Zombie Chaos Box Set | Books 1-4

by Martone, D. L.

  After a few minutes of unsettling contemplation, they’d ventured into the garage, climbed aboard the battle wagon, and cautiously reversed down the driveway. Worried about accidentally hitting one of their fleeing neighbors, Casey had rolled at a snail’s pace down the street. A few blocks away, they’d encountered David’s truck parked haphazardly across the sidewalk, the driver’s-side door ajar.

  “Mom and I didn’t know what to think,” Casey said. “I mean, it wasn’t a good sign, but we still had hope…”

  “You still had hope,” George said, squeezing her son’s hand. “As for me… it felt like my heart was lodged in my throat.” She sighed heavily. “Since the high school’s in the opposite direction, neither of us had gone that way the day before, so we had no idea how long the truck had been sitting there.”

  “Or where Dad was,” Casey added. “But we knew we couldn’t stay outside. People with scary eyes were slamming into the car. Other folks were shooting off guns. We were afraid we’d get caught in the crossfire.”

  George grimaced. “So, we did the only smart thing we could. We went back home and waited for David to show up.”

  The yelling and gunfire had continued into the night, but George and Casey had just kept the lights off and the doors and windows locked. Staying as quiet as possible, they’d managed to remain safe all through the night and the following day.

  By the wee hours of All Souls’ Day, though, danger had finally found them – in the form of a large man stalking back and forth on the front porch, the floorboards creaking with every step. With all the lights out, they hadn’t been able to see the person clearly, but they’d somehow doubted it was a friendly visit.

  Armed with her rifle, George had cautiously opened the front door. Almost immediately, the stranger on the porch had lunged at her. Though startled, she’d still managed to unload two bullets squarely into his chest. Oddly enough, though, that hadn’t stopped him. With a guttural grunt, he’d yanked the rifle from her grasp, grabbed her shoulders, and reached for her neck with his reeking mouth. Shrieking, George had pushed against his bloody chest with all her might. In the near-darkness of the living room, she still hadn’t been able to determine her assailant’s identity, but frankly, she’d been more focused on surviving the fiercest struggle of her life.

  Just as George had begun to fear she’d lost the fight, Casey had picked up the rifle and shot the man point-blank in the temple. Amid a minor explosion of blood and brain matter, the attacker had fallen with a resounding thud on the living-room carpet.

  Using his phone to illuminate the scene, Casey had made a horrendous discovery: He’d shot his own father – or at least a creature vaguely resembling David. A nasty bite wound marred the familiar face of the man lying dead on the floor, while his cold, grayish skin and the cloudy, bottomless eyes indicated he’d been dead for a while.

  “He must’ve been on his way home when all this madness began,” George said. “Knowing him, he probably saw someone in trouble, stopped to help, and got bitten for his efforts.”

  “Wish he’d never gotten out of the truck,” Casey said, sniffling.

  “Jesus, that’s terrible,” Clare said, sniffling as well. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  While my wife could be tough when necessary, she was truly one of the most tender-hearted people I’d ever known. So, it didn’t surprise me to see tears dribbling down her face.

  “What a horrible thing to go through,” she added. “I’m just so incredibly sorry for you both.”

  Even Azazel, who had climbed into Clare’s lap at some point during the melancholy tale, seemed to sense her mama’s distress. Instead of napping as usual, she knelt with her front paws against Clare’s belly, staring at her face.

  “I’m sorry, too,” Jill said in a quiet voice.

  And I knew she meant it. She might’ve been a pain in the ass, but she wasn’t a monster.

  At least not yet.

  Turning back to the pair on the couch, I found myself at a loss for words. Naturally, I sympathized with Casey and George. But I also sensed a twinge of guilt deep inside. Maybe if they’d known about the impending epidemic, David would still be alive. So would a lot of other people.

  What good was foreknowledge if you couldn’t convince the world of the truth? Like a modern-day Cassandra, I’d tried to spread the word via my blog, but few people had seen it, and even fewer had believed me.

  Despite favoring animals over humans, I hated to consider all the millions – if not billions – of people I couldn’t save. Including George’s husband.

  “Yeah, that’s awful.” I winced. “Makes what you did for my wife even more heroic.”

  George smiled. “Not really. I know what it feels like to lose someone you love.”

  “Still…” I glanced at Clare and Azazel. “I’ll always be grateful.”

  I shifted my focus to Jill, whose downcast eyes and stony face made her seem sadder than usual. Normally, I would’ve expected her to say something snarky like nice if you’d gotten here sooner, but she said nothing. Perhaps she was just courteous enough to refrain from offending our guests, especially after their heartfelt confession. Or maybe she was just too damn exhausted to muster her customary sarcasm.

  “Anyway, as horrible as all that was,” George continued, “we didn’t have much time to grieve.”

  Not surprisingly, the gunshots and screams had attracted more zombies toward their house. So, they’d slammed and locked the door, packed as quickly as possible, and, with the creatures clawing at the front windows, bolted for the garage. Without further delay, they’d scurried inside the battle wagon, sped down the driveway, and left their longtime neighborhood behind.

  Just about the time I was waking up in my courtyard.

  At first, they’d driven south, headed into the backcountry of southern Louisiana, but after poking along for the entire day in a sizable traffic jam, they’d noticed thick clouds of smoke amassing on the southern horizon – as if an enormous fire had spread across the bayous. So, they’d turned north, eventually getting snagged in the same Baton Rouge gridlock I’d encountered.

  “That’s when we saw you pulling that crazy parking-lot maneuver,” Casey said. “Bet you delivered pizzas, too.”

  I winked at him. “Yep. All through high school and college.”

  Whether it was the guilt or the gratitude talking, an inner voice told me I had only one course of action: inviting the two of them to join us on our journey up north.

  I glanced at Clare. I could tell she was thinking the same thing.

  “You two should come with us,” I said. “We’re headed to Michigan. I’ve been preparing to leave for the past couple of weeks.”

  “You’re a prepper? Some of my husband’s friends are, too,” George said. “I mean, were…”

  She wiped her eyes but said nothing more, the thought of her dead husband likely too fresh in her mind.

  “I knew this was going to happen,” I explained. “Course, I thought we had another week to get out of town.”

  Casey looked at me skeptically. “Wait, you knew this was going to happen? Zombies?”

  “I know it sounds crazy,” I said, “but we had, um… inside information from some friends in India.”

  George mirrored her son’s expression of incredulity. “And you believed them?”

  “Let’s just say they were very convincing.” I sighed. “I even blogged about it, hoping to spread the word.”

  “Well, shit,” Casey said. “Wish I’d seen that. Maybe I could’ve saved my dad.”

  “Even if you had seen it,” Jill said, “you probably wouldn’t have believed it. I sure didn’t.” Then she gazed at her left forearm and, in a rare moment of vulnerability, admitted, “But I wish I had.”

  Before I had a chance to even consider a response, I heard scratching at the front door behind George and Casey. Apparently, one of the nearby zombies had discovered our presence. Besides the telltale moaning, I could discern bits of tattered clot
hing through the holes in the compromised wood.

  Our new friends bolted up from the couch.

  “Joe’s right,” Clare said, gently coaxing Azazel off her lap and rising from the carpet. “We have a safe location in northern Michigan. On a lake in the middle of nowhere. With tons of supplies.” She stepped beside me and grasped my hand. “Come with us.”

  Casey and George exchanged a questioning glance, as if silently contemplating the offer. The clawing and moaning on the front porch loudened. It sounded as if our uninvited guest had lured another. I didn’t want to wait until a whole undead posse busted down the door, searching for its next meal.

  “Listen,” I said, “I don’t mean to rush you, but we really need to get on the road soon.”

  George grinned. “So, what’s the plan?”

  Chapter

  16

  “I see dead people. Walking around like regular people. They don’t see each other. They only see what they want to see. They don’t know they’re dead.” – Cole Sear, The Sixth Sense (1999)

  George and her eighteen-year-old son, Casey, impressed me for lots of reasons. One, they were both resourceful survivors, as evidenced by the way they’d bailed on the Baton Rouge traffic and trailed me across several empty parking lots. Two, they had quickly learned how to defend themselves from the undead, as proven by their speedy yet quiet dispatch of the zombies on Jill’s rear patio. And three, despite their recent tragedy, they were both able to cut straight to the heart of the situation. Especially George.

  She was a survivor, and having apparently decided to trust me and Clare (if not my mother-in-law), she seemed more than willing to consider a plan that would keep her and Casey alive.

  “Well, basically,” I explained in answer to her straightforward question, “the plan is to head north as soon as possible. There are fewer people up there, which means fewer zombies, and as Clare said, we have plenty of supplies.”

  George nodded. “Makes sense.”

  “Clare, Jill, and I will be in the van,” I continued. “And I figure you and Casey can follow us in the battle wagon. Better to have both vehicles in case something happens to one of them.”

  “Wait a minute,” Jill interjected, “why can’t I take my car, too?”

  “Mom, we’ve already been through this,” Clare said. “It’s safer for you to be with us. Besides, it’s a long drive to northern Michigan. It’d be tough for you to tackle it alone.”

  “I’ve done it before,” Jill protested. “When I visited you a few summers ago.”

  Yeah, and that was just a joy to experience.

  “I know, Mom, but the situation is different now. No telling what we’ll meet on the way up. Zombie hordes, greedy survivalists, general anarchy, you name it.”

  “And honestly, Jill,” I added, “I’m not sure your old Toyota would make the journey.”

  “But their so-called battle wagon will?”

  “At the very least,” I said, “it can withstand a beating better than your little car could.”

  “She’s tougher than you think,” Jill responded.

  “Maybe so, Mom, but I’d feel a lot better if you stayed with me. Please.”

  That did it. Jill looked at Clare, opened her mouth to respond, and then nodded in compliance.

  Clare, often proficient at changing the subject, clapped her hands. “OK, who’s hungry? I imagine we could all use some fuel before our big road trip.”

  “I’m starving,” I said.

  So, it seemed, were George and Casey.

  “We don’t have many options,” Clare admitted, “but how do peanut butter sandwiches and dried apricots sound?”

  “Works for me,” I replied.

  Honestly, anything would’ve seemed delicious after the shit I’d just endured. Guess it was inevitable, given how I’d inadvertently starved myself and still managed to burn through thousands of calories.

  “Whatever you have,” George said, “we’d appreciate.”

  Casey glanced over his shoulder, toward the zombies still clawing at the front door. Turning back to Clare, he asked, “Need some help?”

  Though he seemed like a well-mannered teenager, he was probably also eager to be anywhere but Jill’s living room.

  “Nope. Mom and I got this,” Clare said. “But thanks.”

  After she and Jill headed to the kitchen to prepare a simple meal for the five of us, I refocused my attention on the two newcomers. “So, what do you think? Want to join us up north?”

  “Well, I’ve never been anywhere cold before,” Casey replied, “but I wouldn’t mind getting away from the zombies.”

  “Me neither,” George agreed. “It’s a tempting offer, but do you mind if I chat with my son for a few minutes?”

  “Not at all. I need to take care of our pals outside anyway.”

  Leaving them to consider my proposal, I headed toward the back entrance and quietly shifted the kitchen table away from the door.

  Clare turned from the counter, where she’d been generously slathering peanut butter on several slices of whole wheat bread. “Where are you going?”

  “I need to get a couple things from the van.”

  Technically true.

  “OK,” she said hesitantly, “but please be careful.”

  “Will do.”

  Something rubbed against my blue jeans. I glanced down to see Azazel circling my legs.

  Shit. I still need to change before we go.

  Besides the fact that I reeked from my various misadventures, I also wanted to avoid contaminating my cat.

  “I’ll be back, girl. Stay here with your mama.”

  Armed with a butcher’s knife, I cautiously ventured outside. If not for the sight of three dead zombies on the ground and the mix of unpleasant smells in the air, it would’ve been an ideal fall day in southern Louisiana. Sunny, cool, and full of promise.

  Who am I kidding? Nothing will ever be ideal again.

  After scanning my surroundings, I edged toward the corner of the house and peered down the driveway, which was fortunately clear. I moved toward the van, unlocked the passenger-side door, and slowly opened it, wincing at every metallic screech. Luckily, though, the two zombies on the front porch were too preoccupied to notice or care.

  Quickly, I climbed into the van and retrieved a machete and my 9mm handgun, both of which I’d forgotten to slip into my go-bag. I could’ve used the butcher’s knife on our unwanted guests, but I felt more comfortable with the machete. Of course, I felt even more proficient with the gun, which is why I’d grabbed it, but I knew that shooting the pair of zombies on the porch would only lure more undead to the house.

  Better to walk softly and carry a big fucking knife.

  From what I’d gathered so far, the undead creatures didn’t pay much attention to one another. They were much more focused on us living sacks of meat. I couldn’t guess at the inner workings of their rotten brains, but I assumed they operated on primordial instinct, with rudimentary communication skills. In other words, while they didn’t seem to converge for social reasons, they did seem to notice when a fellow zombie had caught wind of fresh food.

  Hence, why I needed to take care of the two pus-sacks before they attracted other nearby creatures.

  After resecuring the van as quietly as possible, I readied my machete and slunk alongside the house. When I reached the front of the structure, I peered around the corner. The two zombies still clawed at the front door, smearing their disgusting goo all over the wood and emitting their typical hissing and moaning sounds.

  I ducked to avoid detection, then proceeded to sneak across the lawn, hoping to surprise them both with a rear attack. Granted, my ninja skills weren’t at their peak performance – not before the zombies had hit our balmy shores, and certainly not after the gruelingly long trek to Baton Rouge.

  Plus, as already noted, my luck fucking sucks.

  So, just as I neared the front steps, it didn’t shock me when I accidentally stepped on a ceramic pig sitting
in my mother-in-law’s trampled flower bed – a pig that, incidentally, Clare and I had bought for Jill’s previous birthday.

  Unfortunately, the loud crack of pottery alerted both zombies on the porch. One of them, a partially eaten teenager in a superhero costume, wasted no time in leaping to the ground and lunging toward me. Just as he swiped at my face, I swung the machete toward his neck. But we both missed our targets. Yanking backward before he could claw me, I only managed to slice off the fingers of his outstretched hand.

  Of course, that just riled him up even more. But before he could take another swipe at me, a sizable rock hit his head, throwing him off-balance. We both turned to see Casey standing beside the battle wagon.

  After a few dazed seconds, the creature darted toward the boy. Apparently, he found Casey’s young flesh much more enticing than my stinky, blood-smeared body. Not that I blamed him – or permitted him to get very far. In fact, he’d only made it a few steps across the lawn, toward the driveway, when I bolted after him and planted my machete into his skull.

  The zombified teenager fell limply to the ground, taking the machete with him. Noting that his buddy – an old, shuffling female zombie – had stumbled down the porch steps, I yanked the machete free and ended her undead existence, too.

  “Nice aim,” I said, approaching Casey. “And, hey, thanks for the assist.”

  “No problem,” Casey replied. “Just… how ’bout we not tell my mom I did that, OK?”

  “Deal.”

  After scanning the street for any additional zombies, we headed back up the driveway.

  “What made you come out here anyway?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “Just wanted to do my part.”

  “Well, thanks again.”

  Once back inside, Casey and I resecured the rear entrance, then joined the others for an impromptu brunch in the living room.