Zombieclypse (Book 4): Dead Start

by Rosaria, A.

  “Really? Now? I want to go to sleep.”

  Priss got between her and the bed. “Show me how it looks on you.”

  Sarah groaned and snatched the dress. As she disrobed, Priss made lewd noises with a little too much focus on her breasts. Sarah slid into the dress and paraded up and down the room as if on a catwalk.

  Sarah twirled. “You’re satisfied now?”

  Priss nodded. “You look fabulous.”

  Sarah recalled the image of her at the boutique, all dirty and thin. “No need for flattery.”

  Priss smacked Sarah’s ass and got on the bed. “No flattery, you are gorgeous, even with all that dirt.”

  Priss lay down in bed and shut her eyes.

  “Short little devil,” Sarah mumbled while wriggling out of the dress. She didn’t bother putting on any clothes, and lay down next to Priss, who by now was already snoring. Sarah smiled. Yeah, it’s been good. They could make something out of this. Deep, well-deserved sleep caught her.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Sarah woke up with Priss snoring in her ear. Dazed, she rubbed her eyes. She inspected the room and groaned. It was still dark. About to lie back down, she heard something snap. Her body tensed. The sound came from outside. She tiptoed to the boarded-up window and peeked through the slits. The night sky was dark with clouds and no moon, with little to see. Then a flash, followed by a gunshot. A few seconds of nothing. And then another flash and gunshot from a different direction.

  Priss groaned. “Sarah, why are you awake? Come back to sleep.”

  Consecutive flashes followed. Priss jumped up from the bed at the sound of the reports and joined Sarah at the window. “Are those gunshots?”

  Spacey burst into the room. He wore only underwear, wielding his new machete in his left hand and in his right his old hatchet, appearing like a scantily dressed buccaneer. The flashes closed in. Whoever was shooting was doing it away from the town.

  “People?” Priss said.

  “Yup,” Sarah answered.

  “Firing at zombies?”

  Flashes returned from only one side. “Yup, think so.”

  “Do we go help them?”

  Sarah pondered about that. If they aided these people, they would bring in strangers. They might turn out to be worse than the zombies they faced in their daily life. In her short existence, she had met too many wolves in sheep’s’ clothing to make that mistake again. Spacey seemed so far to be an outlier. An exception to the rule because of circumstance. Reflecting on the old man, she realized she was in a room with him while still naked. Blushing, she snuck away to put on some clothes. Should she be offended or glad he didn’t once glance at her?

  “Sarah? What do we do now? Do we rescue them?”

  The bang of the shots grew louder as the shooters approached their haven.

  “Sarah!”

  “Yea, we should—”

  “No,” Spacey said.

  “But they need help,” Sarah said. She didn’t sound as confident as she tried to sound. She didn’t want to admit it, but she agreed with staying. What did that make her?

  A young man charged toward the building. He tried the door. Trotters chased after him. He whirled around, raised his rifle, and shot at them, downing two. Five more advanced after him. The young man aimed. They heard a loud click. He pushed his hand into his pocket, stiffened, dropped his rifle, and whirled to the door, banging.

  “Let me in!”

  Priss raced down the stairs. Sarah hesitated, then followed her.

  “Don’t,” Spacey bellowed after her. “Don’t trust them.”

  Sarah felt like shit for wanting to do nothing. Priss unbolted the door and pushed at it. The man on the other side was banging so hard on the door and screaming to open it, that he prevented her from doing so. Sarah reached down and pushed against the door. “Get back.”

  The young man screamed. The door swung open with Sarah and Priss’s combined weight. They stumbled outside to the young man struggling to stand up with five zombies on top of him. They tore into him. Attracted by the scent of blood, more zombies came their way. The man stretched out a desperate hand and croaked out, “Help me!”

  Priss stirred to dive in and assist him, but Sarah grabbed her before she could. It was so unlike the girl to be this careless. Going in barehanded was insane.

  “Get the guns,” Sarah said.

  Priss blinked at her.

  “The guns, now!”

  Priss rushed back inside. The zombies were chomping on their dinner. The man screamed for help. It wasn’t too late. Sarah stepped forward. The cold chill on her back screamed for her to flee, but instead she kicked a zombie off the man. The zombies, their attention on their prey, ignored her. Sarah kicked another one. The two zombies she got off the man got back up, facing her. They stretched out their clawing hands. She ducked under their arms. The guy was kicking and punching himself free, trying to stand back up. Sarah dodged the zombies once more, rushed in, grabbed the man by his elbow, and helped him up. The zombies on him still gripped him tight, dragging themselves upon him.

  Priss returned with the Sig and Sarah’s bowie knife. She threw the knife and Sarah deftly caught it, unsheathed the knife, and stabbed the nearest zombie in the eye. Priss blasted the two zombies charging at Sarah and the man. Two left. The zombies clawed at the man. He screamed. Sarah stabbed both zombies in the back of their heads, felling them.

  The man stood, wobbling, with a daze in his eyes. “Oh God, oh God, oh God,” came out in one breath.

  Sarah steadied him. “What’s your name?”

  The man seemed like he was hurt badly. His cheek missed skin where a zombie had bitten him. His arms bled from several bite marks. Yet his torso seemed fine. Blood covered his whole body, and he kept yammering incoherent words.

  “Priss, go get Spacey. I need help carrying him inside.”

  Sarah lowered the young man down into a sitting position.

  “Your name?”

  With wide eyes, the man stared up at her. “Your house… boarded up… the only one.” He swallowed. “I ran as fast as I could.” He cried out a sob. “Not fast enough.”

  Sarah examined the man. He’d have some nasty scars, especially on his cheek, but most would heal.

  “You’re safe now.”

  Sarah glanced around for any incoming zombies.

  The man shook his head. “Not safe, never safe.”

  Spacey stood at the door, frowning. “Can’t trust them.”

  “For Christ’s sake, help me get him inside.”

  The old man growled in protest, but still helped carry the man inside. They laid him on the sofa near the fireplace. Priss returned with the first aid kit and started dressing the man’s wounds.

  “I think he’ll make it,” Priss said.

  His wounds would heal. He’d survive if he didn’t catch a fever. The wild way he rubbernecked about, not focusing his eyes on them, worried Sarah. Spacey had gone upstairs, sulking. That one didn’t like company. A wonder he accepted her and Priss. Maybe because they were women, he felt less threatened.

  Sarah kneeled next to the young man and rotated his head to face her. “What’s your name?”

  “Name?” He frowned. “Ah… Kevin… yes… yes… Kevin. I’m Kevin.”

  “Okay, Kevin, calm down now. You are safe. Do you grasp what I’m saying?”

  Kevin stared around bug-eyed. “I… do… yes, yes I do.” He winced. “It hurts.”

  “Priscilla will help you with that. By the way, I’m Sarah.”

  Kevin’s eyes focused on Sarah. His smile was crooked wrong, and those feverish eyes didn’t bode well. At least he was coherent for now.

  “They got you good there,” Sarah said. “Can you tell us what happened?”

  He swallowed, licked his lips, and croaked out. “At sunset, we set camp and were in the middle of making dinner.” His eyes shifted away from hers. “They appeared out of nowhere.”

  “Who else was with you?”

  “Frie
nds.” He didn’t look her in her eyes.

  “Friends?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where are they?”

  “I don’t know. I lost them.” Kevin’s face contorted. “Do you have anything for pain?”

  “Priss, go get my Oxy.”

  Priss nodded and went upstairs to get the medical-grade painkillers.

  “Aren’t you worried about your friends?”

  Kevin glared at her hard with eyes that froze his fever, and snarled, “I’m in pain. I can’t think about anything else right now.”

  Sarah imagined that if she were in his place, she would be sick with worry for Priss. “Don’t you want me to find them?”

  He shook his head. Priss returned with the pills and a glass of cold water. Kevin greedily took the offered pill and placed it on his tongue. He squinted his eyes shut as he gulped until the glass was empty.

  Sarah stood up. “Guess we leave you be, for now.”

  Kevin burped and lay down on the sofa with his eyes still shut. “Yeah, you do that.”

  A little too much snark in this one for her liking. Sarah beckoned Priss to follow her. In the kitchen, Sarah pulled Priss closer.

  “I don’t trust him.”

  “What?”

  “Not so loud.”

  Priscilla lowered her voice. “Why? He’s been here for seconds, wounded, in pain, and you tell me you don’t trust him?”

  Sarah studied Kevin lying on the sofa, covered in bandages. They’d spent their whole first aid kit on him.

  “Something is off about him.”

  “God, Sarah, not everyone is out to kill you.”

  Sarah smiled warily. In this world, anyone who wasn’t a close friend was out to get you, and sometimes even your friends were not friends. Sarah had that happen to her before and was not planning to make the same mistake again.

  “I’m just saying, we have to be careful.”

  Priss glanced at the wounded man. “He doesn’t seem able to harm us. And to survive that many bites and have no fever, he must be immune.”

  “It doesn’t work like that.”

  Sarah strode over to Kevin and kicked the sofa. “Kevin!”

  Kevin opened his eyes. “What?”

  “Are you immune?”

  Kevin grimaced. “Yeah, I am. Now lady, please, leave me be.”

  Oh bugger, if only he realized in what way she wanted to leave him be, he wouldn’t be asking for it.

  “Sarah,” Priss said, “please go upstairs. I’ll take care of him.”

  Sarah glared at Priss in passing. Upstairs, she found Spacey in her room, waiting.

  “I don’t trust them,” the old man said as she entered.

  Sarah sighed. Not this again. “Who?”

  He pointed down. “Them.”

  Sarah’s eyes flared in anger. “I trust Priss with my life.”

  “The little one is fine, I mean him and his friends.”

  “Oh, you mean Kevin. He’s not dangerous, not right now anyway. And he’s alone.”

  They heard a loud bang against the front door. Sarah rushed downstairs. Priss stood aiming her rifle at the door. In the living room, Kevin sat up, pale-faced.

  “Open up,” a man’s voice rumbled. “I know he’s in there.”

  “Don’t open the door,” Kevin whined.

  “Kevin, I hear you, man, come on out. You bailed on us, man, you know how the boss thinks about cowards.”

  Sarah shot Kevin a questioning look. Kevin shrugged and avoided her eyes.

  “Turn back, or I’ll shoot,” Priss yelled.

  Whoever stood at the other side didn’t wait. Bullets pierced the wooden door. Sarah and Priss hit the floor hard.

  “Told you we couldn’t trust him,” Sarah said between clenched teeth.

  “He’s not the one shooting at us,” Priss snapped back. Priss shot her rifle twice. The shooting stopped. A man cursed. Another started yelling orders.

  Kevin crawled from the sofa to the ground. “You guys, leave. It’s me they want.”

  “Hey, Kev, come on out! Bring your friends with you. We may forgive you if you do.”

  Kevin’s face turned doubtful. He looked from Sarah to Priss and steeled himself. “Fuck you, Barnes.”

  They answered his defiance with a hail of bullets. Lead whizzed through the room, zipping above their heads. Sarah cursed for not bringing her gun with her. Priss squeezed the trigger a few more times. The quiet returned.

  “Are those your friends?” Sarah asked Kevin.

  Kevin cried out. Sarah checked over her shoulder. Kevin lay crumpled on the floor, cradling his belly, blood seeping through his fingers, his face pale. Eyes big with surprise, he stared back at her. He groaned. “Not my friends.”

  “Priss, go help him.”

  Priscilla nodded and handed Sarah the rifle. Sarah released the magazine. Empty. Only the chambered bullet left.

  “Spacey,” Sarah yelled. No answer arrived from upstairs. Damn the old man. She’d have to go up herself to grab her revolver and shotgun. Something crashed against the door. The men outside started screaming. Sarah rushed up the stairs. Priss watched her as she went, eyes filled with despair. Sarah couldn’t stop to ask what was going on.

  Upstairs, Spacey was nowhere to be seen. She rushed into her room, strapped her holster on, and slid into her coat. She grabbed a handful of bullets and shells out of the ammo boxes and filled her pockets. She loaded the rifle with trembling hands. On her way out, she grabbed the shotgun leaning against the wall next to the doorpost. She felt much better now descending the stairs, knowing she was locked, stocked, and loaded.

  The screaming outside stopped as she reached the door. She paused. A knock on the door made her jump. She glanced at Priscilla. Priscilla looked back at her, scared, her hands pressed against Kevin’s belly. A pool of blood formed around the man who lay motionless, his face gray. Another knock. Sarah leveled the shotgun. “Who’s there?”

  “Me!” answered Spacey.

  Confused, Sarah unlocked the door and backed down, raising her shotgun as the door got yanked open.

  Spacey stood in his undies, his whole body covered in blood, holding his new machete. Blood dripped down the blade. Behind him on the ground lay three men hacked to pieces, with their severed, bashed-in heads neatly lined in a row, staring up at her with dead eyes. Sarah stepped back involuntarily. The old man ambled in and raised his machete in a mock salute. “I love your gift.” And without a word, he went upstairs.

  As Sarah guarded the corpses, dread threatened to weigh her down and press her flat where she stood. These men might have friends who would come looking for them. And when they arrived, Sarah doubted they would arrive unprepared and get ambushed like these three. She shut the door. Tomorrow they would dispose of them. It was too dangerous to be out in the dark now. The shots must have alerted all the walking dead in the area. With their luck, they’d surround their hiding place.

  Sarah dropped on her knees next to Priss and sighed. The girl was sobbing while pressing her hands hard down on Kevin’s gut. Sarah felt for a pulse. None. She stood up and grabbed the blanket from the sofa. Sarah gently nudged Priss aside and covered the corpse. She had been wrong about Kevin. If he fled from these so-called friends, he couldn’t be all that bad. In the end he stood up to them.

  “We’ll bury him tomorrow,” Sarah said.

  They must bury him deep to prevent the zombies from getting at him. They ate the immune whole. There were already enough enhanced prowling the night to have more being made.

  Sarah helped Priss upstairs and into bed. Priss sobbed herself to sleep next to Sarah, who lay awake, waiting. She should have known something would crap all over the single good day she’d had in ages. Sarah squeezed her eyes shut and fought her way into a troublesome sleep.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Sometimes you don’t want to be proven right.

  A loud bang against the bedroom door woke Sarah. Not the greatest way to start a morning. The door shuddered w
ith the force applied to it. Priss woke up in a jolt, pressing her back against the bed’s headboard. Her eyes, wide with terror, were glued on the door.

  Sarah rolled off the bed. Luckily she had fallen asleep in full gear. She drew out her bowie knife and stalked the door. Experience taught her a lot, and that was why she had little doubt about what waited behind that door. They were not supposed to be great at climbing, especially not in their early stages. Still, she needed to know. She prayed to be wrong.

  “Spacey, is that you?”

  A moan answered her.

  “Goddamn this,” Sarah grumbled as she hauled the door open and faced Kevin’s glassed-over eyes. The zombie stretched out its arms to grab her. Sarah stepped in and slammed her knife at its right eye. She had done it a hundred times and every time it slid straight into the eye. Not this time, though. She cursed as the knife tip hit the brow and slid aside. The momentum pushed her into the zombie’s arms and near its teeth. Sarah cried out in surprise and pushed hard to escape. The zombie squeezed her in its arms, cutting short any escape.

  Sarah viewed its teeth closing in at her face. She made herself go limp and slid down through its arms, her ass bouncing hard on the floor. The zombie tripped over her and fell on top of her. She squirmed out from under the flailing zombie. Sarah batted a groping hand away and got on her knees. She pushed Kevin the zombie back to the ground, held it in place, and plunged her knife down. This time she hit the sweet spot. The knife bore its way through the eye and pierced the brain. Sarah pushed with her whole body to get the knife through. She yanked the knife back out and cleaned the blade on Kevin’s clothes.

  “Bastard lied,” Sarah said. “Immune my ass.”

  Sarah knocked on the guest room’s door. “Spacey, you in there?”

  No answer. She pressed her ear against the door. Not a sound. She bent to eavesdrop at the keyhole, as she heard breathing. The old man slept through the commotion. Priss joined her. The girl’s eyes filled with tears, and her body shivered as if she stood in a blizzard. This wrenched at Sarah’s heart, and she seized her into a tight hug.

  “It’s going to be all right now,” Sarah whispered in Priss’s ear. “I promise.”

  She realized it was a false promise. It would never be okay again, not even when they ceased to exist. Their current safe haven got compromised, and they must find another place soon.