TABLE OF CONTENTS
PRAISE FOR GLITCH
DEDICATION
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
GLITCH
BRIGHTON ZOMBIES, BOOK ONE
BRENDA PANDOS
© 2014 by Brenda Pandos, All rights reserved, worldwide. No part of this ebook can be reproduced, copied, or redistributed on the Internet without written permission of the author. Cover Images © J.C. CAT Photography
The author respectfully requests you support authors by buying your copy at authorized outlets that serve your country. If you are viewing this ebook without paying for it, you are pirating this creative work. Piracy means stealing. Don’t be that person.
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination, or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locals, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond intent of the author.
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OTHER BOOKS BY BRENDA PANDOS
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YA Paranormal Romance
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The Sapphire Talisman
The Onyx Talisman
Out for Blood
Blood Wars*
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Everblue
Evergreen
Everlost
YA/NA Post-Apocalypse Dystopian
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PRAISE FOR GLITCH
“This book is fabulous! For fans who've read Divergent, Glitch is an awesome book with zombies and action—(but don’t worry. It’s not overly descriptive on the zombie stuff). For those who've been reading Brenda Pandos' Talisman series or Mer Tales and want more, she hasn't let you down! Glitch is the best future-istic book I've read!!”
~ Nicole Hanson, book blogger from Books Complete Me
"Once again, Brenda has created a story full of adventure and love that gets better with every page you read. You won't be able to stay away!"
~ Author Valia Lind
“I loved this story so much. Brenda Pandos has created a new world, with magic, romance, and zombies. I can’t wait for the next one. A must read!!”
~ Jessie de Schepper, publicist
“Glitch is a page turning, post-apocalypse story set in the future where the fate of everyone 18-year-old Abby cares about rests in her hands. This amazing story will keep you reading and guessing all the way to the end!”
~ Terry Mitchell, publicist
“Glitch is one of those books you just can't put down. I would love to say this is similar to a film, but this story rocked my socks and blew me away like nothing I've read or seen before!”
~ Stacey Nixon, book blogger from A Comfortable Read
DEDICATION
To my younger brother Nathan,
because your life is so much more interesting than mine.
CHAPTER ONE
The soft cheers of fans in the bleachers floated around me, as I stood planted in right field, waiting for the next batter. My brain was elsewhere. Actually, my eyes were fixed on my watch latched onto my wrist, resting just above my softball glove. Green glowing letters read: sixty-five years, three months, five days, eight hours, ten minutes and 13, 12, 11 seconds; the time I had until I died. With a slow breath, I tried not to think too deeply about how long or short that truly was, otherwise the stress might subtract a few days.
Instead, I gained comfort in its steady ticking, second by second. There was the promise I’d live a long life and hopefully see wonderful new advances in Brighton, marry for love, and have a few kids. The thought made me smile. Then suddenly, the time flashed red numerals zipping down to ten minutes.
“Abby, heads up!”
With a squeal, I glanced up and raised my glove to catch a pop fly mid-air, stopping the ball from pummeling into my skull.
Holy baseballs!
Above my head, like magic, my wrist glowed sixty-five years again, minus a few months. With a deep exhale and a pounding pulse, I chucked the ball toward Yara, who jumped up and down like she had to pee.
She tagged the runner out at second and the team cheered, praising our double play. But all I could do was blink. I’d almost died. Right there. In right field. Died.
Out of the corner of my eye, Elle, my best friend, gave me the look—the one that said, “What the heck?”
I shrugged and smiled, then returned to my dented footprints in the grass and tried to shake off the dread pulsing in my veins.
It had been a while since I’d had a near death experience—a year to the day actually—and if I didn’t pull my head out of the clouds and back into the game, I might not experience what was really bothering me.
Being the youngest, I was the last on the team to attend the acclaimed Brighton ritual for all eighteen-year-olds. Through the brilliant invention of a wrinkle in time, everyone had one opportunity to glean wisdom from the future and sit before their 38-year-old self and partake in ten minutes of their knowledge.
My older teammates had said the meeting was no big deal, really. But whatever their future self, or Compliment, had said to them, which they couldn’t share, had subtly changed them. Like Trinity, for example, who’d become so thin I worried she’d blow over on a windy day and Addison had become totally OCD about sunscreen. I don’t even want to mention Reagan, who cried for a month. And Elle, who I thought would tell me everything, turned broody and sarcastic—well, more so than she already was. All she’d leaked was that her future self was just like she was now—just old and boring. I knew different. Something horrible had transpired, and no matter how much I’d prodded, she wouldn’t budge. So, the thought of the meeting terrified me.
Of course, all conversation between Compliment and youth was typed and monitored via computer before the knowledge was shared for fear the time continuum would warp like it had when Jimmy Valentine told himself the winner of the Brighton World Series. The Elected Agency (or the EA as we all called them) now had safe guards. Computer programs compared statements and guessed how history would alter from the knowledge, and approved or declined the information. If they
found something improper slipped through anyway, the recipient was given mind-erasing drugs so they wouldn’t know anything different.
But what could my Compliment possibly say so I’d be a better civilian? Ever since I could read, I’d memorized Brighton’s Civilian Handbook and followed every rule faithfully. I’d also watched my DOD (date of death) watch like a hawk, careful to learn from what altered my time and vowed not to repeat stuff that gave bad consequences. Eat healthy. Go to bed at a decent hour. Avoid stress. Obey my parents. If the EA needed someone to depict as Brighton’s finest, I could be their poster child. So why was I even going?
Yara hadn’t. Her parents were part of the Emancipated Society, rebels of sorts who lived life absent of knowing their date of death and championed people to no-show their Advice Meeting. They’d also blacked out the faces of their EA required watches with special paint. The notion sent my nerves on edge. How could they trust fate like that? What if a bad decision killed them? Like just now… in right field.
Maybe all my fear stemmed from finding out who I’d marry. Sure, everyone married a recommended approved DNA mate and had their limit of two kids, but then what? I didn’t particularly like any of my approved mates and if Toby Fisher was the one I was supposed to live happily ever after with, I’d die.
I decided not to bother Elle with my suspicions. Since her meeting, she’d completely stopped talking about the guys in our approved circle all together. Did she not marry? Or had she married someone icky like Toby? Whatever it was, a part of her had died inside and what killed me was she wouldn’t tell me.
On the third out, Elle ran over from center field, meeting up with me so we could head to the dugout together
“What gives?” she said with the fake, I’m totally fine so don’t ask, look on her face.
“Nothing,” I sighed, checking my watch again. The two months deducted from my adrenaline rush of the near death experience hadn’t returned. “Dang it.”
Elle smirked, following my gaze. “I swear if you check that one more time, I’ll sneak over tonight while you’re sleeping and paint over the face, then I’ll drug you and keep you home. Tomorrow will be no big deal.”
She looked away from my prying gaze, took off her hat, and ran her hand through her dark, short hair.
“Then why won’t you tell me about your meeting, then?”
Elle let out a gust of air, feigning jocularity, but the pain radiated deep from within her brown eyes once more. “My future self is a big downer, okay? I get old and wrinkled, and reform into Brighton’s finest citizen. Blah, blah, blah.”
I grabbed her arm. “We’ve been friends since we were in Kindergarten, Eleanor, and I know when you’re lying.”
Her glare hit me hard. “Don’t call me that, Abigail.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Well?”
“Fine, I’ll tell you, okay? After your meeting, just don’t call me that.”
Guilt for using my best ammo—her formal name—twisted slightly in my gut, but I was overcome with relief. I almost pulled her into a bear hug when Coach yelled at us to hustle.
Arriving last to the dugout, we squeezed by Coach as she tapped her toe against the dirt. Had she completely forgotten my assist in the double play? Or should I have allowed the ball to drill into my skull and leave her with one less player? Fellow teammates gave me high-fives anyway and Coach congratulated me so she could get on with her pep talk. I half listened, but already knew we needed at least three runs to win and this win meant the championships.
Yara, Trinity, and Addison were up first to bat, all hitting singles and loading the bases. Then Reagan struck out, putting extra pressure on Elle.
“Get ‘em, tiger,” I said playfully as I grabbed my batting glove and headed to the warm-up area.
I kept my eye on the pitcher, swinging in time with her pitch. She’d struck me out last inning and I wasn’t about to let that happen again. After three pitches, Elle returned to the dugout. She didn’t look up as she walked past and I wanted to say something, but I was up next.
“It’s all yours,” Coach said. “Send ‘em home.”
My heart pounded. Two outs and bases loaded—all on the eve of my Advice Meeting—talk about the pressure. No matter how much I ached to see how the stress affected my time watch, I wouldn’t look.
Rule 23.1: Good civilians exercise and play team sports.
I tugged the batting glove tight to my wrist and gave myself a pep talk. Stepping into the batter’s box, I tapped home plate with my bat. The pitcher studied me before she wound her arm and hurled the ball. Practically invisible, the thing zipped across the plate. The thump in the catcher’s mitt rocked my chest.
“Strike!” the ump called.
My ears stung with his words, bursting goose bumps over my skin.
“Now you know what they look like,” Coach yelled from the dugout.
Of course I knew what a strike looked like. I wasn’t a moron. I acknowledged Coach with a nod and glared at the pitcher, as if that could falter her confidence. I wouldn’t allow her to beat me this time. I would hit the ball.
Behind her, something flickered from the trees lining the field—bright and shiny.
“Strike two!”
I jumped out of the batter’s box, unaware I’d zoned out and caught the smug look on the catcher’s face.
“You’ve got her like last time,” the first baseman yelled. “Three up, three down!”
I grit my teeth. Oh, no she didn’t. Glaring at the pitcher again and clearing the noise of the hecklers, onlookers in the stands, the players, and the coaches from my mind, I stepped into the batter’s box. The light flickered again, but this time, I didn’t look. The ball was all I cared about and how I was going to send it out of the park. On instinct, I became one with the game and swung the bat.
Crack.
In the silent pause after my hit, time slowed. The exhilarating vibration tingled down my arms as I dropped the bat. High into the cloudless sky, the ball soared over the trees, and disappeared. A crash of glass and metal followed. Then a spray of sparks flew up from the nearby wall.
The crowd gasped, then roared, as my legs took off. I rounded first base, second, then third, expecting a fanfare as I crossed home, but no one watched me. Everyone just stood, mouths agape, staring off in the distance.
Smoke rose from the tree line, and I blinked at the odd sight, out of breath, then heard Elle. She ran up to me, congratulatory and smiling.
“You must have hit a camera, or a gun,” Elle said with a triumphant smile, the first I’d seen in weeks.
With the amount of smoke wafting in the air, I expected sirens at any minute. When no one came to investigate, I wondered if the EA even cared.
“You think so?”
She clapped my back. “Nice work.”
The only thing I could think of was, Rule 28.3: Good citizens don’t vandalize EA property. They couldn’t hold me accountable, considering it was an accident. To think of it, I’d never heard the guns fire and assumed them to be inactive and rusting on their perches. The idea that I’d destroyed one felt unsettling. They needed to be there. If the undead wandered to the wall, the guns were our first defense.
“I saw something,” I said under my breath to Elle, once the hoopla settled down and the game resumed. “Before I hit my grand slam. Did you see it?”
“No. What?”
“A mirror or something. It was shiny and reflecting the sunlight, like someone was trying to distract me.”
“A zombie?” Elle raised her hands and moaned, then laughed, knowing my irrational phobia of them.
I nudged her in the side as the game continued. I’d planned to go check out the damage later, but in pure daylight, of course. After the third out, Elle and I ran to the outfield for the last inning.
“Three up, three down,” Coach said.
Burnt plastic permeated the air. I glanced at the spot where the light had flickered in the thick tree line, finding nothing. Elle raised her hands agai
n and moaned, before demanding I throw her practice grounders for warm-up.
“Knock it off!” I threw the ball extra hard.
Once the first batter appeared, I placed my palms against my knees and squatted in the ready position, nervous about keeping my back to the trees. Three quick outs was my secret wish. At this point, all I wanted was to get home. This day had already felt excruciatingly long.
But behind me, the trees rustled and my heart took off. My head whipped around and I expected something to stumble out at me, gross and undead. What if I’d destroyed the only thing that would stop a zombie from coming inside and attacking us? I studied the trees when the crack of the bat drew my attention away. I turned in time to see the ball coming for me.
I raised my glove and moved backward. “Got it!”
Keeping my eyes on the ball, I tripped on something hard and round. My ankle twisted, tipping me over, and I fell directly into the foliage. I half-expected to land on solid ground beneath my butt, but all that was there was air. Then I thudded onto the rocks and continued sliding down a sharp decline. Tumbling over, I slid head first into the dry creek bed with an umph.
Once the momentum stopped my body and the racing of my brain lessened, pain ricocheted everywhere. I bit back a wail and tears trickled down my cheeks. Beyond the stars flickering over my vision, birds jostled the leaves of the trees, taking flight in the bright sky. With my head spinning, I lay still, afraid to get up. Thoughts of a trip to the hospital and a cast from ankle to thigh rocked through me. Just my luck to break something right before my Advice Meeting.
“You okay?”
I startled at the male’s voice and gasped, struggling to right myself. Something other than pain jolted down my side as cool, blue eyes under a shock of dark hair met mine. My breath caught and I forced down a swallow. Cute—so cute. I couldn’t form anything coherent for a second, other than zombies didn’t talk.
“I—I’m fine.”
He quirked his head, scanning the length of my body. “I doubt that.”
Glitch Page 1
