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Chapter 1
The car rolled to a stop in front of the house, and Ryan stared at the open street with trepidation. It looked peaceful enough, but he had quickly learned that looks could be deceiving during the zombie apocalypse.
A day had passed since it all began. A day spent running, hiding, and scavenging. A day that felt longer than forever.
They’d been in the mall when it happened, playing ten-pin bowling. Ryan shuddered as he recalled the look in the floor manager’s eyes when a kid that barely reached his waist ripped into him.
The kid had gone straight for his exposed forearms, tearing great chunks of meaty flesh from the bone, shaking his head like a dog. The manager’s thick plastic glasses had fallen to the ground and landed in an ever-growing puddle of blood. Ryan had not been able to take his eyes off those glasses.
It was Jonathan that grabbed him by his arm and shook him from his funk. It was Jonathan that dragged him out of the slaughterhouse the arcade had turned into, and it was Jonathan who stole the car they were now in.
Neither of them was old enough to drive yet, but there weren’t cops around anymore so that hardly mattered. It didn’t take a genius to figure out zombies had taken over. They’d played enough Zompoc games to recognize the enemy.
Their first destination was Jonathan’s house, hoping to find his parents. It didn’t turn out so great, however. The only thing his friend found was death.
Now it was Ryan’s turn. He gulped as he gripped the tire iron tightly in his hands. The same tire iron Jonathan had used to bash in his dad’s skull.
Ryan looked at Jonathan. “I can’t. What if it’s Kerry?”
“It won’t be her anymore, Ry.”
“Yeah, I know but…” Ryan swallowed hard on the lump in his throat. “I don’t think I can do it.”
“I didn’t think so either. Until it was either Dad or me.”
Ryan swallowed again. If he can do it, so can I. I’ve got balls, don’t I?
“Come on, man. In and out. You can always run if they’ve turned,” Jonathan said. A faint note of condescension had entered his voice.
At seventeen, Jonathan was a year older than Ryan, a fact he liked to wave around like a red flag. He thought he was tougher too, often bragging of his many fights won against other boys. A ripple of anger stiffened Ryan’s spine. It was enough to get him going.
After a last quick look around, he jumped out of the car and ran to the front door. He pushed it open slowly. It creaked as he’d known it would. Ryan froze, listening. Nothing happened. Forcing his stiff legs to move, he entered the house.
The interior was dim and silent. The only sound to be heard was the murmur of voices from the television. His feet sank into the thick carpet, muffling his footsteps. He moved deeper inside. The living room was deserted, a half empty cup of coffee the only sign his mom had been there. She was a coffee addict and drank tons of the stuff every day.
The kitchen was likewise bare. Dirty dishes were stacked in the sink, and breadcrumbs littered the countertop. It had happened early then. Mom would never have left it like that for long.
The cat’s food and water bowls were empty, and Ryan could find no sign of the feline. That was a relief, at least. He’d dreaded stumbling across its carcass. The past two nights had granted him lots of time to conjure up all sorts of terrible scenes in his mind.
He neared the hall and slowed. From his little sister’s bedroom, he heard a telltale moan. It sounded plaintive and forlorn, sad even. The saliva in his mouth dried up. His stomach did a slow roll as horror set in. Who was it? Mom? Kerry?
For a second, he hesitated. Sweat trickled down his brow, and his hands shook. Could he do it? Could he kill whoever waited inside? No. I can’t.
With carefully placed steps, he retreated from the open doorway. Another moan, long and low, froze him to the spot. Silence fell once more, and Ryan nerved himself to back away.
Then he heard a whimper. A choked little sob. It was followed by guttural snarls and loud bangs. Girlish screams rang out, and a surge of hope coursed through him. Kerry!
Ryan charged into the room without thinking before he stumbled to a stop. His mother’s corpse, still in her nightgown, banged on the closed cupboard doors where Kerry hid. Her skin was tinged gray, her hair lank and greasy. Unwashed. A rank smell wafted from her body.
To Ryan, this was the worst. In all his life, his mother had never been anything other than perfectly groomed. Every hair would be in place before she’d set foot outside the house, a cloud of perfume wafting in her wake. This thing wasn’t his mom.
“Leave her alone!” he shouted to bolster his courage. The zombie turned towards him and milky eyes fixed on his face.
Ryan lifted the tire iron, heart banging in his chest. Her lips curled back, revealing the canines. She growled. He had the fleeting thought that she looked possessed, demonic. “No, please don’t.”
She didn’t blink and launched herself at him with outstretched arms. Instinct took over. The tire iron smashed into her head, whipping it around. It didn’t stop her. Her head rolled back into place with a crack of the vertebrae, and she sprang forward.
With an undignified yelp, Ryan scrambled aside. He hit her again and landed a glancing blow to the temple. She fell to the carpet but scuttled across like a loathsome spider and latched onto his ankle. She closed in, mouth yawning to bite down on his calf.
He swung his weapon, hitting her over and over again. A loud pop signaled the rupture of the cranial bones. The thing that used to be his mother collapsed at his feet. Her fingers relaxed, blood and brains leaking from her cracked skull.
He stared, shocked into immobility. I killed her. I killed my mom.
Kerry’s cries roused him. He opened the cupboard doors and gathered his sister’s shaking body into his arms. “Shh, sis. It’s me. It’s okay. I’ve got you.”
He clasped her to his chest and ran for the door. Outside, Jonathan gestured for him to hurry, his motions frantic. Ryan ran as fast as his skinny legs allowed, hampered by Kerry’s weight. She kept slipping down, her feet banging against his shins.
From all the corners of the neighborhood, figures emerged from the shadows. Kerry’s screams had drawn them out like moths to a flame.
Panic surged through him, spurring him on. His arms felt like lead, and his thighs cramped, but he sped up.
The open car door beckoned like a shining light at the end of a dark tunnel. He reached it just when he thought he would collapse and dove inside, landing on top of Kerry. With his legs still sticking out, he screamed, “Go, go, go!”
Jonathan spun away with a screech of burning rubber. Ryan hung on, clawing his way up into the seat. Kerry wriggled beneath him, but he ignored her and reached for the door handle. He managed to slam it shut and fell back gasping. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Way ahead of you, Ry.” Jonathan flashed him a cocky smile. “Man, that was close. Did you have to…you know…kill, anyone?”
“Really? That’s all you care about?” Ryan righted himself in the seat while helping his sister into the back.
“Come on. You know I don’t mean it like that,” Jonathan protested.
“Not in front of Kerry, okay? She just saw our mom die. Not cool!” Ryan felt fury at his friend’s callous attitude well up inside. He’d just killed his mother, and Jonathan treated it like it was a joke.
“Okay, okay, relax. I’m sorry about your mom, Ry. That’s a tough one.” Jonathan sounded sincere, and Ryan allowed his anger to ebb.
Before either of them could say anything else, Kerry flung herself between them. “What’s happening? What made Mom like that? Where’s Dad?”
Ryan shook his head, sadness bowing his shoulders. “I’m sorry, sis.”
“Where’s Dad?” she repeated, her voice growing shrill.
“I don’t know, Kerry. I don’t know
.”
Ryan didn’t want to voice what he already knew. They’d driven past his Uncle Mick’s house where his dad had been visiting the day before. The front door had stood open with bloody handprints smeared across the cream paint on the walls. Jonathan had honked the horn. From inside, figures had spilled like maggots from a rotting wound. Uncle Mick, Aunt Susan, Mr. Jameson the next-door neighbor, and at last, Dad.
They’re gone. They’re all gone. The enormity of their situation settled over Ryan. At sixteen, he was now responsible for his eight-year-old sister. It was a crushing blow.
“What now?” Kerry asked. She looked as scared as he felt.
Good question.
“We’re leaving town. Going somewhere safe,” Jonathan replied.
“Where’s that?” she asked, sniffling.
“We’ll see, sis. We’ll see.” Ryan pulled Kerry close, and she huddled against him with her chin on his shoulder.
He watched the scenery whiz by, the buildings thinning out to be replaced by open plains. Time passed as Jonathan drove with Ryan scarcely paying attention. An hour? Who knew?
A sign flashed by: Bloemhof 20km.
“Bloemhof?”
“It’s as good a place as any, man,” Jonathan replied. “My dad and I fished there last summer at a resort on the river.”
“Okay.”
“It’s got water; we can fish and stuff. There are fences to keep the zombies out, and the town is small. Not too many people.”
“Sounds okay,” Ryan replied. It wasn’t like he had a better suggestion.
“It’s a whole new world now, Ry, and we gotta make it work.”
Jonathan flashed him a crooked smile, and Ryan wished he could be as confident. But his friend was right.
They would make it work. They had to.
End of the Sample - Available Here!
https://www.amazon.com/Ryans-Luck-Deaths-Children-Apocalypse-ebook/dp/B0796DGWMC/
About the Author
South African writer and coffee addict, Baileigh Higgins, lives in the Free State with hubby and best friend Brendan and loves nothing more than lazing on the couch with pizza and a bad horror movie. Her unhealthy obsession with the end of the world has led to numerous books on the subject and a secret bunker only she knows the location of. Visit her website to sign up for updates, freebies, and more!
WEBSITE - www.baileighhiggins.com
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