Introduction To Karen Perkins

Ill Wind (Valkyrie Series 1) Blurb

Gabriella Berryngton is an unhappy and oppressed fourteen-year-old girl living in the Massachusetts Bay Colony in 1683. She dreams of escaping her bitter, ambitious stepfather and sailing off into the unknown. Her dreams come true when her stepfather sells her into marriage. Aboard the Freyja, she is hopeful that her new life in the Dutch West Indies will be an improvement – a hope that dies when she is given a slave, Klara, and a whip. She discovers that her soon-to-be father-in-law is a ruthless slave trader in league with pirates, and her fiancé is cold, unfriendly and disinterested in Gabriella. She is little more than a vessel to provide the next generation of van Eckens. Largely ignored and desperately unhappy, she and Klara develop a friendship which makes life bearable – at first. Once married, Gabriella’s life takes a turn for the worse and she descends into a world of horror and abuse until tensions finally explode. Life will never be the same and she has no choice but to take fate into her own hands.

Dead Reckoning (Valkyrie Series 2) Blurb

Dead Reckoning is a historical adventure of piracy, love and revenge in the Caribbean in the seventeenth century. Leo is born in Spanish Panama in 1659. When he is twelve years old he witnesses the violent rape and murder of his mother by three of the Caribbean’s most feared pirates: Tarr, Blake and Hornigold, and swears revenge at all costs. Gabriella is trapped in an abusive marriage to a ruthless Dutch slave trader, who is in business with the same English cut-throats. She risks all to escape with her life. Leo and Gabriella meet aboard one of the most horrific ships in the Caribbean – a slaver – and join forces against their common enemy. They face a number of challenges as they battle not only the dangers of a life at sea, including storm, drowning, and being cast adrift in a crippled ship, but also repeated attacks by Blake and Hornigold. But their biggest threat proves to be each other. Can they reconcile their hearts in time for the fiercest battle in their quest of revenge, and survive the gallows? Dead Reckoning was long-listed in the 2011 Mslexia Novel Competition.

Consume Me Synopsis

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Odium excerpt.

Dying Days 3 Cover

Dying Days 3 Excerpt

Prologue

Frank.

He had a name, once, and it was Frank. He had a last name, but he couldn't remember it. His thoughts, at the moment, were on trying to figure out what exactly a last name was.

The noise he heard was the ocean and he moved his stiff neck and looked down to see his shuffling feet kicking up sand on a beach. Frank had never been to the beach. Never felt sand on his toes, but he was doing it now. He was barefoot. He didn't know why.

Frank couldn't stop walking. He was being driven by something, an anger… but he didn't know who he was mad at. He knew he was raging, though, and needed to strike out and rip someone apart. He didn't know why, but, suddenly, knew it was the only reason to keep moving.

There were others on the beach, but he felt nothing toward them. No anger and no need to destroy them. They moved in the same flowing, general direction as he did. One would veer off and walk into the waves or over the dunes, and he could see more stepping out of the surf and joining the walk.

Zombies.

The word came unbidden to his mind. These were zombies, undead, monsters… and they were in search of the living, to tear them apart, to rape them, violate and break all in their paths. They weren't evil. They were just hungry.

Frank willed himself to stop. A man, with his head broken and at an odd angle, bumped into him. Frank lashed out, with creaking arms, and knocked the zombie to the ground.

It felt right. This mindless creature struggled to rise on battered legs but seemed incapable of simply rolling over and pushing himself up.

Frank knew how to stand. He knew the mechanics of how to drive a car, how to brush his teeth, how to make love to his wife.

His wife had been sick? Frank remembered bits and pieces of memory. He lived in Montreal. He worked in a dead-end job selling newspapers. His wife had been back to Sweden to see her sick mother. By the time she'd returned to Canada, she was coughing and wouldn't talk about the visit or her mother.

He couldn't remember his wife's name, but he remembered the bite mark on her forearm. The wound festered and he'd taken her from the airport right to hospital.

There was an incident. Frank remembered a nurse and doctor being bitten. By his wife? Chaos in the emergency room, followed by stampeding hospital personnel and patients. He went for his wife; she was out of the bed, dragging smashed equipment as she moved.

Frank remembered trying to extricate her from the machines, pulling needles and wires from her body. She stared at the blood as it spurted from her wrist and onto his chest.

Then she'd bitten down on his neck and the pain was intense. He saw red and then… he was dead. He couldn't remember his wife's name.

Warmth on his feet, as the sun beat down. This was no Canadian beach. He had no idea where he could be, but he was walking, so it couldn't be too far.

Frank remembered biting people and savagely attacking their bodies. He remembered ripping apart orifices and, actually, having brutal sex with people until they died. The thought appalled him at first.

The zombie was still trying to get up on the beach. Frank was about to help him, but then he stopped. Why should he? It dawned on him: this monster was after the same dwindling thing he was looking for. The living.

Frank reached up with stiff hands and felt his neck wound. It was just a sliver of ripped skin, although, he swore she'd done a number on him before he died. He flexed his legs and it felt good. How was this possible?

The blood.

Frank knew the blood, coursing over and into his body, made him stronger. It made him grow closer to whole again. With each living body he consumed, he was closer to being fully formed. He needed to find humans before the rest of these weaklings did.

He knew by looking at them, as they walked by, they weren't conscious of their surroundings or aware like he was. He didn't know why, and he didn't care.

"I was in the first wave. My wife was patient zero," he actually whispered through cracked lips, and was amazed he'd spoken. He felt his vocal chords flexing for the first time in, what, days? Weeks? Months? Years?

The zombies around him were growing as well, but they were nowhere near where he was. But, in time, they would rival him, and grow aware. They would try to destroy him as the enemy. Frank couldn't have that. He was even angrier now, but he let it wash over him. He could control it, little by little. He knew his brain was now his driving force, and not the insatiable hunger.

With his back threatening to pop, Frank bent down and lifted the zombie to its feet. The mindless creature began to shuffle away without a notice to Frank or the help.

Frank moved behind him and wrapped both arms around its neck, crushing the unused windpipe and yanking as hard as he could, trying to dislodge the head from the body. He struggled for several minutes before stopping. The zombie didn't fight back; its feet still trying to propel it forward.

Finally, the head snapped back and the zombie went lifeless. Frank dropped it to the beach. One less to contend with. The beach was filled with them.

Claudia.

His wife's name was Claudia, and he'd met her online. In a chat-room. They'd talked and had webcam dates for months before she flew from Sweden for a visit. She never really left, moving in with him, getting a job at the local daycare, and only returning to Sweden to pack her things and for family emergencies. They'd been wed six months later, a small ceremony attended by friends and family. Their honeymoon was spent in Florida, a week holed up in a hotel room making love while the sound of the waves crashed outside their balcony.

Frank knew he wasn't in Montreal, and he wanted to find his wife. Or did he? She would try to feed off the living as well, and once the stock was gone, he knew he would become a dried husk. He needed the living.

Another zombie got too close and Frank twisted its neck until he heard the snap. These creatures had no fresh blood he could use, but they needed to be eliminated.

Frank trudged down the beach, weaving back and forth as he came across new undead, breaking necks with wild abandon and feeling better and better as he did, using muscles he'd not used in a long time.

There was a pier up ahead and he made his way to it, dropping bodies as he moved from side to side. He went to the dunes and snapped the neck of a little girl, bloody and carrying a small yellow shovel. Two men came out of the surf and he made his way to them. They didn't resist or seem to notice him. He dispatched both, feeling his atrophied muscles seeming to come back to life.

By the time he made his way up to the boardwalk and onto the pier, he was grinning, which hurt, but not as much as he thought it would. 

He could read the signs around him, as his bare feet slapped on the warped wooden boards. The large building, at the mouth of the pier, was a restaurant. Frank thought he'd seen it before, and knew Claudia was in the car with him. A rental car. His honeymoon?

The sign painted on top of the building said FLAGLER BEACH.

Where he'd spent his honeymoon. In Florida.

Frank had walked about 1,400 miles. How long would that take?

His nostrils expanded and he took in some of the fresh salt air. A zombie walked right up to him before veering to his left. Frank broke another neck.

He began moving north on A1A, sure this was the direction he'd gone when he was here with Claudia. He needed a place to stay and recover. He could feel his body struggling to survive and grow now. His wounds would heal and his blood would begin flowing again. Frank just knew it. Would he be able to pass for human? Would he be able to get close to them without being destroyed? His mind was filling with memories and thoughts and overloading.

He needed time to process everything in his head, and form a game plan.

The streets weren't crowded with zombies but there were enough of them. He knew it was pointless to wander and try to kill every single one of them, but if he didn't they would eventually gain consciousness and try to destroy him. He'd been one of the first. He had no idea how many more, from the initial wave of attacks, were still out there, and if they were plotting as well. He couldn't take the chance.

He stopped, the hot pavement burning his feet. He didn't actually feel the pain but it was instinctive to him. His feet were black with grime and the bottoms were probably flayed of skin. It would grow. He needed to find shoes to wear.

Across the street was an abandoned restaurant with a wooden walkway leading to its front door. Java Joint. It was a coffee place, the windows blown out. Frank decided he would stay there, out of the sun and away from any of the living. He would gain strength and destroy any zombies who got too close.

He would begin to plot his next move. But, first, he needed to find a good pair of Nikes. And a living person so he could bathe in its blood.

Chapter One

"If I hit the next three in a row, you owe me a kiss," John Murphy said to Darlene Bobich. "Deal?"

"Fine. But I get to pick the targets."

John shook his head. "No way. You'll see a zombie out in the middle of the damn ocean and point him out. It has to be in range and fair."

Darlene smiled. By now, he knew all her tricks. She walked to the side and looked down at the multitude of undead wandering the dunes, underneath her stilt house, and on A1A. She pointed out three zombies in the distance but still in range of his crossbow. "Hit all three and I will give you a kiss."

John smiled. "I'm hoping for a big, sloppy kiss. Not some lame peck on the cheek."

Darlene blushed and looked away. Even though they'd been playing this game for a long time, they still hadn't done anything about it. Each day the flirting got more intense, the sexual innuendos more pronounced, and she caught him staring at her and smiling when he thought she wasn't noticing.

And she stared at him. Constantly. Since coming back from St. Augustine, things had changed between them. They were even more awkward, in fact. Darlene wanted him and she knew he felt the same, but there was something holding them back. It wasn't the thought of his wife out there, still alive, somewhere. Darlene had overheard John and Murph, his dad, talking about it the other night.

"You don't want to hear it, son, but she's gone. If she isn't, there's no way she'll find you down here. I loved her like a daughter, but there comes a time in a man's life when he needs not dwell on the past and what might happen. You have a great girl right here, and you know you can't afford to waste anymore time," Murph had said.

"I know. I really like Darlene. Shit, I'm in love with her. But it still feels like cheating. I love being with her, love everything about her. Yet… if I commit to us, it will feel like I let my marriage go. The commitment we had."

"There are no more laws."

"There is for me, pop. There's still a God above us, and he still wants us to obey him. You know my marriage vows are still in my heart."

"I thought I raised you better than that," Murph said with a snort. "All law-abiding. It makes your rebel old man sick. But I get you. More than you think. But don't let her get away from you, because Darlene is special. She won't always be here. Someday, she's going to get sick of this game you two play, or head back to Maine and home, or find another man."

"Better than me? I doubt it."

"Shit, boy, you better make your move. If this old man finds some little blue pills in one of these raids, I'll be giving you a run for your money with her."

"First one gone. Are you even paying attention?" John said to her, bringing her back to the present. "I'm not falling for your lame tricks. If I hit them, they count."

"Whatever. Big baby."

The second one was dropped with little effort. John puckered his lips. "Wet your whistle, because the John John train is about to pull into the station.

"Dork."

John leaned against the railing and aimed the crossbow. "The one with the blue shirt, right?"

Darlene came up next to him. "Yes."

"Get ready to kiss me."

Darlene slid a hand between the rail and his jeans and lightly stroked his crotch with two fingers.

The shot went wide, disappearing into the dunes.

"No way, I get a do-over!" John cried.

"Do-over? Are you five?"

"You know you can't do that." John shook his head. "I get another chance."

"Nope." Darlene puckered her lips and blew him a kiss. "This is as close as you're getting, John John."

"You don't play well with others."

"I never said I did. And you lost. How are you going to survive in this cold, dark world? You let a little thing like that distract you. Thankfully, it isn't a life or death situation, or you'd be a zombie. And I'd get to shoot you in the head."

"I love it when you talk dirty. I want a rematch."

"Maybe next time." Darlene lifted her tanned face to the sun and put her hands on her hips. She'd been gaining back a few pounds since their return. She didn't think she'd ever be the overweight girl she was when this all started, but she wanted some of her curves back. She'd replaced some fat with muscle, and probably weighed more. But she was getting solid. And she knew John was responding to her.

But she didn't want to rock the boat. If he was still in love with his wife, she didn't want to come between them. And she knew a kiss might lead to so much more, in the blink of an eye. She wanted it, but didn't want to be the reason he did something regrettable. It was better to have the fantasy with him. To flirt every day, have his back when they hunted and be good friends. But it was starting to strain their relationship. She knew John was fighting a constant war inside his head about her.

"You know I would've made that shot. No problem."

"Yet, you had a problem making the shot. Weird."

"Someday…"

Darlene laughed. "Someday might never come, you know. You're so Charlie Brown to my Lucy. I keep pulling the football away. You'll never learn, will you?"

John was trying not to laugh. "Tomorrow, we'll do it again, only I'll get Eric over here to hold you back."

"And then I'll flash my boobs at you or show you my thong, and you'll probably shoot Eric in the foot."

"Probably."

"Besides, you're forgetting the most important part of your loss."

"What?"

"I grabbed your dick."

John blushed and looked away. "I didn't forget. It's just… I guess I lost but really won."

"I'd like to think so." Darlene opened the door to her stilt house. "I'm going to make coffee. Want some?"

"Sure. I'll be in. Give me a minute."

"I will bring your cup out. We can sit out here. If you look far enough out to sea, you can't see zombies looking to eat you. It makes for a pleasant way to enjoy coffee. I might even have something to snack on."

"I'll set the chairs up." John was smiling at her.

"What's that look for?"

"Nothing." He turned away again. "Just glad to have met you."

Darlene walked up to him and put a hand on his arm. "Same here. I can't imagine going this alone."

"I know I keep sending you mixed signals, and I'm sorry. You have to know I want to be with you. But I can't right now."

"Shh." Darlene put a finger up to his lips and, suddenly, wanted him to kiss it, but knew it would be wrong. "You don't have to explain a damn thing to me. Let's just kill the rest of this afternoon sipping coffee and pretending there's a future for all of us."

"Alright."

Darlene leaned in, suddenly, and kissed his cheek. "I cheated, so you get the kiss."

"I'll take it."

Darlene pulled away before she really kissed him. She was excited just being this close to him. "Coffee coming right up."

Chapter Two

Eric White took the binoculars back from Chris Gray. "Anything?"

"Nothing," Chris said.

"I don't get it." Eric scanned the beach, the pier and A1A. There were no zombies in sight. He'd been quite proud of all the traps, pits and fences he'd constructed in this stretch of Flagler Beach. But he couldn't block the ocean off completely, and they'd seen more and more undead being swept in from the water and deposited here.

"Two weeks ago we took out a dozen of them." Eric looked around.

"Maybe they moved on?"

Eric glanced at Chris, seated next to him on the dune buggy. He disliked the guy. Everyone thought he was creepy, and he was. He lived in the furthest stilt house and kept to himself. The only reason he was out here, helping, was because Darlene had forced him to. Otherwise, he'd ignore everyone until he ran out of something.

"We'll check the pier." Eric drove the dune buggy up A1A, keeping his eye out for an ambush. Not that these mindless creatures were capable of setting a trap, but they could be just over the next dune, hundreds of them, swarming and, now, attracted to the roar of the engine.

When Eric pulled into a parking spot, he wasn't surprised to see no zombies loitering. But the neat stack of bodies placed under the pier shocked him.

Chris saw it as well, and hopped off with his baseball bat and rifle.

Eric looked around, expecting to see a sniper on the roof of Finn’s, the corner restaurant, or movement across the street at Veteran's Park. But it was quiet.

"Are we going down there?" Chris asked. He clearly didn't want to.

"We need to ascertain what's going on, so we can report back. Come on, and keep your eyes open. By the look from here, I'd say we have living company in the area."

They went down the steps to the beach.

"Why spend time piling up the dead?"

"Maybe there is a large group and they want to make this a safe haven. Who knows? I just hope they want to talk first and do not try to shoot us." Eric pulled his 9mm. "Move away from me, so they won't have a shot at both of us at the same time."

"The bodies?"

"No, whoever did this." Eric was going to have a word with Darlene when he got back about not pairing with this kid again. He was arrogant, lazy and thought he was in charge half the time.

Eric took three steps down the stairs to the beach when the smell of decay and rot overwhelmed him and he gagged.

"Suck it up, old man," Chris said with a laugh, but his eyes were watering. "Ain't you ever smelled bad pussy? It kinda stinks like this."

Eric hopped down the last few steps, more to get away from Chris than to reach the bottom. He was about to yell at the kid for being such an idiot when the sheer volume of what he was seeing hit him.

Under the pier and stacked in even rows were bodies, piled three high and running for about fifty feet in length. But, under the boardwalk itself were more of the dead. They were piled two high, three rows deep, and ran in either direction for hundreds of feet.

"Shit," Chris said.

Eric had to agree. He started counting and figured out a rough estimate. "I'm going to say three thousand bodies, maybe more."

"That's a lot of dead. No wonder we aren't seeing any in the area. They've all been killed." Chris smiled. "This is good, right?"

Eric shrugged, covering his mouth and nose. "I hope so. But this means a large group is in the area and cleaning house. I just hope they are friendly, and, if they head in our direction, we spot them before they spot us."

"Should we try to locate them? They have to be here and close."

"No. Not until I talk to Murph and Griff. I don't want to stir up a band, especially if they are nomads and will move on. This isn't a good thing, because supplies are already picked clean in Flagler Beach and Palm Coast. I'd hate to think a large group is around and fighting for the same scraps we are, and moving like locusts."

Chris moved his lips to answer but puked instead.

"We need to get back up top. I can only imagine the disease festering with all these bodies. Hopefully, they move along and we can start burying the dead." Eric jogged up the steps and scanned the buildings on A1A. He wondered if they were being watched.

Chris came up behind him. "Now what? Do we head up 100 into Palm Coast?"

"No. We report back. We need to figure out what we're doing. You ready to ride?"

"Sure. I need to get back, anyway."

"Busy? Jerry Springer on TV?"

"Nope." Chris looked up into the sun. "I'm not a big fan of this heat, especially when you have air conditioning and cold water in the fridge. You can report back to Darlene and the others, but I'm going to take a nap."

"You're quite the team player."

Chris smiled. "I try."

Eric bit his tongue and decided to have the talk with the others about Chris. He was glad he wouldn't be at the upcoming report meeting. The kid was an idiot. "Keep an eye out for people in the buildings and on the roofs."

The dune buggy was started and they pulled away from the Flagler Beach pier and headed north. Eric kept to the center of the two-lane road and kept it slow and steady. The last thing he wanted to do was run right into a walking zombie or be going too fast to turn away and crash. 

Eric glanced at the Golden Lion, on his left. In better days, the restaurant was probably packed with customers eating fish and chips, having fruity drinks and enjoying the bright sunshine on the top deck. Now, it was filled with sand, the paint peeling and the tiki bar imploded. This far south, it was only used as a storage place. Eric pulled over.

"What are we doing?" Chris asked.

"I want to see if the stores have been taken from here. Come on, and bring the shotgun."

They stepped over a crumbling wooden booth. Eric looked up at the marquee of a regal lion with sunglasses and sighed. Such a shame. "Follow a few feet behind me. Shoot anything that moves, but don't do anything stupid."

Chris didn't comment, which was a rarity. Usually, he had some lame remark.

Eric didn't see new footprints in the sand covering the floors, but the wind was blowing through the open areas and most of them would be wiped away quickly.

Toward the back of the Golden Lion was a raw oyster bar, where they'd packed items they didn't immediately need but could be used in a pinch, like camping supplies, tents, furniture, motor oil, and lawn equipment. You never knew what you were going to need, and as items were destroyed, broken or ran out of their usefulness, they couldn't be easily replaced.

Eric used his key to unlock the Master padlock on the door. Anyone with a foot could kick the door in, but Eric insisted on the extra precaution anyway. Everything was safe inside, items piled high.

"Look," Chris said. He was pointing at some footprints around the door.

"Barefoot," Eric said. "Might be a zombie, but they aren't necessarily fresh." Eric looked up. "The bar could've just blocked the wind at the right angle. They could be days or weeks old."

"I guess. Can we go now?"

"Sure. Keep your eyes open."

"How many times are you going to tell me that?"

"Until it really sinks in."

They got back on the dune buggy and headed north again. The road was still clear ahead and behind.

Eric picked up the pace. He wanted to talk to the others now. If a large group was in the area, he doubted they would skip over the Golden Lion and would have definitely kicked in a locked door. It didn't make sense.

"Stop," Chris, suddenly, cried out.

Eric pulled over onto the side of the road.

"Back there. I thought I saw someone standing on the ramp."

Eric turned the dune buggy around slowly. "Where?"

Chris pointed at the Java Joint. "That coffee place. I swear, someone was just standing there as we drove past."

"Get the shotgun."

Eric pulled up to the bottom of the ramp and stared at the dark interior, but he saw no movement, especially from this low angle. "I'll lead. Give me the shotgun and stay a few feet behind me."

They took slow steps up the wooden ramp, careful not to trip on debris. At the top of the ramp, they stepped onto the main deck, which wrapped around the building to their left. The front doors were open, the glass long since broken.

Eric stepped inside and led with the shotgun. The tables and chairs had been jammed to either side. The wooden counter was still intact, but the cash register was on the ground in pieces. Two bathroom doors stood before him to the right. "Cover me."

The men's room was empty. Eric flung open the ladies room but it was also unoccupied. Eric pointed to the counter. "Let's check out the kitchen."

"I wish they had a cheeseburger and coffee."

Eric smiled. "Maybe they will. Stay sharp."

Behind the counter was a brush of sand from the broken side window. The cabinets were open and empty, and the soda cooler was a jagged mess. "I've been in here before. Months ago. It's been picked clean."

"Then let's get out of here," Chris said.

"Not until we check the back."

"I have your back," Chris said.

Eric wasn't too relieved by his words. The kid would run in a heartbeat, if there was trouble. "Ready?"

He didn't wait for Chris to say anything before stepping into the kitchen area. It was a wreck but just as he remembered it. There were also bare footprints in the dirt and dust on the floor. Eric didn't like it, but figured a zombie had wandered in at some point recently. More than likely, it was now piled under the boardwalk.

"Clear. Let's get out of here." Eric walked out and back into the sunshine, breathing in the clean air. At least with the demise of the human race, the pollution and noise had stopped. The air was fresh with no vehicle exhausts, cigarette smoke, and music playing. But it was lonely.

They got back into the dune buggy and started driving away.

"I'm almost positive I saw someone," Chris said.

Eric nodded. Normally, he would doubt anything the kid said, and they'd walked through the Java Joint. But Eric couldn't help the feeling they were being watched.

Get To Know Armand

The Ugly Beginnings Excerpt 

I ain’t no hero. I never thought of being one. When I was young, I didn’t dream about being a police or fireman. I never considered joining the military, even after 9-11 when so many others my age flocked to the recruiter’s office.

Hell, I was the guy who picked a desk in the middle of the classroom on the first day of school when all the Brains rushed for front row seats and the Jocks and Stoners roamed to the back. I didn’t play sports, at least not in any organized way. When sides were chosen (even if it was just a pick-up game with my buddies), I was pointed out someplace in the middle. Sometimes I would pull off a play in football, basketball, kickball…whatever, which was only amazing because it was me doing it.

I had my share of girlfriends. I lost my virginity my senior year. On prom night. To a girl who played flute in the high school marching band. Her name was Kerri or Kathy…or Kari or Cathy.

So you’re starting to get the point. Right?

I worked in an office complex after I graduated college …B minus GPA. Never married, but I was engaged a few times. My one bedroom apartment was small, but it suited me and my dog just fine.  Well, that was until the horror movies jumped off the screen and landed right in the middle of an atypically un-believing real world.

Some of the stuff about zombies proved to be true.

Some not.

Most of how humanity was predicted to act was drastically underestimated. The best. The worst. Sometimes I wonder how in the hell we’ve survived as a species.

That will likely be answered definitively sooner than I would like.

It may seem corny, but no one I’ve met since it began can give me a solid answer as to how it all rolled into motion. Sure, there are theories: Government Bio-weapon gone awry; Super-virus; alien particles from space; demons from Hell; and global warming. Each gets equal billing when you hear the topic come up. Maybe it’s a mix of all of the above. Or, maybe God got tired of us messing up his toy. And if you don’t believe in God…well then you can refer back to the list and pick your favorite. Honestly, I don’t give a damn. I’m too tired from running. How I ended up leading a band of survivors in this Romero-Hell is my new reality. The time for blame has long passed.

Since things began, I’ve seen…we’ve all seen…things best forgotten. Yet, I, as well as anybody still alive, know that forgetting is impossible. The best you can hope for now is sleep without the nightmares coming back to refresh those images you desperately try to shove into a hard to reach spot in your mind. There are some things that the movies missed, or could not accurately convey. The biggest would be the smell; that, and the psychological toll of hearing a person scream as they are ripped apart and fed upon.

   
  ***

 “…seem to see no pattern in what is being called The Blue Plague, due to the discoloration common in the final stages where it is theorized that the body is starved for oxygen.”

Click.

“SARS. West Nile. Crap. What’s next?” I turned off the television and tossed the remote onto a stack of unread magazines scattered across my coffee table.

Pluck, my Basset Hound, twitched a big, floppy ear and closed his eyes in disinterest. I scratched him behind one of those ears, earning a contented doggie sound.

I got off the couch and made one of those habitual trips to the fridge. I popped it open knowing deep down that I didn’t really want anything. A thud from the living room signaled that Pluck was on his way, just in case I might produce some tasty treat that would undoubtedly be shared. I’m pretty sure Pavlov’s dogs are hidden somewhere in Pluck’s family tree.

As is often the case when I’m about to make a major life choice, this one being leftover Chinese take-out, or last night’s pizza, the phone rang. I passed Pluck just as his paws smacked the linoleum with a scrabble of clicking claws that were in dire need of trimming. His exasperated huff caused his thick jowls to flutter.

“Yeah?” No need for formality since I could see Bill Wright, a friend of mine’s name, in the caller ID on my phone.

“Steve, are you watching this?” My friend Bill was naturally excitable, but something in his voice was off.

“Is this sports related?” I made no attempt to hide how totally not interested I was. “Unless it involves a female gymnast losing some or all of her outfit—”

“Turn to Channel Seven now!”

The near-hysterical timbre in his voice had me grabbing my remote before I realized it. I punched the buttons with my thumb. The green volume bar inched across the bottom of my screen as I tried to comprehend what I was seeing.

“…of the local police force along with a detachment from the National Guard have set up around the town’s perimeter. No contact has been established with any of the residents up to this point. Reports from the air indicate that it is unlikely that any survivors exist.”

The buzzing in my ear reminded me that I was still on the phone with Bill. Also, my arm remained extended towards the television. My hand was empty because, at some point, I had dropped the remote.

“Another 9-11?” I felt my chest tighten.

“I don’t think so,” Bill said. I could hear his keyboard rattling in the background. “This shit is all over the place. And not just in our country. It’s global!”

“What the hell is going on?”

“Straight-up horror movie shit!”

“Uh-huh.” My enthusiasm and interest began to recede quickly.

“Dude, I’m totally serious! Packs of crazed people are going on rampages and just tearing people apart. YouTube already has like a thousand postings under “Zombie Attack” that show some twisted stuff. At least it did until the site locked up and crashed.”

“So you’re telling me that zombies are out there going all George Romero on the unsuspecting citizens of the world?” I was still watching my now muted television while sitting on my coffee table rubbing Pluck’s head as it rested on my knee. It wasn’t showing me any zombies, just a talking head and a caption that read: Possible Small Town Epidemic.

“If you saw any of these clips, you’d be grabbin’ a gun and headin’ to the nearest shopping mall!”

No, I didn’t believe Bill in the slightest. That was mostly due to the hours he, I, and others spent imagining just such a scenario; usually after viewing any of the Dead flicks. Take your pick…Night, Dawn, Day, Land. Original. Remake. We’d seen them all enough to recite lines like Rocky Horror fans. It always led to the “what if” conversation.

One of the oldest, most overused sayings is, “Be careful what you ask for…” You know the rest. So, I did what anybody else would do if their friend called to say that the zombies were coming. I hung up.

***

Sometimes you will see something in life that makes you say or think, “That’s just like that movie….” Or, if you’re the literary type, it could be in a book. I’ve read or seen lots of ‘zombie-esque’ stuff over the years. I always thought it would be so cool. Of course, I’d never go into that dark place that so many fall prey to. Plus, those zombies move so slow…at least until the British influence brought on the sprinting zombie. Man, am I glad they got that wrong.

***

I went to bed watching Talk Show with Spike Ferensten. Overall, a normal Saturday night for me. Ironically, it was the utter darkness that woke me.

My eyes opened to that total blackness that modern man had grown so unaccustomed to experiencing. The first moments were disorienting. Usually there is a blue glow that filters through my curtains from a car rental place that casts its light on my closet door. I live near the airport, so I can count on two fingers the number of times I’ve lost power. Both times were due to terrible ice storms.

It was late April.

In the distance I heard sirens. That is nothing unusual near the airport at any time of day or night. So, I closed my eyes with the intention of going back to sleep. An unfamiliar growl signaled the change in my world…I just didn’t realize how drastic at that particular moment.

The growl changed register. Suddenly, my droopy-faced, foot-warmer of a dog began barking furiously. There was no mistaking the message.

Danger!

I climbed out of the covers and tried to creep to my bedroom doorway. If there was a creaky board in the floor that I missed, I’d be shocked. I peeked down the hallway. My front door was in a direct line of sight, and on the right was my living room window with the curtains closed. Through an arch on the left would be my kitchen and a much smaller window. My apartment was on the second floor and in the corner of the small thirty-unit complex. Usually, at night, the big lit sign from the luxury hotel across the street shone brightly in my living room; even through closed curtains.

Not tonight.

“Pluck!” I whispered.

I could see his dark shape, barely discernable against my front door in the blackness. The shape moved and was at my feet pushing against me with its bulky head. I reached down to scratch behind his ears and noticed that Pluck’s hackles were standing straight on end.

“What the hell?”

That was all I managed before something outside brushed up against my front door. In a flash, my normally docile companion was lunging towards the door barking furiously. Not thinking, I ran after him yelling his name and that he quiet down.

A dull thud.

I moved my agitated dog aside with one leg and leaned over just enough to ease the curtains aside so that I could take a peek out my living room window. A man stood at my door. To be more precise, he was leaning against it with his back to me. That was the first time I got a hint of that smell.

I watched as one hand raised and brushed the doorknob. It fell listlessly back to his side. My first thought was that this guy had been hurt and was seeking help. He wore coveralls and a heavy utility jacket. I figured him to be from the power company.

There are moments in life that you never forget. Ones that never erase themselves from memory and end up in that permanent photo gallery your mind keeps. Some of those images blur over time. Others become glossier, as if they’ve received a bit of mental airbrushing. The first girl you kissed becomes a vision of pure beauty. That first car loses all the dents, dings, and rust spots.

Some memories do the opposite.

That body leaning against my door jerked like it was convulsing. The head snapped around so suddenly that I’m pretty sure I heard something pop…right before I screamed and fell backwards on my ass.

Something heavy struck my doorknob. That sound was like a slap on the face. I scrambled to my feet and did one of those stupid things I said I’d never do. You know what I am talking about. The person in the movie has to take that ‘one last look.’  Of course that is usually when he or she gets their face eaten off. So, I pulled the curtain aside just enough to get that peek.

I know in my logical mind how dark it was that night. Over time, my brain has filled in the shadows. His name was Ed. I know that because it was embroidered on the left breast of his dark jacket with white thread. There was a milky film over his eyes that looked like a thin coat of Elmer’s wood glue. Black blood filled the vessels in his eyes, which add a particularly nasty effect to that vacant,  soulless look that lets you know you’re dealing with a monster (oddly it is also a giveaway for somebody in the latter phases of infection). The dark smears around his mouth are the bright red of arterial blood in my nightmares. Ed’s mouth is open and his face is pressed against my living room window.

 The apartments I called home for over a decade were not the greatest: leaky faucets; poor insulation; and cheesy carpet from an era that was long out of style way before I moved in. But back to the windows…they are thin enough that you can feel a cold breeze through them on a blustery fall or winter day. I knew seconds before it happened that the glass was not going to hold.

Crash!

And just that quick, everything I knew, loved, did for fun…gone. My world had been shaken violently, and the pieces would never settle into anything resembling normal ever again.

Ed’s stench hit me hard. The smell was so thick that I could taste it in the back of my throat. Two things happened almost instantaneously; Pluck lunged at the body that was halfway through my living room window, and I puked. To say “vomited” or “threw up” would diminish the true nature of that moment. It was as if my stomach heaved so violently that my intestines reversed flow and joined in the event. My mouth and nose burned from the bile-laced mixture that spewed from deep inside my guts. I staggered back, unable to see for a moment. Over the ringing in my ears I heard Pluck snarl and bark as he threw himself at the unnatural thing that threatened his master. I probably owe my life to that stupid dog.

His sudden yelp brought me back.

My eyes cleared, and I could see Ed holding something in his hands. It took another second to overcome the shock of what I was seeing. It held Pluck by a hind leg and his collar as it buried its face into that soft, warm, scratchable belly. When its head snapped up, long strands of skin and viscera pulled away. My best friend howled loud enough to drown out my own cry. But for a moment anyway, Ed was occupied.

God help me.

I ran.

I scrambled for the door, fumbling with the lock for seconds which seemed eternal before I could yank it open, and I ran away. I ran away from my apartment. I ran away from all my stuff. I ran away from that smell of death, and blood, and puke. I ran away from Ed.

I ran away from Pluck!

At the bottom of the stairs was a small, pink bicycle with training wheels. My mind held up a mental flash card of a tiny Mexican girl. She would ride that bike around the square inner-courtyard of the complex. She always rang the little bell on her handlebars if she came up on somebody from behind. She would laugh.

So I ran.

I reached the parking lot and realized that I had never bothered to grab my keys. The stupid ones in the movies always go back. My mind flashed on that image of the Ed-thing taking a bite out of the middle of my dog. Every hero in the movies knows how to hotwire a car. I had no clue. I still wasn’t going back.

I stood there like an idiot for a moment, then heard a low steady sound. The backside of my apartment complex’s parking lot is a steep, tree-covered embankment. There is a wall made of river rock that forms about a five foot base before the earthen slope begins and rises up to the street above. That street is like a border between my apartments and a quiet residential neighborhood. Parked on the edge of that street, just visible through the trees that overhung most of the parking lot, was a big power company truck.

It was running!

Hoisting myself, and scrambling up the embankment, I reached the road. Typical for this time of night (it was 3:42 a.m. according to my watch) it was quiet. I sorta turned a slow circle to make sure all was clear.  Farther down the road from me something may have moved in the darkness. I wasn’t about to wait and find out. Still, rushing to the truck without at least a little caution could be as fatal as a stroll down this road into the deep, black shadows.

I moved out into the middle of the street so as to allow myself the greatest amount of open space, then crept towards the idling vehicle. A large, dark smear marred the driver’s side door. I wondered briefly if it belonged to Ed…or worse…his co-worker. Just as I neared close enough to peer in the open window, a scream unlike anything I’d ever heard—before that night anyway—shattered the relative quiet. That piercing sound seemed to reach inside me and clamp down hard on my bladder.

Yeah. I wet my pants.

Now I realize that something like that never happens to action heroes. Well, I guaran-damn-tee that he or she never heard a scream like that before. Not for real anyways.

It sounded like a woman or a child.

I yanked open the truck door deciding it was time to move a little quicker. Thankfully, no surprises leapt out at me, and I slid into the cab. I took quick visual inventory: keys, big flashlight, clipboard, brown paper sack. Great.

I popped the column shifter into drive and stomped on the gas pedal while twisting the steering wheel hard left. Making a big U-turn, I raced to the corner and did a bouncy power-slide. Turning sharp left again, I dropped into the entrance of my complex. I veered slightly left clipping a beat up Buick parked in the first tenant’s parking spot. The truck fish-tailed the short length of the lot where an opening in the two-story building on my right indicated the entrance existed to one of two breezeways. Slamming on the brakes, the truck screeched to a halt and banked right just enough to have the nose pointing into the void. I found the knob and pulled, turning on my headlights.

The scene in that dark tunnel-like breezeway threatened to cause another upheaval from my stomach. Ed, along with two more of those things were clawing at this short, pudgy, Mexican woman. One of them was tearing out what looked to be a strand of intestine from a gaping hole in her abdomen. Another was jerking back with a chunk of left forearm between its teeth. Ed was on hands and knees chewing away at a thigh. Backing toward the steps was a little girl.

I struggled to remember the name I’d heard when her mom or dad had called for her. It was my little bicycle rider.

Thalia!

I leaned out the window and called her name. She spun, and I could see her clothing was splattered with blood.

Please don’t be a zombie.

The three things feasting on what I was pretty sure had been her mom glanced up, then went back to what they’d been doing. Thalia, on the other hand, ran towards me.

Zombies don’t run. Right?

“Ayuda me, por favor! Ayuda mi mamá, señor!”

“English, sweetie.” I reached down and grabbed the tiny girl, yanking her rather unceremoniously through the window.

“Please to help my mamá, Mister Steve!”

Her accent was kinda thick. “Mister” sounded like ‘meester’, but her family was the sort that worked hard at their English. Good thing, because my Spanish was limited to a poor Speedy Gonzalez impersonation.

She looked at me with large, pleading eyes. I didn’t have time to explain. Besides, I felt that any help on behalf of her mamá at this point would be useless. Mamá was done. I shifted into reverse and backed out as quick, and still cautious, as I could. It would be really stupid to wreck now.

As the headlights drifted across that horrific scene, I took one more look. My mind was screaming that this could not possibly be happening the way I was seeing it. I slammed on the brakes causing Thalia to fly forward and hit her head on the dashboard. She started crying, but I didn’t hear it. Creeping into the breezeway was a short, squat shadowy figure.

Pluck.

I watched in painful fascination as my constant companion for so many years nosed into the body sprawled on the concrete. His head pulled back, and a flap of torn flesh hung from his mouth.

Slowly, I regained awareness of my surroundings. Tiny fists were pounding on my right shoulder. I glanced at Thalia in confusion as the sounds of her sobs poured into my consciousness. The blurred vision and burning sensation in my eyes made me realize that I was crying, but that wasn’t why the little girl was pummeling me.

A bloodless face stared at me through the closed window of the passenger side door. The mouth opened and pressed against the glass. My mind focused on the weirdest thing.

No fog.

The window didn’t fog up!  This thing’s mouth was all over the glass, and it wasn’t fogging up even a teensy bit. Crazy.

An equally pale hand with a chunk missing, and what looked like just a stub for a thumb, smacked against the increasingly slime-smeared window. I heard a rattle of the door handle. This thing was trying to open the door, albeit clumsily. Time to go!

I made sure I was still in reverse and goosed the accelerator. Our friend came with us as he still had a grip on the door handle. I swung around and brought that side of the truck almost flush with the rock wall. A gout of blackish fluid made a macabre Rorschach pattern on the glass. Thalia screamed again and was practically in my lap. Her arms clutched about my neck so that I had to crane around her to see. My head turned just enough to allow me to see a shape rising in the shadows of the breezeway.

I eased the little girl down next to me and wrapped one arm protectively around her. She buried her face in my side and for that I am grateful. She didn’t need to see what was staggering our way. The thing outside the passenger’s side was not letting up in its effort to try and get at us, so I gave another tap on the gas. Gripping Thalia, I hit the brakes and shifted back in to drive.

Directly in front of me was Pluck. Without any further thought, I floored it. The time was long past to be outta here. The big truck lurched just a bit as our tag-along fell free and ended up under the rear wheels. Then the front sorta bounced like we’d hit a speed bump.

That “speed bump” was the end of my boon companion. My best friend. My foot warmer. I looked in the rearview mirror long enough to know I’d crushed his head like a jack-o-lantern in November. My dog, good old Pluck, lay still in the middle of the Villa la Puerta apartment complex parking lot. I think, in a lot of ways, I was relieved.

***

One sentiment that popped up in most of the zombie books and movies was the desire to ensure friends and companions didn’t “come back.” I get it now. Not just the fact that I didn’t want him wandering around as one of them, it was much more. Honestly, that thing wasn’t Pluck. It is just so vile to see somebody you knew and loved become a part of the cause. To think that his body would still be moving after his… essence?...soul?...whatever the hell you want to call it, is long gone? It just ain’t natural.

 
  ***


I pulled out onto the street just as I saw Thalia’s mom appear in my rearview mirror. I’m really glad that sweet little girl never saw what I did at that moment. What she had seen moments before, as well as what she would see in the next hours…days…weeks…would provide enough nightmare fodder.

I turned right. Away from the airport and towards the freeway seemed the best choice. A few blocks ahead, I could see that the power was on! That held some definite plusses and minuses.

Plus—I could see. I did a quick look-over of Thalia. Not that I’m heartless, but I had to make sure. Thankfully, there were no bites or scratches. I was really hoping there weren’t any that I couldn’t see. Her face was nestled right in my side. If she turned…

Minus—I could see. Here and there, singles, doubles, and mini-herds of those things were on the move. Or worse, feeding. Again, really glad Thalia couldn’t see this. A couple of times, I had to swerve to avoid one of those things as they wandered out into the street after the few passing cars. I saw no reason to play Death Race with…

Zombies. That’s it. That’s what they are, and I can’t avoid it. After Pluck and Thalia’s mom, I have no doubts that the dead are, in fact, returning. For whatever reason...instinct, anger, hunger...they are attacking and feeding off the living.

As I hit the I-5 South on-ramp, it dawned on me to switch on the radio. A monotone, obviously recorded message, was repeating on every station I scanned to:

 “The Emergency Broadcasting System has been activated. Please stay tuned to this local station for information…”

 The message was on a loop. I tried the two-way radio. It came alive with all sorts of frantic chatter.

“...advised, we have lost contact with units seven, nine, twelve, and seventeen.”

“…came out of no place and just grabbed Duran…”

“…where the hell is anybody!”

“…damn lady just bit me! I mean took a chunk out of my arm!”

 As I drove down the interstate listening to the insanity unfold, I passed a couple of cars that were pulled only partially off the road. In the opposite lane, a few cars whisked past heading north. There was no way I would even consider heading into downtown Seattle. Within hours, if not already, that place would be a chaotic death trap. I was considering my options when a snippet of conversation caught my attention.

“…of people grabbed Ed. I heard him scream as they dragged him into the bushes. I stayed up on the pole. God forgive me, but I was scared to death.”

“Then what?” a female voice demanded. “You said you lost the truck. So what the heck happened?”

“A few minutes later…five, maybe ten…one of them came out of the bushes and took off with the vehicle.”

I turned off the two-way. There was nothing I could say or do now that wouldn’t take forever to explain or clear things up in any manner. There was little doubt that it was my ‘Ed’ they were discussing. The problem being, I was pretty sure my explanation would not be very welcome. Not yet. If things held true to form, nobody would acknowledge or believe what this was until too late.

I reached over and opened the glove box. Thalia didn’t make any attempt to move away, not that I blamed her. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for. I rummaged, keeping one eye on the road as I felt around. Two wallets! That was the same moment I realized that I left mine. For somebody determined not to make stupid mistakes, I wasn’t doing so well.

I spotted an off-ramp that advertised FOOD-GAS-LODGING. Veering right, I decided it was time to get just a little proactive. I made up my mind that I knew what was going on, and it was my responsibility to this child beside me to start taking steps to prepare for the worst eventuality.

A fully lit service station was perched at the top of the off-ramp. You know the kind; the mini-mart disguised as a gas station with a garage added as an afterthought that was good for nothing beyond a tire change. A small car was parked in a dark corner across the expansive asphalt lot from where the entrance was—probably the on-duty cashier’s.

I pulled up to the pump station closest to the doors. No surprise, I saw no sign of an attendant...or cashier...whatever. My head was on a swivel, searching for any movement. Inside or out. I pried Thalia loose and took her tear-streaked face in my hands.

“I’m gonna take care of you, but I have to get out of the truck for a minute. I will lock the door. Don’t open it until I say. Can you do that?”

She nodded.

“I will leave the engine running. So don’t touch anything. Okay?”

More nodding.

I looked around again. This was a bad time for any surprises. At the moment, the coast was clear. I climbed out, locking the door, closing it carefully, and checking it to be certain. So far, so good. I fast-walked to the glass door and tugged.

Damn. Locked. Naturally.

Trying to watch everywhere at once, I scooted to another set of doors around the corner. Nothing was moving inside or out of the store. Yet. I could hear the occasional vehicle speed by on the nearby freeway. I think I heard gunshots from somewhere distant. I briefly wondered what I would do if another vehicle arrived with people having the same idea as me.

Also locked!

Damn! Damn! Damn!

Just a tiny bit desperate and a whole lot scared now. I looked everywhere for an idea. Turning my attention fully inside, I knocked on the glass. I don’t know if I wanted somebody to be there or not, but old habits die hard.

No answer.

I knocked again. Louder. Still no response from within, or thankfully, out. That left me with what I saw as my final option:  the metal ashcan sitting next to the door. I picked it up, dumped the contents on the ground, backed up a few steps and hurled it as hard as I could at the glass door.

CRASH.

I had half-expected the thing to come bouncing back at me. Lucky me. The entire door exploded inwards. Fine cubes of glass glittered like fake diamonds under the white glare of the fluorescent lighting.

Now it was time to be quick. I glanced back at the truck. Thalia was staring wide-eyed but calmly back at me through the windshield. I noted that pump nine was closest. Peering over the counter to be assured of no nasty surprises, I quickly climbed over and found the panel allowing me to turn on my pump. In no time, I had the nozzle in place and put the lock on so that I could tend to other issues while the tank filled.

Back in the store, I stopped at a rack of those burlap carry bags imprinted with pictures of Mount Rainier, the Space Needle, and other local touristy things. Grabbing a few, I literally ran up and down the aisles scooping stuff from the shelves. The medicine aisle was almost empty by the time I finished. Mostly basic things, like allergy pills and aspirin mixed in with the first aid stuff, filled six of those bags. I grabbed food second, which made me sorta proud that I was thinking clearly. Food would be easier to grab than medicine or hygiene as this dragged on. At least that was my logic.

I decided that milk would likely become a luxury. It would do good to get some while I could. I paused at the wall of the glass-doored refrigerators when I came to the milk section. My hand grasped the handle and I totally froze, my heart pounding in my throat. I had found the clerk. Plus one.

Inside the refrigerated stock area, behind the tilted display shelves, stood two zombies. They were staring at me from the shadows, behind the orderly rows of beer, orange juice, and various name-brand sports drinks. A quick look behind them at the main door to the chill box helped ease my heart rate back under triple digits. The big, metal door looked shut.

I backed down the aisle a few steps away from the milk towards the soda. Sure enough, my ‘friends’ followed. I tapped the glass like you would an aquarium. They both lunged forward, tangling themselves in the shelving and each other. I bolted, popped the door where the milk was, grabbed a couple of cartons, and headed to the exit.

I ducked out into the open lot to hear Thalia pounding on the glass of the driver’s side window. A quick glance confirmed that a small pack of zombies were crossing the asphalt towards us. They still had some ground to cover, and I transferred our haul to the truck pronto. That finished, I pulled out the nozzle and hung it up as I replaced the gas cap. I dashed around the front of the truck and Thalia opened my door.

“Please let us go now!”

“I totally agree, sweetie!”

Climbing into the cab, I gave the approaching zombies another look. It was like the introduction to a dirty joke. An Asian, a naked lady, and two policemen walk into a gas station parking lot…

Hmmm.

I revved the engine.

“Put on your seatbelt, señorita.”

Without a word, Thalia did exactly what she was told. I heard the ‘click’ and fastened my own. I pulled away from the pumps and made a wide U-turn. A glance in the rearview…then side-view mirrors…now for a slight turn of the steering wheel to get things right. I shifted into reverse and stomped the gas.

Zombie Bowling.

I felt the impact and the ensuing bounces as I rolled over the bodies. Three of the four lay twitching on the ground. The fourth, Naked Lady, still stood. She turned towards me, arms outstretched, mouth open. Back into drive, and again I put the pedal to the floor. I swerved just enough to catch her with the driver’s side corner of the bumper. A satisfying thud and crunch rewarded the effort, coupled with the body flying several feet. Down, but not…dead? I briefly pondered the idea.

Twice-dead?

Fitting.

Thalia exclaimed her surprise when I slammed on the brakes and flung open the door. All of the zombies were in varied stages of struggling to their feet. On their backs they are a lot like turtles.

I approached the first downed policeman and was very disappointed. No gun. The second was my payoff, though. His wide, black leather belt held several toys for me to examine later once I had more time. I grabbed a window squeegee as I closed in on my target. With one swing I brought it down as hard as I could. My blow found an eye socket which exploded with thick jelly-like fluid. This thing began thrashing, arms flailing, hands grasping. A second swing…another…and another as the face shattered and the eye socket hole expanded. Finally the brass and hard plastic squeegee broke through to something softer. The thing at my feet quit struggling. Instantly. It’s like hitting an off switch.

I worked the belt off the twice-dead while watching the others. The other policeman and the Asian were back on their feet, headed my way. Naked Lady was bent almost entirely backwards. She was trying to pull her unnaturally vee-shaped self along the asphalt. Yuck. Prize in hand, I made it back to the truck with relative ease.

Dropping the gun belt on the seat, I closed the door and headed for the exit. A car zoomed past, heading for the interstate presumably. A screech of tires sounded as it slammed on the brakes, then sped back to us in reverse.

The car, a sporty foreign model by the looks…what can I say, I’m not much into cars…halted directly in front of us. I considered our chances of ramming the little car without taking too much damage ourselves, but decided to wait a second and see what this person wanted. He or she could be just like Thalia and me. Still, no sense in being stupid. I pulled the gun from the holster and glanced to see if it was loaded. Check. Safety off. Check. I’m savvy enough to know it is a nine millimeter. I glanced in the rearview. The zombies were still a fair distance away. Problem was that now there were seven. I had enough time to at least give this person in the car a moment. I wouldn’t waste time, but I also was not about to let my guard slip.

“Get down, Thalia.”

She obeyed without protest. Unbuckling her seatbelt, she slid to the floor on the passenger’s side, pulled her knees in tight, and wrapped her arms around them. Sort of like a tiny ball.

The door to the sports car opened. A tall, very attractive in an out-of-my-league sort of way, brunette emerged. My mind sped through several scenarios. All of which ended up with me as the hero and her falling into my arms. She proceeds to show her gratitude and admiration for my heroism...

“Thank God!” she screamed, and ran to my truck.

I rolled down the window, seeing no reason to open the door. I mean seriously, there are a bunch of walking dead shambling this way. Sure they’re still a ways off and moving slow, but my mind is still trying to process what’s happening.

“Ummm…you probably shouldn’t be out of your car.”

I am so smooth.

“Please help me! What the hell is going on?”

“You really shouldn’t be out of your car.”  I glanced again at the group of undead closing the distance slowly and steadily. One of them was outdistancing the others and had his arms outstretched.

“My neighbor did this!” the pretty brunette said, holding up her left arm. Blood dripped from a shallow but jagged rip below the elbow.

My look must’ve given something away, because she hastily covered up. Her expression was a crazy mix of fear, embarrassment, and confusion. Without warning, she lunged at my door, pulling wildly on the handle. I went for the lock, but a shade too late as the door opened and I tumbled gracelessly to the ground.

Thalia screamed.

Scrambling up as quickly as I could with the wind only partially knocked out of me, I had no idea what to do. Was this lady one of them? Maybe the newly turned are different. Perhaps the brain died slowly, and they kept certain functions for a while. I really had no clue where the movie stuff was right or wrong. Hell, maybe it was all wrong. All of that jumbled around in my mind like rocks in a dryer as I came to my feet.

She was apologizing over and over. Maybe she was sorry she had to eat me now. All I truly knew at that exact moment was that she was beside me with a vise-like grip on my arm. There were several of those things about twenty feet or so away, and I was not ready to die.

I shoved her as hard as I could, sending my closest threat stumbling back towards the street. I snatched the gun from the cab where it had fallen to the floorboard in all this insanity. My finger curled around the trigger as I spun and fired.

She was in the process of climbing back to her feet. With an expression of astonishment, she looked down as a bloom of red spread across her blouse. Her eyes returned to mine in shock.

“Why?” She staggered sideways a step and fell…hard.

I still heard screaming. While I was shaking my head rapidly to clear it, something grabbed my shoulder. I whirled around face-to-face with the speed-walker of the bunch. It was a woman. Or had been. Her dark hair clung to her face, glued in place by dried blood. Most of the left cheek had been ripped away. Greyish gums and blood-smeared teeth greeted me in what looked like an exaggeratedly evil grin. I raised the pistol and fired. The bullet tore through its throat, jolting the upper body backwards. I felt the grip upon my shoulder tighten, and the head snapped back toward me with mouth open wide.

It’s strange, the little things that capture our attention in a crisis. I noticed that the flat, lifeless, black-blood veined eyes never changed expression. No anger, hunger, victory, desire, pain...just empty. Truly empty.

I jammed the barrel of the gun into the now gaping maw and fired. The creature simply dropped. Again, it was as if the plug were suddenly pulled, like on a radio.

Without waiting for more bad things to happen, I jumped into the truck, slamming the door, locking it, and rolling up the window seemingly all at once. I shifted into drive and launched the big truck into the street, clipping the sports car enough to turn it a little sideways. My hard right turn aimed us back towards the interstate.

***

I’ve risked my life a whole bunch of times since that night. But at no time was I as stupid or out-of-control as I was in the way I left that gas station parking lot. Six more inches to the left, and I catch enough of that sports car to probably end our ride.

  
  ***


 Looking in my rearview mirror, I got a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. The zombies had fallen on the brunette. That could only mean one thing. Since they ignored, and even stepped over the zombie that I had just blown the back of its skull off, the brunette was not, at the time just before I shot her at least, dead.

Adding one plus one, I had just killed someone. My mind began to argue vigorously the varying points.

She was bitten.

It was only a matter of time.

You saved her much misery.

All the way to the interstate, and for the next several miles, my mind continued. It tried to offer me the solace that no other living, breathing human being would if they’d seen what I’d done.

Eventually, Thalia fell into a fitful sleep. If things were as I suspected, and if they had just started…this was only the ugly beginning.

It would get worse.

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