SHTF (NOLA Zombie Book 0)

by Zane, Gillian

  The same attributes that had drawn Zach and Blake to the island also made it the perfect place for us to hole up and wait out this zombie apocalypse. The isolation was one a main factor. There were hardly any residential areas in a twenty-mile radius, and fewer people meant fewer infected. We were also fully stocked here with weapons, food and were in a prime location for living off the land. We had water and road access and it was easily defendable if we were to come under attack. Then add in the off-the-grid tech in the houses and warehouse, the wind energy and the water purification, and it was almost the perfect set-up.

  I had been friends with Zach James and Blake Miller for years and I knew they had ulterior motives when purchasing this property, or at least Zach did. He was always a tad on the anti-establishment side of things and didn’t trust anyone, even our government. He was a good guy to know when the shit hit the fan and a better one to work for. He would get here and take control and put some order into this chaos.

  I pulled up to the main complex, which was a steel building that housed the offices, storage area, barracks, and a kitchen facility. We could all stay here tonight. The compound ran off of wind energy, entirely autonomous from the main grid of Southeast Louisiana, so there would be electricity, no matter what happened. I also knew there was building material in the back. I needed to get a gate up and maybe even a fence around the entire compound so we couldn’t have any surprises pop up from the water. I didn’t know if zombies could swim, but I didn’t want to test the theory.

  “There are bunks and private offices on the second floor. We can unpack the food and bring it to the kitchen and then you can get your personal items and pick a bunk upstairs,” I said, surprised at how crisp my voice came out, how together I sounded. My brother nodded mutely and got out of the vehicle, coming around to help his wife. He wrapped an arm around her lightly and gave her a quick hug. I held in a breath, wondering if they would break down, hoping that it wouldn't happen here. I couldn't deal with their emotions right now. I could barely deal with my own. But they didn't break down. They looked at me and nodded. It was time to get to work.

  After we had unpacked, Barbara walked up to me as I surveyed the gate, trying to think of a good way to secure it.

  “What are we going to do with Alicia?” Barbara asked.

  “Bury her,” I said.

  “What’s wrong with you?” she asked me, her eyes leaking those tears again. It was unsettling how she dripped and no sound came out. I stared back at her, what did she want from me?

  “I don’t know what you mean,” I said icily.

  “Your sister is dead in the back of our SUV and you're like a damn robot. Show a little emotion, Tim,” Hank had joined us and when her voice raised, he pulled at her arm, his way of trying to get her to back off.

  “Do you want me to cry, Barbara? Would that make you happy? Because I don’t know what difference that would make. Our lives just changed in a split second. Sitting here sobbing about it won’t save our lives. Because that’s what the issue is in this new world. Life or death. The dead body of my little sister in the back of this fucking SUV is proof of that. I let my fucking guard down. I let her throw her little fit, pandered to her emotional teenager ways and it killed her. When I feel that the danger is gone, when I feel like I can breathe, then I’ll cry. We can hug it out and say a prayer or whatever it is you have in mind as the proper way to react. But right now, this is how I'm dealing with it. Don't get all up in my shit because I'm not dripping all over the place like you.”

  “Come on, Barb, help me unload the SUV.” Hank pulled her away from me. I didn’t know what she wanted from me. We were in the middle of a storm. She shouldn't expect me to stop and get all emo. Neck deep in shit is not the time to turn into a pussy. Letting your emotions get the best of you was a quick way of getting dead.

  I could bury her. Put her in the ground and move on. Bottle it up and save it for later. It's what needed to be done.

  Before I could bury my sister, I had things to do. So I gingerly took her out of the SUV and laid her on the grass away from the building. I would scope out the perfect place for her grave, but right now I had to get things in order.

  I went to the communications room, the large room that housed the servers and the radio. I was able to hail Zach quickly by radio. Our cell phones hadn’t been able to get a signal since we got to the compound.

  “I’m at the compound, James, you need to get your ass here STAT. The East is full of those things and…well, it just wasn’t easy getting here.”

  “I’m glad you’re there. I’m trying to locate Miller and round up the rest of the group. Then we’ll follow you in.”

  “Don’t let them bite you. It’s transmitted by the bite. They’re dead, James, the dead are walking around and they’re eating people.”

  “They’re just infected people, Romeo, it’s just a quarantine because of a nasty bug that’s turning people into monsters. This will all blow over. Just sit tight, we’ll get it sorted. If we have to stay at the compound for a few weeks and live off of MREs, we’ll be good. Just keep your family safe.”

  “No, James, I saw them get up after being torn to pieces,” I argued with him.

  “Look, hold on, Martinez needs me, I gotta go. Just sit tight…we’ll get there, it’ll all be sorted out, you'll see. James out.” The radio crackled with static and I just dropped my head into my hands. Zach James had his head up his ass if he thought these were just infected humans. There was no virus that could raise the dead. This was biblical shit.

  But he would figure it out quickly, hopefully sooner than later. He wasn’t a fool and watching a person get up off the ground with their guts around their ankles might clue him in. The shit had hit the fan and we had to brace for impact.

  I stood up from the desk and went to the supply closet. I grabbed a shovel. I had to bury my sister and after that I had a fence to build. After that I would find something else to do because there would be no rest in this world. When the dead walked, when their only goal was to get you to join them, there was no peace.

  There would be no peace until I finally joined them. But hopefully not for a while. I had shit to do.

  THANK YOU FOR READING!

  Read on for a Sneak Peek of RUN or Download the book now!

  About the Author

  Gillian Zane is the author of the NOLA Zombie series. Zane is the pen name of a prominent blogger in the publishing industry, which will remain a mystery unless you Google it. Since she can remember her goal has been to become Master of the Universe and has decided to focus first on the literary world. Things are progressing nicely.

  Zane has been a freelance writer for the last ten years and has published a few non-fiction pieces, none of which were very exciting.

  Zombies are much more exciting and a way for her to combine her two current obsessions, hot boys with guns and Doomsday Prepping. When she isn't stockpiling MREs (Meal's Ready to Eat) or researching how to build a cistern on a budget, she's taking care of her little family and exploring the city that she loves, New Orleans.

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  Books by Gillian Zane

  SHTF (NOLA Zombie Prequel)|

  Romeo’s Story

  RUN (NOLA Zombie Book 1)

  FIGHT (NOLA Zombie Book 2)

  LIVE (NOLA Zombie Book 3)

  JUSTICE (NOLA Zombie Book 4)

  Baby’s Story

  HONOR (NOLA Zombie Book 5)

  Romeo’s Story

  Contemporary Erotic Shorts:

  Pink Bikini Bliss

  The NOLA Zombie story is just beginning. This was a prequel to a series that has been called “amazing,” “riveting,” and “all kinds of sexy, but with zombies.” Read on for the first Chapter of RUN.

  Run (NOLA Zombie Book 1
)

  Praise for Run

  “Could not put this book down!” - Amazon Customer

  “...sex and zombies! How can you go wrong?” - Goodreads Review

  One

  RICK THE IT GUY

  The zombie apocalypse was really fucking with my head. One minute I was at my job, sucking up to my new boss– don’t judge, I didn’t want to be on the next list of layoffs– then in the next moment I’m running for my life with Rick the IT guy in full zombie brain-eater mode after my ass.

  Lucky for me, I chose to wear my flats instead of those new Gucci studded platform monstrosities I bought on impulse last weekend because my new boss is a ridiculously short, insecure douche-bag. He can’t look up to a girl, so I make sure that I wear flats so he stares at my tits. We both win. My shoe choice literally saved my life. If boss man wasn’t a little Napoleon, I would be pushing up daisies, or looking for my own brains to snack on.

  Who would have thought this was the way the shit would hit the metaphorical fan? ZombieBob205 from the prepper forum that I frequented must be laughing his ass off at this moment. We all thought he was a lunatic. Who believes zombies will one day descend on the world and end it? We, being the “normal” preppers were all focused on polar shifts and EMP blasts. Now I feel like the dipshit for going with EMP. I wish I would have paid more attention to ZombieBob205. I know he posted a list of the best weapons for a zombie attack but I couldn’t remember it.

  “An ax!” I screamed as I ran into the stairwell and slammed the door behind me. There was an ax in the emergency box in this stairwell, somewhere. Rick slammed into the other side of the door but it was one of those fireproof doors, it would hopefully hold. I turned around, ignoring the pounding and moaning coming from the other side. I had to find that red box of awesome. I looked around frantically, but there was nothing here. I knew it was somewhere, I had passed it every day when I was on my “Get Fit Take the Stairs” movement. I rushed down another flight of stairs and there it was!

  “Alexis, you’re a genius” I praised myself for positive reinforcement and hurried over to it, slamming the conveniently provided stick into the glass and pulling out the ax, brandishing it in triumph. I had never held something so wonderful.

  The next thing on the agenda was getting to my car. My car had everything in it. The parking garage had to be empty, right? It was a Saturday and there were only a few die-hard workers in the building, escaping should be a breeze.

  “Why, of all things, a fucking zombie apocalypse?” I whispered as I made my way down the next flight of stairs. My brain kept flashing back to Rick and his desperate attempt to eat my face. He had come in late, claiming he was in a road rage conflict and the guy in the other car had gone crazy and bit him. I thought it was hilarious at the time. But I wasn’t laughing when Rick suddenly went gray and tried to bite me while I was diligently updating a spreadsheet.

  Rick was always an inappropriate loser, but he didn’t deserve his new undead status. But, maybe he was the lucky one - because there was no telling what I was about to face. Global financial collapses, EMP blasts, super volcano explosions…those were child’s play compared to your neighbors trying to eat your face.

  I couldn’t dwell on negativity. I had to make it out of this. I had to get to my car. Survival mode. I glanced at the exit door. I was on the 10th floor, my car was parked on the second, I would have to go through the second floor lobby to get to the parking garage exit and then I didn’t know what I would find when I got into the garage. My building was located in downtown New Orleans and in the height of summer there weren’t that many people out and about, but there would still be a good bit of tourists and some die-hard business people like me.

  Zombies. Shit. I could do this.

  The hard part would be getting from downtown to the outlying suburb of Metairie where my house was located. I had to get home. In my house there was food, weapons and my dog Charlie.

  I needed to pick up the pace. I made it down those stairs in record time and was breathing heavily by the time I got to the door marked 2nd floor. I took a few deep breaths, preparing myself for whatever was about to happen. There might be someone out there, that someone just might be dead. That person I might happen to know, and if they were dead I was going to have to stick this ax in their head. Headshots. I knew that one from horror movies. Fuck ZombieBob205, I got this. Who needed his stupid posts about optimal zombie attire? Not me. Shit, I sure hope these dickwads follow conventional zombie tropes.

  “Okay, one, two…” I pushed the door open, holding the ax in a death grip. There were no moaning hordes waiting for me, in fact it was dead quiet. I crept to the glass balcony and peered down to the first-floor lobby. There was no one. The security guard that sat at the big round desk in the center, day after day, wasn’t even in her customary spot. I couldn’t get a good look at the front doors, but the quiet was telling in itself.

  A loud clatter from behind me destroyed any semblance of peace, and I swung around in a panic to face whomever or whatever made that sound. I didn’t see anyone, but from what I could tell the noise came from the office located in the central area of the floor. It was what everyone called “the fish tank” because the office was all glass and the poor employees had to work with the entire building walking past them to get to the parking garage. Creeping closer, I noticed there was a woman in there and she was alive.

  “Thank God,” I breathed and pushed open the door to her office. She was trying to make a phone call and in her frustration had knocked over some files, the source of the clatter. I recognized her from brief conversations in the lunch line and a few building block parties. I couldn’t remember her name though.

  “I can’t get anyone. Have you seen the news? This is insane.” She looked up at me desperately and motioned to the television. “I can’t believe my boss made me come in. I knew this virus was spreading. I should have told him to go fuck himself.”

  On the television a local news anchor was on the balcony that surrounded the news station in the French Quarter, not too far from where my building was located. I didn’t recognize her, but it was a local channel that I watched regularly. She was out of breath, eyes wide and the camera kept jerking from the anchor to mass amounts of people running and screaming in the streets of the Quarter.

  “As you can see from what is going on in the streets below me, the iKPV disease that has plagued New York City and Miami has now come to New Orleans. The disease has been called the zombie plague by the media, and from what I’m witnessing they could not have named it better. Oh my God, are you seeing this…get in on this…” She must have been talking to the cameraman because the picture zoomed in on two people wrestling on the ground in the streets below. The one on top was the same gray color that Rick was. The person on the bottom looked like a cook because I could see his white and black checkered pants, they were currently flailing as the man tried to defend himself against the attack.

  When the camera zoomed even closer it was obvious there was no helping the cook since he was being eaten alive by the guy on top of him. There was blood everywhere and the man was screaming. He was in so much pain, I’ve never heard anything like the sounds he was making.

  “Oh fuck, fuck, fuck.” I had forgotten the girl behind me who was apparently about to have a panic attack. Her sudden surge for the garbage can had her pushing past me, alerting me to her presence. I wish I could distract myself with my own vomiting, but it was a no-go and I was stuck watching more of the terrible footage as the cameraman still remained focused on the cook being eat alive. The man had finally gone still, blood pooling around him on the cobblestone streets, the zombie on top of him ripping at the flesh of his stomach, like a big cat feasting on the intestines of an antelope.

  “The reports about small outbreaks and hardly any fatalities from the government are obviously wrong because this is not a small outbreak and that man down there was just eaten. EATEN!” The camera pulled back and focused on the reporter. The reporter
’s face was flushed and she looked like she might have hurled herself as her mouth had a few chunks of something vile around it and her hair was a mess.

  “We at WYUI are urging our viewing audience to seek shelter and…” The broadcast cut out and was replaced with a blue screen and some ridiculous high-pitched sound.

  “We should probably go to a safe place. I don’t think it’s safe here, the French Quarter is only a few minutes from this building.” I told the girl next to me.

  “Yeah, home. I should go home, you’re Alexis right? From the 14th floor?” She asked, switching topics.

  “Yeah, that’s me. Home. Good idea. You want to go to the garage together?” I suggested. “Grab your purse, and do you have something you can use as a weapon? A stick, or maybe a big knife?”

  “Pepper spray.” She shook her head and shrugged.