by Chris Lowry
ACCLAIM for the BATTLEFIELD Z SERIES
More Books from the BATTLEFIELD Z SERIES
Battlefield Z
Children's Brigade
Sweet Home Zombie
Zombie Blues Highway
Mardi Gras Zombie
Bluegrass Zombie
Outcast Zombie
Renegade Zombie
Everglade Zombie
Flyover Zombie - the Battlefield Z series
Headshots - the Battlefield Z series
Overland Zombie
Battlefield Z – Gone Dark
Battlefield Z – Silent Run
Battlefield Z – No Entry
NO ENTRY
A Battlefield Z Legend
Book 3
By
Chris Lowry
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Grand Ozarks Media
Copyright @2016 by Chris Lowry
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Can I send you FLYOVER ZOMBIE for free?
A soldier leads a ragtag group of survivors on a cross country trek in search of safety.
NO ENTRY
"That house looks good."
"Shut up, Knob," Steve sighed.
Bob Miles leaned back into the dirty leather seat on the second row of the SUV and shot a long wet raspberry toward Steve.
"We're passing by a thousand houses and I don't see you picking one," said the curly haired boy in the back.
Steve sighed and leaned against the passenger window as he stared out at another cluster of old homes on the side of the road.
“He’s right,” he said to the girl driving.
Emma gripped the wheel in two hands as she kept a close careful watch on the road, even though it was empty and they were the only car out.
The only living thing they had seen since this morning was each other.
“It’s not right,” she said through clenched teeth. She couldn’t explain why she felt that way. Maybe if she was pressed, she would say it was too close to the lakeside camp they ran away from in the dark.
She could say it was too much like her grandparent’s house or looked too exposed and dangerous.
But none of those were the truth. None of those came close to the reason she didn’t want to stop. She was scared.
Scared that if they found another place, it would be just like the last one.
The last two, she corrected and squinted at the road even harder.
“You’ll know it when you see it?” Steve guessed.
She ignored him and concentrated on the road.
“There,” she pointed.
“Does she see it?” Bob leaned up between the two front seats again, searching for where she was pointing.
Steve followed the direction of her finger and saw a house on a hill. It was set back from the road, divided from the asphalt by a layer of cattle fencing that looked like it circled the large green pasture.
The white house looked like a normal ranch style with big bay windows that looked down on the two lane country highway. He could see why she liked it though. It was perched on a hill with a commanding view and it was all alone up there, except for the barn.
If anyone decided to approach the house, they would see them coming.
Just like whoever was up there might be watching them now.
“It looks spooky,” Bob breathed into his ear.
“Back up Knob,” Steve shoved him with an elbow. “It’s not spooky. It’s perfect.”
He turned to Emma.
“It’s a good choice,” he said. “We just pull in slow to check it out.”
He reached down in the floorboard and lifted a shotgun to rest on his lap.
“I hope we don’t need that,” Bob shuddered.
Steve kept his mouth shut but he hoped they didn’t need it either.
CHAPTER TWO
Emma cranked the wheel and pulled into the driveway. It crossed a cattle gate, a series of pipes inserted over a ditch in the ground, designed to keep cows in the pasture, but letting cars and trucks like theirs cross over.
She slowed down as she took the gravel road that cut through the green grass toward the empty looking home.
“Where are the cows?” she asked.
“Maybe they got out,” said Steve.
“Nope,” Bob said from between them again. “We just went over a cow grate.”
“What’s a cow grate?”
“That thing we just went over. It’s got pipes and the cows can’t stand on the pipes, so they stay inside.”
“So they didn’t get out,” Steve studied the green pasture around them. “Maybe something got in and got them.”
Bob and Emma didn’t answer that. Instead they concentrated with him and redoubled their watch.
They arrived in the driveway without seeing anything though. No cows, no things that eat cows, nothing. Not even birds in the sky.
“Should I honk?” Emma asked. “Just in case?”
“I think noise is a bad idea,” Bob whispered.
“Knob is right,” Steve agreed. “Let’s just check it out.”
He cracked open the door and slipped out, his feet crunching on the gravel. He held the shotgun close and waited.
“Anything?” Bob said through the open door.
“Get out and watch my back,” said Steve.
He took a step toward the house. Then another. Bob didn’t move.
“Knob,” Steve muttered over his shoulder.
Bob slid out of the backseat of the SUV and stared at the house.
“What do you want me to do?”
“Watch my back.”
“I can see your back,” Bob pointed.
“I mean go with me,” said Steve.
“I don’t know, you look like you’ve got this. You look like you can handle this,” Bob licked his lips.
“Go with him Bob,” Emma said.
Bob shot her a glare, then turned it on Steve. He took a deep breath and shored up his shoulders. There was no way he was going to turn her down.
“Ok then,” he said and took a step forward. “What are you waiting on?”
CHAPTER THREE
The door was shut. Steve put his hand on the knob and twisted, his sweaty palm slick on the warm metal. He shoved the wooden panel open and let it creak into a dark hallway.
“Hello?” he called.
He heard a moan and backed up as a shadow moved in the darkness. The screen door bounced off his bottom as the shadow picked up speed.
Steve tripped over his own feet as he tried to scramble out of the way, but it was too late.
The shadow was on him.
A dog pounced against his legs and ran into the yard. It let out a growl but didn’t stop running.
Steve watched it disappear into the yard next door as he pulled himself up off the porch.
“What the hell was that?” Bob called out.
“That was a dog, Knob. A dog.”
“Poor thing,” said Emma as she climbed the three steps to join him. “Whoever lived here must have locked it inside.”
“Smells like it,” Bob waved a hand in front of his face as he joined them. “Any of the walking dead in there?”
Steve reached up and pounded on the open door.
The loud whaps resounded through the house and bounced back toward them.
“I think we’re good,” he said.
Steve stepped inside the house.
“Should we open the windows?” Emma gagged.
The house smelled like feces and urine, and something else. The sickly sweet stench of rotting meat.
“Shit,” Knob coughed.
They could see the source of the smell in a maroon wing chair against one wall. It was a person, or what was left of one. The left side of the head was missing, and a blood splatter against the wall told the story of a last act of desperation.
“They could have let the dog out,” Emma complained.
Steve did a quick sweep around the rest of the house. It didn’t take long. The living room kitchen and dining area made up the front room, with a short narrow hallway with three bedrooms leading off taking up the rest.
“Open up some windows in the back and let’s air it out,” he said. “Help me move this outside.”
He waved Bob over to the chair.
“Couldn’t we just stay somewhere else?” Bob bit back a gag.
“This is fine,” said Steve. “It’s empty and we can air it out. Besides,” he said. “It’s just for one night.”
CHAPTER FOUR
“One night he said,” Bob whispered as he stared through a slit in the front blinds.
“Sit down Knob,” Steve told him. “We have food, we’re safe.”
Bob backed away from the window and glared at Steve.
“We’re not safe, we’re trapped,” he hissed. “There are a shit ton of Z out there eating the headless horseman and we can’t go anywhere.”
“Where would we go?” Emma asked from a spot on the floor.
The first hour in the house had gone easy. The person who lived there had killed themselves with a pantry full of food, so they left their emergency stores in the back of the SUV.
Emma made a quick meal of crackers, tuna and chips from what they found, while Bob and Steve cleared out the living room.
Steve tried to wipe the blood off the walls, but it had dried into crusty stain and he gave up after a few minutes. He ordered Bob to bring mattresses and blankets into the living room, so they could all sleep in one space, and after grumbling, the curly haired boy had done it.
After they ate, Bob got bored. It was as simple as that. And when he was bored, he became a pain in the ass.
At least that’s what Steve told him, although he said Bob was a pain most of the time. They bickered for a few minutes until Emma snapped at both of them to shut up and they spent the rest of the night in silence.
Bob woke up before the sun to a noise outside the window, and shook Emma and Steve awake to join him.
Zombies had found the dead body in the chair and were snacking on it.
“Like a fucking bird feeder for the Z,” Bob muttered.
“Quiet,” Steve admonished. “They’ll go away.”
But they didn’t.
The owner of the house had hung one of those curly ribbon windchimes that spun around in a swirling circle from the front porch, and the movement or color kept the Z focused on the house.
Two dozen of them blocked the path from the front porch to the SUV and hadn’t moved for two days.
It was driving Bob crazy.
“What are we going to do about them?” he said for the fiftieth time.
“They’ll move,” Steve explained with a low voice.
The truth was, he was bored too. The house was starting to feel like a prison, and even though they were safe inside, it was starting to wear on him.
Now he knew what people meant when they said cabin fever. He could only remember two lines to a song, and it played over and over in his head.
Something about shooting six holes in a freezer, all due to cabin fever.
CHAPTER FIVE
“They’re not moving,” Bob grumbled.
He flicked the slats in the blind closed and made the entire sheet rattle.
“Bob,” Emma hissed. “They’ll hear you.”
“So what,” Bob said raising his voice louder. “At least it would make them go move. They’re just standing there, watching the thing twirl like a bunch of zombie idiots.”
“You expected genius zombies, Knob?”
“No Einstein, I didn’t expect them to be geniuses. I expected them to be mindless brain hunters and they’re not hunting brains. They’re just standing there, staring with their mouths open. It’s like watching you in Chem class.”
“Screw you Knob.”
“Screw you back.”
“Both of you, shut the hell up!” Emma said in a screaming whisper. “So we’re stuck for a little while. Get over it. At least we’re not out there, running and screaming or being eaten.”
“Or worse,” said Steve.
“There’s worse?” she glared at him, unsure of where he was going with the train of conversation.
“Sure there’s worse,” Steve sat up from the nest of blankets he had built on one of the twin size mattresses Bob brought in from a bedroom. “We could be in that Chem class right now instead of here.”
Emma giggled.
“I hated that class.”
“You two don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Bob. “Mr. Tyler was the coolest. He could probably chem his way out of-”
Bob stopped talking and stared at Steve with his mouth hanging open.
“Good zombie impression, Knob.”
“You are a fucking savant,” Bob grinned and popped up off the couch.
Emma and Steve watched him dart over to the kitchen side of the living space.
“What’s a savant?” Steve whispered.
“It’s a good thing,” Emma said.
She hopped up to join Bob, picking up on his excitement. The long kitchen table was covered with the food and edible contents of the cabinets she had insisted they clear out and inventory on their first day in the house.
He picked through them and found a box of baking soda and set it aside. He scooted past Emma and opened the doors to the cabinet under the sink.
“Eureka,” he crowed as he pulled out a gallon bottle and shook it in her direction.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Chemistry,” he beamed. “Fucking chemistry.”
CHAPTER SIX
Bob laid the three ingredients on the counter and touched each as he explained.
“Fill the bottom of the soda bottle with baking soda, pour vinegar on top and it creates a foam.”
“Like a volcano for a science project,” Steve smirked. “You want some food coloring to go with it?”
“No,” Bob shook his head, missing the tone of his nemesis’ voice. “The color doesn’t matter. What matters is the pressure.”
“You’re going to make a pressure bomb,” Emma sucked in her breath. “How are you going to control the output?”
“Now you get it,” Bob grinned, stretching his chubby cheeks.
Only Emma noticed, they weren’t as chubby as they were. The chipmunk faced boy was leaning out on a post zombie apocalypse diet that demanded portion control or starvation, and Bob was starting to gain the look. Thinner.
