jo kicked Ben out of the barn. He tripped and fell, mud splashing against his face. He glanced up, finding himself inside a corral. There were no horses, at least none he could see. Behind him, Josh was being booted out, tossed into the playing field. The rest of the group was being lined up, ready to be released into the arena.

“Ya’ll get a five minute head start,” Otis said. “Then we comin’.”

Victoria was next. Bobbi-Jo pushed her. She fell to her knees, next to Ben. It was Brit’s turn next and before Bobbi-Jo could give her the same treatment, Floyd grabbed her wrist.

“Dis one and the blondie are too precious to waste. I reckon we can find better uses for them.” Floyd licked his lips, gleaming at Brit as if she were a glazed-ham dinner. Brit’s face contorted. She nearly gagged.

Bobbi-Jo glanced at Otis for approval.

“Fine,” Otis said. “Put them off to the side. We goan have ourselves a little fuckfest when we get back.”

Victoria overheard them and went ballistic. She scrambled to her feet, trying to run back into the barn, swinging her fists and screaming at the top of her lungs. Ben hadn’t noticed any walkers in the area, but if there had been any nearby, they’d be on their way. Before Victoria could grab hold of her daughter, Otis knocked her in the head with the butt of his shotgun. The blow took her feet out from under her. Victoria hit the muddy ground hard. Ben crawled over to her to make sure she was okay. Her pupils rolled behind her fluttering eyelids.

“Stay with me, Vic,” Ben whispered.

Ben looked back into the barn trying to gauge what was happening. He saw Cooter prying Emily away from Bob the Cowboy. Once he had the two separated, Cooter socked Bob in the jaw, then tossed him out of the barn like a rowdy drunk. Bob tumbled across the earthy floor, losing his hat in the process. They gently shoved Tabby and Anthony into the arena. Next came Paul Scott, who didn’t fuss. Ross and Landry were the last ones to enter and they, too, went willingly.

The barn doors closed slowly. Ben watched the wet faces of Emily and Brittany disappear behind them.

Behind the trees, dawn illuminated the horizon.

“Wake up,” Ben said to Victoria, gently slapping her face.

Her eyes fluttered briefly before opening wide. She gasped for air, as if breathing were a foreign concept. She grabbed Ben’s shoulders as she calmly let her lungs fill up with the sweet country air.

“Don’t tell me…” she muttered, tears clinging to the corners of her eyes. She did nothing to stop them from falling. “Please… God…”

“We’ll get your girls back, Vic,” Ben said. “I promise.”

“I think we should get going,” Ross said. “I can smell the dead. They’re not too far away.”

“Me too,” Paul Scott said. “Maybe we can find somewhere to hold up,” he suggested.

“What’s the point?” Bob the Cowboy said, putting his hat back on. “It’s only going to delay the inevitable.” He shook his head. “You heard the sumbitch. Ain’t nobody ever lasted longer than twenty minutes.”

“So what do we do?” Ross asked. “Wait to die?” He shook his head furiously, brow furrowing. “Uh-uh. No way. I’m not going down like that.”

“Well, I’m staying here,” Bob the Cowboy stated. “Ya’ll can go run off and get eaten by zombies, that’s fine by me. But I’m waiting for those sumbitches right here. And they gonna put me down honorably.” He made his hand into a gun and pressed his pointer finger against his temple, then lowered his thumb. “I ain’t gonna be a pawn in their little game.”

“Look. We should spread out,” Josh said.

“What?” Ben stared at Josh wearily. “No, we stay together.”

“Oh, that’s a good idea. If we want to be slaughtered simultaneously.” Josh paced around them. “We break off into small groups. We’ll be able to hide better and they’ll be easier to overtake separated.”

“What if they hunt together?” Ross asked. “Like in a pack?”

Josh looked at him. “That’s why we gotta spread out.”

Ben helped Victoria to her feet. “Okay. Let’s break off into groups of three. Josh, you’re with me and Victoria. Ross, you and your son go with Bob.”

“Told ya’ll. I ain’t going anywhere.”

“Fine. Then Ross and Landry go with Tabby and Anthony. Paul, you’re with us. That’s two groups of four. Good?”

“It’s better than one group of eight,” Josh said.

“Ya’ll are running out of time,” Bob the Cowboy said. “According to my watch, you only have a minute left on that head start.”

The paint-chipped barn doors opened. Bob the Cowboy watched three figures emerge from the shadows within, garbed in full hunting gear. Their faces were covered by handkerchiefs. They wore big orange wool hats, which would’ve been appropriate in the winter months, but seemed odd in the month of June. The fattest of bunch carried a shotgun. Bob assumed that was Otis, the leader. The other fat one was carrying a crossbow. The skinnier of the three was holding a high-powered rifle across his chest. Bob paid particular attention to the scope on the barrel. These boys sure ain’t fuckin’ around, he thought.

“Didn’t you get the memo, old man? We was givin’ ya’ll a head start,” the fat one in the middle said.

“I ain’t running from you,” Bob the Cowboy said.

“Sounds mighty fine by me,” he replied, then raised his shotgun, pressing the end of the barrel to Bob’s head. He pulled the trigger and the old cowboy’s head splintered into a million pieces. Blood and brains were sent airborne. Bob’s body crumbled to the muddy arena floor. The hunters walked over his headless corpse and continued with their adventure.

“Reckon I message Bobbi-Jo? Have her come grab da’ body?” one of them asked.

“Naw,” the leader answered, catching something move in the corner of his eye. “Let the dead claim ’em.”

Josh opened the door to the gutted Toyota. The frame of the car was mostly rust. He could barely tell that it was once painted teal. The door squeaked, bringing familiar worries. He could smell the zombies. They were close.

“Anything?” Ben asked.

“Hold on.” Josh sifted through the crap on the seat. There were porno magazines and old newspapers all over the place. He brushed them to the floor. “Shit. Nothing.”

“Let’s try the next one.”

They crept along the long row of abandoned vehicles, which seemingly belonged to previous victims. License plates and VIN numbers had been removed. Josh stuck his head in the next vehicle. He searched for something—anything—that could be used as a weapon. Food. Water. Anything.

“Shit, they’re coming,” Paul Scott yelled. Victoria and Paul had been on lookout, while Ben and Josh rummaged through the cars and trucks that littered a small section of the property.

“Walkers, runners, or Barkers?” Josh asked.

“Walkers mostly. There sure is a shitload of them.”

Josh looked to Ben. “We’re fucked here, aren’t we?”

Ben shook his head. He surveyed his surroundings. All he saw was an open field boxed by a never-ending stretch of forest. Trees, trees, and more trees. The sun finally showed itself, lighting the beautiful country atmosphere. They could faintly smell the morning dew on the grass. Ben checked the long row of cars, realizing the Barkers weren’t as dumb as they looked; they weren’t going to risk anyone surviving.

No one has ever survived.

“We need some bait,” Ben said.

“What do you mean?” Josh asked.

“I mean, the only way we’re going to get out of this alive is to fool these bastards.”

Josh shook his head. “I don’t get it.”

Paul overheard their conversation. “Yeah, I’m not too sure I understand.”

“One of us goes up into a tree and we let them surround it. Then the rest of us attack from behind. It’s our only shot without a decent weapon.”

“Without any weapon, you mean,” Josh corrected.

“Well…” Ben bent over, grabbing a stray branch. “We’ll make the best out of what we got.”

“One problem,” Victoria stated. “Who’s going to be the sucker climbing the tree.” All three of them turned to her. For a second she didn’t get it, then it suddenly hit her. She rolled her eyes as her shoulders slumped. “No…”

“If we’re going to take the three of them on in hand to hand… we’re going to need all the strength we can get,” Ben said. “No offense.”

“Oh, none taken,” she said sarcastically.

“Whoa, hold on. I’ll do it,” Josh said. “I’m not going to be much use with one arm anyway.”

Ben looked at him, realizing he may be right. “You sure?”

“Yeah. Besides. I think Victoria here is pretty motivated to get her daughters back. You’d be surprised how much strength people have when they’re backed against a wall.” Josh looked to her, winking. “Isn’t that right, Vic?”

“I’ll kill to get her back.”

Ben nodded. “Very well then.” He nodded. “I hope you can climb with one arm.”

The Three Little Pigs stopped in the middle of the field. Around them, the dead moaned. They crept out of the forest, one by one, stumbling toward them with one thing on the forefront of their dense minds. Otis laughed. He raised his shotgun and took out the nearest zombie with a loud bang.

“Sure ya want to be doing dat?” Floyd asked. “Might need the ammo. Sides. Ya’ll attract mo’ of dem.”

“Mo’ da betta,” Otis grumbled.

“Sheet, Otis,” Cooter said. “I ain’t goan get bitten by one of deez fuckers. And what bout the runners?”

“Fuck dem. We kill dem all.”

Floyd and Cooter exchanged looks.

“Maybe we should split up,” Otis suggested. “Things’ll go faster that way.”

“Oh sheet. I dunno, Otis. We usually hunt together,” Floyd told him. “Bad luck goan against tradition. Ain’t it?”

“Don’ give a sheet. I want to find these fuckers and I want them dead fast.” Beneath the handkerchief, Otis grinned. “We got some fresh pussy to get to.”

Ross reached for the barbed-wire fence. It was about ten feet tall, not impossible to climb. He was about to wrap his fingers around it when someone grabbed his shoulder.

“Don’t,” a voice said. “It’s live.” Tabby let go gently.

“How can you be sure?”

“They wouldn’t risk us escaping. And remember? They have generators.”

“Don’t do it, Dad,” Landry said. “It’s not worth it.”

Ross turned, looking past them, at the leaf-covered hill in the middle of the woods. Zombies were drunkenly swaying their way up, none of them moving fast enough to be considered a threat. There weren’t many. Ross could count their numbers with his fingers. However, if enough were drawn to their location, it would cause problems. At the time, heading for the fence seemed like a good strategy, but Ross realized that Tabby was right—there was no way the rednecks would risk them surviving.

“Shit,” Ross muttered. “What the hell do we do now?”

The zombies’ utterances were growing louder. The smell accompanying their arrival intensified.

“We can run?” Tabby suggested.

“Tired of running,” Ross said. He bent down, picking up the nearest branch. It was a good size, about the length of a hockey stick and the thickness of a dough roller. One of the walkers reached the top of the hill. Ross swung at its head. He cracked the zombie across its face, causing it to lose balance. It fell on its side, tumbling down the hill. The next zombie made it to the top. Ross ended its climb similarly.

“Can’t play King of the Hill forever, Dad,” Landry said.

“Have any better ideas?” Ross said.

“Actually I—”

An arrow zipped through the air and found a home in the tree next to Landry’s head.

It hurt like hell, but he climbed the tree with one arm. Ben and Paul had given him a big boost toward the first branch. He banged his arm on a few branches, nearly screamed from the intense pain that streaked up and down his arm, but he was able to subdue his outburst. Josh got himself halfway up the tree when he couldn’t take it anymore. He had done further damage to his arm, there was no question about it. He jeopardized the healing process for sure. Josh began to worry that his arm might never heal correctly. Well, if this plan goes sour, I won’t have to worry about that, now will I? He maintained a comfortable squatting positing, waiting for the Three Little Pigs to come.

He wouldn’t have to wait long.

“Don’ think I don’ see yer ass up der,” a southern voice said.

Josh looked down and saw one of them—he couldn’t tell which, but it appeared to be the fatter one—standing on top of the Toyota he had tried to plunder. Josh looked beyond the redneck, seeing a head rising from behind the car. It was Ben. He had been hiding beneath the car the whole time Josh was ascending the tree. A few zombies plodded in their general direction. There were no signs of Victoria or Paul.

“I wonder how you should die…” the hunter said. He pointed his rifle at Josh, while lining up the scope with his eye. “Gunshot. Fall from tree. Or zombie.”

“How’s about none of the above, motherfucker,” Ben said, taking the tree branch he acquired to the hunter’s knee. The fat man shrieked as his knee gave, his bulbous body coming down on the windshield, cracking it on contact. The glass spider-webbed from the point of impact. The hunter’s rotund figure slowly rolled down the hood of the car, landing in the wet grass below. Josh watched Ben pounced on him like a jungle cat. Victoria and Paul rushed out of the woods, joining him.

A sick joy ran through Josh as he witnessed his three friends beat the man within an inch of his life. Ben repeatedly hit him with the stick, while Victoria and Paul continuously kicked him. The ribs. The chest. Directly in the face. Josh listened to the sounds of the First Little Piggy’s body breaking with the same satisfaction he would with a new song from his favorite band.

He maneuvered his way through the branches to a position where he felt comfortable jumping. Josh let go of the branches, landing on both feet. The impact left a sting, but nothing compared to the searing pain that ran down the right side of his body.

Josh joined his friends.

Paul had taken the gun from the hunter’s clutches. His handkerchief had been removed, revealing a bloody, almost unrecognizable face. Josh thought it was the one who had been introduced as Cooter.

Ben stepped back from the violent scene. Around them, zombies grew closer.

“We don’t have to kill him,” Ben said. “The zombies will do that for us.”

Paul switched off the gun’s safety. “But I want to.”

Ben placed his hand on Paul’s shoulder. “Killing a human is much different than killing a zombie.”

Paul laughed through his nose. “These people aren’t human. They’re less human than the fucking zombies.”

“That may be,” Ben agreed. “But if you pull that trigger, you’re no better than them.”

Beneath his bloody mask, Cooter chuckled. He meant to say something, but scarlet fluids filled his mouth, sputtering down his chin.

“I disagree,” Paul said, then yanked the trigger.

The gun roared. A dark, red hole appeared on Cooter’s forehead.

Above them, birds screamed while abandoning their nests, fleeing into the bright morning sky.

Floyd Barker followed four shadows deep into the woods. He pulled the trigger on his crossbow, but his targets were too far away. The arrow sailed into the distance, disappeared. He stopped to reload when he heard crunchy footfalls behind him. They were closing in. He abandoned the crossbow, removing the long, segregated hunting knife that had been strapped to his leg. He looked up, seeing a blur rush toward him. He barely caught a glimpse of the monster’s face before it barreled into him. Its tongue hung from its mouth, bloody saliva trickling down its chin. It snarled, a resonating inhuman sound that echoed through the woods. Floyd drove the knife deep into the runner’s chest, but it didn’t prevent the creature from taking a chunk out of his neck. Floyd hollered girlishly as the zombie spit the bloody clump of flesh out and dove in for seconds. Pushing the zombie off by grabbing its tattered shirt and flinging it sideways, Floyd spat obscenities. The zombie stood its ground, snapping at Floyd’s wrist, catching his flesh between its teeth. It peeled Floyd’s skin back like a roll of duct tape. Withdrawing his arm from the creature’s mouth, Floyd screamed when he saw his own bone beneath the torn flesh. His uninjured hand took the hunting knife, plunging it between the zombie’s eyes. The corpse fell to the ground, puss and other infectious fluids bubbling out from the knife wound.

Floyd glanced around, hoping Otis and Cooter heard his screams. However, only figures Floyd saw trudging through the forest were the dead.

He cursed himself and his brothers for being so stupid. Did they really think they were going to survive this? How cocky could they have been? Now he was left alone, bitten and bleeding, his veins pumping the infection throughout his body.

Shee-it, Floyd thought, as half a dozen zombies closed in on him, licking their lips, ready to satisfy their seemingly unquenchable hunger.

“Did you hear that?” Tabby asked. “Sounded like someone screaming.”

“Maybe that redneck bastard got what he deserved,” Ross stated.

They continued jogging through the forest, parallel with the electric fence that kept them inside the parameters their captors had designated. Ross eagerly checked for a break, a missing section of fence that the dead could’ve created. They had passed one zombie who had tried breaking out of the arena, but paid the price dearly. The smell of his fried, dead flesh made Anthony puke. Everyone in the group almost followed suit. Ross hoped the Barkers wanted to save fuel for their generators and thought they had kept the fence inactive between “hunts.” If that were true, and he prayed it was, then the zombies could have broken out during those opportune times.

As they kept moving, Ross began losing faith in his theory.

“How much longer are we gonna keep running for?” Landry asked his father.

“You tired, boy?” Ross asked. “And you want to be an All-State running back?”

Landry laughed beneath his breath. They had probably already ran the length of five football fields, but he opted not to argue that fact with his father.

“I could use a quick breather,” he admitted.

In agreement, Anthony exhaled dramatically.

“I think we could use one too,” Tabby said.

Ross looked around. There were no zombies in his line of vision, even though the forest reeked of them. They weren’t far away. And who knew where the hunters were lurking. For all he knew, they could be squatting in one of the trees with a sniper rifle. Ross scanned the tall maple trees. They provided excellent coverage. As his eyes bounced from tree to tree, he expected to hear the gunshot that would end his life.

“Okay, but not too long,” Ross said. “And let’s stay away from the fence while we’re at it.”

“I thought you said the fence was our best bet for getting out of here,” Tabby said.

“I did.” Ross nodded to the top of the fence. A camera had been mounted to the top of the fence post, peering directly at them. “But we’re being watched.”

Ross put his arm around his son, steering him toward the middle of the arena.

“We can’t go back there. We’ll be sitting ducks in the open,” Tabby said.

“Maybe they won’t be expecting us there,” Ross said. “Maybe there is a way out, back where we started. And maybe there won’t be any cameras either.”

There were too many “maybes” in his logic, but Tabby didn’t argue. Instead, she comforted her son, throwing her arm around his neck. He smiled weakly. She mouthed the words “I love you” not knowing how many opportunities she had left to tell him. Anthony’s smile grew wider.

Together, the four of them walked toward the core of the arena where the smell of the dead became very bold.

Otis approached the gaggle of corpses. They were on their knees, crowded around their recent victory, rummaging through the sack of skin for inner parts and other tasty treats. Below the zombies, through the slick red mess that pooled outward, Otis recognized the pair of boots and the pant legs that stuck out of the feeding frenzy. Sheet, he thought. He raised his shotgun and started breaking up the party. The zombies looked away from their meal, their faces covered in slushy crimson fluids, growling at the intruder. One by one, Otis thinned the crowd until one zombie remained. It looked at Otis warily, then returned to snacking on his brother’s intestines.

Otis knocked the zombie in the head with the stock of his shotgun. The zombie fell on its side, snarling as it rolled across the ground. It tried scrambling to its feet, but Otis was there with his boot, jamming his steel-toe boot into the side of the zombie’s face, which dented on impact. Rotten teeth tumbled out of its mouth. The rancid stench was nauseating, even to Otis, who had smelled worse over the years.

“You sumbitches,” Otis murmured, bringing his foot down on the back of the zombie’s head. It crunched beneath his boot like shards of glass. Otis ground the corpse’s head into the dirt, rotating the ball of his foot while applying all the pressure he could muster. Once finished, he stomped on it several more times, making sure the dead remained dead.

Otis’s eyes found Floyd, or what the zombies didn’t have a chance to finish. His stomach was ripped open, most of his organs removed, becoming nothing more than chew toys. His mouth was agape, forever capturing that horrific final moment. Coagulated blood stained his lips. His right ear had been torn off, leaving a flap of skin hanging down his face.

Otis shook his head. There were no tears in his eyes. Otis wasn’t sure when the last time he cried, if he had ever done such a thing. He thought about Momma, what she would do if she saw her son’s brutal demise on the surveillance camera mounted in the trees. Otis thought about dragging his brother back to the house so that the vultures wouldn’t snatch up his remains. That way, Momma Barker could give her son a proper burial.

But that would take time—time Otis decided he didn’t have. Besides, he spotted a trail of footsteps leading away from Floyd’s body. Four different sets. They got away, Otis thought. Sumbitches got away and Floyd didn’t. The fact that the contestants had (so far) survived this apocalyptic obstacle course and his brother hadn’t enraged him. He felt his face grow hot and it wasn’t because of the orange globe in the sky or the bush on his face.

Otis marched on, following the contestants’ trail, more motivated to claim a kill than he ever had been.

Josh was not quite finished puking into a bush when Ben Ackerman strolled along side of him. He glanced up, a thick strand of upchuck hanging from his mouth. Ben loomed over him. He put his hand on Josh’s back.

“Is it the smell or the withdrawals?” he asked.

“Both,” Josh answered. “I think.” Vomit exploded out of his mouth once again. “They’re close? The zombies, I mean?”

“About twenty paces back. It’s hard to lose them.”

“How many?”

“Enough to give us problems if they catch up,” Ben said. “Plus, there’s still two more Barker brothers out there.”

“Unless Ross and his crew did as well as we did,” Josh said, sounding somewhat hopeful.

“Yeah,” Ben replied. “But we can’t be too sure of that.”

Josh brought himself to his feet, feeling a little better. His stomach remained uneasy. The feelings his body produced from the lack of drugs was still riding him like a pissed-off demon. The dragon needs to be satiated.

Victoria and Paul Scott jogged over to them.

“Guys!” Victoria gasped, almost breathless.

“What?” Ben quickly asked.

“It’s Ross and the others.”

“What about them?”

“They’re in the middle of the field,” Paul said nervously. “Just standing there.”

“What?” Josh asked. “Why?”

“Dunno,” Paul said. “But they better do something quick. If the zombies don’t get to them, those sick bastards are sure to find them.”

“Shit,” Josh muttered. “Have they lost their minds?”

“Sure as shit seems like it.”

Ben opened his mouth to speak, but he was interrupted by a thunderous boom. It had come from the direction of the open field, where previous contestants’ vehicles lay not-so-hidden. The four of them rotated toward the thunderclap.

Ben and Josh exchanged glances. Then they ran.

“Where tha fuck ya’ll think yer goan?” a familiar voice spoke from behind them. “Ya’ll left my brother fer dead. What’dja ya’ll think ya were goan just walk outta here ’live?”

Zombies limped toward them. Despite the approaching killer, the foursome continued walking towards the pack of corpses. Towards a longer, more agonizing death.

The shotgun bellowed. Over the stench of the dead, gunsmoke prevailed.

“Stop moving, or I mow ya’ll down right-fuckin’ now!” Otis screamed.

Ross stopped, holding his son from taking another step. Tabby put her arm across her son’s chest, stopping him from moving toward the zombie herd that had gained numbers.

Slowly, the four contestants turned toward their psychotic host. He gleamed at them, a wide southern smile spreading his fluffy beard apart.

“Thas’ better.”

“Just get it over with,” Ross muttered. “That’s the least you can do.”

“The least I can do? Naw, naw. Ya’ll let those fuckin’ dead things tear my brother ’part. Ain’t nuthin’ but blood and guts left of him.”

“We had no idea,” Ross said. “Please.”

“We didn’t even see your brother,” Tabby added.

“Bullsheet,” Otis said, raising his gun. “I saws the arrows. He was trackin’ ya’ll. I ain’t fuckin’ stupid.”

“Please…” Tabby pleaded. Tears rolled down her face. She looked over her shoulder. The dead were closing in. If Otis didn’t hurry up and shoot them, she was going to have to make a run for it. She didn’t have a choice. Running was better than becoming zombie food. At least it gave them a chance. “Please, just let us go… there’s no need for this… madness.”

“Don’ think so, lil lady.”

Tabby cried harder. “Goddamn you… Goddamn all of you…” Behind her, she heard snarls. Then, something gentle—perhaps the wind—brushed the hairs on her neck. She screamed, grabbing Anthony’s hand. She took off, toward the tree line, as fast as her legs could carry her.

Otis followed them, firing in their direction. As soon as the gun clapped, pain exploded into his kneecap. Before the big oaf knew it, he was on the ground. The gun flew from his hands. It landed in the tall grass, several feet in front of him. He wasn’t exactly sure what had happened, but he knew he was hurt. He rolled over onto his back and looked down. His kneecap was not where it had been for the first thirty-eight years of his life. It had shifted to the side of his leg. Pain he never knew before infiltrated his body.

Standing over him was Ben Ackerman. Otis remembered smacking the stupid bastard over his head when he was in the middle of a very important phone call. Something about his ex-wife, or kid. Sheet, he couldn’t remember. The pain that entered him overcame his thoughts. Ben waved a tree branch in the air, threatening his other knee.

“Hi there,” Ben said.

“You sumbitch,” Otis replied, then screamed when Ben took the branch to his other leg. He watched as his other kneecap became detached, floating to the side of his leg. Beneath his camouflage pants, he felt his legs become wet with blood.

“My friend wants to shoot you,” Ben said. He nodded to Paul Scott, who held his brother’s gun across his chest. “But you won’t be getting off that easy.”

“That’s Cooter’s gun,” Otis grumbled.

“Not anymore,” Paul said, grinning.

“Where he be?”

“Let’s just say, Cooter won’t be going on any more hunts,” Paul boasted.

Otis rolled his eyes, grimacing. “You sumbitches.” He tried to move, but couldn’t. His legs went numb and useless. He was too rotund to bring himself to his feet anyway.

“Now…” Ben said. “About a way out of here. I believe you have a certain pickup truck you’ll no longer be using.”

She felt the bullet penetrate her leg, but kept running until the strength abandoned the lower half of her body, causing her to fall. She ate a mouthful of freshly-dewed grass. Anthony screamed—a silent version of one. He fell to his knees next to her, flapping his arms wildly in confusion, not knowing what to do. The other bullets had just missed them, a few landing in the earth a only feet away. Panic set in. The only thing that made sense to Anthony in that moment was to cry and try to help his mother to her feet.

She wouldn’t budge. She groaned in agony, flailing around on the ground like a fish in need of the ocean. Anthony helped flip her over and she shrieked, attracting the attention of a few nearby zombies.

“Son…” she rasped.

Anthony nodded, tears flowing steadily from his eyes. They gave his face a spectacular sheen.

“I love you…” she spoke softly, moving her lips slowly so he would understand. “With all my heart.”

Anthony nodded. Then he felt pressure on the muscle between his shoulder and neck. Then pain. All around him the dead appeared. They lunged for him, taking bites out of his arms and legs. He heard his mother scream as she thrashed around, trying to dodge the horde’s attacks, failing. She, too, fell victim to their savagery.

The flock of zombies smothered their quarry, shredding through their tender flesh.

Behind him, the zombies gnashed their teeth in his ears. Ross turned, pushing away the closest corpse. “Run,” he told Landry. “Toward Ben and the others.”

“I’m not leaving you!” Landry shouted back.

Ross turned to him, his face contorting. “Now!” he commanded.

Landry didn’t disobey his father twice. He sprinted toward Ben, Paul, and the fallen hunter. He glanced over his shoulder and saw his father battling the zombies as they grew closer. The zombies fell like uncoordinated children. However, they immediately rose to their feet after stumbling to the ground. Ross realized his efforts were not only futile, but apt to get him killed. He followed his own advice.

A runner came sprinting out of the woods, moaning loudly. Blood caked the front of his tattered shirt. Ross noticed half of the fast zombie’s face was missing. It had been stripped away, revealing puss pockets and decayed muscle. An eyeball hung from its socket, bouncing around spastically while on the run.

Ross noticed its target.

Landry.

“Hey!” Ross shouted. “Over there!” He was pointing to the runner, hoping that Paul heard him. He was the only one currently holding a firearm. “The runner!”

Paul looked up and saw Ross pointing, but it was too late. The runner had closed in on Landry, its arms outstretched and grabbing. Paul raised his gun, but by the time he steadied his aim, the zombie had tackled Landry to the ground. Screaming his son’s name, Ross took off without caution. He prayed what he was seeing wasn’t real, that this was all some strange nightmare they’d soon awake from. But it wasn’t a nightmare and the zombie didn’t hesitate sinking its teeth into the meaty flesh on Landry’s shoulder. The kid screeched, a terrible cry that rattled Ben’s nerves. The zombie twisted its head back and forth, making sure it had a firm hold of Landry’s muscle. Then it snapped its head back, taking a mouthful from the kid’s shoulder. Blood and sinewy matter flew in the air. Landry let out a scream that could’ve been heard in neighboring counties.

Ross stumbled, fell to his knees, tears spilling from the corners of his eyes. “No…” he muttered mindlessly. “No…”

Something that sounded like a crack of lightning interrupted the following silence. Ross flinched as the zombie’s head jerked. Blood spurted out of the hole that appeared in the back of its head, the dead body falling onto the grass beside Landry. The boy squirmed back and forth, holding his shoulder. He whimpered, holding in screams.

Ross dug for strength. Once he was able to feel his limbs again, he hurried over to his ailing son. Landry wailed, unable to suppress it any longer. His blood soaked the ground beneath him. He was losing a lot of it, and fast. Ross took his shirt off. It wasn’t exactly clean, but there were no alternatives. He tied the dirty shirt around the gaping hole in his son’s arm.

“He needs medical attention,” Ross said. Sobbing made his words almost impossible to understand. “We need to take him to a hospital.”

Ben and Paul looked at each other. Neither of them spoke.

“Now!” Ross screamed. “I said right fucking now!”

Josh came over to them. Victoria emerged from the tree line. For a minute they had forgotten about her and where she escaped to once they had disarmed Otis. They crowded around Ross and Landry, carefully keeping their eyes on the approaching zombie herd. They didn’t have much time to waste. Zombies stumbled from the shadows the woods harbored, into the morning sunlight. They came from every direction, the shuffling crowd quickly gaining mass.

“What are you people standing there for?” Ross asked. “Do something!”

“What would you like us to do?” Josh asked. “I don’t mean to come off as insensitive, but what exactly can we do?”

Ross turned his attention back to his son. Blood had already soaked through the shirt he had used as a tourniquet. It flowed from the wound steadily with no signs of yielding. Landry’s eyes fluttered. The kid fought the darkness that invaded his vision.

“Stay with me, son!” Ross shouted. He slapped his son’s cheek lightly. Then he put pressure on the wound with both hands. The bleeding continued despite his efforts. “Please…”

There was little that could be done. Except to wait out the inevitable.

Landry was dead within minutes.

“I hate to suggest this,” Paul said, “but we really should be moving.” He looked around. The dead encircled them. Their moans grew louder, their stench intensified. The group listened to the shuffling of many feet with instant dread.

“I can’t leave,” Ross muttered. He pressed his ear to Landry’s chest. Nothing there. He raised his head, tears pouring down his face. He closed Landry’s eyes. They would never open again.

Unless he comes back…

Yes, he would come back as one of them. Wouldn’t he? Wouldn’t he become a member of the dead parade that seemingly outnumbered the living? Ross couldn’t allow it. He couldn’t watch his son transform into a monster trapped between the world of the living and the world of the dead.

Like his mother.

Ross assumed she was out there somewhere, eating her way through the rest of her days. A thought inappropriately popped into his head, triggered by the memory of his wife; what would happen when there’s no more food left? Sooner or later, all humans would become zombies. Or the humans would regain control. However, judging from what he had witnessed, Ross placed his money on the first scenario.

The entire East Coast… Gone…

That’s what Ben had said. It was overrun. The government was going to blow it to hell. Maybe there are doctors in the west that can help Landry, he thought, looking down at his son’s corpse. Don’t be stupid. He’s gone. Dead. Ain’t coming back. At least, not as the Landry you knew and loved. Ross didn’t want to witness his son’s reanimation. He closed his eyes, tears still finding their exit regardless.

“We really need to go,” Josh said. “C’mon.”

“You guys go. I’m… staying.”

“Ross, he’s dead,” Ben said. “I know it’s hard, but there’s nothing you can do about it. Now come on.”

He shook his head. “What would you do if you got to Pittsburgh and your kid was dead, Ben?” Ross asked. “Don’t tell me you wouldn’t do anything different.”

Ben didn’t say anything.

“That’s what I thought.”

For ten seconds, no one spoke. Ben nodded. A lump of air nestled in his throat. He opened his mouth to speak.

“Don’t say anything,” Ross said. “There’s nothing left to say.”

A low, raspy voice cackled. “Very touchin’. Ya’ll got me teary-eyed.”

The group turned their attention to the crippled hillbilly. He was giggling, amused by the whole situation. Ross stood up, finally able to take his eyes off Landry. He limped over to Otis. He looked down at the beached whale, the one partially responsible (if not fully) for his son’s demise. The images of the fast zombie ripping Landry’s shoulder apart replayed inside his head.

“You…” Ross spoke softly.

“Nagger…” Otis muttered. “How’s that boy of yours? Don’ look so good from ova’ hur.”

Ross screamed. He raised his right foot in the air, bringing it down on Otis’s face with all of his strength. Something cracked, sounding like glass being caught between a shoe and the pavement. Ben assumed it was the bones in the fat man’s face. Otis opened his large mouth and howled. Ross repeated his motion, his face stricken with rage. He watched with satisfaction as several of the hillbilly’s teeth disappeared down the back of his throat. Otis choked. Ross stomped on him again. Blood pooled around his nose, then dripped down both sides of his face. Again. More blood. Gashes opened above his eyes, on his forehead. Again. More blood. More gashes. Cracking sounds. Screams. Ross kept marching on his face, furiously, as if he were trying to put out a small, yet potentially-dangerous fire.

Once Ross finished, his foot tired and aching, the psychopath’s face was nothing but bloody chunks of bone and brain matter. He stopped when the splattering became too much. He glanced up from the fat man’s grisly display and saw some of the zombies were getting too close for comfort.

“Go,” Ross told the group.

“What are you going to do, man?” Ben asked.

“I’m going to bury my son,” he croaked tearfully.

Ben opened his mouth to argue.

“Go.”

Ben fixed his eyes on Ross, who avoided his gaze. Finally, Josh walked up behind Ben and placed his hand on his shoulder.

“Come on. We can’t stay any longer,” Josh told him.

“We need to get my daughters,” Victoria told them.

Reluctantly, Ben began walking away from Ross. He watched the somber man bend down and scoop his boy into his arms.

Ben turned toward the Barker’s house, wishing he could have done more to change the man’s mind.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Victoria stopped in front of the barn. “How do we find Brit and Emily?” she asked. She turned to the others. Behind them, an army of zombies had gathered. The survivors had put distance between them, but there were more of them than they had anticipated. One hundred or so corpses had found their way into the corral.

“They probably put them back in the cages,” Josh suggested.

“We should split up,” Ben said. “Victoria come with me. Josh, go with Paul. You guys go around to the front of the house. We’ll take the back. We’ll clear the house and meet up in the basement.”

“What if that crazy bitch and her mother are still inside?” Paul asked.

“We’re going to clear the house,” Ben repeated.

Paul nodded, understanding perfectly.

“Okay. Let’s do this,” Ben said, heading toward the barn, which led to the back of the house.

Josh opened the front door. He glanced back and saw the pickup truck sitting on the front lawn. He was relieved to find the yard void of zombies. As long as they survived whatever waited inside, they’d have a clear shot at the highway with no obstacles.

He crept into the door, weaponless. Paul followed.

“Maybe you should go first,” Josh whispered.

“Good idea,” Paul agreed. “Which way?”

Josh pointed to the right of the staircase, down a long corridor leading to the kitchen. Paul followed his direction and crept forward, cringing each time he planted his foot and heard the creak of the old wooden floorboards. Josh’s nerves swam violently, fearing the noise would alert their enemies. He suspected their intrusion wouldn’t go unnoticed, in fact, he would find himself surprised if the two Barker women didn’t already know about their arrival. He was worried they would find Brit and Emily dead, murdered for what had happened to the Three Little Pigs. The women were probably watching the entire hunt on the surveillance cameras.

They tiptoed through the dining room and continued toward the kitchen. Josh thought about taking off his shoes to lessen the clatter, but he figured it wouldn’t do much. Besides, he might need to run. Fast. Outside.

The kitchen became visible and Josh noticed something on the floor. Red droplets. A trail of them. Leading to the kitchen. Josh followed the trail with his eyes, spotting a big red puddle in the middle of the floor. He placed his hand on Paul’s shoulder.

“I know,” Paul whispered. “I see it.”

They both peered into the doorway. They couldn’t see right or left, their vision blocked by walls on both sides.

“I can’t see anything,” Josh said.

Paul inched closer and peered into the kitchen, sticking his head into the doorway. He was careful not to give away his position to anyone who might be waiting for them inside. What he saw was limited, but useful. Another trail led away from the puddle. He followed it, but the door frame blocked wherever it led to. He glanced up, saw a row of cabinets on the far wall. An island lay in the middle of the kitchen. Papers, mail, and a telephone sat on the counter haphazardly.

Out of the corner of his eye, Paul saw something move.

It was a dark figure. Tall. It disappeared into the shadows of the unlit room.

Paul turned to Josh. He nodded, signaling it was time to go in.

Josh nodded back in agreement.

Quickly, they entered the kitchen. Paul had his rifle drawn, ready to fire on anything or anyone he considered a threat.

What the two of them saw made their mouths drop.

The trail of blood led to a headless corpse, which lay on the floor in front of them. Blood leaked onto the tile floor from where the woman’s head used to be. The body was clad in a purple sun dress, yellow sunflowers printed on it.

Josh averted his eyes. Momma Barker’s head had been placed on the island intentionally. Josh saw Bobbi-Jo had been strapped to the kitchen table. She was naked, her mouth covered with duct tape. Two long streaks of black mascara ran down her cheeks. She squirmed, but it was useless. Someone knew what they were doing when it came to tying knots. Bobbi-Jo saw Josh and Paul enter the room and screamed.

“Oh…” a familiar voice uttered from where they had entered the room. Josh and Paul spun around. Paul raised his rifle at the murderer’s face. “Good to see you again…”

“You…” Josh felt sick. The psycho’s body was drenched in gore from head to toe. Blood splatter hid most of his face like a Halloween mask. Naked, he wore the old woman’s blood like a scarlet suit. The sick bastard smiled, his teeth perfectly aligned and unstained. His cold, soulless eyes locked onto Josh’s. Making eye-contact with him turned his stomach.

“So glad you could join the party,” Jason said.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Ben kicked in the screen door, making his presence known. Not exactly the wisest of plans, but he figured he could draw the two remaining Barkers to the rear of the house, allowing Paul and Josh to reach the basement without being harassed. The plan made sense, at least in theory. Ben assumed there were would be complications, just as there had been every step of the way.

His brain focused on Jake, seeing his face again in his mind’s eye.

Ben quickly glanced to the left, then to the right, his makeshift club in hand, ready to swing for the fences. He saw nothing in front of him except for an old washer and dryer that had once been white, but yellowed over the years due to prolonged nicotine exposure and poor maintenance. He moved into the laundry room, waving Victoria in.

Victoria followed Ben through the living room. Ben expected one of the Barker women to jump out of the closet or from behind the couch with a kitchen knife in their hand, ready to slash them to bits.

Ben sidestepped through the room, checking behind the couch, furniture, and any nook and cranny the room had to offer. When he was satisfied that the room was clear, he waved Victoria on once again.

A voice spoke from the neighboring room.

“So glad you could join the party,” someone said. Ben and Victoria exchanged looks. The voice was vaguely familiar, but they couldn’t place it.

Suddenly, it hit Ben. His eyes exploded with recognition. Victoria frowned. Then it hit her as well. Her eyebrows arched, her lips slowly parting.

It was that mouthy little punk Ross fought earlier. Wasn’t he dead? Ben thought. Then he realized they never actually saw him meet his demise. Only heard it. Or thought they had.

They heard another voice utter “Holy shit.” That was Paul.

Another asked Jason what he had done. That was Josh.

Both voices harnessed a fearful tone.

Ben carefully approached the doorway, holding Victoria’s hand, guiding her.

“I think we should slowly make an appearance,” Victoria suggested calmly. “What do you say?”

Ben let go of her hand. He rummaged through his pocket, producing a key. He placed it in her hand.

“What is this?” she asked.

“The key to the truck. Run to the basement, grab your girls and meet us out front.”

“Are you sure?”

“Don’t waste any more time.”

She pocketed the key, kissed Ben on the cheek, and rushed back the way they came.

Once she had disappeared into the hallway, Ben crept toward the doorway.

Jason picked the head off the island’s counter and started eating the sinew and bloody strands of tissue that dripped from the bottom of Momma Barker’s head. He chewed the dangling muscle as if it were cherry licorice, laughing while swallowing. With his other hand, he was fondling his semi-erect penis. As he consumed the dead woman’s gore, he peered at Josh and Paul, a childish grin spreading across his face.

“Ah…” Jason said. “Delicious.” He faced the table where Bobbi-Jo was fastened by blood-stained rope. He ran his fingers up her leg until he reached her vagina, then stopped. He massaged it gently. She whimpered softly through the rolled pair of socks taped in her mouth. “The things I’m going to do to you,” he happily boasted.

“Turn around you… f-fucking w-weirdo,” Paul stammered, pointing the gun at the young man.

Jason stopped fingering Bobbi-Jo and faced them. “Ouch. I’m insulted,” he said sarcastically. “I’m afraid I’ve been called worse things. In my hometown, which happens to be a quaint little place outside of Atlanta, I’m called ‘The Ripper.’ After Jack, of course. I mostly stick to prostitutes—they disgust me—but, I’ll make a few exceptions here and there.” He planted Momma Barker’s head on the island. “These bitches underestimated me. They always do. They see a wimpy guy with glasses and a sharp mouth, and they think deep down I’m harmless. Well… I taught them, didn’t I?”

They didn’t answer the rhetorical question.

“Didn’t I?” he asked more firmly.

“Yes,” Josh said. “You sure did.” He felt like was going to be sick again. He wasn’t sure if the drugs or the smell of blood was responsible for his nauseas.

“That’s right. I did,” Jason said. He patted the top of the old woman’s head as if it were a good dog.

Behind Jason, Josh saw Ben appear. He slowly entered the kitchen, being careful not to make a sound. He glided across the tile, raising his bludgeon above his head.

“I’ll make a deal with you and your friends. I know they’re here somewhere,” he snarled. “Just let me be. Leave me here with the girls and let me have a little fun. In return, I won’t follow you. I won’t track you down and gut you like livestock. Deal?” Jason asked, smiling like a happy puppy.

Josh and Paul nodded slowly.

“Good. Now—”

Jason felt something strike him from behind. He went down instantly, smashing his head on the counter before hitting the tile floor.

“Jesus…” Ben said, upon noticing the old woman’s head. He looked at Bobbi-Jo, who screamed to be unbound. “What the hell happened here?”

Josh didn’t answer. Instead, he threw up.

Ben ripped the duct tape off her mouth. She spit out the pair of socks. Then screamed.

“Did you miss me?” he asked.

She spat at him and started raving. “You keep me away from that sick motherfucker!” she screamed. “Keep him the fuck away!”

Ben turned away from her while she continued with her tantrum.

“What are we going to do with him?” Paul asked. “We can’t let the sick puppy live.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “Wouldn’t be right just shooting him in the head, I suppose? Considering what he done and all.”

“We can’t kill him,” Ben said. “He’s not afraid of dying. It’s just what he’d want us to do.”

“I say we kick the shit out of him,” Josh muttered.

“Josh…” Ben said.

“Just a suggestion.”

There was a moment of silence, Bobbi-Jo breaking it by screaming at the top of her lungs.

“Where are the girls?” Paul asked.

“Victoria went to the basement to grab them.”

“We should go get them,” Josh said.

“You two go,” Paul told them. “Go on. I’ll clean up here.”

“You sure?” Ben asked.

The trucker nodded. He winked, then checked his rifle to make sure it had at least two bullets loaded. “Don’t worry about it. You just get the girls out of here safely. I’ll meet ya’ll at the truck.”

Ben nodded. Then he turned to Josh, motioning toward the hallway.

Reluctantly, Josh followed.

“Mom!” Brit cried out. She pressed her face against the chain-link cage. Tears spilled down her cheeks.

Emily peered through the cage, just as her sister, while their mother sped forth.

“My babies,” she muttered somberly. “Did they hurt you?”

The girls shook their heads.

Victoria closed her eyes, relieved.

“Do you have the key?” Brit asked.

“What key?”

“They cage is locked.”

“Shit. I didn’t think of that.”

Creaky footfalls descending the stairs filled the basement.

“Looking for this?” Ben asked. He held the shiny brass key in front of him like a cross used for fending off vampires.

Victoria took it from him, grinning. She hurriedly turned back to her confined daughters. Once the lock was opened, the girls pushed open the cage and hugged their mother as if it had been years since their last encounter. There had been much debate whether they would ever see her again.

Tears rolled down Brittany’s cheeks, disappearing into her mother’s shirt. Emily sobbed into her mother’s shoulder.

“I hate to break up the reunion,” Josh said, “but we should probably get going.”

The three girls turned to the two men, who looked like they had just come back from battle. Dirty. Bloody from cuts and scrapes on their arms and face. Worn faces that could use a few hours of sleep. Or perhaps a few days.

“Josh is right. We don’t have long before—”

Before Ben could finish, glass shattered above them, the inhuman sounds of the gathering dead filled the first floor.

Then the screams began.

They reached the top of the stairs. Ben turned to Josh, handing him the key to the truck. “Take the girls to the truck. Give me two minutes. If I’m not out, leave without me.”

Josh nodded, grabbing the key from Ben. He waved the three women on and the four of them disappeared into the hallway.

Ben went the opposite way, following the sounds of the dead.

What the hell are you thinking? his inner-voice asked. You should be running away from them, not toward them! Think of your son for fuck’s sake!

The voice was right. Why risk his life to save somebody he barely knew? Jake depended on him.

I can’t just let Paul die…

Ben’s conscious would never let him forgive himself. He had to try to save the man, pull him out of the fire so to speak. It was in his nature, his human nature, and Ben didn’t really understand why anymore than he knew the intricacies of the universe. He only knew he had to try.

Ben appeared in the doorway leading to the kitchen. His stomach plummeted. The zombies had broken through the back door, crowding the kitchen. At least fifteen of them. Several of them were latched onto Bobbi-Jo, ripping chunks of flesh away from her body with their jagged teeth. The teenager wailed as the monsters tore the meat away from her bones easily.

Jason, “The Ripper” he had called himself, was on the floor, crawling away in crab-like fashion from the macabre scene unfolding on the table. A nearby zombie followed him, and unfortunately for Jason, it was quicker. The corpse lunged and grabbed the kid’s legs, biting at his ankles. The psychopath yelped, thrashed his legs in hopes to separate himself. The zombie held on, aiming his next attack at the dangling organ between his legs. Jason let out a torturous scream when the corpse bit down on his flaccid penis and reared its back. The kid’s floppy member snapped like a rubber band. An explosion of blood splashed over the zombie’s face as it began devouring the reproductive organ. Jason started twitching on the floor, entering into some sort of seizure. The rest of the dead swarmed him, began consuming his untouched parts.

Ben turned his head from the grisly scene, focusing his attention on the reason he went back. Paul Scott wrestled with a zombie, fending him off with the rifle. Paul caught Ben’s gaze and shook his head, snarling.

“Get the fuck out of here, Ben!” Paul screamed.

Ben stepped forward to help, but an energized zombie jumped over the island and tackled Paul to the ground. The other zombie fell with them, and the two hissing beasts began gnawing on Paul’s limbs. Ben backed into the hallway. Under the weight of the two corpses, Paul positioned the end of the rifle under his chin. He winked at Ben as the one of the zombies tore a scrap of flesh from his arm. Then, Paul pulled the trigger. His brains exploded through the top of his skull, painting the tile floor burgundy.

Ben scampered out of the kitchen, the dead focusing their attention on the doorway.

Josh saw Ben bound the porch steps, dozens of zombies in tow. They poured out of the Barker’s house like bees from a hive. Some of them were quicker than others, but Ben was fastest. He ran across the front lawn as if the Grim Reaper were nipping his heels.

“Start moving!” Ben shouted.

Josh started to do what Ben had said when something caught his eye. It came shambling out of the Barker’s country home. His body went numb and tingly. “Oh shit,” he muttered to himself. Olivia Vander stumbled down the steps after Ben. Her mother followed closely behind. Both women looked hideous; patches of skin was missing from their faces, exposing the raw muscle beneath; blood-soaked clothes; eyes containing no souls. She barely resembled the Olivia that Josh knew and almost loved.

“Josh!” Ben screamed.

Josh snapped out of his semi-romantic reveries, shifting the truck out of idle. Slowly, the truck crept away from the Victorian home. Ben did his best Bruce Willis impression, diving into the bed. Brit was there to help him in safely. Once his limbs cleared the end of the truck, Brit closed the gate. Josh slammed his foot on the gas. The truck sped off, spitting dirt and grass at the approaching horde.

ENDS

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

A DAY LATER…

The truck died just outside of Brown Valley, Pennsylvania, the town Melissa had moved Jake to. The gas light had warned them many miles ago, but since none of them knew where the nearest pit stop was, they chanced it. The Barker Brothers had stripped them of their cellular devices, even though they would have been useless anyway. Ben thought back to the first day everything fell apart and remembered his cell phone refused to find a signal. Things don’t look too different over here, he thought while cruising down the empty, residential streets.

They saw signs pointing toward Brown Valley and Ben told them they were close. As soon as they reached the border, the engine sputtered and finally ceased. Josh cranked it a few more times just to make sure. It choked, but never started.

“Looks like were hoofing it,” Josh told them.

“What if they are out there?” Emily asked.

Josh turned to her. “Then we probably shouldn’t wait around for them, right?”

They were out there. Ben could smell them, that old familiar odor.

“Let’s hurry,” Ben suggested, hopping out of the cab.

The five of them started down the street.

“Do you know where you’re going, man?” Josh asked, following the rest of the group.

“732 Crown Avenue.”

“And which way is that?” Josh asked.

Ben sighed. “I don’t know. But this town isn’t that big.”

“So we’re just going to what—walk around aimlessly until we find it?”

Ben shrugged. “Got a better idea?”

“Let’s head back to the highway. There’s gotta be a convenience store something. Maybe they have a map.”

“That’s backtracking.”

“Sometimes you gotta go backwards before you can move forward,” Josh said confidently.

Ben closed his eyes, shaking his head. “You go. I gotta find my son.”

Victoria looked around. “I have to be honest, Ben. Things don’t look very… lively.” She surveyed the surrounding houses. Ranches. Most of them appeared empty. Abandoned. No signs of life. “Do you think whatever happened… reached here?”

“No,” Ben said immediately. “No, they probably evacuated once they heard about the East Coast.”

“What makes you think your ex and son are still here?” Brittany asked. “Wouldn’t they have evacuated with the rest of them?”

“I told them I was coming.” Ben shrugged. “But they might have. If it wasn’t safe anymore. I’d like to think my ex would at least give me some time to get out here. Things were looking up the last I spoke with her. We had just been saved. Remember?” Ben smiled.

“Saved. Yeah, right. Funny.”

“I wonder what my ex is doing right now,” Victoria asked, hoping to change the subject.

“Hopefully he’s dead,” Brittany muttered.

“Brittany! Don’t talk about your father like that. Not in front of your sister.”

“It’s okay, Mom. I never knew him anyway,” Emily told her.

“Still… that’s not the point.”

“What? He’s a scumbag, drug addict.” Brittany nodded to Josh. “No offense.”

“Oh, none taken,” Josh said sarcastically. He changed his tone immediately. “Ben, I have to protest. We need a map. Otherwise we’ll be here for days looking for Crown Avenue.”

Ben stopped in the middle of the street. While his eyes darted from house to house, toward neighboring streets, an overwhelming, panicky sensation coursed through him. He placed his hands on his knees, preparing to vomit.

“You okay?” Victoria asked.

“Just tired.”

“Ben? Map?” Josh asked.

It took Ben a moment, but clarity washed over him. Nodding, he rose. “We can search the houses. Someone is bound to have a map.”

“I doubt many people have a map of their hometown just sitting around, but yeah,” Josh said. “It’s worth a shot.”

“Better than walking around aimlessly, right?” Brit asked.

“Right.”

“Okay.” Ben pointed to Josh. “You take Brit and Emily. Victoria come with me.”

“I’m not leaving my babies again,” Victoria said sternly.

“Mom—” Brit started to say, her face reddening.

“Don’t Mom me.” Her eyes welled. “I almost lost you two before. It’s never going to happen again. Understand?”

Together, Brit and Emily nodded.

“Okay. I’ll go by myself,” Ben said.

“I’ll go with you,” Josh said.

“No, you go with the girls.”

Josh didn’t argue.

“Five minutes in each house. Not a second longer. We meet back in the street before entering the next one. Agreed?”

Josh and the girls agreed silently.

The first house they stepped foot in had been ransacked. The refrigerator was open and empty. The stained oak cabinets were ajar, unwanted contents tossed haphazardly on the countertop. Pet bowls filled to the brim remained untouched. Chairs around the kitchen table were pushed over. The couch cushions were overturned, a few them on the floor.

“I don’t feel safe in here,” Victoria told Josh.

“Let’s go. It’s impossible to find anything in this mess anyway.”

They quickly rushed out of the house, ran down the driveway, and waited in the street for Ben to finish his search. A minute later, Ben emerged from the front door, looking as depressed as he had upon entering.

“Anything?” Josh asked.

Ben shook his head. “You?”

“Nope. We’re heading to the next one.”

Ben nodded.

He opened the front door, immediately smelling it. Something rotten. Shit. At first he stepped back, not wanting to risk the chance of tangling with dead again. Going almost twenty-four hours without seeing a walking corpse was a streak Ben wasn’t anxious to break. However, he felt something tugging at him. Begging him to enter.

Hesitantly, Ben stepped foot in the house.

The living room was trashed, much like the neighbor’s house. What the hell happened here? His nerves were on edge. What if we reach Melissa’s and it’s like this? It was a plausible scenario, one he wasn’t quite prepared to handle. He kept telling himself that it was okay, that Crown Avenue—for all he knew—was on the other end of town. Maybe nothing bad happened there yet. Yet. Dread set in. His stomach felt hollow. His heart pumped abnormally fast. He closed his eyes, praying to whatever God allowed this to happen, begging Him for his son’s safety.

Something moved above him.

Ben’s eyes shot open. He listened closely. The quiet noise repeated. Ben glanced at the ceiling.

Jesus Christ. There’s someone up there.

Ben sprinted toward the stairs. He bounded three steps at a time until he reached the corridor. He looked down the hall and saw three doors; two open, one closed. Cautiously, he crept down the hallway, passing the two open doors, peering inside the rooms while strolling by. Empty. Well, not quite. Clothes were thrown about messily. Bags of potato chips and candy wrappers littered the floor. Ben could barely see the carpet. The other room was trashed similarly.

He focused on the closed door. Again, something bumped about inside.

I must be insane, Ben thought. He tried the door knob. Locked. Ben exhaled. Well, here we go. Feeling like he was no longer in control of his body, Ben kicked in the door.

Eyes immediately upon him. Ben’s heart sunk.

Shit.

Josh stepped into the kitchen and immediately recoiled.

“What is it?” Victoria asked.

“Don’t come in here,” Josh told them.

“Is it… a zombie?” Emily asked.

“No. Just…” Josh shook his head. “Stay there. All of you. I’ll search the kitchen myself.”

Victoria huddled her daughters into the living room and waited. The house was less messy than the previous one. They were able to walk around without stepping in mounds of garbage. Victoria sat herself on the couch. Her daughters followed.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” he said, disappearing into the kitchen.

He passed a hanged woman who had tied herself to the ceiling fan and kicked a chair out from under herself. Her skin was gray, a tone he had been accustomed to seeing lately. Josh surveyed her. There were no bites on her arms and legs. Maybe Ben’s kid has a chance yet. He walked past her, his gaze fixated on her cold, open eyes. He waited for her corpse to spring to life, but it never did.

Josh started rummaging through the drawers, finding nothing useful. No map. No GPS. Nothing they could use to find Melissa’s house. We’d be half way to that convenience store by now.

Josh opened the cabinet above his head. His heart skipped when he saw what was staring him in the face. His nerves tingled with delight. He cooed affectionately, not realizing he had done so. He imagined it smiling at him, opening its invisible arms and hugging him.

The dragon within grinned.

The plastic bottle containing opiates glowed in the dim kitchen. Josh licked his lips. His body and brain clashed.

The dragon crept forward.

Josh grabbed the bottle and felt power ebb through his veins. The rush of how good it would feel to take one pill into his mouth and swallow waded him. That phantom sensation.

The dragon purred.

The name printed on the bottle was Kelly Monroe of 1243 Yardsmith Street.

Josh glanced at Kelly, who remained hanged. “Sorry, Ms. Monroe.” The bottle popped opened gracefully. “Doesn’t look like you’ll be needing these any more.” He tapped the bottle and watched its contents invade his palm.

The dragon’s eyes widened with delight.

Then, he dropped them into the sink. “And neither will I.” He ran the water and watched the pills disappear inside the drain.

The dragon’s throat had been slashed, rivers of blood flooding the countryside.

A few moments later he entered the living room.

“Who were you talking to?” Victoria asked.

“Nobody,” he said dismally.

“You okay?” Brit asked.

“Yup.”

“Find anything?” asked Emily.

Josh shook his head and pushed open the front door, the sickness causing his body to tremor.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Ben’s legs weakened. The figure shifted in the corner of the room. Its eyes fixed on Ben’s. Eyebrows furrowing, the figure hunched over, as if it planned to leap across a small brook. Ben put his palm up.

“Wait,” Ben said. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

The figure grumbled. It remained where it was, shrinking back into the shadows the window blinds provided.

“Are you hurt?” Ben asked.

For a second, the figure said nothing. “I’ve felt better.”

“I’m not here to cause any problems.”

“Then what the fuck are you doing in my house?” An elderly man vacated the shadows. He reminded Ben of a toad; short, round, with bug-like eyes resting above droopy patches of skin. His flesh was riddled with brown spots. A white gauze pad clung to his neck. In the center of it, Ben noticed a rust-colored stain. “Hmm?”

“I’m looking for my son.”

“Well he sure as shit ain’t here.”

“I know. He lives on Crown Avenue. My friends and I were searching the neighborhood, hoping to find a map. See we hoped—”

“No map here either,” the toad-like man croaked.

“I see. Perhaps—”

“Two streets over.”

Ben stared at him blankly, his lips trembling softly.

“That’s what you were going to ask, wasn’t it?” The man sat down on a nearby chair. “Where Crown Street is.”

“Yeah…” Tears glistened in the corners of Ben’s eyes.

The toad-like man coughed. He scratched the wound on his neck. Ben backed away slowly.

“Goddammit.”

“Were you… bit?” Ben asked.

The man’s eyes broke away from Ben’s. “Jack Runion from Hollow Court. Five blocks down. Was chasing a dog when I went to get my paper the other day. Crazy fucker turned direction and attacked me. Bit pretty hard. What the hell is going on with people?”

“And you didn’t… change?”

The man’s face twisted like a pretzel. “Change? Into what? A zombie? Fuck no.”

Ben shook his head disbelievingly. “How is that possible?”

“Dunno. Maybe I’m immune.” The toad shrugged. “Lost power a few days back. Haven’t really left this room. Only for pissing breaks and food. What’s going on out there?”

“Nothing good.”

The man started coughing. Ben covered his mouth and backed away. The toad waved at him.

“Don’t get your panties in a bunch. I’m just getting over this damned flu.”

Ben’s heart stopped momentarily. “Did you say… flu?”

“Yeah. Flu season in the middle of fucking summer. Can you believe it?”

Ben thought of Jake and what he said on the phone. That he had been sick the past week. Same as Ben. Same as the toad-like man. What was it the doctor told Jake? Lots of people were coming down with it?

“Fuck’s your problem? Look like you saw a goddamn ghost.”

Ben shook his head. He tried to add it all up, but couldn’t. The flu. People catching it at the exact same time. The zombie apocalypse. These things seemed like they intertwined, but Ben couldn’t figure out how or why.

“Anyway… best be gettin’ along,” the toad said. “You have a son to find, don’t you?”

Ben nodded. “Yes. Thanks for your help.”

“Not sure I did anyth—” The toad erupted into another coughing fit. “Don’t let the door hit you in the ass on your way out.”

“This way!” Ben shouted, running across the toad’s front lawn.

“You found something?” Victoria asked.

Ben didn’t reply. Running to the street corner, the rest of the group took off after him.

Please, God. Please be there…

He rounded the corner. The first thing he looked for was the street sign. Yorke Avenue. Next one over. He heard Victoria yell something, but ignored her. Josh said something about waiting up, but he ignored him too. “You don’t know what you’ll find!” Ben heard him yell. He didn’t care. He needed to find his son. He needed to hold him again. God just let me find him in one piece…

He quickly thought back to the dream he had, the one where Jake joined the dead.

Please…

He sprinted past Yorke, focusing on the next sign. He could just make out the letters on the green plate—Crown Avenue they spelled. It fueled him, injected him with vigor. Ben never felt faster. Not in his entire life, youth combined. He ran like Hell itself was burning behind him.

God…

Shouting from behind him, but he didn’t care.

Jake…

He prepped himself for the corner, already focusing his eyes toward the houses to see which way the numbers ran. A bush to his right blocked his vision. He readied to round it, his heart feeling like it would explode in his chest. He took the corner the fast, almost too fast.

No…

He skidded to a halt. His heart plunged into his feet.

God… no…

Before him, the street was filled with the dead.

Jake…

They slowly turned to him, their faces long and unsatisfied. Hungry.

God… please don’t let this happen…

Behind him, the women screamed.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

“Wait up!” Victoria yelled after Ben.

“Ben! You don’t know what you’ll find!” Josh shouted. It wasn’t the most convincing argument for Ben to stop, but it was the best he could come up with on the fly. He ran after his companion, his lungs aching something fierce. Cold sweat poured off him.

Ben disappeared around the bush. Josh stopped.

Victoria noticed he had fallen behind. “Girls, wait.” She slowed to a stop, her daughters doing the same.

“Why are we stopping? Ben needs our help,” Brittany stated.

Josh slowly caught up to them, attempting to catch his breath. The two young girls appeared to have no problem with sprinting down the street. They acted like they hadn’t been running at all.

Victoria put her hands over her head, sucking wind. “Guess I should renew my gym membership, huh?”

“Ben’s gone,” Josh told them. “We won’t catch him.”

“He could be walking into a deathtrap,” Brittany replied. “His mind isn’t right, Josh. He’s not thinking clearly.”

Josh knew. The man was so desperate to find his son that nothing else mattered. Especially his own safety. One small misstep in this dangerous new world and…

“Okay. We’ll follow. But let me catch my brea—”

Something darted behind him, heading straight for Victoria. Josh turned in time to watch a middle-aged man in a three-piece suit tackle her to the ground, snarling bestially. The man had recently taken a bath in someone’s blood. His expensive suit was heavily stained, torn and tattered.

Victoria screamed. So did her daughters.

Josh rushed over to her, reaching for the zombie’s shoulder. He grabbed the dead man, but it was too late; he already clamped his mouth down on Victoria’s throat. A blood-curdling scream roared from her open mouth as the monster tore a gaping hole in her neck. Ruby fluids spurted out excessively.

“No!” Brittany screamed, rushing to her mother’s side.

Emily froze, looking on expressionlessly. Her jaw dropped open, remained there for the duration of the carnage.

Josh yanked the zombie off Victoria with the strength in his one good arm. It was surprisingly light for a corpse. Tumbling across the pavement, the zombie growled. Josh kicked its teeth in before it had the opportunity to rise to its feet. The corpse took the blow without protecting itself. Josh kicked it again, this time aiming for the side of its head. The zombie’s head dented. He kicked it again, this time in the knee. Its fragile bone cracked and the zombie fell flat against the street. Clenching his teeth together, Josh stomped on the zombie’s head. Blood splashed the asphalt, pooling around the corpse’s nearly-crushed cranium. Josh repeated this act over and over again, until the zombie’s head caved in like a rotten pumpkin. Brains and other pinkish matter oozed from beneath his foot.

Josh turned to Victoria and her daughter. Brittany was holding her hands over the cherry cavern in her mother’s neck. Blood seeped through her fingers. She glanced at Josh, looking for help he couldn’t give.

He stared at her forebodingly. She shook her head slowly, her eyes growing wet.

“Is Mom going to be okay?” Emily asked innocently. Tears stood on the rims of her eyes.

Sniffling, Brittany uttered, “Yes. She’ll be just fine, sweet pea.”

“Don’t call me sweat pea,” Emily said under her breath.

Brittany stared Josh in the face. Tears poured down her face. She was able to keep her outburst internal. “Take Emily. Get out of here.”

“What are you going to do?” Josh asked.

“I’ll wait with her.” She looked down at her mother. Victoria’s mouth hung open like she had something to say but couldn’t speak. “Then I’ll catch up.”

Josh exhaled. “You sure?”

Brittany nodded.

Josh looked at Victoria one last time. Life was beginning to fade from the middle-aged woman’s eyes. He knelt down. “Thanks for the sling,” he said.

She didn’t respond, remaining frozen in her final moments.

Josh sprung back to his feet. A stinging sensation found the corners of his eyes. It felt good feeling something again, although he wished it wasn’t sadness.

“Come on, Emily. We’re going for a walk,” Josh told her.

“I want to stay with Mom,” she sobbed. Her face glistened in the sunlight.

“Your sister will take care of her.”

Emily sprinted past Josh, crying and screaming. He didn’t stop her. Physically drained, Josh watched the girl hug her mother for the last time.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Zombies. The street was full of them. Emily swallowed air. Josh felt his knees grow weak and almost give out.

“Where’s Ben?” asked Emily, still sobbing.

“I dunno.”

“Do you think he made it?”

“I dunno.”

“What number was the house?”

Josh clenched his teeth. “I do—”

A swaying corpse lunged for them. They stepped away. The zombie tripped, falling to the asphalt. It crawled after them, growling and gnashing its teeth together.

“Was it 732?” Emily asked.

“That sounds right.”

They danced around the crawling corpse.

“What do we do?” Emily asked.

“Does it look like I know?”

Emily winced. Tears flowed from her eyes once again.

“Shit. I’m sorry.” Josh felt the need for drugs pumping through his veins. “I’m just… not feeling too good.”

“Well, my mother just died. I think I have you beat,” she said harshly.

“She’s not dead.”

“I’m not stupid.”

Josh nodded.

“How are we getting through this?” Emily asked again.

Josh looked ahead. There was no way they could maneuver through the horde without being torn to pieces. They could try to go around them, but if the dead caught on, they’d converge on them within seconds.

“We’ll try to go around them,” Josh told her. “We’ll head for that house.” He pointed.

“The tall gray one? With black shutters?”

“Yup. We’ll hop the fence and travel through the backyards, until we find the right house.” Josh squinted, trying to see the house number. “Looks like that’s 542. So it’ll be on that side of the street, a little ways up.”

“Okay,” Emily said, wiping teardrops away from her eyes.

“You going to be okay?” Josh asked.

Emily shook her head. “No.”

Josh nodded.

Ahead, they heard someone who sounded like Ben Ackerman scream in agony.

Walking through the sea of hungry, living corpses wasn’t the smartest idea Ben had ever come up with. He knew that. Even as he dodged some of their lame attacks with ease, he knew there had to be a better way. But instead of planning an alternative route in his head, he thought of Jake. He thought of his boy and how his face would illuminate once he saw his father again. He wondered what he was doing right now. Was he huddled next to his mother? Safe? Protected from the evils which now ruled the streets? Ben hoped.

The dream. This is my dream.

The street he had dreamed was this street. Crown Avenue. It looked exactly as it had within the dreamworld. As he jogged through the gathered, he surveyed the faces of the dead. He didn’t recognize a single one of them. There was a man dressed in a shirt and tie. A policeman with bloody slaver dangling from his mouth. A girl clinging onto her stuffed bunny-rabbit. An middle-aged woman in her underwear, splattered with bright-red speckles. They moaned, aching for nourishment. Ben dodged them easily. He looked on, half-expecting to see Jake stumble from the flock, bloody and dirty, eager to rip his father apart.

He glanced at the house on his right. 724. Only a few more houses to go. He did some quick math and found the house Melissa had purchased with his money. It was painted sage-green, wore brown shutters with a wooden stockade fence stained walnut surrounding it. Quite possibly the ugliest exterior decorating he had ever seen. Ben smirked. Oh, Mel. You never were good at this. He found himself able to produce a chuckle, despite his current predicament. Then, realizing how close he was to seeing his son again, Ben picked—

Pain suddenly occupied his right arm. It quickly ran down his arm, into his hand. He whipped around and looked down, finding the little girl with the stuffed bunny-rabbit tasting his flesh. Her mouth was peeling back a sliver of his skin.

Ben screamed. He wrenched his arm free, the little girl temporarily content with chewing the bloody scrap of skin. Once she swallowed, she jumped at him, snarling furiously. Ben kicked her in the chest and sent her tumbling to the street. Behind her, zombies flocked in his direction. Ben looked to his right and left, the herd closing in.

How could I be so stupid? Ben asked himself. What was I thinking? He knew the answer to that—he wasn’t thinking. Not at all.

The horde grew closer, encircling him like a school of sharks. There was no way out. The wall of corpses was ten zombies deep. He could break through the first layer, maybe without getting himself killed, but after that they’d converge on him. He’d seen it before. If he had just kept moving, never slowed down, he might have had a shot.

“Ben!” he heard Josh shout from somewhere close. “Ben, over here!”

Ben peered through the dead bodies. He saw Josh and Emily standing on the front lawn of the nearest property. He shook his head. Closed his eyes. Waited for death.

“What is he doing?” Emily asked.

“He’s giving up,” Josh replied. Feeling ill, Josh walked toward the crowd of corpses.

“Where are you going?” Emily asked.

Josh ignored her. Instead, he ran full speed at the famished throng. Josh jumped when he was close enough, landing on top of the crowd like a rowdy fan at a rock concert. The living dead weren’t strong enough to support his weight, and four of them fell to the ground. They tumbled into their mates, knocking them over like weightless bowling pins.

Josh’s arm throbbed. He rolled over, crying out in pain. One of the fallen zombies attempted to take advantage of Josh’s current situation, latching onto his leg. It tried to bite down on his ankle, but Josh kicked himself away. As the pain radiated up and down his arm, Josh scrambled to his feet. He looked at Ben.

Ben reached for him. Josh met him halfway, yanking him to his feet. A few zombies darted forward with an unexpected surge of quickness, but the two men were able to sidestep their attempt. They helped each other further down the road, leaving the horde behind them. Emily followed them, running across the lawns of Melissa Ackerman’s neighbors.

Once they were a safe distance from the horde, Ben turned to Josh.

“Are you okay?” Ben asked. “Is it the arm?”

Josh shook his head. Grimacing, he sat in the middle of the road. Emily rushed over to them.

“I think…” Josh started to say, rolling up his pant leg. A hunk of his calf was missing. The edge of the wound had purpled, the infection already spreading. “Fuck me,” he muttered.

“Oh shit, man,” Ben said out loud. “Jesus Christ.” The wound was already beginning to stink.

“I’m a fucking goner.”

Emily started bawling again.

Ben knelt down. He put his hand on Josh’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

Laughing, Josh replied, “Don’t worry about it. We’re all going to die sooner or later, right?” A series of hacking coughs interrupted him. He spat blood onto the pavement. “I can feel it working through me. Won’t be long until I’m one of them, I guess.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Motherfuckers.”

“You don’t know that. I met a man in a house back there. He was bitten. A few times, from the looks of it. Days ago. And you know what?” Ben asked.

Josh shook his head.

“He’s still alive.”

“Bullshit.”

“It’s true.” Ben held up his arm, displaying his injury. “I was too.”

“Holy fuck,” Josh coughed. Blood sputtered down his chin.

“Were you sick a week before the shit hit the fan? Before things went really bad?”

Josh shook his head. “Haven’t been sick in years, man.”

Concerned, Ben narrowed his eyes. “Hm.”

“Guess I don’t quite fit the bill then? Guess I’m not one of the lucky ones.”

“There must be something…”

Josh coughed again, filling his palm with sticky red fluid. “Go find your son, Ben.” He nodded toward the ugly green house. “He’s waiting for you in there.”

Droplets fell from Ben’s eyes. He lowered his head. “Thanks for coming with me. I know things didn’t quite turn out the way we wanted it, but I’m glad you came.”

Josh smirked. “Me too.” He hacked again, sickness ejaculating from between his lips. “Now go. Both of you. I don’t want you to see me as one of them.”

Ben nodded. He grabbed Emily’s hand. She waved to Josh, her face lustered in tears. Josh waved back weakly.

Together, they jogged up the walkway leading to 732 Crown Avenue. Ben hopped up the porch steps, letting go of Emily’s hand. “Step back,” he warned her. Nothing happened when he pushed the doorbell. He began banging on the front door, screaming Melissa’s name over and over again. Without waiting for a reply, he backed up, then kicked the door. It took him three tries, but Ben was able to force the door off of the hinges.

Shaking with fear, Ben stepped inside. Emily followed.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The living room decor almost brought Ben to his knees.

Pictures of Jake littered the walls and tabletops. There were pictures of Melissa too, arms shackled with another man, but Ben looked past those and concentrated on Jake. He was smiling in every picture. Happy. Tears sprinkled Ben’s face. Knees weak, Ben barely found the strength to shuffle forward.

Emily closed the front door as Ben wandered around the living room lackadaisically. She ran over to the window, peering outside. If Ben had been paying attention, he would have told her not to look. But he was too busy scanning the walls to notice. Emily spotted Josh. He lay in the street, twitching. Several zombies walked past him, as if they knew he was already a member of their clan.

Then, something—somebody—caught the corner of her eye.

“Mom?” she whispered aloud.

Ben’s head snapped toward the window. “Get away from there,” he said.

“But—?”

Ben put his finger over his mouth. “You’ll attract them,” he said quietly.

Suddenly, Ben heard something below them. Shuffling. Footsteps. Is that—yes. He heard them.

Voices.

“Wait here,” Ben said. “I’m going to check it out. I’ll be right back.”

Emily nodded.

“Promise me you won’t move.”

“I won’t move. Promise.”

Ben smiled at her, then jogged into the kitchen. He opened the door closest to him. It turned out to be a fully-stocked pantry. He waited a moment. Heard the voices again. Two of them? He couldn’t tell. He supposed it could have been his over-eager mind playing tricks on him.

Ben strolled across the tile floor, toward the only other door in the kitchen. Carefully, he opened it, half-expecting to be met with a disease-infested mouth.

Ben swung open the door and peered down stairs that descended into darkness. An orange glow flickered from somewhere beyond. Before Ben decided to run down the steps, he called to the unknown. “Mel? You down there?”

The stressful silence only lasted a moment.

“Who’s there?” a woman asked.

Ben felt his heart skip multiple beats. He wanted to speak, but couldn’t find the words. Overwhelmed with emotion, Ben wept. He rushed down the stairs, mindless of any obstacles that might have been placed in his way.

Within seconds, he found himself standing on concrete. He turned toward the orange haze and saw a woman standing before him. She held a candle in front of her, using its weak light to see.

“Mel?” he asked.

She looked ragged and unclean. Clearly she had gone a few days without showering. The candle wavered in her hand. For a brief second, Ben thought she would drop it. Instead, she placed it on the table next to her.

“Ben?” she asked. Her eyes widened. Her jaw dropped. He could hear her breathing heavily. “Is that really you?”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

She rushed him, wrapping her thin arms around his neck. She hugged him tightly, showing no signs that she was ever going to let go.

“Dad?” a voice asked from behind him.

Melissa let go of him. Ben turned. His heart nearly bounced out of his chest.

“Jake…” he said. Ben dropped to his knees. His lips trembled. His face grew wet.

He never thought he’d see his son again.

Victoria stood in the doorway. Emily glanced up at her mother. “Mother?” she asked, but she didn’t respond. A low, growling noise rose in her throat. Emily backed away like a child fearful of the neighbor’s dog. Victoria stepped forward, extending one hand toward her daughter. Behind her, Brittany emerged, her face cut and bloodied. She didn’t speak a word. Instead, she reached for her sister with bloody fingers.

Emily wanted to scream, but didn’t. She wanted to run, but couldn’t. She watched her family close in on her, powerless to their approach. She passed out before they began to feed.

Feeling his son wrap his bony arms around him was exactly how Ben imagined it. He whimpered softly has he patted the boy’s back. “I missed you, Dad,” he said, and Ben cried harder. “Mom said you were coming, but… I didn’t think you’d make it.”

Ben turned to Melissa. She smiled at him.

He went back to hugging his son. Jake nested his head on his father’s shoulder.

“I hate to interrupt,” Melissa said. “But we need to talk.”

“About what?” Ben asked, still gripping Jake in his arms.

“About…” She pointed upstairs.

“They’re going to break in any moment. There were hundreds of them in the street.”

“Jesus,” she said. “Was… David up there?”

David, Ben thought. The guy from the photos.

Ben shook his head. “Let’s go upstairs,” he suggested. “We need to get out of here. And quick.”

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” Melissa said, her voice forlorn. Ben could see her trembling.

“And why’s that?”

She looked to the ceiling for answers, her eyes welling. Sadness invaded her voice. “Remember on the phone, when I told you everything east of Philly was going to be wiped off the planet?”

“Yeah…” Ben said suspiciously.

“Well… it’s not just the East Coast anymore,” she said, gulping. “It’s half the country.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Glass shattered above them. Footsteps pounded the floor. Hell had broken free and it swarmed 732 Crown Avenue. Demons snarled. Their stomachs grumbled, craving the flesh of the living.

“What do you mean?” Ben asked, turning back to Melissa.

“On the radio—just before the batteries died—they said that someone was going to drop a nuclear bomb on the United States. Several of them.”

“Who? Who is going to drop a bomb on us?” Ben asked. “Isn’t the whole world like this?”

“I don’t know. The man on the radio didn’t seem to think so.”

“Jesus Christ.” Ben paced back and forth a few times. “So what do we do?”

“How… How the hell am I supposed to know?” Melissa shook her head. “David said we might be safe down here, you know, if…”

“If a nuclear bomb hits anywhere near here, Mel, it’s not going to matter where you are. The fallout will swallow us no matter where we hide. No, staying down here is just as dangerous.”

“Well, you got any better ideas?”

Ben didn’t. But he knew they had a better chance of surviving somewhere other than the basement. At least for a little while longer. “Do you know how long we have?”

Melissa shook her head. “No, the guy on the radio said a day. But that was yesterday, so…”

“Alright we’re getting out of here.”

Ben grabbed Jake by the hand and led him to the stairs. Melissa jogged behind them. When Ben started up the stairs, he felt someone’s hand on his shoulder. He turned to his ex-wife. She looked terrified, haggard, on the verge of losing her mind.

“I… just want to say that I missed you,” she said.

Ben looked at her. Under normal circumstances, he might have told her something different. Instead, he faked a smile and said, “Yeah, me too.”

The three of them hurried upstairs.

Hands waved at them through the broken kitchen windows. The moans of the horde outside echoed throughout the house. Ben led his son and Melissa through the kitchen and into the living room, where they found a dozen zombies feasting on the remains of a fifteen-year old girl. The clump of meat in the middle of the room barely resembled Emily Torres. The dead cannibals nibbled remnants of organs and splashed about in a large pool of blood. Ben saw Josh had become one of them. He was eating what little meat remained on a bone. Victoria was there too, snacking on her daughter’s innards. Brittany as well. She looked up at Ben as he entered the room. She dropped the hand she was gnawing on and rose to her feet.

Ben quickly looked away from the carnage and led his family upstairs. The front door was blocked by numerous corpses looking to join the house party. They lumbered toward Ben with surprising speed, Melissa shrieking when she noticed how close they were getting. Ben hurried them up the stairs, allowing them to go first. He booted the first zombie to reach the bottom of the stairs, sending him crashing into a few of his buddies. Three of them lost their balance and fell to the floor, creating distance between them. Ben rushed up the stairs, following Melissa and Jake, who had already disappeared down the hallway.

“Go to Jake’s room!” Ben shouted.

He reached the top of the stairs. Melissa helped Jake inside his room. Ben sprinted down the hall, following them into the bedroom. The walls were littered with posters of Batman and Spider-Man, and half a dozen other comic-book heroes. Comics and young-adult novels were messily thrown across the floor, along with dirty laundry. Ben narrowed his eyes at Melissa, remembering the many trivial arguments they had about keeping the boy’s room clean. She smirked faintly, understanding exactly where his thoughts were. Her expression changed when she heard footfalls down the hallway.

“Where to now?” Melissa asked.

“The window. Hurry.”

Ben looked behind them. Shadows formed on the hallway wall.

Melissa slid the window open.

“Out. Now,” Ben commanded.

Melissa crawled through the open window without any hesitation. Once she was onto the roof, she looked back and waved Jake on. He turned to his father with tears in his eyes. His small lips trembled.

“Can I have my PSP?” Jake asked. “Please, Dad? I really want my PSP.”

Are you kidding me? Now was certainly not the time to go searching for a hand-held video game system. On the other hand, it was certainly not the time to argue with a ten-year old either. “Where is it?”

“In my closet, I think.”

“Go with your mother. I’ll grab it.”

“Okay,” Jake said. He turned to the window, reaching out, grabbing his mother’s hands. She pulled him through and the boy collapsed in her arms.

Ben rushed toward the closet. He began throwing things around. Clothes. Toys. Books. Comics. The kid had too much shit, plain and simple. How much came out of his child support, he did not know. How much David had paid for (or the other fuck-buddies Melissa had since their separation) he did not want to know. “I can’t find it, kiddo,” Ben said.

Jake poked his head through the window. “Check the black bag!”

Ben spotted one black duffel bag. He remembered it. It was a bag he helped load into Melissa’s van, the night before they left for Brown Valley. He opened it hastily. Turning it upside down, he dumped numerous toys and video-game discs onto the closet floor. The PSP was the last thing to come out. He grabbed it, slipped it into his pocket, and turned toward the window.

Melissa screamed.

“Daddy!” Jake called out.

Several zombies stood in the doorway, looking hungrier than ever. They commenced forward, lunging for Ben as he darted toward the window.

Josh Emberson led the attack.

Ben barrel-rolled across the bed as if he had suddenly caught fire. He landed on the floor on the opposite side, next to the open window. Melissa and Jake screamed for him, reaching for his hands. He dove for the window, feeling the presence of the dead behind him. Their moans grew louder as they inched closer. The room filled with their rancid odor. Ben reached the window and pulled himself up. Melissa and Jake grabbed his arms, yanking him through.

Then, Ben screamed. He felt pain trounce the back of his leg. He felt hands gripping his ankle. It took a few moments, but he was able to shake them free. He pulled his body through the window, his legs quickly following. Ben turned over and looked back. He saw Josh standing in the window, a bloody flap of skin dangling from his mouth. The zombie devoured it quickly.

Ben glanced down at the back of his leg. Half of his calf was missing. Blood streamed down his leg from the cavity where the muscle used to be. Bloody tissue dangled from the wound. Ben winced, the pain overbearing. He lay there for a minute trying to ignore it, hoping it would go away. But the constant throb only worsened as the seconds passed, spreading to neighboring areas.

Josh began climbing through the window. Ben scooted forward, kicking him in the chest with his good leg, causing the zombie to fall back. It sprang back to its feet immediately, several of his dead friends accompanying him back to the open window. Ben shouted, telling Melissa to close the window. She rushed over and slammed it shut. A zombie’s hand got caught while reaching out for Ben. Melissa crushed it when she slammed the window sash down with all of her strength. Bones broke, but the zombie didn’t flinch. It glared at her through the glass. She brought the sash back up and Ben kicked the corpse again, sending it sprawling on its back.

This time, Melissa closed the window without any interference.

The three of them watched as Josh and several other dead faces filled the window, desperately craving their next meal.

The sun had just about disappeared behind the horizon, leaving the sky to bask in a beautiful arrangement of orange and purple cloud-clad streaks. The three of them sat near the edge of the roof, captivated by something they had only ever seen in movies and elegant paintings that hung in rich people’s dining rooms. The magnificent scenery absorbed them so intensely that they were able to ignore the window pane breaking and the noises from the dead crowd that gathered behind them. A traffic jam had formed and it looked like it wouldn’t clear up for quite some time.

The Ackermans continued to watch the sun fade behind cloud-covered horizon, ignoring the calamity building behind them.

After a few minutes, Jake placed the side of his head in his father’s lap. Within a minute, he was snoring.

“I’m really sorry,” Melissa said, breaking the silence that had lasted a solid five minutes.

“For what?” Ben asked.

“For everything,” she replied. “I was… unfair, at times.”

Ben laughed through his nose. “At times?”

Playfully, she punched him on the shoulder. “Screw you,” she said, snorting. “Okay, I was unfair a lot of the time. And…” She took a deep breath. “I was wrong to move out here. I shouldn’t have moved Jake out of state. It was… my childish way of punishing you.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forgive you for it,” he said seriously.

She nodded. “I can’t say I blame you.”

There was silence again. Then suddenly, Ben gasped. The pain in his leg intensified. Jake awoke instantly, snapping his head up as if he had awoken from a terrible nightmare.

“Did I hurt you, Daddy?” he asked.

“No…” Ben said. “My leg.”

He turned it. It seemed to be getting worse as the moments passed. A faint red ring began to appear near the outskirts of the wound. The hole emitted puss.

“It’s infected,” Melissa said.

“Dad, are you going to turn into one of them?” Jake asked. He pointed to the window where the zombies were still stuck, trying to climb their way out. They made no progress.

“No, Jakester,” Ben told him. “I don’t think I can.”

“What are you talking about?” Melissa asked.

“A few blocks over, I ran into a man who had been bitten. He was still human.”

Melissa shook her head. “The radio said everyone who had been bitten turned almost instantly. How is it possible?”

“I dunno. But I was bitten in the street. Right before I found you guys.” Ben shrugged. “Here I am.” He glanced at the wound. It looked nasty. Began to smell weird too. “I think it was because of the flu.”

“The flu?”

Ben nodded. “The man said he had it too. The same time I did.”

“Me too!” Jake proclaimed.

Ben ruffled his hair. “I bet you’d be okay to—if you were bitten.”

Jake hugged his father. “I love you, Daddy.”

“Love you too, Jakester.”

Ben caught Melissa smiling. She joined the hugging party. The three of them embraced each other, wondering how long they had left.

Suddenly, Melissa let go. “Oh, my God. Look!”

Ben followed her finger. In the distance, an object fell from the clouds. It looked like a missile. Ben knew exactly what it was.

A bomb. A nuclear fucking bomb.

“No…” Ben uttered.

Another one fell, closer to where they sat. Then another. Even closer. They fell like anvils in old cartoons Ben watched as a child. Another. Closer.

Before Ben knew it, there were dozens of bombs falling from the sky.

He turned to Jake. “I want you to know I love you,” he said. “I’ve always loved you and what happened between your mother and I was not your fault. You know that right?”

Jake nodded. “I know, Dad. I love you too. I’m really scared.” His face flexed, forehead wrinkled. Ben embraced his son. Melissa joined them. She whispered something similar to what Ben had said. Jake nodded. The three of them huddled together, holding each other until it was all over.

Ben peeked. The first bomb had collided with the earth. A giant mushroom cloud grazed the sky. Another bomb hit, the mushroom-shaped smoke billowing upward, erasing the beautiful evening glow.

The air instantly changed. A new smell overtook the zombie’s unique musk. A different kind of death conquered the atmosphere. Ben inhaled it. He could taste it in the back of his throat.

He gripped his family tight as the rolling death clouds enfolded them. Pain briefly seized his body. Then, Ben Ackerman knew no more.

About the Author

Tim Meyer is an author working on several upcoming projects. He currently resides in New Jersey, near the shore. When he’s not writing, hunting ghoulish entities, or balling hard on the basketball court, he’s usually annoying the crap out of his wife, the most amazing person in his life. The two of them live with their cats, rambunctious monsters that destroy almost everything. Check out his other books here.

Also by Tim Meyer

Demon Blood: Enlightenment

The Thin Veil (A Novella)

In the House of Mirrors

Copyright

Copyright © 2013 Tim Meyer

All Rights Reserved

Kindle Edition

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, events, and locations are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons or events, living or dead, are entirely coincidental.

This file is licensed for private individual entertainment only. The book contained herein constitutes a copyrighted work and may not be reproduced, stored in or introduced into an information retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means (electrical, mechanical, photographic, audio recording, or otherwise) for any reason (excepting the uses permitted to the licensee by copyright law under terms of fair use) without the specific written permission of the author.