by M. D. Massey
“What do we do?” Thomas nervously asked.
“Just sit tight for a moment. If they’re in there too long, we’ll go in.” Each second that ticked away seemed like an hour.
Nick’s entire body was on alert. He hoped neither Elaina nor Claire came outside. The situation was far too dangerous. He didn’t want to go in and warn them, just in case bullets started flying.
The man they presumed was Gunther came out of the store. Shaking his head, he looked pissed and defeated. He looked around the area, then took a few steps toward the road.
But then something odd happened.
The young girl stepped out of the store, and said something to him. They couldn’t make out what it was, but the man rushed back in.
“Here we go. Give it a second or two, and we’ll go in.” They both swallowed hard, sweating those last couple of seconds.
Henry heard the door open to the store. He was in the small back storeroom, polishing off a bottle of scotch. At first, he thought it was Nick and Thomas, but he knew they would have called out to him.
He screwed the cap back on the bottle and set it down on the shelf, careful not to make a sound. He flattened himself up against the wall and slithered his way to the door of the storeroom.
Two voices filled the store.
“Fuck,” a male mumbled. It was all Henry could do to control himself and keep hidden.
Gunther.
Henry’s body filled with rage, his hands shaking. Then he heard a female. She sounded young, maybe a teenager.
“That was a great trip. Nothing better than walking fifteen miles for nothing.” She was full of attitude which, coincidentally, was very familiar to Henry.
“We had to try,” Gunther snapped. “There are three little ones who need to eat.”
Little ones? Since when does he have children? Henry thought. Not surprising, though, since the douche is a fucking manwhore. He would dip his wick in anything that is breathing…or barely breathing.
“I know,” the female muttered.
Then he heard the door open and close. Henry crept around past the storeroom, surprised to see the short, scrawny female alone in the store. An evil smirk spread across Henry’s face. Show time, motherfucker.
He snuck up behind her. When he saw his moment, he grabbed her, covering her mouth with his cold hand.
“Don’t scream,” he said gruffly into her ear.
About the Author
Rissa Blakeley is the author of a fantasy paranormal series, Corvidae Guard, and a post-apocalyptic saga, Shattered Lives, which features a paranormal twist and has been adapted into graphic novel form.
As a native New Yorker, Rissa is now a Georgia transplant, who is completely addicted to black coffee, La Croix and obsessively listens to songs on repeat. Her days are full of characters screaming for more scenes, cats living up to their Harry Potter namesakes, a lazy dog, a teenage daughter bringing Emo back, and a Viking husband, who finds her puns less than funny. When Rissa isn’t writing, she can be found procrastinating on social media.
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Website: http://www.rissablakeley.com/
Newsletter: http://www.subscribepage.com/RissasMilitia
SquareUp Storefront (signed paperbacks): https://squareup.com/store/author-rissa-blakeley
Mom’s Against Zombies
Alathia Paris Morgan
Copyright: 2017 Alathia Morgan
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All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission, except in the case of quotations for articles and reviews.
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This is a work of fiction and in no way is meant to portray actual people, names, places, events or situations. The ideas were from the author’s own imagination and any resemblance to people living or dead is entirely coincidental.
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Chapter 1
Emma
I had my baby six weeks ago, and today’s the day for my checkup. I’m waiting to get the okay for some hanky panky with my hubby when he comes home. Well, it won’t matter if I have a doctor’s note or not because my husband is back from overseas with his unit. He was able to come home for a week when the baby was born, but he won’t be home for good anytime soon.
As I lay waiting in this flimsy little gown for the Gyno doctor to come and check me out, I hear a commotion out in the hallway.
Loud whispers and hurried footsteps down the hallway make me get up and tiptoe to the door in my bare feet. Cracking the door open, I look toward the reception area, but all I can see is a stack of papers floating to the floor.
“What in the world?” I glance back to make sure Pierce, my baby, is still resting comfortably.
Hearing a scream from somewhere toward the front, I decide the best thing for me to do is to get out of here. Flicking the lock closed, I get dressed in record time and collect my stuff as I head back to the door.
Opening it cautiously, I don’t see anyone at all, so I sling the diaper bag over one shoulder and my purse over the other. Placing my phone in my back pocket and my keys in my hand, I hook my arm through Pierce’s carrier and walk out into the hallway, ready for anything.
It’s eerily quiet. There are no voices or sounds coming from the reception area that had been filled only a half hour ago.
As I proceed out through the now empty building, I wonder what could have caused an evacuation.
Opening the front doors, I’m hit with sunshine.
“Shoot, I forgot my sunglasses.” Placing the baby down at my feet, I start to dig through the diaper bag when I notice a sound at the side of the building. Looking up, I see a man walking toward me.
Wait, walking is a broad term for the way he’s dragging his feet and lumbering toward me in a very aggressive manner. That’s when I notice the blood dripping from his chest.
It now makes sense. There must have been an emergency outside of the building, so the staff came out to deal with it. While I would love to help, I have a new baby to protect and this guy is creeping me out, so I grab the carrier and make a run for the car.
Punching the button to unlock and open the van’s sliding door, I’m tempted to just place the carrier inside and buckle Pierce in a few blocks away, but it’s already so ingrained, the need to secure him, so I go ahead, even though it will take a few seconds longer.
Sure enough, the bloody guy is following me to my car, so I close the side door, open the driver’s side door and jump in. Hitting the locks, I pray he doesn’t have a gun on him.
I place the vehicle in drive and screech out of the parking lot, which I’ve never done before because it takes the tire tread off, and that’s just wasteful.
As I head home, I realize there’s a lot of traffic out on the road, and people looking really panicked.
The highway is congested and I’m getting a really bad feeling about this, so I decide to take the back roads to my home, which is thankfully about ten minutes away.
My phone starts to ring as I pull into my driveway. I hit the connect button when I see it’s my hubby.
“Hey, hon. Why are you calling at this time of day?” Normally, he calls late in the evening, which is in the morning for him, before he goes out on duty.
I navigate into the garage as I anxiously await his answer.
“There’s been a situation and I need to make sure you’re safe.”
“Well, of course I’m safe. I just got back from the doctor’s office and I’m pulling into the garage. What’s going on?”
I put the van into park and turn it off as I look around the garage. Brad’s voice is making me nervous, so I push the button to close the door.
“We’re not allowed to say much, but you need to get my gun box out from under the bed and grab what food you have in the house. You have to head to the mountain where Nana and Pop live.”
“Brad, what the hell is going on? I hate that you have to carry a gun, but I don’t want to start carrying one too.”
“
Emma, do you want to protect our child?”
Realizing that he can’t see me nodding, I say, “Yes, of course.”
“There’s something going down in the next few days and you have to make sure to stay out of populated areas.”
“Are you going to be okay?” I wait, but he doesn’t respond. “Honey, are you still there?”
“Yeah, babe. Look, I don’t have long, but you have to get to the mountain, then go to the store and buy enough stuff to last several months. You’ll need to take the handgun from the locked case and all the ammo you can find. I’ll try to call you later, but remember, I love you. Don’t go anywhere without your gun.”
Static fills the line after his voice fades out.
“I love you, too,” I say out of habit, the words lingering in the silence.
I remain in the van, trying to decide what to do about Brad’s instructions.
I don’t know why I’m sitting in the car waiting for an answer. I already have one.
Most people would assume I don’t have any brains, or that I couldn’t do anything without his approval. Brad is a marine, and while I do enjoy the occasional alpha male role in the bedroom, I know he has information others are not allowed to know. So, if he says to pack and leave, then that’s what I’m going to do.
I take Pierce into the house and place his carrier in the portable crib so he can continue to sleep while I load the van.
Sighing deeply, I figure I need to get the worst part over with first: loading my weapon.
I know how to use it, and I even have a thigh holster for it, but I don’t like the idea of using it on a human being.
Pulling out the locked box, I lay it on the bed and stare at the key in my hand.
“Geeze, Emma, you can do this.” I give myself a little pep talk as I open the lock and pick up the 9mm Luger. “Carrying it isn’t the same as shooting someone, and I wouldn’t want anyone to harm me or Pierce.”
I load it with determination and check to make sure the safety lock is on since that’s the number one reason accidents happen.
Brad had mentioned the gun trunk under the bed, which I haven’t moved before because I thought it was really heavy.
On my knees, I look underneath the bed, hoping to locate a handle to gain a better grip. Seeing one on each end, I tuck the dust ruffle out of the way and pull with all my might.
The trunk shoots out from under the bed, causing me to land on my hiney.
Either I have more muscles than I thought, or the trunk doesn’t have all the guns inside.
I recover and get back on my knees in front of the trunk. I’m really dreading this, but I open the lid and discover a letter with my name on it in Brad’s handwriting.
“Babe, I know how much you hate guns. If you are opening this, it means that terrorists, war, or the apocalypse have happened and you need to move quickly to a safe place with a small population.
“Nana and Pop have a fairly good stockpile and a defensible position. Take our baby there and wait until you hear from me, in case the worst happens. If I don’t make it back to you after six months, Nana has a letter to give you. It’s not the end because you are my rock, paper, scissors, and I can’t live without you.
“I love you, so use the guns for the protection of our baby and stay safe until I can be there and take care of both of you. Now, hurry!”
I swipe the back of my hand to stop the tears running down my face.
If Brad thinks I can do it, then I will.
My gun box is right there on top so I open it and slip the loaded clip into place, but leave the safety on as I place it carefully on the bed.
I fold the letter and slide it into my back pocket while standing up. The trunk’s lid shut and locked securely gives me a sense of peace as I open my dresser drawer and withdraw the leg holsters Brad had bought me shortly after our engagement.
The holsters were made as a gift for him so that he wouldn’t worry about where I would try to carry a loaded firearm, since I was known for being clumsy.
The straps fit around the top of my thigh with a second set securing the bottom, but mine were custom made to include a knife holder on the backs.
While guns make me nervous, a knife is something I can balance easily and play around with without hurting myself. I have pretty good aim, so I’d chosen it as my weapon, but we had compromised on my holsters, having both available to me.
I throw an empty suitcase on the bed, then go to check on Pierce before I get started on packing.
As a new mom, I’m constantly checking the poor baby to make sure he’s still breathing. Sometimes, I even take a chance on disturbing his sleep to make sure his little chest is still moving.
A car barrels down our quiet street and zips past the front window in the living room.
I glance down to make sure Pierce is still asleep and peek out the window.
All up and down the street, neighbors’ homes that are normally empty at this time of day are buzzing with people, talking in little groups.
This is not good.
Everyone else will be trying to leave as well, and then we’ll all hit the evacuation routes at the same time, which could take hours before we’re truly away from danger.
The gun trunk isn’t that heavy, so I drag it through the house and make it into the garage. I wave my foot under the bumper and scooch back so the trunk can open.
Bending at the knees, I lift with my arms and heft it into the cargo area. Thank goodness, I didn’t have a cesarean, or loading the van would be much more difficult post-baby.
Every time I walk past the baby, he’s still sleeping so I try to work and pack as much into the van as possible before he starts crying. I have a feeling I won’t be coming back in the near future.
Diapers…check.
Wipes…check.
All the clothes from his drawers fit into two large suitcases…check.
Bottles from the kitchen…check.
Oh, I’m going to need my stuff from the bathroom, but what can I put all my clothes in? All the suitcases have been used for the baby’s clothes.
Boxes from all the baby’s large items will be perfect to pack my shoes, clothes, and our wedding albums.
I’m not really worried about how neat everything is packed because I need to leave soon. Several trips later, I only have the pantry to box up.
The only problem with this is that the big boxes will get really heavy with canned goods, so I have to spread them out over several boxes, making things take a little longer.
With the last box finally in the trunk, I move my foot under the bumper again to close it.
A whimper alerts me that my little man is awake.
“Hey, baby boy. Let’s get you fixed up,” I coo as I unstrap him from the car seat.
I hum while changing his wet diaper, then settle into the rocker with him.
The plan had been to nurse him until his first birthday, but with the current situation, he’ll have to switch over to formula.
I’ve been giving it to him occasionally, but there’s no guarantee that in the coming weeks I’ll be able to keep milk pumped or refrigerated, so my baby will have to get a little older much faster than I had planned.
Sadness settles in as I look around the room and realize that the time we’d spent getting ready for the little guy in my arms, he won’t be able to enjoy it in the near future.
Pierce bangs his little fist on my chest, indicating that he’s finished eating.
His fuzzy head absorbs my kiss as I readjust him over my shoulder to burp him. The walk through to the living room is full of memories with Brad and family friends.
With Pierce content for the moment with sucking his thumb, I hurry to close up the pack and play. One last check through the house and we’re ready to pull out and head toward Nana and Pop’s place.
There are people gathering all over the neighborhood, and I’m curious as to how people had managed to leave their daytime jobs and rush home.
Everyone
seems skittish and stops talking to stare at my van as I pull up to the stop sign.
Unnerved by my neighbors’ stares, I pull out into moderate traffic, which thins out as I cross town and out onto the highway leading to Tennessee.
The outskirts don’t seem to be congested yet as I pull into a gas station, thankful they have a pay at the pump. I hate the really small towns where I have to unbuckle Pierce and take him into the store with me.
There are so many things I’d never considered before I had a child. The small things take so much longer because I have to strap Pierce in and out of the van. I can’t imagine having several small children to take on multiple errands.
My stop doesn’t take long, and while I wait I look around, but no one seems to be in a hurry. In fact, there doesn’t seem to be a panic on this side of town at all.
Was the man I’d seen at the clinic the problem? Had he been shot?
I walk around to clean the passenger side window and realize why my neighbors had been staring at my van.
There’s blood all along the side with a handprint visible at the start of the smear.
The man who had been shot must have found me and tried to get in the van as I drove away.
I quickly use the wiper cleaner to scrub off the blood; I don’t need the police stopping me for an explanation about where the body might be that belongs to the blood smear.
The pump stops and I hurry over to disengage and replace the handle. I don’t worry about the receipt. I just want to be back on the road and in the safety of Nana and Pop’s home.
Hoping the radio won’t wake Pierce, I keep it low, but I need to have something to keep my mind off the world and focus on something else.
The local country station is playing and I breathe a sigh of relief, that is until the news comes on at the top of the hour.
