Ultimate Undead Collection: The Zombie Apocalypse Best Sellers Boxed Set (10 Books)

by Joe McKinney

  “Sheila Olsen, hi,” she said, smoothing her hair behind her ear.

  “I’m Shelly Olsen.” She greeted him with a wave of her small hand.

  Duncan stayed in his truck with the window rolled down, letting the engine idle and proceeded to recount what he had just witnessed thirty minutes ago.

  The twins were visibly shaken. Harry shook his head slowly side to side, staring at the ground.

  Shelly broke the silence. “I think we saw them heading east a couple of minutes ago,” remembering the pack of noisy motorcycles.

  “Looks like I’m not going back to Portland any time soon” Harry remarked glumly.

  Sheila opined, “I think we ought to go the same way those two trucks just went. What do you think Sis?”

  Before Shelly could add her opinion, Duncan Winters told them he was going to head east and see if he could find a lawman to make things right for the murdered little girl. “If the law isn’t around these parts any longer, then I may have to take things into my own hands.”

  When the cowboy finished Shelly finally answered her sister with a silent nod of agreement.

  They all headed eastbound on the Columbia River Gorge scenic highway. Harry’s yellow Camaro took the lead with the little red convertible in the middle and the dually 4x4 pickup driven by Duncan bringing up the rear. Duncan couldn’t help but obsess about the poor little girl and how horribly she had suffered. He was sure there was a special place in hell for monsters like the ones that butchered her. Duncan had indirectly sent his fair share of them there himself during the Vietnam War, and he had not a shred of remorse. If only I get a chance, he thought as he kept an eye on the road behind him.

  Chapter 21

  Day 2 - Wahkeena Falls, Columbia River Gorge, Oregon

  The two truck procession wheeled into the Wahkeena Falls parking lot. There were roughly twenty parking spots and a one way circular drive all ringed by tall fir trees. In the middle of the drive was an expanse of green grass with a number of picnic tables arranged near the center. A small white school bus with a bright yellow “Little Learners Preschool” logo on the door occupied the spot nearest the trailhead.

  The bathrooms were built to resemble miniature log cabins. Beyond the bathrooms a trail snaked down gradually about a quarter of a mile to the waterfall. The summer before last, when he was home from deployment, Cade and Raven had a father and daughter outing here. He remembered the falls were beautiful, but rather small and unimpressive. It seemed a perfectly safe and short hike to take a group of preschoolers on.

  Except for the bus, the lot was empty.

  Cade backed the Sequoia into a parking spot near the preschool bus. Rawley slid the Bronco in right next to it. They all got out and stretched their legs. Ike ran and played on the grass in the middle of the parking lot, and Leo chased him around the picnic tables; finally his longer legs prevailed and he scooped up his wiry brother and tickled him until he cried uncle. The two boys continued to playfully wrestle each other.

  Cade looked on, awed by the boys’ resilience. Their mom and dad had just died and the trauma had drawn them closer to each other. To survive they would have to have each other’s backs at all times. The scene choked him up and made him long to hold his family again. He composed himself and called the boys over.

  “Times a’ wasting, let’s eat.”

  Cade wanted to eat quickly and continue on. The need to reunite with his family was stronger than ever.

  They all assembled at the open rear of the Sequoia. Ike passed out the MREs (meals ready to eat) from the case calling out the flavors as he grabbed them.

  “Leo gets chicken à la King.”

  “Mmmm,” Leo said, inspecting the olive drab bag.

  “Cade gets spaghetti and meatballs.” Ike tossed him the package.

  “What. I don’t get to choose?”

  “Take it or leave it,” Ike said matter-of-factly, grinning at Cade.

  “Rawley, what do you want? Chili-mac... or sweet and sour pork?” he asked next, showing off both identical looking packaged meals.

  “I’ll take the swine, thanks Ike.” Rawley snatched the one he suspected might be his.

  “You give him a choice now?” Cade said, feigning a hurt look.

  “Just playin’ with you.” Ike opened the leftover chili-mac. It was the one he secretly wanted anyway.

  The boys were amazed by the self-heating MREs; you just added a tablespoon of water and waited for a couple of minutes, grabbed a spoon and dug in.

  “Not bad at all,” Ike stated through a mouthful.

  After everyone had finished with their meals it was time for gun training. Normally Cade wouldn’t advocate discharging a firearm in a state park, but normal went out the window when the dead started to walk.

  One at a time, Cade checked the magazines for the Glocks. Satisfied that they both held seventeen rounds, he inserted the clips and chambered a round in each pistol. Next he put on the combat harness and nestled each Glock in its holster. He hefted the matte black Mossberg 590 Roadblocker; it was a mean-looking 12 gauge shotgun. He loaded eight shells into the weapon alternating between shot and slug.

  With the gun on safe, he called Ike and Leo over. Holding it up so they could see, he pointed out the safety, where the spent shells were ejected and how you loaded the ammunition. He also stressed, “You never point a gun at someone unless you are willing to use it on them.” Keeping his finger to the side of the trigger guard he demonstrated how to carry the gun properly, barrel pointing towards the ground. Cade handed the gun to Leo with the safety on, being careful to practice what he preached.

  “Point it towards the tree and show us what you’ve got!”

  With some apparent trepidation Leo put the gun to his shoulder. Rawley called out, “Hold it firm against your shoulder and gently squeeze the trigger. Remember they do tend to kick.”

  The shotgun boomed. The recoil knocked the 5-foot-5 teen on his butt. Shredded leaves fluttered down from the tall oak tree.

  “Alriiggghhhttt!!” yelled Leo.

  “Kicks a little more than your PlayStation,” Rawley said, bugging his eyes out and mugging at the boys.

  “Yeah, hurt my shoulder too,” Leo said as he rubbed the tender spot.

  *****

  Standing in the eddy of the falls, the group of undead had been mesmerized by the small fish swimming there. They clumsily stumbled and splashed around in the water pursuing the fingerling trout. A few of the little undead preschoolers had actually caught some of the fish, consuming them hungrily.

  Barely audible over the noise of the rushing water, the gunfire caught the attention of the twelve undead preschoolers and their two undead chaperones. In unison they all started moving toward the sound of the shooting. Somehow instinctually they knew there was a connection between the noises in the distance and the possibility of food.

  Following the little ghouls, the obese woman trudged up the trail towards the commotion. The wet sweat pants the undead woman wore sloshed with each plodding step. Literally on Norma’s heels, the legless Stu pulled himself out of the water, through gravel and mud and slowly trailed after. His shattered femurs carved wet bloody furrows in the dusty path.

  *****

  The day before, during their short hike to the bottom of Wahkeena Falls, Norma had been moving a little slower than usual, and Lord knows Stu regularly got after her to pick up the pace.

  In addition to her preschool job, Norma worked on the night shift at Providence Hospital in Portland. At the end of her shift the previous evening, a severely dehydrated patient had bitten her on the finger. She had been swabbing water in the man’s mouth and he lunged forward with a wild look in his eyes and nicked her finger. The bite barely broke the skin. They cleaned the wound and gave her a tetanus shot. Norma had been feeling sick ever since.

  *****

  Norma was sitting on the bench by the water’s edge when she passed out and stopped breathing. Stu struggled but couldn’t find a pulse through her f
at. He tried, but he couldn’t summon the strength to move her three hundred pound body from the bench.

  Not sure of what to do, Stu rounded up the kids and was preparing to go get help. While his back was turned Norma slowly stood up, her eyes glassy and staring; she started a low guttural moaning. Stu was so startled he nearly had a heart attack. When he touched her skin just a minute ago it was cold and lifeless, now she was standing before his eyes. Stu blinked not once, but multiple times. He went so far as to shake his head vigorously, but none of these actions changed reality. He tried to protect the kids from Norma and herd them up the path to safety. In the process he slipped on a moss covered rock and sprained his knee.

  Norma went after the nearest kid, focusing on a four-year-old named Becky. The tots couldn’t comprehend what had happened to their teacher. They didn’t know what to do, but instinctively followed Stu’s earlier instructions and stayed close to him. They became easy prey.

  Teacher Norma killed Becky first, and fed on her little corpse until it reanimated. By now the kids were really confused and terrified at the same time. They huddled together beneath one of the many towering Douglas fir trees.

  The undead woman and the recently reanimated Becky ruthlessly attacked the cowering four- and five-year-olds. In no time they were all dying or dead. Norma and Becky resumed chasing fish while the rest eventually turned.

  During the murderous assault, Stu concealed himself as deep as he could in the green ferns beside the trail. He was unable to fit his whole body beneath the foliage but he waited, still and silent, hoping the zombie troop would leave the area. A dull throbbing in his knee was his undoing. Stu tried to straighten his leg ever so slowly to afford his tweaked knee some relief. I hope Norma leads those little monsters somewhere soon, he thought as he worked the kinks out of his muscles. Stu wondered why the creatures out there had seemingly forgotten all about him.

  It started in the toes of his injured leg, a slight tingling that radiated up his Achilles tendon to his hamstring; it felt like the muscle was being twisted by a four hundred pound gorilla. White hot pain shot to his brain as his leg seized up on its own. It was the mother of all charley horses and Stu instinctively forced his leg to straighten. A rock the size of a golf ball squirted from under the waffled sole of his boot and rolled across the trail in the direction of the monsters, a handful of pebbles followed and skittered onto the path piquing their attention. Soon he was set upon by the undead kids; they started to eat him feet first. The little creatures looked like piglets lined up on the momma sow’s teats as they worked their heads back and forth removing the flesh from Stu’s legs. No one heard his screams echoing through the gorge as he bled to death in the underbrush. Stu reanimated minutes later.

  *****

  Ike declined to shoot the Mossberg after the ass kicking it gave his brother. Cade went over the important aspects of safe shooting with the boy. Ike was in the process of aiming the Glock pistol at the water bottles Rawley had lined up, when in his peripheral vision he saw the first of the little walkers emerge from the trees near the bathrooms. It was a barefoot, towheaded boy, clothed in a blood drenched Thomas the Train shirt and muddy blue jeans.

  Ike instantly forgot everything he had just been told, the gun in his hand automatically following his turning head.

  Cade and Rawley backpedaled to get away from the moving muzzle.

  By the time everyone was aware of the little zombies, they had all emerged from around both sides of the white bus. When they saw Ike and the others they started to moan and shamble directly for them.

  As fast as his finger could pull the trigger, Ike emptied the seventeen bullets from the magazine. The reports echoed loudly, but unfortunately not one bullet found a target.

  Leo and Ike each leapt on top of the nearest picnic table. Ike stared at the useless Glock with its slide locked open. The first of the ambling kids reached the table that Leo was on top of, moaning and hissing, its arms flailing, struggling to grab ahold of him. The little ghouls were much faster than the other walkers the group had encountered so far.

  Rawley had a clear path to his truck; he sprinted to the passenger side door, jerked it open and lunged across the bench seat for his rifle. Cold little hands clutched onto his leg. Turning onto his back, he saw someone’s little undead angel about to bite him. Fortunately he was able to wedge the tip of his boot into her open mouth. He pressed the SKS barrel to the top of her head and watched the thing gnaw on his boot. Careful to aim up and away from his toes, he pulled the trigger once. The little forehead absorbed the bullet and the rear of its skull blew off, depositing chunks of brain on the ground. He used the smoking barrel of the SKS to pry the ghoul’s jaws open and extricate her teeth from his boot. A noticeable wet bite mark was left behind. Thank God for steel toed boots.

  Cade methodically fired his M4 across the hood of his truck; precise headshots dropped two of the undead tots next to their preschool bus; three more fell at the trailhead.

  Ike and Leo had each attracted two of the undead kids and were anxiously playing keep away from them atop the picnic tables.

  Rawley painted the red laser beam on the two nearest to Ike. Careful to avoid friendly fire he shot one round at each of their little skulls. One after the other they dropped to the grass. Blood leaked from the fatal head wounds and pooled around their bodies.

  Ike leapt over another little walker; she turned a clumsy pirouette while groping at thin air. A short sprint and Ike was in the Sequoia unscathed.

  Doing his best Walter Peyton impersonation, Leo hurdled over the zombies converging on him. He joined his brother in the Sequoia and slammed the door behind him.

  “Where the eff did those things come from?”

  “I don’t know, Ike, but even though Mom and Dad aren’t here you still have to watch your mouth.”

  “I said eff, not the actual word.”

  “You know what I mean little bro. I can’t believe we are arguing about some cursing when there are dead little kids walking around outside.” Leo continued on, making it clear he was the boss now. “Just don’t forget what they would expect from us now. If you do I will help you remember.”

  Cade was in the process of reloading his M4 when the rest of the walkers made him their target.

  Rawley started his Bronco, engaged the transmission, tromped the accelerator and aimed the truck at the group headed in Cade’s direction. Three of them disappeared underneath the front bumper, tiny limbs twisted askew before being brutally ejected out the back. Rawley wheeled around and drove over the top of the little corpses once more for good measure.

  Cade finished reloading and started walking toward the vehicles. The tiny bodies strewn about the parking lot made for a grotesque obstacle course to negotiate.

  “Thanks Rawley, those little ones sure do scoot, don’t they?” Cade said as he stepped over a mangled four-year-old. “We’re even now right?”

  “You bet, buddy. I would be still holed up in my house… or something’s dinner if it weren’t for your help this morning. I am forever grateful.”

  Chapter 22

  Day 2 - Carolina Shores, South Carolina

  Carl threaded the Escalade through the remaining undead roaming the Albertsons parking lot and then turned northeast on US Route 17.

  Fort Bragg, North Carolina was roughly 150 miles away if they went via the large main thoroughfares. He decided to circumvent the populated ocean front by staying on back roads and then cross into North Carolina on one of the rural routes that were less likely to be blocked by the Carolina National Guard.

  Raven was sitting up and taking in the scenery along Frontage Road. There were still pockets of undead but their numbers diminished the farther they traveled away from Myrtle Beach.

  Carl swerved the SUV around the larger groups of undead but couldn’t resist giving the lone walkers “love taps” with the Escalade. Every thump of Cadillac and zombie colliding provided Carl a little satisfaction. After seeing the little car high centered wit
h the occupants surrounded by the undead horde, Carl did his best to avoid running over any zombies lest they befall the same fate. Even though the Cadillac was much bigger and had more ground clearance, if enough of them went underneath and got stuck he would be forced to stop and clear them out. There was also the outside chance of a big femur or tibia bone puncturing one of the tires and forcing them to stop and try to put on the spare, potentially leaving them surrounded.

  In his peripheral vision Carl noticed the sun flash off of the speeding car a second before impact. The interior of the Cadillac erupted with a whirlwind of flying glass and the horrible sound of compacting sheet metal. Before they could even comprehend what had just happened, the airbags exploded, leaving all of the windows obscured. The big luxury SUV spun three full revolutions before coming to a stop in the middle of the far right lane and then it rocked back and forth on its suspension for a short duration.

  Carl came to. His head throbbed , his back was killing him and he had momentarily forgotten where he was. The silence was eerie. White powder from the deployed airbags swirled around his face reminding him of feathers floating in the air after a pillow fight.

  Brook had taken a blow to the head when it bounced off of the passenger side glass. She was fortunate to have suffered only a mild concussion. Most of the windows were now in thousands of tiny pieces all over the road and the inside of the SUV.

  Brook’s first instinct was to look for Raven. Her little girl was curled into a ball on the floor of the third row of seats. Raven coughed and called out for her mom.

  In the seconds after impact Carl shook his head and felt his extremities checking for anything broken. Satisfied there weren’t any nonworking parts, he looked out through the imploded windows for any threats. A midsized, black 6 Series BMW sat fifty feet away leaking fluids, smoke starting to billow from the engine compartment.

  As the airbag powder finished settling in the SUV’s interior, Carl asked his sister and niece if they were OK. Waving the dust from in front of her face, Brook replied, “I’ve had better days. My head really hurts.” From the back of the Escalade Raven continued calling for her mom. Brook unbuckled her belt and crawled into the backseat to reassure her daughter and check her over for injuries.