by Chris Lowry
BATTLEFIELD Z
MARDI GRAS
ZOMBIE
By
Chris Lowry
Copyright @2017 Grand Ozarks Media
All rights reserved
Have you joined the adventure?
Battlefield Z
Battlefield Z – Children’s Brigade
Battlefield Z – Sweet Home Zombie
Battlefield Z – Zombie Blues Highway
Battlefield Z – Mardi Gras Zombie (February 2017)
Battlefield Z – Bluegrass Zombie (March 2017)
Other Works by the Author
Grab a free copy of EPOCH here
Sci fi fans are going to love this first novel in a new series released this spring. EPOCH begins the chronicles of a man called Templar, a warrior from the past kidnapped into a future he doesn’t understand by a scientist who wants to save the world. Only the wealthy are protected by Troops, mechanized warriors more bodyguard than police force, to keep them safe from the Mob.
Mardi Gras Zombie
Waking up never felt so good. I rolled over on the blankets I had turned into a nest and stared at my two children sleeping back to back. The morning sun was lighting up the room and I watched their faces begin to form out of the shadows. Asleep they looked younger, less worried. Too thin, but then didn’t we all.
There was only one thing missing.
Number three, my youngest daughter. She was born with my second wife, and lived with her mother and stepfather in Florida. When the government announced the mandatory evacuation, they climbed into a car and drove north into the Carolinas.
I stayed in Orlando in a sort of vaporlock.
By the time I decided to do something, like go find my children, I was torn.
I still was. Maybe going to Arkansas first was a mistake?
But then maybe had I gone to the Carolinas, it would have been an argument with her mother while my oldest daughter starved to death tied to a tower and my son was turned into a zombie waiting for her to come back.
They were safe, the two with me.
Luck had been on my side. It would stay with me when we went to look for T.
Some might say luck was being cruel even if she was on my side. I had scars from my journey, and the fight yesterday with a couple of giant’s hell bent on me dying didn’t help.
I wished for aspirin and morphine, and maybe a healing massage from Anna. Her tender ministrations had pulled me through worse.
I watched the Boy’s eyes flicker open, and when they focused on me, he gave a tiny little grin.
“You’re still here.”
I nodded.
I wanted to tell him always. But that hadn’t been the case while he was growing up. I was there once a month during the school year, for six weeks each summer and a week over winter break.
Never enough time.
I could blame work, or the second ex. But that just made me mad.
They say if you want to control your life, take full responsibility for everything that happens in it. I said it. I repeated it. I wanted to live it. I just didn’t until after the Z apocalypse.
My control now came from focus. I was going to find my kids and keep them safe. I was two thirds of the way there.
And nothing was going to stop me from reaching one hundred percent.
Bem stirred at his voice. I never called my kids by their real names, but nicknames based off their actuals. Bem was my fifteen year old. World wise and a lot like me, she looked just like her mother. Long brown hair braided in a plait down her back. Short, gymnast build. She was wicked smart and little miss popular at school.
Had been.
“I’m hungry,” she said in a low voice.
“Trapped on a tower will do that to you Rapunzel.”
She lifted up on one elbow and dug in a pack with her other hand.
“Beans,” she sighed.
“Get used to it.”
I took the can from her and opened it by twisting a metal opener. It was a heck of a lot easier than using the tip of a knife.
“Cold beans,” she gagged.
“No time for fire. We’re getting out of here.”
I almost went over the plan with them, but they just nodded.
“We were waiting for you,” said the Boy. “We almost thought you weren’t going to make it.”
I ran a finger along the scar on my head.
“Almost didn’t.”
Someone tried to shoot me there and missed. Gave me a nice new part for my hairstyle.
I divvied the beans up into three helpings that were little more than a couple of spoonful’s each. We had enough for dinner, but we were going to need to make a scavenger run again soon.
CHAPTER TWO
By soon I meant on the way to the marina. I had outlined a plan in my mind the day before and after spending the night thinking about it, it had solidified into action steps.
I let the kids pack up a few things, blankets and was silently pleased when they put books into their packs.
One of the things I was most proud of with all three was a love of reading, and even if their tastes skewed different from mine, at least they learned that by watching me.
I added find a bookstore or library to our to do list at some point in the future once we settled somewhere. Rebuilding society wasn’t on my agenda, but staying entertained until someone else did was.
We found a spot in the fence where the Z hadn’t clustered and took off at a fast walk up the street into the neighborhood. I didn’t want to make too much noise beating on the doors of houses, but we had to hunt for food to take with us.
The first three houses had open doors, so we skipped them.
The next two had red X’s painted on the windows.
“What does that mean?”
They both shrugged.
“Gang stuff?” the boy offered.
Gang stuff meant the guys we ran into yesterday or more like them. It also meant that they either claimed the houses or were warning people away.
The kids followed me through the yard to one of the windows and I peeked in, but couldn’t see anything. I rapped on it with my knuckle, and a rotten hand smacked against the glass on the other side. A emaciated Z head peered over the window sill searching for the source of the noise.
One of us squealed.
In the retelling of the story, I said it was Bem.
The Boy giggled as we walked away, but at least we had an answer to what the X meant. Though I think they should have marked it Z instead. It would have made more sense.
The rest of the houses on the street were marked in a similar fashion. Open door or red X.
“They didn’t harass you at the school?”
“We had a couple of kids who lived in the neighborhood and went to the school with us,” Bem answered. “Maybe they kept us safe?”
She still looked weak. The tiny dinner and miniscule breakfast hadn’t helped restore her depleted energy and I fought a momentary twinge of failure.
It made me resolve to provide even more.
I led the kids toward the river and to an apartment complex built a block or so back from the mini-mansions. The doors here were unmarked, which meant the gang hadn’t made it this far, or the places were already empty.
We went to the top floor and started knocking on doors, and pressing our ears against them to listen for noise on the other side. Well meaning relatives had locked some people in their homes in hopes of a cure, or others had locked themselves inside and died quietly before going Z.
That had been my experience savaging so far in other parts of the country. I couldn’t see why Arkansas would be any different.
It wasn’t.
I head scratching behind mine, long drawn out strokes against the other side of the metal door. The boy shook his head. He heard the same thing. Bem moved from her door to the next, and that was answer enough.
On the last door we didn’t hear anything.
I kicked in the doorknob and stood waiting, pistol drawn.
Nothing came out of the dark interior.
“Wait,” I said and stepped inside.
The set up was simple. A galley kitchen just off the door, a half bar separating the dining living space that led to a balcony overlooking the river.
The light from the door illuminated half the room, enough that I didn’t trip over anything as I made my way to the vertical blinds and pulled them, flooding the room with sunshine.
Black leather couch in front of a sixty inch television, small two person table.
“Shut the door,” I told the kids and they followed me in.
I checked out the bedroom. Empty, as was the bathroom.
“Check the clothes,” I told the boy. “See if anything fits.”
He nodded and went shopping.
“See if the bathroom has medicine, supplies. Take it all.”
Bem followed him.
I went into the kitchen and searched the cabinets.
It wasn’t quite a jackpot but we had hit pay dirt in the form of Ramen noodles, macaroni and chees boxes, and eight packages of spaghetti noodles and sauce. I stacked the haul out on the counter, dividing it up into meals and grinned.
We had enough food for a week, almost all pasta.
But pasta was good since it carried well. There were random cans of veggies, a bag of rice and a bottle of soy sauce.
All of that carried well too.
I dug around for a pot, poured my water in it and dumped in noodles to let them soak.
Then I checked on the kids.
Bem had a duffel bag full of items from the bathroom, and both kids were trying on clothes. They were too big by far, and a big pile of the cast offs were on the bed.
“I found food.”
They cheered softly. I checked the closet and found a rolling suitcase for the food, and another for the bedding.
I shoved all the clothes into a pile in the corner and rolled the bedding tight, stuffed it in the larger suitcase.
“Why?” the boy asked. “We have blankets.”
“It’s going to get colder, and we don’t want to get caught without,” I told him. “At least until we find a tent, and other supplies.”
I think before the Z, they would have had more questions. Would have wanted to know more of the plan, where we would end up and the how of things.
Zombies have a way of making you focus on just the present moment, just the survival.
I hated it.
But there was a Zen to it.
Focus on the now. The past is gone and the future isn’t yet.
Breath in, breath out.
We ate cold noodles in cold red sauce sitting at the table and couch. I noticed the Boy made sure Bem had extra and felt a surge of pride. The color in her cheeks perked up, and I felt more energy too. They both were smiling more.
We hauled the suitcases into the hall, and double checked to make sure who was carrying what items. We only had to cross the street and go past the mansions to the marina on the river, but I only wanted to make one trip.
I grabbed the knob opened the door and startled one of the boys from Fort Roots on the landing.
He shouted and pulled a gun from his waistband.
I booted him in the chest, flipped him over the rail and his scream lasted one second until he thudded into the ground.
Long enough to tell his buddies where we were.
A bullet gouged into the doorframe.
“Back!”
I shoved the kids back over the suitcases and slammed the door. Bullets ripped through the upper edge of the metal as the rest of the gang closed in.
The kids dragged the suitcases behind the bar and cowered.
I looked around, grabbed the TV and waddled it up the hall to lean against the door. It wasn’t much, but it would block the hallway.
I ran back to the couch tipped it over on its side and shoved it on top of the TV against the door. More blockage.
Then I checked the balcony.
We three stories up, but there was an open balcony below us, and a patio below that.
I went back in, grabbed the suitcases.
“Come on,” I huffed.
We went on the balcony as bodies slammed against the door, then bullets plowed through the metal. I pulled the glass door shut to put one more layer of protection between us, and focused on getting down.
I picked up the suitcase with bedding and dropped it flat. It slammed down and turned sideways. I grabbed the bag with food in it, and tried to aim for the first case. It landed on top and bounced away.
“Over the edge.”
I climbed over and hooked my arm through the bars.
Bem went first, the boy watching our backs with his hunting rifle aimed at the door.
I grabbed her by the wrist as she gripped mine, and squatted as low as I could. Her feet scrambled for the railing on the balcony below. She was too short to reach.
I slid further down, my shoulder screaming, the hook of my elbow straining against the bar as it dug into muscle and flesh.
Her feet caught and she fought for balance. She let go of my wrist with one hand, grabbed the column, and then leaped with a grace I’ll never have onto the concrete balcony.
“Made it,” she said.
I pulled myself up again and took a deep breath.
“Your turn.”
I did the same with the Boy but didn’t have to lower as far with him. He was heavier, the strain worse, but a shorter duration.
As soon as his feet hit the balcony floor, I scooted to the column and gripped it with the edge of my boots. I couldn’t wrap my arms around it, but scooted down until I hit the rail.
Then I stayed on the outer edge, and we repeated it again. Lowered Bem. She had to drop four feet to the patio.
Lowered the boy.
He dropped too. I got ready to lower myself when a Z crashed through the glass door and ran straight at me.
I dropped the ten feet to the ground below and fell backwards in a roll, trying to tuck, trying to spread out the impact.
The Z hit the rail of the second floor balcony and pitched over after me. It plopped into the sod beside me and slavered as it crawled my way.
The Boy kicked it in the head and knocked it away from us, long enough for him to swing his rifle around and shoot it.
The noise would tell the gang we were out of the apartment.
“Go,” I gasped as I stood up.
Ankle hurt. Back hurt. Feet hurt.
I grabbed the suitcases and we hustled across the street as the kids carried their bags.
We heard screaming and shouting behind us, random shots firing but they were bad aims or couldn’t lead the target.
Once we put mansions between us they stopped shooting.
But they were coming.
“Drop your gear,” I called to the Boy. “Follow me.”
Bem stayed with the bags without being told.
I pulled a pistol in each hand and set him on one side of a house waiting to see if they ran in the yard between, and I took the other.
They chose mine.
I heard them grunting as they ran into the narrow space, blocked on both sides by brick walls. I leaned around the edge of the house, trying to keep most of my body hidden, aimed and shot.
There were six of them.
The last two shot back and then they died too.
“Anything?”
“Clear Dad.”
I switched guns in my hands.
“Keep watching.”
Then I hopped down and put my back against the wall as I edged up to see if there were any others. The space smelled of blood and piss now that the boys were dead. I reached
the end but the road was clear.
A shadow darted across the end of the house racing for the boy, gun extended.
I sprinted back and spun around the edge just as the boy leaped off the porch toward the trail, running at Bem.
The side of his head erupted and the body skidded to a stop.
He had been so intent on his target, he missed the Boy hiding in the alleyway.
We were clear now on all sides.
“Help me,” I told him as he stared at the twitching body lying in the grass next to the trail.
“She warned me.”
“Come here.”
He walked toward me, a numb look on his face, the color gone from his cheeks again.
“I went to school with him,” he muttered. “He knew me.”
“Let’s get these guns.”
I put him to work taking the pistols from the dead bodies, and checking for extra ammunition. He filled his pockets with weapons and passed me the extras then we rejoined his sister.
She stared at the dead body too, tears dripping down her face.
“You knew him too.”
She nodded.
“He stayed at our camp a couple of nights.”
“Was he going to hurt you?”
She shrugged her tiny shoulders, then nodded.
“I think he meant to. He was at the tower too.”
I put a hand on the boy’s shoulder.
“Then it was clean. You saved your sister.”
“I guess so.”
He took two steps to the side of the trail, leaned over and gave up lunch in two great heaves. I patted the small of his back until he was done, then we gathered the bags, our new guns and went hunting for a boat.
CHAPTER THREE
The choices were simple. The pontoon boat or the other pontoon boat. I pointed to the smaller one.
“That one first.”
“There’s more room in that one Dad,” the Boy pointed to the one that was in fact bigger by almost a half. “Did that bullet mess up your eyes?”
