My Zombie Summer (Book 1): The Undead Road

by David Powers King

  Well, if such a place existed.

  I’ll get to that later.

  As for me, I was . . . The Backup. Jewel was too young for close encountering, plus Mom and Dad wanted someone to make sure our car remained safe, so I had to stay behind. Babysitter. That’s what I was. I wasn’t too young, but I wasn’t old enough either—sucks to be me. I gazed at my .45 Beretta and released the magazine. Out of habit, I wanted to know how many rounds I had left: eight. I’d fired two back in Wahoo. Conserving ammunition was getting easier.

  Now was as good a time as any to reload.

  Reaching for the pouch on the back of Dad’s seat in front of me, I fished through a few leftover mini-donut wrappers and found my two squashed boxes of ammo—both light. I opened one. Not even a clip’s worth. If we didn’t find more soon, we’d be toast.

  As I glanced up, I viewed a little farmhouse to our left with a white vinyl fence. The place had a couple sheds that reminded me of miniature greenhouses. There was a barn in the back, covered in the shade of two trees. Small towns and random houses were all we had seen after driving through three states in three weeks on our way to Colorado.

  Traveling the interstates proved to be a bad idea. Really bad. Too many parked cars. Too many Vectors waiting. They liked to hang around cars. I had a hunch as to why. For them, cars meant, there’s food in there!

  And if the engine was running, fast food!

  “Do we have bullets for this?” Jewel asked.

  Mom sighed. “Check the bag if you must.”

  Jewel and I locked eyes. “Dibs!” she said.

  She won that round. I pocketed my .45 while Jewel reached for the bag, grunting as she tugged. “Need help here . . .” The bag’s weight took me by surprise. Jewel found the zipper and opened the duffle. “Holy Toledo!” she cried. “That’s a lot. How’d you carry this, Dad?”

  “Buns of Steel, princess,” he said, smiling again, “and a whole lot of adrenaline.”

  Mom shook her head. “You used my DVDs . . .”

  Several boxes of ammunition were inside the bag. I wasn’t familiar with some of it, so I reached in and searched for the ones we normally used: three and a half boxes of .45, a 200 round package of .40, lots of .22, tons of 12 Gauge shells, and an opened case of 5.56 mm. This bag would keep us well stocked for a while.

  “Which one goes with mine?” Jewel asked.

  “Don’t jostle the bag,” Dad warned. “We need to take inventory before we make our turn for David City—and the thirty-aught-six goes to yours, Jewel.”

  “These.” I pointed at the 30.06 boxes. Knowing this surprised me.

  She grabbed a box and opened it. “Are these bigger than Dad’s?”

  “Are you sure she can handle that?” Mom asked.

  Dad shrugged. “She’ll have to. If we want proper cover, she’ll need proper weight behind her shots, something that will knock those things off their feet.”

  “And her with it!” Mom turned back and glanced at me before looking at my sister. “Don’t get your hopes up. If it’s too much, we won’t make you use it.”

  Jewel rolled her eyes. “I nailed that Stalker chasing you, Mom. Relax.”

  Mom twisted around and stared at the road ahead. “Relax . . . while my children are using guns . . .”

  In a perfectly normal world, I would totally side with my mom. I never thought I’d sport dueling pistols in a million years, but depending on the situation, every rule is subject to change. My parents started another conversation on the matter, so I checked the magazine of my .40. Ten out of fourteen rounds left. I reloaded that one, too. Yeah. Things were sure different now.

  Not even the end of the world was enough to convince Mom that, without a real civilization, there were no rules. If you can handle a firearm, your chance of survival against Vectors is that much greater. And not just Vectors. The living can also be dangerous. That’s what every zombie movie has taught me, at any rate.

  “Traffic ahead,” Dad said. “Keep your eyes open.”

  Both Jewel and I leaned to the front and saw a Wolf Pack ahead, or what we called a bunch of highway hogging cars. We hadn’t seen one in a while. These little groupings had the tendency to harbor two things: stuff-for-grabs and the undead, monsters waiting for their hapless victims. We’d stopped twice at roadblocks like this one, once to siphon gas and the other to find food. Both places crawled with the undead, hiding under cars.

  No one spoke as we passed the first vehicle and neared the second. I was checking for signs of life as we drove by. Nothing unusual. No people, living or dead, but some doors were left open. We had enough food and water, a half tank of gas, and a recently acquired bag of armory goods. If we made a stop here, it would have to be for something special. And that’s when I saw a golden retriever in the back of an RV. “Look!”

  Dad slowed the car to a stop. “What is it?”

  “It’s a dog.” I half-hoped to see someone with it.

  “Where?” Jewel climbed to my side and gaped through my window.

  Mom leaned over Dad to see. “Poor baby . . . how long has it been in there?”

  An uneasy frown appeared on Dad’s face. “We’re not stopping for a dog.”

  “We can’t leave it,” Mom said. “That’s cruel.”

  “Crueler than letting it get eaten by something?”

  “Come on, Dad,” Jewel pleaded. “There’s nothing out there. Hey! I can cover you guys from the sunroof.” She held up her new rifle and gently patted its side.

  “Stick with the twenty-two until I show you how to use that thing.” Dad sighed as he glanced at me. “Alright. I’m coming with you, but we’re not keeping it. We leave at the first sign of trouble. Understand?”

  I nodded as I eagerly whipped out my .45 Beretta. The doors unlocked. I opened mine and breathed. The air was fresh outside—that’s always a good sign.

  Dad and I stepped out together. He checked the west. And me, the east. It was clear. We closed our doors and pointed our weapons at the ground. Dad used his famous kill-shot pose in case something decided to jump at us from under an SUV. Compact cars are harder for Vectors to squeeze under. “Looks good,” Dad said, focused and steady. “You take point.”

  I dropped protocol and turned to him. “What?”

  “Remember what I said: keep your eyes open and check everything twice.” He put a full magazine into his AR-15. “This is your recon, Jeremy. I’ll cover you.”

  Excited, I stepped over the pavement and pointed my .45 wherever I looked. We checked the window of every car on our way to the RV. The sun and the humid weather had bleached its broad siding, fading the large brown W in the middle to a dull tan. I pulled on both door handles. Both locked. I joined Dad on the other side, hoping the side door would be a different story. My instinct told me to check for movement in the field of grass before us, and down both ends of the road.

  There wasn’t a threat in sight. No wonder Dad let me take point. This was practice—because it was safe. Or was it? I had a feeling that we were being watched.

  In scary movies, when someone walks around and the camera follows them in a creepy way—those are Stalker Shots. My obsessed-with-slasher-movies friend pointed that out to me once, never suspecting that he would lose his finger to his big sister. Mom had warned us about pointing at people. It’s not polite. Apparently, pointing at the undead is like holding out a carrot.

  Dad waited for me. “I’ll open the door. Ready?”

  I nodded. I was born with all kinds of ready.

  Dad raised the handle and, with force, he yanked the door open. Aside from the sunlight in the windows, it was pretty dark inside. I listened first. If I could call for the dog, maybe I wouldn’t have to go inside.

  “Hey, boy?”

  I paused, and I heard nothing.

  “Come on out, boy. You’re safe.”

  A whimper that time.

  “What if it’s not a boy?” Dad asked.

  I stepped closer. “Are you a girl?”

&nb
sp; Bark!

  Bingo.

  “Come on out, girl. We’re alive.”

  More whimpers. Sad and glum.

  What was wrong with her?

  She was obviously too terrified to come out, but one thing I knew for sure: if a Vector had been in the RV with the retriever, she would’ve been zombie chow by now. I carefully stepped in. The dog was sitting on a bed in the back of the RV, wagging her yellow tail.

  “Hi,” I said. “You’re just a pup, aren’t you?”

  The dog yapped in short bursts, but she stayed put. Whoever had left the dog must’ve trained her to stay unless called for. I stepped over a pair of jeans. The RV smelled of canned meat and beans. Sure enough, empty cans littered the dinette, and a stack of dishes in the sink. I peeked in the toilet. Empty. It was just us two.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “You can come with me.”

  The dog barked again, but it wasn’t directed at me. My throat clenched as I turned around and looked up. A pale face poked through the overhead sleeper curtain.

  Without thinking, I aimed and pulled the trigger.

  Click.

  Nothing happened.

  Click. Click. Click.

  I’d forgotten to load it.

  Crap! Crap! Crap!

  I pulled the slide back, and the face screamed.

  “Wait!”

  I looked up. It wasn’t a mindless Vector. It was a girl—a human girl, and she was barely awake. Long black hair with a single purple highlight shrouded one of her eyes. Tangled strands covered most of her face. I just stared at her. She had to be about my age. And she was really cute . . . And I had almost shot her in the face.

  “Sorry! I thought you were—”

  Dad knocked on the door, making the dog bark. “Who’s there?”

  The girl hid behind her curtain. “Leave us alone!”

  I lowered my Beretta, relieved to hear the voice of another living person. The thought of having nearly taken her out made my stomach flip. Who was this girl? And more importantly, for how long had she been in the RV? I knew Dad had heard her, but he wasn’t about to break protocol. As a rule, if we found any survivors, we promised to make sure they were okay, but someone still had to stay on the lookout. A Vector could easily sneak up on us and no one could warn us otherwise. As Point Man, handling this was completely up to me.

  “Is someone in there, Jeremy?” Dad asked.

  “Uh, yeah,” I struggled to say. “A girl.”

  “Get lost, kid!” she cried. “Go away!”

  Kid? She called me a kid? For reals?

  I had a feeling this wouldn’t be easy.

  After the outbreak, when we had driven away from Chicago Land, Mom explained the human condition to Jewel and me—how Vectors may react to deterioration, climate change, and psychological stuff that would affect survivors. The way she described things to us made me wonder if she’d spent her nursing internship inside a morgue. This girl had something else going on.

  “We saw your dog.” My voice cracked a little. “We won’t hurt you.” Nothing happened. I was about to speak again when she withdrew the curtain and glared at me. You’d think people would show a bit more respect for each other at the end of the world. “Are you alone?”

  Her eyes—bluer than any blue I’d ever seen—penetrated me. All I could do was stare back at her.

  “You found someone?” Dad said. “Is she hurt?”

  Mystery Girl turned away, allowing me a glimpse of the side of her clear face and thin cheeks. I checked the opened cabinets again. They were empty. There was no foodstuff in the RV that I could see. I figured it out quickly. Her pale skin gave it away. “You’re starving.”

  With an embarrassed smile, she nodded.

  Damn I’m good.

  “We could use some backup,” I heard Dad say.

  “What’s going on?” Mom replied over the radio.

  “We’ve found a girl. Bring water and jerky.”

  “You found a girl?” Jewel cut in.

  “Copy that, Papa Bear.”

  Before I go on, you should know that I have an awesome family. Although we barely had enough resources ourselves, my folks never hesitated to share. For the time being, I saw no harm in helping this girl.

  Keeping my cool, I pocketed my .45. “I’m Jeremy.” I stepped back and winced at my wimpy name. Jeremy isn’t a swoon-worthy name. “So . . . what’s your name?”

  The girl parted the curtain. She slid out of the overhead and hopped down. She had black gothic jeans, a dark pink tank top and a pair of faded boots—along with black fingerless gloves on her hands. She picked up a baseball bat, which had signs of head-impounding use. I could see her as a baseball player. She had the build for it. I bet she used to be an excellent shortstop. Either way, she was an undead fighting veteran, just like me.

  Her eyes didn’t leave me for a second. “Kaylynn.”

  “That’s different. I mean that in a good way—”

  Her oncoming baseball bat made me stumble back. My voice caught in my throat as the dog joined in with a bark. This girl was quick! I reached for my .45, but before I could grab the handle, she had me pinned, ready to splatter my brains. I closed my eyes, expecting her blow. Nothing happened. I blinked my eyes open. The girl stood over me, and she smiled a smile that I would never forget. “Now we’re even.”

  Given a chance to breathe, I glared back. “Even?!”

  Cute smile or not, I couldn’t let that slide.

  “Go on in,” Dad said. “I’ll keep watch.”

  Mom lowered her Remington as she rushed inside. She had a bottle of water and our last bag of jerky in hand. I wasn’t open to the idea of sharing my jerky with this girl anymore, and Mom didn’t scan the RV like she should’ve. Her brown eyes fixed on the girl instead. Some people say I take after my mom more than my dad when it comes to looks. We shared the same light-brown eyes and wavy dark-brown hair. I kept mine short. The medical side of my mom kicked in. She checked Kaylynn for injuries, just as she would’ve done for me whenever I scraped my knee, or when Jewel whined about a lousy bee sting. She then knelt down and held out a handful of dried meat to the girl.

  “Here,” she said. “Have some of this.”

  Kaylynn accepted the handful, and then she took the whole bag. “Come, Chloe!”

  The retriever jumped up. Her tail swatted my face as she passed. Kaylynn put some of the jerky on the floor and they ate together—devoured together, more like it. The bottle of water was gone within seconds. I had no idea how long those two had gone without food, but it was creepy the way Kaylynn ate like an animal instead of a human being. And her pseudo-gothic look didn’t exactly help, either. After she swallowed a few mouthfuls, she sat back and rubbed at her tired eyes.

  I rolled onto my knees and pushed off the floor. “She’s Kaylynn.”

  “Pretty name,” Mom said. “I’m Julie Barnes.”

  Kaylynn laughed. Yeah. Laughed. If Jeremy wasn’t a weak enough name, slap Barnes after it and see how many rounds you go at the playground. “Sorry,” she said, coughing. Jerky juice must have gone down the wrong side of her jerky throat. “My last name is Stable.”

  Barnes. Stable. Places where people keep horses.

  I had to admit, that was quite a coincidence.

  “Take it slow,” Mom said. “You’ll make yourself sick.” Kaylynn rummaged through the grocery bag for another piece and came up empty. “That’s all of it.”

  My stomach growled. Thanks, Mom . . .

  “There’s four of us,” she continued. “How many people are with you?”

  “I asked,” I said. “She wouldn’t give me a—”

  “No one,” Kaylynn answered. “It’s just me.”

  I looked at her again. Now she’s talking . . .

  “Alone? For how long?” Mom asked.

  “I don’t know . . . a week, I think?”

  Mom turned to me. “Family meeting.”

  I figured as much. Mom guided me outside. When she turned her back, the
girl sneered at me. I returned the gesture. I couldn’t understand girls. They’re so quick to give you a hard time when none was asked for. So I almost shot her in the face. Big deal. I said I was sorry. She should’ve been grateful that I went into the RV unprepared and let her eat the last of my precious jerky.

  Dad had his back to the RV, scanning the vacant soybean field to the south. “She’ll want to keep that dog,” he said. “Tough call. What do you think, Julie?”

  Mom was silent, like she was giving the situation more thought. “I’m not comfortable leaving her alone. Would it be so bad if she brought her dog along?”

  “She doesn’t want to come,” I interrupted. “She told us to get lost.”

  “That’s her trauma talking,” Mom said. “Who knows what she’s been through?”

  “I know what I’ll go through if we bring that dog inside the car,” Dad said. “I’ll break out in hives first, and then I’ll have trouble breathing. You know how sensitive I am to dog hair.”

  Dad made a good point. For years, Jewel and I had begged for a dog or a cat, even a parakeet. He never budged. Not that I blamed him. Anything with fur or feathers was his kryptonite. If we locked Dad in a closet with a dog, he’d be dead in ten minutes, or so he kept reminding us. That left reptiles, insects, amphibians and other non-furry or feathered animals for pets. Boring. I had lost track of how many goldfish we’d flushed.

  “What if we hang a blanket in the back and opened the window?” Mom asked.

  “Quarantine the dander?” Dad looked over his shoulder, at the Explorer. “We could try that.”

  We could, but I wasn’t about let this girl ride with us after that stunt she had pulled, even if it was her idea of a joke. But I couldn’t leave her to starve. Knowing my parents, the choice was not mine to make. I turned to the RV door. If she came with us, I would keep an eye on her. But in all honestly, the thought of keeping an eye on her didn’t seem like such a bad thing to do.