Zombieclypse (Book 4): Dead Start

by Rosaria, A.

  A girl her age sat close to a blond-haired, broad-shouldered young man with a chiseled chin and athletic body. The girl was pretty. She once must have owned a body to die for, but time hadn’t been good to her. Her arms and legs were too thin, and her breasts sagged like those of a woman a decade older.

  Another young woman sat on the other side of the young man. This one kept a guarded distance. She must be the wiser of the two, being wary of the boy’s charm. Her dark hair complemented her attractive open face.

  On the opposite side sat an older balding man with a potbelly. He glared at the young man with open distaste. Next to him sat a woman of similar age. Despite the gray hair, she exuded a youngish aura Sarah liked. Next to her sat a woman about ten years younger. A daughter or younger sister.

  “Hey, Mr. Jefferson,” the young man said, stressing Jefferson’s name, “don’t be a blowhard.”

  Mr. Jefferson pointed at the campfire. “This is not smart.”

  Sarah agreed with him. This wasn’t smart at all. Proof being how she sneaked up on them unnoticed. If she wanted to harm them, they would be dead.

  “Didn’t hear you complain when I made supper for you guys. How long has it been since you tasted meat? Besides, we need to blow off some steam.”

  Mr. Jefferson scowled. “That doesn’t mean the fire needs to burn through the night.”

  “Mr. Jefferson,” the young man’s girlfriend said. “Vance is right.”

  “Becky, are you choosing his side now? You trust him over me?”

  Becky didn’t answer; she snuggled up to Vance.

  “You’ve know me your whole damn life. You’ve only know him for a few days.”

  “He offered us his food,” Becky said. “What did you do for us?”

  Mr. Jefferson’s neck muscles strained. The older woman—Mrs. Jefferson, Sarah assumed—placed a hand on his arm. Mr. Jefferson relaxed back on the log.

  The young woman sitting next to Becky said, “Don’t be like that. Mr. Jefferson saved us when it all started.”

  Becky pouted. “Well, we thanked him for that already.”

  Both Mr. and Mrs. Jefferson’s faces flushed. Sarah glanced at Priss and Spacey. She must be carrying the same awkward expression they did. Not the right time to leave the bushes and greet and meet with this group.

  “Listen,” Vance said with a knowing smile. “We are all friends, what harm will one little story do? It’s better than fighting like this, don’t you think?”

  Mr. Jefferson grumbled something. Becky beamed at Vance. The young woman next to Becky rolled her eyes. It fascinated Sarah, witnessing this all unseen standing a few feet away. Did that make her a creep?

  “You’ll like this story, it’s short and sweet.” Vance chuckled. “Do you know why the zombies chase after us?” He studied each questioning face. “No? No one? Do you know why, Mr. Jefferson?”

  Mr. Jefferson looked away, lips curled in distaste.

  “They gain power from feeding,” Vance said. “Like in the past, the Zulu warriors in Africa devoured their enemies’ hearts to gain their power.”

  “Zulu, what?” Becky said.

  “Forget about it.” Vance paused and chuckled. “Well… you can say they were cannibals.”

  Sarah frowned. By no means was she a history buff, but she read about Zulus, and them being cannibals would be a fact she would have remembered.

  “Oh, please,” the young woman sitting next to Becky said.

  Becky glared at her. “Don’t be jelly, Nancy.”

  Nancy rolled her eyes.

  “Zombies eat humans, humans turn into zombies, zombies don’t eat zombies,” Vance said, ignoring Nancy. “When zombies devour enough human meat, they become faster. When a zombie consumes a whole human, they become something else.”

  “White walkers,” Mr. Jefferson said.

  “Is that what you call them?” Vance said with a chuckle. “Wights, we call them.”

  “We?” Nancy said.

  Vance ignored her. “Do you know what happens when a wight eats a truckload of human flesh?”

  No one answered. Vance stretched the silence. “They are able to walk in daylight.”

  Vance’s bowels must have used the wrong hole to excrete shit. During nighttime, enhanced, white walkers, wights, whatever their name, were a nightmare. It would be way too much to deal with if they also hunted during the day. Spacey shook his head in disbelief. Even the nut didn’t believe so.

  “Carlos, an acquaintance of mine, had the bright idea to seek shelter in a cave and found a wight inside. It was dawn. The sun peeked over the horizon as he fled the cave, thinking himself safe. The thing chased after him. You know how fast these things are at night? Lucky him it wasn’t as fast during the day, but unlucky Carlos it didn’t burn to cinders either, as it should have. Carlos fled for his life. The monster only gave up the chase because it was too slow to catch up with him. You know what made it worse?”

  Again a long silence.

  “It called after him. Cursed him to return.”

  Mr. Jefferson huffed. Nancy rolled her eyes again. Becky let go of Vance with one raised eyebrow. The other two women sheepishly looked on. No one seemed to believe Vance. And neither did Sarah. She stood up. “Bullshit. Zombies don’t talk, or ever will.”

  Spacey barked out laughter. Priss looked dismayed from Sarah to Spacey alike. The people at the campfire jumped up, wildly looking around. Vance tripped over a log and fell on the ground, taking Becky with him. Sarah entered the camp light holding her left hand up, palm facing out. They all recoiled back.

  Mr. Jefferson threw his backpack at her feet. “Take everything, just don’t kill us.”

  Sarah held her P90 in her right hand, pointing away from the campfire, and groaned. She slung the gun on her shoulder.

  “I didn’t mean to startle you or harm you. We stumbled on you guys and—”

  She glimpsed something. Standing this near to the burning fire, it was like thick, black fog surrounded her. She couldn’t be sure what she saw.

  “And what?” Vance said while his eyes snaked over her body.

  Sarah wondered about his calmness compared to the others. To recover this fast of the scare and being a douche about it, he must have experienced bad things before.

  “And,” Sarah said, “it’s pure stupidity to have a fire burning with an enhanced in the vicinity.”

  Six pairs of eyes questioned her. “Enhanced?”

  Sarah kept silent for a few seconds before saying, “White walkers? Wights?”

  Everyone’s eyes widened in fear, except Vance’s.

  “I told you so,” Mr. Jefferson said. “I told you to put it out.”

  “He couldn’t have known white walkers were around,” Becky said.

  Vance held up a hand. “Seriously, you call them enhanced? Which dork came up with that name? Jeez, it being the end of the world doesn’t mean we need to be lame about it.”

  Sarah wanted to punch Vance’s lights out. The campfire group stepped away from her. An uneasy look passed over Vance’s face.

  “Sarah?” Priss said. “Hey, easy.”

  Priss placed her hand on the P90 and pressed it down. Sarah’s shoulders tensed. When did she point her gun at them?

  “Please, please, oh please, don’t kill us,” Mr. Jefferson yammered.

  Sarah wondered how this cowering man managed to save the two girls. She took her finger off the trigger and pointed the P90 to the ground. “I’m sorry, I won’t hurt you.”

  “But we do!” a loud, hard voice said from the dark fog surrounding them. Startled, Sarah stepped back. Only Vance kept his cool again. The young man gave Sarah an intense look. Their eyes locked. The malice in them sent a chill through her. This wasn’t the time to be angry at her for pointing a gun at him. Remembering her gun, she moved fast, shouldered it, and aimed toward the voice.

  “Girlfriend, you better lower that thing.”

  Her finger tensed on the trigger. The camp group stood in her line of fire. I
f she fired, she risked hitting them instead of Loudmouth.

  “Drop your gun, or I’ll shoot you dead,” Loudmouth said.

  Sarah didn’t drop her gun. “Priss, you and Spacey leave. I’ll stop them from following you.”

  “No, I’m not—”

  “Dammit, Priss, for once do as I say.”

  Loudmouth’s voice boomed with rage held on a thin leash. “Flinch one muscle and I’ll shoot.”

  Sarah heard rustling ahead to her right. “Get closer,” she yelled, “and I’ll mow everyone down.” She flipped the P90 on auto.

  “No, don’t,” Mr. Jefferson cried out. “You’ll hit us.”

  “He’s right,” Vance said. Becky clamped on him, nodding her head in desperation.

  Sarah smiled. She didn’t feel glad, or sad—she didn’t feel much at all. Should it bother her? Peace claimed her within this emptiness. “I don’t care,” she said, accentuating each word.

  Vance shifted his eyes from left to right as he tried to slide away from the line of fire. Becky clamped hard on him, restricting his movement. Sarah didn’t hear Priss and Spacey retreat.

  “Spacey, get Priss to safety.” Nothing. Silence. “Now!”

  “What you waiting for?” Loudmouth said. “Are you going to shoot or what? Tell you what, missy, if you move one more inch, I will shoot you first.”

  Repetition and not backing what you say lessened any weight you carried. Sarah doubted the man would start shooting first. Then again, neither would she. Not now, at least. Whoever stood in the dark, she counted at least two, and they didn’t make any other sound. Maybe they didn’t even have guns. Maybe they were trying to bluff their way into her handing hers over.

  Sarah finally heard Spacey and Priss leave. Priss protested as Spacey dragged her away.

  “You forced my hands now.”

  “Nah, you won’t shoot.” Sarah started backpedaling.

  A bullet hit Mr. Jefferson in the back of his head and exited through the front, splitting his face open. Brain splattered the women in his vicinity. They started screaming. Vance pushed Becky away from him and dove to the ground, away from the incoming bullets. Becky stayed where she fell, hands covering her head. The two young women dropped down next to Becky, leaving Mrs. Jefferson standing and waiting for her dead husband.

  Sarah froze. Flashes erupted from five different positions. Each flash revealed the silhouette of a man. A bullet whizzed inches from her cheek.

  “Secure the girls,” Loudmouth bellowed. “I want the bitch with the rifle alive.”

  That broke Sarah’s paralysis. No way anyone would ever capture her again. She kneeled, aimed, and fired at the nearest flash. A cry went up, followed shortly by a thud as the body hit the ground.

  “Death-check him,” Loudmouth yelled.

  The others stopped shooting. One shot rang, and silence. Sarah reverse crept on her hunches, keeping Mrs. Jefferson between her and the group of men approaching. If they wanted to reach her, they’d have to cross the fireplace or go around. As the distance to the campfire increased, she regained more of her sight.

  “She’s escaping,” another man yelled.

  Sarah sprayed bullets to her left where she heard his voice. The man screamed. “I’m hit. The fucking bitch shot me.”

  “She is getting away,” a younger man with a squeaky voice yelled.

  Sarah cursed. Mrs. Jefferson stood right between them. She couldn’t risk shooting.

  “Shoot her,” Loudmouth said in a cold voice.

  “The old bitch is in my way,” Squeaky said.

  Sarah whirled around to flee.

  “Shoot the damn bitch dead,” Loudmouth yelled.

  Flashes. Bullets bore into Mrs. Jefferson. The older woman cried out in surprise as her guts ripped out in an explosion of bullets. Hot lead whizzed past Sarah. She bolted.

  “You can’t hide, bitch,” Loudmouth bellowed after her. “We will find you, and when we do, you’ll have hell to pay.”

  Sarah slowed to a jog. Someway she had to find Priss and Spacey and get the hell away from this place. A difficult task in a forest without light to see by. She had as much chance of running into the enhanced, or “wights,” like Vance called them. Wights. She had to admit it sounded better than “enhanced.” Sarah gritted her teeth. This wasn’t the time to contemplate names. She wasn’t safe yet. By far not. Actually, she was completely fucked.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The campfire wasn’t visible anymore. Sarah pushed a branch away as she utilized the light from the moon, which finally chose to show itself. She had no idea if the distance between her and her pursuers was great enough for her to stop and search for Priss. Sarah cupped her hands to her mouth. “Priscilla.”

  She stood silent for a minute, listening. “Priss, where are you?”

  Sarah heard a rustling sound behind her. She whirled around, lifting her P90.

  “Don’t shoot,” Vance said. He stood in front of her, his face a shadow in the sparse moonlight.

  “Come closer and I will.”

  She felt stupid failing to notice him following her. If he had been able to keep up with her, then so could Loudmouth and his cronies.

  “I said stop moving.” She aimed for his head.

  Vance stepped forward. “You’re not going to shoot me.”

  No, he was right, she couldn’t. The muzzle flash would turn into a beacon for Loudmouth to find her. She couldn’t have that. She slung the P90 over her shoulder. Vance took another step. She couldn’t see his face but felt his stupid grin nonetheless.

  “Grin to this.” Sarah pulled her bowie knife. “I’ll gut you if you come any closer.”

  Vance stopped mid-step, lingering as if deciding to call her bluff.

  “Try me,” she said.

  Vance stepped back and raised his hands. “I don’t want to hurt you. I’m just—”

  “Save it. I don’t trust you. Leave!”

  Vance’s lips stiffened. “I can’t go back. They’ll kill me.”

  Why did people always assume she should care about their well-being? And strangers at that. Asking help, and expecting to receive help, believing it was their given right like it was written in the Constitution. Well, if she needed to rescue someone in trouble, she liked to think that she would; however, something about Vance rubbed her the wrong way. About to tell him for the last time to scram, she heard a sound behind her. Vance dropped flat to the ground. Sarah whirled around, knife held high. A short figure slid toward her. Sarah lowered her hand. A body crashed into her. Arms squeezed her into a tight embrace.

  “I thought I lost you,” Priss cried.

  Sarah relaxed and returned Priss’s hug. “I could have stabbed you, you silly goose.”

  “No, you wouldn’t.”

  “I thought you were a zombie.”

  “You didn’t stab me.”

  No, she didn’t. Priss caught her by surprise. Deep down, she had known it was Priss, but she didn’t know if she had been zombie Priss. It had been a surprise that made her falter long enough for Priss to get this close to her.

  “Ladies? We need to go before they find us.”

  Vance was right. Only she didn’t agree about the “we” part.

  “Where is Spacey?”

  “He went back looking for you.”

  “You must be kidding me.” Damn the nutcase. One minute he didn’t care to help her out and the next he risked himself to rescue her and by doing so screwing things up.

  “I’m not kidding. He got all serious once we were safe and told me to stay put while he went looking for you. And I did, till I heard voices.”

  She owed him nothing, not after him not helping her out in the zombie attack when they first entered the gas station. A fight she almost lost. She should leave him to rot. She really should. “I have to go back for him.”

  “I’ll help,” Vance said.

  Sarah faced the young man. He stood three feet away. It irked her that he managed to sneak up on her again. His stupid grin
didn’t improve things.

  “Hi, Vance,” Priss said in a way too nice way.

  “Sarah, please, allow me to prove I mean well. I’ll help you find him.”

  She killed one, and wounded another, so that left at least four. She could use some support.

  “No,” Priss said.

  Vance’s face looked like a boy whose favorite toy got taken away from him.

  “It’s dark. We can’t go in blind. We will have to wait for daylight,” Priss said.

  Sarah shook her head. The girl did not have enough sense to stay put when ordered to, but enough to try and curb her in when she planned to do something dangerous. Sarah sometimes wondered about Priss. Was she smart all the time, but chose to act stupid when it was convenient for her? Or was she smart sometimes and acted on impulse at inopportune moments? Or a mix of the two? In the end, it didn’t matter. Not to her.

  “Yeah,” Sarah sighed, “you are right. And the wight may be near, we need shelter.”

  “So you agree,” Vance said, “enhanced is a stupid name?”

  Sarah imagined him gloating. It didn’t sit well with her to leave Spacey out there looking for her, but if they separated to go search for him, they most likely would end lost—or worse, they might end bumping into the four hunting them, and if not, the wight might catch them. Best was to seek shelter and wait things out, hoping for the best.

  After walking for a while, they found a large hole going under a huge tree. It provided shelter from the cold and kept them from sight. Sarah doubted it was enough to keep them hidden from a wight. She suspected that the enhanced zombies possessed exceptional smell and night vision. This was the best option. The only option. Because no matter how good your survival skills, wandering in a forest at night would get you lost and killed. Now at least she grasped in which general direction she needed to travel to to find the campsite at sunrise. From that point on she’d be able to start searching for Spacey.

  The old man had left his backpack with Priss. Vance had helped her carry it. At least they managed to keep their stuff after all the craziness. They rested snugly together in the hole with their backpacks covering the entrance.

  Vance stared at the backpack in front of him. Going from his body posture, he wanted to peek inside.