Zombies Ate My Neighbors, Family & Friends (Book 1)

by J. D. Chambliss

  “What can I do for you?”

  Wait. That wasn't something a drill sergeant would say. Jack looked up and realized his situational awareness had gone down the shitter in the last ten seconds. There was a huge Russian man in a white apron standing behind the counter.

  “Sorry what?” Jack said, gripping his M4 harder than ever.

  “What do you mean...what? You come into restaurant, you want something, yes? It's not my virginity you want to take, no, so you want to order food, ya?” The man spoke in fairly good English, but with a thick Russian accent.

  “Is...I'm sorry,” Jack said. “Why are you still here?”

  “I run restaurant,” The man said, clearly becoming irate. “Apocalypse or no, I have bills to pay, you see. Zombies no run this fat Russian out of business. Now you order or get out.”

  “....what do you have?”

  “Now I must hold your hand like child and read menu to you? What sort of Army does this country have? First it say 'Be all you can be', then it say 'Army of One'. Now what it say? 'I shit my pants and use coloring book'? Read damn menu!”

  The man did have a point, there was a menu affixed to the wall above his head, and even if there wasn't, Jack didn't think it would be wise to argue with an angry Russian during the zombie apocalypse. Unfortunately the menu only offered a few options:

  Burger

  Burger w/ Cheese

  Fries

  “Can I get the fries with the burger with cheese?” Jack inquired.

  “Is this your order is are you making stupid question again?”

  “That's definitely my order,” Jack resigned.

  “You pay first, then I make food, this is no fancy restaurant. Fourteen-forty-seven.”

  “$14 for a hamburger?” Jack's jaw was agape at this news.

  “There is apocalypse on,” The man boomed. “I must slaughter own cows, turn them into ground beef, grow potatoes, make own fries. Would you like fountain drink?”

  “Oh god no.”

  The angry Russian retreated to the kitchen, which was visible through a small slot in the rear wall.

  “Don't stand at my counter!” The Russian yelled. “You make ground beef nervous!”

  Jack retreated to one of the tables and slid a chair out. He sat down on the padded seat, back to the door, which in hindsight was probably a bad idea. If he had been facing the door, he would have been able to peer through the window, which would have alerted him to a fairly large number of zombies honing in on his scent, which happened to be all over the front seat of the jeep. In addition, he might have actually been able to observe the zombies as they managed to form a group and flipped it over onto its roof. These would have been helpful pieces of information, but he was completely oblivious as he sat down, and as he ate his meal, which the angry Russian was kind enough to bring him. When he was halfway through his sandwich, something happened at the gas station behind him. It might have been that the zombies gained access to the flare gun in the back of the jeep, or perhaps they simply caused a spark, but the pump Jack had been parked at suddenly burst into flames, taking the entire station with it.

  Jack rose from his chair and spun around almost simultaneously, knocking the chair onto the floor.

  “Shit, shit, shit!” He screamed as he exited the restaurant, M4 in hand. He made a bee line toward the gas station, though he wasn't sure what he thought he was going to accomplish. As he came close, the heat itself seemed to create an impenetrable barrier. He raised his hand to his face, trying to see through the flames. He then realized that his hand didn't have x-ray vision built into it.

  “Well, well, what have we here?” A voice behind him piped up.

  Jack turned around slowly, and in the process found that he was surrounded by leather clad thugs. Four of them.

  “What the hell do you want?” He demanded. “This isn't a good time.”

  One of the men suddenly reached forward and snatched the M4 out of Jack's hand.

  “We'll take that for sure, and anything else you've got of value,” one of the others said.

  Jack instinctively made a move to recover the stolen weapon, but instead of actually laying his hands on it, he was smacked in the front of his face with the stock. He stumbled backward into the waiting arms of one of the thugs. His own arms were quickly restrained while another man threw a hardened fist into his expecting gut. Jack immediately choked, blood spurting from his mouth. He wheezed a bit, and the thug immediately grabbed hold of the wallet string around his neck. It was torn from Jack's neck, and the beating resumed.

  “Nice to see the army is turning out some real soldiers these days,” One of the men said sarcastically. “End of the world son, only the strong survive now.”

  That was the last thing Jack heard before taking a blow to the face and blacking out.

  Chapter 3

  Attention listeners: KHLA Radio has been informed that the epidemic has reached from New York, all the way to the tip of Florida with no word from the west coast, or mountain regions. The local police and CDC still request that you stay inside your homes and wait for the epidemic to pass.

  “I don't think any of this is working,” Mark said, indicating his uncle, who was still attempting to dig the ditch. Each time he lowered the scoop, he seemed to come up with a group of undead clinging to the cold metal. Some of them were intact, but a disturbing number of the zombies were torn to shreds, some from the waist down, dripping entrails and silver ooze like cotton from a torn child's toy. “We could fill the ditch with gasoline, light them up and see what happens.”

  “We're going to need the gasoline, son,” Frank said, staring straight ahead at Carl's mess.

  “For what?”

  “We need to get off this farm. They're not going to stop coming.”

  “Dad, this is our home,” Mark argued, raising his voice probably more than he should have.

  “Keep your voice down,” his father warned. “They love noise.”

  “We can't just leave; where are we going to go?”

  “Someplace smaller, easier to defend. We need supplies if we're going to make the trip. I'm going to drive into town and check the grocery store if it hasn't been cleaned out already.”

  “Let me go,” Mark argued. “I can move faster than you.”

  “Seriously son? Pulling the age card?”

  The pair began to walk back toward the house amidst the sounds of the zombies moaning in the ditch, and Uncle Carl cursing loudly over the noise of the backhoe. At this point, he seemed to be attempting to pummel the zombies with the basket rather than attempting to dig the trench.

  “Well, this is almost embarrassing,” Frank observed as they made their way to the house. As they neared the door, it swung open violently, and Amber emerged, holding Frank's 12 gauge shotgun.

  “Get down,” she barked.

  Frank and Mark instinctively hit the grass, and she picked off a zombie that had been following them since they left the property line.

  “Holy shit!” Mark exclaimed.

  She wasn't done. Amber pumped the weapon again and took a second shot. The slug tore through the woman's head, covering both Frank and Mark with brain matter and skull fragments.

  “You need to pay more attention!” Amber shouted. “Seriously, that's the second damned time!”

  Before either of them could say anything, Amber disappeared into the house again, leaving the two of them standing before an open screen door, squeaking in the breeze.

  “I wasn't expecting that,” Mark admitted.

  “She knew the difference between slugs and buck shot,” Frank said, shaking his head. “That's the part you shouldn't have been expecting.”

  It was true, though Frank had tried more than a few times to educate his daughters in the area of firearms, Virginia seemed to be against it, and Amber had shown absolutely no interest. The fact that she knew how to fire a shotgun was unfathomable, but knowing the ammunition types? That was a new one in and of itself.

  Enteri
ng the house, they found Amber in the kitchen, the shotgun strapped to her back, and Virginia still attempting to feed the girl they had found in the yard.

  “Any luck with the girl?” Frank inquired.

  “Her name is Sarah,” Virginia said. “And no, she's as stubborn as the day is long.”

  “The word you're looking for is autistic,” Amber pointed out as she walked to the refrigerator.

  “I don't tend to refer to people by their disabilities,” Virginia disapproved. “She's a person, same as the rest of us.”

  They were talking about her, but Sarah seemed to take absolutely no notice. She was sitting in the exact same spot, staring at the kitchen window, as if the tree beyond had captured her attention for all eternity. One could hardly blame her, it was an interesting tree, and one that had stood in the same spot for nearly one hundred years. It had been home to squirrels, birds, and even a hornets nest one summer.

  “Here's the deal,” Frank said, addressing his entire family. “We're going to leave. I think our best chance is to get off this property and drive to the East coast, but we're going to need supplies. We need food, ammunition, water, maybe new tires for the vehicles. I'm going to run into town and see what I can find.”

  There was an audible gasp from both Virginia and Amber.

  “Dad,” Amber pleaded. “You've seen how bad it is here, imagine what it's going to be like in a town that was full of people! You'll never make it!”

  “Give your old man a little more credit would you? I was in the Army after all.”

  “You didn't have that knee injury in the army,” Virginia pointed out.

  “I can still move around just fine,” Frank sad adamantly. “It's just a quick trip, in and out. The Wal Mart should suffice.”

  “Unless it's been picked clean,” Amber pointed out.

  “Picked clean by what? They don't sell human flesh at Wal Mart,” Mark said, half joking.

  “Well then, I'm going with you,” Amber said.

  “Sorry, what?” Frank and Virginia said in unison.

  “Mark knows his way around that assault rifle, so he can watch the farm. I don't trust you by yourself on that knee, so I'm tagging. You aren't going to talk me down.”

  “Where was I when you were raising this psycho?” Mark said, shaking his head.

  “I'm not a psycho, I'm a girl with a gun. Get used to it.” Amber said rather aggressively.

  “While you're at it why don't you tell us where you learned--?”

  Frank raised his hand and cleared his throat, stopping the conversation. Though both of his children were nearly grown, he still maintained control of the household, and it was a control that had been gained through respect – a respect built over the decades. He looked around the table, his entire immediate family was here, and for this fact he considered himself to be incredibly lucky. Kelly hadn't said a word, but she was sitting at the table listening intently. Frank had seen the fear in his son's eyes as the zombie wrapped its fingers around his neck, and this had given both of them the wakeup call they needed. They needed to take this situation seriously – very seriously. At any moment, they could all die or worse, find themselves turned, if that was how it worked.

  “You're going to listen to everything I say?” Frank aimed the 'question' at Amber. She nodded. “I'll pull the car around. Mark, I want you to cover the house; don't leave your mother and sister alone. Virginia, get a rifle, you know how to use it.”

  “What about me? Kelly interjected. “I need a gun!”

  “I don't need a foot wound to deal with,” Frank said adamantly. “Are we all clear on our roles?”

  “I don't agree with this at all,” Mark said. “I should be going with you.”

  “I have my reasons, and you have your orders,” Frank was clearly falling back on his old military training, which couldn't hurt considering the situation. “I'm going to get the car.” Frank exited the room, leaving them alone.

  “This is bad news,” Mark said, as he began to pace the room. “Bad, bad news.”

  “What's your problem?” Amber demanded. “We need you here to defend the farm!”

  Mark stopped and slammed his hand on the table.

  “Carl can defend the damn farm!” He shouted. “I need to be out there with dad!”

  “Really? I never took you for a daddy's boy,” Amber smirked.

  Mark fumed, but simply turned around and faced the cabinets.

  “Are we done arguing?” Frank said. “The car's ready, but if you all want to stand here and yell at each other for a while more, I won't get in your way.”

  “Let's go,” Amber grunted as she walked through the door, past her father and toward the front door. Frank waited until she was out of earshot.

  “We're family, and we need to stick together,” he was clearly aiming this speech toward Mark, who was still facing the cabinets, hands resting on the counter. “Son, I know I raised you to take care of your sisters, but you need to let go of the notion that your sister can't take care of herself. We're in a new world; radio says it's happening all over the country. We're on our own now, so there's no room for arguing, fighting, or any of the dilly dallying you so happen to be fond of. I need your word that you'll work with me son.”

  Mark breathed heavily, angrily, but answered his father with, “Fine.”

  “Good, now watch the perimeter while we're gone.”

  ***

  “Where are we?” Ross asked the darkness.

  “Maintenance tunnels, below the school,” Jill replied. “It's a quick way for the janitorial staff to get around without running into students. Well, that and most of the plumbing runs through here. Give me a minute, and I'll get the lights on.”

  Moments after she made that statement, the cramped hallway was illuminated, albeit with a series of low wattage, caged bulbs that were spaced about five feet apart. The walls were concrete, but they showed clear signs of water damage, as with the floor, which had the occasional pool of water here and there.

  “This school,” Ross said. “Needs a freaking upgrade.”

  “We fail the levy every year,” Jill explained. “We're lucky to still have a sports team.”

  “Yeah,” Ross said. “Because that's what's important.”

  “It's important for anyone that wants out of this town.”

  “What is it with you people and 'getting out’? If you want OUT then get OUT. Jump in a car and drive, hitchhike, and catch a damn plane. Why does it always have to be sports?”

  “Some of us want more out of life than you do,” Jill said as she led Ross down the corridor. “You don't have to belittle us for that.”

  “Me belittle you? Your asshole boyfriend made my life hell for...well, since elementary school. Jocks are nothing but bullies.”

  “I really had nothing to do with that,” Jill said. As she said the words she placed a hand on her face, feeling the blackened eye. “I wasn't in a position to stop him, even if I knew you.”

  “That's the problem isn't it? No one stopped to get to know me.”

  Jill spun around and glared at him.

  “No one? Maybe if you hadn't acted like such a shut in, or maybe if you hadn't pushed everyone away! Believe it or not people don't get up just to piss you off...well okay, maybe he did, but most people could care less. If you want friends, you need to talk to people! Oh, and if all of your problems revolved around my dead boyfriend, you really need to rethink your life, don't ya think?”

  Ross stopped for a moment, allowing Jessica to continue walking forward.

  “Well, maybe if someone would have told me that,” he finally blurted.

  “Most people know those things,” She said, searching the walls for a door, or some type of exit. “Here it is, there's a bend up here, and it leads to the exit. There's an exit to the building from down here, it goes outside.

  Come to think of it, Ross had actually seen that door behind the school. He was amazed he hadn't thought of it, or asked about it, but there were a vast n
umber of doors in the school, most of which he'd never actually touched. What was one more? He followed Jill around the corner and walked until she came to a door. From this side it was painted black, including the knob. Someone had done a terrible job down here. She reached forward, gripped the knob and listened as a sharp click echoed through the tunnel. The knob barely budged.

  “Locked,” she reported. “There's a key down here, though, in the maintenance office.

  “I have a question,” Ross said.

  “Why it doesn't unlock from this side? You're asking the wrong person.” She quickly turned to walk back down the corridor, but instead ran directly into Ross who hadn't anticipated her movement. Though he had never done it with anyone, he instinctively placed his arms around her. To say Jill was shocked would be an understatement, but she didn't fight him. They didn't realize it, at least not at that moment, but they had both been starved for real affection their entire lives, and for what amounted to eighteen and two thirds of a second, they both felt a warmth, and a contentment that was both foreign and comforting at the same time.

  Jill suddenly pushed off and walked around him. Ross stood there for a moment before turning to follow her through the maze of corridors until they came to yet another door. This one was unlocked, but Jill reached into the room and flipped the light switch before they actually entered. It was an office, albeit a messy and somewhat Spartan looking one. There were no carpets on the floors, but rather concrete floors in the same shape and texture as the rest of the area. The walls and ceiling were exactly the same, with the room illuminated by the exact same bulb as the rest of the hallways they had walked down.

  “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.