Zombies Ate My Neighbors, Family & Friends - Book 1 (Zombie Apocalypse Z Series)

by J. D. Chambliss

“Key's in here,” Jill said, indicating a metal box above the light switch.

  Ross looked at the box, which was actually a cabinet, complete with a glass door. Inside was not just one key, but at least a dozen.

  “Um...which one?” he asked.

  “Don't know,” she said. “There's a key for every door in the school, we'll have to try all of them.”

  “Do we have time for that?”

  “I don't see any zombies running around down here,” Jill pointed out. “I think we have time for a lot of things.”

  Suddenly, and without warning, Ross leaned in and planted a kiss on Jill's lips. He couldn't even explain to himself why he'd done it, and he pulled back almost immediately, expecting her to either scream or slap him in the face. Instead she just stood there, pondering what had just happened. It was a long, uncomfortable silence, perhaps the most uncomfortable that Ross had ever experienced. She pursed her lips, and then looked at him.

  “Yeah, I think we have time for that,” she said.

  ***

  “Rise and shine cupcake!” Jack rolled onto his side and grunted. It was an unfamiliar voice, and one he didn't care to associate with. “It's time to get up and do your part!”

  Jack slowly opened his eyes and tried to focus. He squinted, trying to 'blink the sleep' out of them, as it was often phrased. Once his vision fully recovered, he was able to identify his surroundings. He was in a canvas tent, green, military issue. Turning his head to the right, he was able to identify the voice that had spoken to him. It was a short, fat man, dressed in military fatigues, but rather than digital ACU's, he was wearing old style BDU's, woodland camouflage.

  “My name is Major Dunfield, and you are in my camp,” The man said as if he were addressing a crowd. “You sustained significant injuries on the road and we brought you here to facilitate your recovery.”

  “The guys that jumped me?” Jack asked, realizing just how much it hurt to speak. He groaned and placed a hand on his chest which had been bandaged, and his shirt removed.

  “They were given a fair trial and executed. This nation does not have the time for those who do not further the cause of liberty!”

  With the infrastructure destroyed, Jack had to wonder just what this man meant when he said 'fair trial'. Though the might have thought it, he certainly didn't say it.

  “I need to get back on the road,” he said instead, “I have to get to Ohio.”

  “You're in no shape to go anywhere, son,” the Major said, “and besides, you owe us a debt for saving your life. You're obviously military, of some sort, maybe half trained, maybe not, so you'll do your part to keep this camp operational.”

  “For how long?”

  “Until we don't need you no more,” the Major said roughly. “If you get it in your head that you can just up and leave, though, we'll be glad to address your dumbassery.”

  “Wonderful,” Jack said.

  “That's wonderful, Sir!”

  Journal of Aimee, May 15, 2019:

  My name is Aimee, I am a Cuban immigrant, but I did not come here without preparation like many of my brothers and sisters. I spent years mastering the English language so as not to be seen as an idiot when I arrived. I did not come here expecting an easy time, leave that for the real Americans. I boarded a small raft, there were six of us, but only I managed to survive the trip. The waters were rough, the seas high, and eventually I alone crawled onto the shores of South Florida. I had expected more resistance, in fact, we passed several naval vessels, but not a single one of these ordered us to stop. We sailed by as if we belonged there, but I am not one to question these things.

  It wasn't long before I came across one of...them. This land of the free and home of the brave that I'd come to hear about growing up was clearly infested. Could it be some type of disease? Could America have fallen to a biological attack? The leader of my nation likes to brag about his capability to do such to the imperialist Americans, but we all suspect that he possesses no such weapons. What is going on?

  The first time I saw one, I was walking down an abandoned street, just off the beach where I landed. It was clearly a man, or used to be a man, but his eyes, oh his eyes. They were blackened, and his body was hollow. I could see no soul in those eyes, and when he looked at me he saw food, of this I am absolutely certain. I had no weapon, so I simply tried to outrun him. He was fast, faster than a human being should be. He made a horrible noise...the devil's noise. I picked up a rock I saw laying on the sidewalk, I turned, and I hit him. I hit him in the face. Oh god I killed a man, I think. I saw the brains fall out of his head. I heard him moan as he fell and landed on the pavement. I am a killer, or at least I think I am.

  It is night time now, and I am camped out on the side of the road. I have a crow bar now, I found it in an old hardware store. I also found an old hatchet, but I cannot bear in my mind the thought of using such weapons against another human being, can I? Such a depraved and disgusting thought! What kind of situation have I walked into? I wished to make a better life for myself, and to join the family members who left the island behind. Have they too fallen to this disgusting plague? Could I be next?

  Chapter 4

  Attention all Ohio Valley residents, KHLA radio and the local police would like to remind you that looting is against the law regardless of the circumstances. Keep calm, and listen to KHLA Radio instead!

  Normally the doors of Walmart would not be particularly threatening, but on this day, they were the most terrifying thing Frank or Amber had ever faced. This was one of the most popular stores in the area, and there was no telling what might be inside. The power was obviously still on, but had any of the undead denizens wandered out? Was the store still crawling with them?

  A quick look through the glass clearly wasn't going to tell either of them anything. They would have to walk inside, and Frank was determined to go first. He motioned to Amber to stay still, hoping she got the message. As he stepped forward, the doors opened with a swish, revealing the airlock inside. It was clear. The only inhabitants in the airlock of the damned were the carts, which were neatly placed in their proper area. He breathed a sigh of relief and motioned for Amber to follow him. She immediately walked toward the carts and picked one out. It was a good idea, they were going to need a cart to pick out their supplies.

  “Make sure it doesn't squeak,” Frank said very quietly. “I don't want them on us that quickly, or at all if possible.”

  “They might be too busy looking for discounts to worry about us.” Amber shot him a quick smile before cautiously making her way to the carts. She pulled the cart loose from the stack. If this had been any other day, they might have been on a simple shopping trip. At least, it felt somewhat normal. She shook her head, almost as if to purge the thoughts of normality, and dragged the cart toward her father who was already peeking through the interior doors. He looked at her and nodded, indicating the route was clear.

  They both stepped forward, Amber pushing the cart, yet keeping her mind on the shotgun strapped to her back. She could draw it at a moment's notice and dispatch anything that threatened them, but she wondered if her supply of ammunition would be adequate. The pump action shotgun held six rounds of ammunition, and her pockets were lined with shells she'd taken from her father's gun cabinet. She wore a zip-up hoodie with slanted pockets, each pocket holding about five shells. Her jeans, fairly loose, each pocket holding an additional five shells.

  On a normal day that would be more than enough, but today it seemed like no quantity of ammunition was enough. She frowned, considering these things and pushed the cart through the entrance, past the deli counter and into the midst of some fruit gondolas. The sound of the solid wheels against the floor was usually easy to ignore, but at this point even the slightest noise could attract the undead, as they'd found out at the farm only a few hours earlier.

  So far, there seemed to be absolutely nothing to worry about. They encountered no undead within the confines of the store, and they were able to simply pu
ll stock from the shelves as if they were shopping. They worked their way down each aisle taking canned goods, from green beans, to corn, and even canned meat. On the way over, her father had warned her not to take anything perishable, which was good advice, but she couldn't help taking a few loaves of bread. From his silence, she was able to discern that he had no objection.

  They worked their way up and down the brightly lit aisles, and eventually came to what they could only assume was the end of their food run. Rather than turning toward the exits, her father took a turn down another aisle, leading toward the other side of the store. She wanted to ask him what the hell he was thinking, but wisely kept her mouth shut. As they walked past the electronics department, she gave that area a sideways glance as they passed the video games. She had never really gotten into them, and now they seemed to be relics from a bygone era. Ironically, the first game that caught her eye was: “Zombie Apocalypse 2”. She almost laughed out loud before remembering precisely where she was.

  Beyond the racks of video games she could see a wall of flat screen televisions. Many of them were broken, but others were broadcasting what appeared to be news reports. She instinctively began to move toward the screen, maybe there was something new...

  She stopped short when she felt a hand on her shoulder, nearly elbowing her father, who was standing behind her shaking his head. He was right, of course, there was no point in trying to listen to the news. It was likely that the news anchors had no more information now than they did earlier.

  They continued to walk down the aisle, finally stopping at the camping section. Old legislation had barred the sale of firearms at retail stores like this one, but there was no such legislation against ammunition. That being the case, there were plenty of cases lining the shelves, though she had to admit that many of the rounds were designed for weapons they didn't own.

  As they walked through the aisle, dragging the cart behind them, Amber collected all of the 12 gauge shells, dropping them into the cart atop the rest of the supplies. It was at that very moment that Amber made her mistake. Failing to pay attention to where she was pushing the cart, she managed to slam it into the metal gondola, the sound of metal on metal reverberating through the entire store.

  Her father turned around and glared at her, as she through her hands in the air and mouthed the words “dammit to hell” at no one in particular. They stopped to listen, all seemed to be fine. They had lucked out, for once. Amber grasped the handle of the cart and tried to push, only to find that her collision with the gondola had actually caused the bottom of the cart to become stuck. She pulled on it, and found that it wouldn't give. She frowned and tried again.

  The cart was stuck – completely. She gathered her strength, looking at the edge of the cart. It might make a slight scraping sound when pulled free, but that wasn't of any consequence, was it? Just as she made her attempt to yank the cart free, she saw her father shake his head, signaling for her to stop. He bent over, grabbing the bottom shelf of the gondola and attempted to lift. As he did so, she pulled the cart backwards, freeing it, but still managing to cause a sound that echoed through the entire store.

  Frank dropped the gondola, hearing it slam against the base with a bang. He froze in place, listening for the sound of the undead. There was none. Where the hell was everyone...or everything? Suddenly, and without warning, there was an audibly painful crash from the other side of the gondola. Their antics had caused a section of product to collapse. Amber gritted her teeth as fishing poles, tackle, and other camping supplies slammed against the tile floor. Every time something clanked against the hard surface she hoped it would be over, but it seemed that had caused an unending avalanche of imported products, creating a beacon that broadcast the message: “Hey assholes, we're over here, come eat us!”.

  Frank stared at his daughter, mouth open and eyes wide with fear. It didn't even take minutes for the sound of a sliding door to be heard across the store, it was the outside area – the garden center. Amber remembered, with horror, that Walmart had added a pet section a few years earlier. A real pet section, actually. Complete with dogs, cats, and all other manner of furry animal. Of course, the zombies weren't in the main area, they didn't want dead meat!

  “They didn't want dead meat,” Amber voiced her thoughts, though barely a whisper passed her lips.

  “Take the cart, run for the front of the store,” Frank hissed.

  “We still need to stop by the pharmacy,” Amber argued, despite the sound of moaning and feet shuffling in their direction.

  “Get out of the store!” This time he almost lost his temper and screamed at her.

  Amber didn't ask twice this time. She pushed the cart past her father and took a left, planning to run along the back of the store. She ran faster, and faster, and faster. In fact, she ran far faster than anyone should with a shopping cart. Where she had been cautious before, she now ran fast enough for the sound of clanking wheels to fill the entirety of the retail store.

  The end of the aisle approached, faster than she would have liked, and she was forced to make a quick left turn down the center aisle. The exit door was in sight and she could hear her father running behind her, breathing heavily. He was a little out of shape.

  It was in sight. The exit was only yards away. The cart changed its tune as the wheels crossed from the linoleum tile to the paved brick area that preceded the rest of the store. In another three seconds or so she would be there!

  “Come on,” she muttered to herself, hearing the sound of the undead chasing her. She knew they were there, but she dared not turn around to face them. The top priority now was getting out of the store, hopefully before they were eaten.

  She reached the door; it made a whirring sound as it slid open. Amber made her way through the airlock, reaching the second door. Suddenly, throughout the store, a silence could be heard. It was much quieter than it had been a moment ago.

  “Oh crap,” Frank said just as Amber's cart slammed into the automatic doors. It wasn't a gentle bump, it was a full blown collision of at least twenty miles per hour, if not thirty. The door budged slightly, but the cart buckled, sending Amber backwards at least three feet and into the floor. She yelped, but jumped to her feet with Frank's assistance.

  “We can push the doors open,” Amber suggested.

  “No time,” Frank countered.

  Amber turned and looked past him. The store interior had turned dark, with a large group of the undead lumbering toward them, clumsily, as if they were still learning how to use their limbs. On the floor, a former double amputee dragged himself across the tile using only his arms. It should have made him tired, but the expression on his face was one of hunger; he would do anything to reach his target, which happened to be Frank and Amber.

  The rest of them were average shoppers. Some of them were women, some men, and some were even children, at some point. Though the vast majority of them were intact, there were a few that were missing chunks of skin, one man, or former man, had had his left leg chewed all the way to the bone. These few were the poor souls who had not been caught in the natural conversion. They had remained human while everyone in their immediate vicinity became undead, and had fallen victim to the hunger of the undead.

  If she had been thinking about it, Amber might have shuddered at the idea of family members turning on one another in the middle of the weekly shopping excursion. People they had trusted for their entire lives suddenly becoming their worst enemy. This was not what Amber was thinking about as the undead stumbled toward her and her father.

  “Hell no,” She muttered, grabbing the cart and turning it around. “Follow me.”

  “Amber we can't worry about the cart--” Frank started to interrupt, but she was already heading back through the airlock and turning right, past the horde of zombies.

  “Are you kidding me?!” Frank screamed as he followed her into the fray.

  Amber had in fact worked at this Walmart when she was sixteen, and was aware of a manual exit door in
the back next to the loading dock. The only question now, was whether or not she could get there. In addition to being chased by zombies, the store was significantly darker than it had been moments before. The front of the store was lit well due to the banks of glass doors, but the rest of the store depended solely on the skylights, which only provided a dim representation of what the store had been.

  Using the momentum of the cart she managed to cross the length of the floor in front of the cash registers in mere seconds, executing a quick turn as she reached the end, jumping onto the cart and propelling herself into the pharmacy.

  “Slow down!” Frank yelled, following her closely and panting. “Wait no, don't slow down!”

  Amber had no intention of slowing down as she passed through the pharmacy and took a left turn, heading back toward electronics.

  “The cash register lanes seem to have them stumped for now,” Frank gasped.

  Amber glanced back to see that they had indeed been stumped by the lanes, though three or four had managed to navigate the cramped space. They were okay for the moment, so long as there were no zombies waiting for them up ahead.

  As she rounded a corner, she slammed into something. A human. Was it alive? It didn't matter, the impact sent the cart rolling, spilling all of its contents onto the floor, and Amber sliding into a gondola. She'd fallen before, but this time was not nearly as lucky. She screamed as her elbow slammed into the shelf corner, depriving her of nearly every other sensation as pain arrested the entire limb.

  For the first time, she began to sob, cradling her damaged arm and screaming at the rafters.

  “Amber?” Her father said. His voice seemed far away. “Amber, sweetie, I know it hurts but you have to get up, come on.” He helped her to her feet, and then pointed them in the direction of the exit.

  “No, no, no,” she said, shaking free of his arm and returning to the cart. She immediately began pushing the items they'd collected back into the overturned basket.