Zombies Ate My Neighbors, Family & Friends - Book 2 (Zombie Apocalypse Z Series)

by Chambliss, J. D.

  “Hooah!” All of the men replied in unison.

  “Then you tell me what happens, if another person deserts, and another, and another.”

  Silence.

  “I'll tell you what happens,” Dunfield said. “They set an example, and that example...is that anyone can leave, at any time, with zero consequences. That, gentlemen, will not happen under my watch! What will happen is justice and the restoration of the American way!”

  “Hooah!”

  ***

  The minivan was parked near the forest clearing, almost as if it had been discarded. The Hosier family, and Carl, sat around what must have been a fire pit in the days before the event. No one had made a move to light a fire however. No one was in the mood. There was no telling when they would even be moving again.

  Amber sat with her head in her hands while Virginia sobbed silently away from the group. It was Carl who finally broke the silence.

  “We can't stay here,” he announced. “We need to get out of here before it gets too much darker.”

  “Why don't you shut the hell up?” Amber suggested.

  “That's enough, Amber,” Frank said.

  “No, it's not enough,” Amber stood up and began to pace. She stopped suddenly and turned toward Carl who was still seated on one of the abandoned lawn chairs they'd found. “Why weren't you watching over him like you were supposed to? You were in the truck with him; it was your job.”

  Carl suddenly slammed his fists on the arms of the chair, nearly shattering the plastic.

  “Your brother was a grown man! It wasn't my job to wipe his ass, or anyone else's!”

  “Wasn't your job,” Amber repeated. “Wasn't your job, wasn't your job, wasn't your...JOB?!” Amber suddenly pulled the shotgun from her back and gave it a pump, pointing it directly at Carl's chest.

  “Whoa!” Carl shouted, jumping backward and raising his hands, the chair falling backward into the grass.

  “Amber,” Frank said, “Amber, honey think about what you're doing.”

  “Why?” Amber gritted her teeth. “He never thinks about what he does.”

  “I'm inclined to agree, hon,” Frank said, doing his best to calm her down. “But, this time he really didn't do anything.”

  “He never does ANYTHING!” Amber shouted, agreeing, and pissing on the conversation simultaneously. “He never does a damn thing unless it helps him! Where were you last Christmas, Uncle Carl? Where were you when grandma died? Were you coming to my high school graduation? Does it matter that we treat you like family, give you a place to stay when you need it? Mark stayed on the damn couch for six months, just so you could sleep in his damn bed, and then you get him killed?!”

  “Okay, you know what,” Carl said, lowering his hands. “You're right. I haven't been there, and I've been selfish. A lot of good people died today; a lot of them should've lived, and maybe I shouldn't be one that made it. If it'll make you feel better, then do it, put one in my chest and leave me here, I deserve it.”

  Amber breathed heavily and steadied the shotgun. It may have been a waste of a slug, but she was going to do it nonetheless. Uncle Carl was a smug bastard, a leech, living off the success of others. She couldn't begin to express her hatred for him in words. She gritted her teeth, aimed...and before she knew it, the shot rang out, reverberating through the clearing and the forest.

  Carl slowly looked down at his chest, bringing his hands upward and feeling. Something was wrong. There was no blood. Not a single drop. He ran the palm of his hand over his chest just to confirm. No wound.

  Amber lowered the shotgun, the look on her face displaying utter and complete confusion.

  “I didn't...” she started to say.

  Suddenly, they all spun around to see Virginia, laying across the clearing floor, Frank's hunting rifle cradled between her legs, her finger on the trigger, and the barrel...

  Her eyes were dead, and her brain matter decorating the grass beneath her.

  “Virginia?”

  ***

  Aimee's Journal, May 17, 2019

  When I was very young, a short lived revolution occurred in my country. The world did not know about it; the government kept it as quiet as they could, calling it a 'domestic incident'. In truth, a man tried to take over our government and institute his own. He claimed that democracy was the way of the future, and that we should all follow him. That man was my father, and he was not the savior that he claimed to be.

  I recall hiding under my bed many nights when he would come home from the bar, shouting about the revolution he would someday fight. He would find the smallest things in the house to become upset with my mother over. An uncleansed dish, a crumb on the floor, any of these things were excuse enough to beat her within an inch of her life, and no one seemed to care, or at least if they did care, there was nothing that they could do about it.

  He took my older sisters and did unspeakable things to them, though he left me alone for the most part. Perhaps, I was too young or not pretty enough for his liking.

  I remember the day my mother stood up to him one night after the bar. He nailed her feet to the floor in front of the kitchen sink, and told her that women belonged in the kitchen. He left her there for days, forcing her to eat nothing but bread and water, but only after she cleaned his dishes. We could not help her; we were so young.

  My father gathered enough support for his revolution, but he could not face the might of the government. He was gunned down in the streets along with all of his 'soldiers'; though, they were mostly his friends. My mother, my sisters, and I were taken to a facility where we were stuffed into morgue drawers, and forced to lay silently in the darkness for hours. We were not given leave to use the restroom, but rather, were forced to urinate on ourselves while we waited for a liberation that might never come. Most of us died there, but my family, we made it though, and a UN mandate released us.

  Who did this to us? Men. Men are the root of the problem, and I will never trust them again. I do not trust this Jonah person, I could never trust him. Men have their own agenda, and I am certain that Jonah plans to either rape or kill me once he gets whatever it is that he wants.

  Chapter 7

  Attention listeners, KHLA Radio has received a few messages from listeners for their loved ones. We're going to read some off now. The first message comes from Brianna Darrow, she says: “Derrik, I'm okay, I love you, meet me at our favorite spot.” Okay, hopefully you got that, Derrik. Next we have a message from...Sophia Hosier in Florida. It says: “Frank, we're okay; your father and I got out of Tampa. We're coming to find you.” It seems that communications, including cellular phones are going to be down for some time, but we will continue to pass messages along as we get them. Thanks for listening to KHLA, your home for classic rock.

  Ross stumbled under the weight of the heavy deer carcass, but continued to walk at Sarah's insistence. This girl had to be psychotic, or at least mentally disturbed. He shook his head, continuing to follow the bright sundress in the early morning light.

  They had left the forest long ago, or at least he thought it was long ago. Most of the time he had spent staring at his feet, trying to ensure he didn't trip over a rock, or step into a hole. The last thing he needed right now was to break his ankle, or his leg, whichever fate dictated should shatter into a million pieces today.

  He panted and continued to move in Sarah's direction, and for a moment, he looked up. To his surprise, they were no longer in the middle of nowhere. In fact, they were standing near a road, and other side, was what appeared to be an apartment complex.

  “What the hell?” Ross said to the open air.

  Sarah didn't stop to answer. Instead, she continued skipping, all the way down the asphalt path into the apartment complex. As they walked in further, Ross could clearly see that most of the apartments where in shambles. In fact, one of them seemed to have “Eat my shit” scrawled on the side of a unit. Considering the circumstances, that was a rather odd thing to scrawl at the last second. In addition
to that, another unit had been breached by a PT cruiser, now sitting in what Ross assumed was once a bay window.

  Besides the obvious disarray, the rest of the complex seemed to be intact, and there was no immediate danger. Sarah was clearly onto something. They could probably hope to stay here for some time if they could find a unit that was unlocked, preferably not the one with the PT cruiser. In addition to that, some of these would probably be stocked with food, and that was a plus. He began to survey the area for a good apartment building, and then wondered how easy it would be to break down one of the doors. His train of thought was interrupted rather abruptly when Sarah said: “We're going this way.”

  He looked in the direction she was indicating to find that she was already on her way. She was walking down a side path, just wide enough for a single car. Unlike the rest of the apartment complex, it was a narrow path flanked by trees, and it ended in an iron gate, about eight feet high, and seemingly untouched by the events of earlier in the week. A plaque to the right said: Westlake Gated Community. The wall was made from red brick, and it looked as if it had been recently built. The path leading up to the iron gate was barely large enough to allow a car passage, though Ross noticed a number of tire tracks leading away from the wall. They had clearly gone for supplies at one point or another.

  “That's far enough,” A gruff voice said. “Give us your name and your business.”

  Ross took a look at the top of the wall. A man stood there, brandishing a hunting rifle and studying the pair of them carefully. One thing Ross immediately noticed was that the man's finger was nowhere near the trigger of the rifle. He might have pretended to have an attitude, but he wasn't one to kill someone, that was for sure.

  “Christ on a crutch, Tom,” A second voice said. “They're just kids.”

  The second man did have his finger near the trigger of his rifle, but his harsh facial features told both Ross and Sarah that he was nowhere near trigger happy. If anything, he was tired of fighting and was annoyed with this entire situation.

  Ross and Sarah looked upward to see two men standing top the wall, both of them armed with what appeared to be hunting rifles.

  “Hi!” Sarah said with a smile. The damn girl would not stop smiling. “I'm Sarah, and this is Ross! We brought you this deer!”

  “You brought us that deer?” The man on the left echoed. “How did you kill a deer by your damn self?”

  “She's resourceful,” Ross suggested. As soon as he opened his mouth everyone looked at him, and one of the men atop the wall even went so far as to cock his rifle.

  “She's cute, you're not,” The man on the right stated. Ross took it as a hint to keep his mouth shut, at least for the moment.

  “Is anyone else with you?” One of them asked.

  “Nope!” Sarah said. “We're all alone!”

  “Are you serious?” A new voice, a woman's voice said. “Just open the gate and let them in!”

  “Whatever you say, Miss Turner,” one of the riflemen said.

  There was a slight grinding, and then the clacking of metal on metal as the lock was released and the gate swung inward. Sarah didn't even hesitate.

  “Come on, Ross!' She said and skipped through the gate, all the way to the blonde woman who was waiting for them. She might have been about thirty years old, but to the eyes of children, she was ancient. “Hi! I'm Sarah!”

  “Hello, Sarah,” The woman said, bending down so as to greet the girl at eye level. “My name is Amanda! Why don't you and your friend come and stay at my house for a while!”

  One of the men walked over and took the deer away from Ross, who doubled over, suddenly free of the burden that had haunted him for miles.

  “Oh thank you,” he wheezed. “Oh, thank you God.”

  “Come on, Ross!” Sarah said, following Amanda down the sidewalk.

  This part of the community was clearly in better condition than the rest. Ross was amazed at the quality of some of these homes – they were much better than the home he'd grown up in, even if they were a bit smaller. In addition to hosting beautiful homes, the pavement seemed to be in outstanding order as well. Rather than the pothole infested parking lot they'd navigated on the way here, this blacktop seemed to be brand new, and flushed perfectly with the white, clean sidewalks, and those were decorated nicely with tall black lamp posts. It was almost as if this place had been snatched from a peaceful existence in the 1950's (a time when people apparently had nothing better to do than landscape), and dropped into the turbulent 21st century where only well-to-do individuals could afford to appreciate it's presence, hidden away from the world behind an eight foot tall brick barricade.

  It was brilliant, of course, hiding inside a gated community. The wall was far too high for the undead to traverse, and residents inside, as far as Ross could see, were untouched by the zombie apocalypse. This was the perfect hiding place, but it wasn't a town by any means. It was a village, at best, and it had no supply lines, unless the men planned to shoot at small game from the walls. Ross pushed these thoughts aside and followed his new friends, if that's what he could call them, to one of the 'houses'. He followed them through the heavy front door, emerging into a large foyer, complete with a coat rack and a bench built into the wall.

  Ross recoiled a bit when he saw just how...girly the interior was. The coats, sweaters, and windbreakers hanging on the rack were all either pink or purple, and the same went for most of the furniture beyond the foyer. Here and there he could see flowers in tall glass vases, and Amanda herself was dressed in an extremely feminine outfit, complete with a pair of black pumps.

  “Take your shoes off, please!” Amanda said, though it was more of a demand than a request. Given the current state of events, Ross didn't relish the idea of taking anything off.

  “You should really listen to her,” Jill said in her ghostly, yet not quite disembodied voice. Ross could see her, plain as day, standing beside the door they'd just come through. He knew better than to respond, after all, she wasn't really there. “You don't have anywhere else to go,” she pointed out.

  She was right, though Ross believed rather strongly that this Jill was either a figment of his imagination, or a sign that he was finally losing his mind. After he removed his shoes and placed them on the rack beside a pair of pink and white tennis shoes, he looked toward the door again, and Jill was gone. He shook his head and followed the girls from the foyer to the ultra-feminine living room.

  “I'm sorry,” Amanda said, glancing over her shoulder at Ross who felt about as out of place as a polar bear in the Florida everglades. “We don't get many visitors of the.male persuasion.”

  “Oh...it's okay...” Ross replied with a nervous smile. “I hardly...noticed.”

  Well, you might noticed when you see what we have for you to change into after you shower,” Amanda remarked.

  Ross gulped, but before we could comment a brunette woman, about Amanda's age stepped from behind a free swinging door, her hands covered in oven mitts, and most of her body concealed behind a white apron.

  “Well hello!” she said. “Who do we have here?”

  Amanda introduced the pair of them as if it were the most exciting thing she'd ever done in her life.

  “Well, this is Sarah,” she said indicating Sarah, “And this is....”

  “Ross,” Ross informed her after an uncomfortable silent pause. It was clear to him that they were going to play favorites here.

  “Ross!” she said, still smiling. Sarah was going to fit in well here. “I found them both by the gate; it looks like they've been out there for a while!”

  They had no idea.

  “Well, the wilderness is no place for children, not now anyway,” the brunette replied. “My name is Jamie, and the two of you are going to stay here with us!”

  Ross wasn't quite sure about that, but there was nothing wrong with playing along until he could get out of here. This might be the right place for the girl, but having grown up in a rather suffocating situation, he cou
ldn't abide the idea of living here in this gated community for the rest of his life.

  “Well, maybe for a little bit,” Ross said. “I can't stay here forever.”

  “Why?” Sarah asked. “You don't have anywhere else to go.”

  “Not the point,” Ross said.

  As he spoke, Amanda begin to herd both of them further into the house.

  “Right now, you both need to get cleaned up.” she said to them,”and then we're going to have dinner.”

  Ross couldn't argue with that; dinner, any kind of food actually, sounded great. Maybe these two weren't so bad after all. He shook his head. No, he couldn't think like that; he had to concentrate on the important things – like getting the hell out of here, and getting back on the road. After Jill, he couldn't abide the thought of being around people. He sighed and gave in momentarily, allowing the woman to herd them toward the back of the house, to the bathroom, bedrooms, or whatever other horrors awaited them.

  ***

  Major Dunfield signaled for the helicopter pilot to land. It had been a rather long ride, consider the range of the average helicopter, but using this solar powered air vehicle, they'd managed to fly from Fort Sill, all the way to southern Ohio within a few hours. If it hadn't been for the complimentary noise canceling headphones, his head might have exploded from the sound of the rotors. In fact, they hadn't worked quite that well, so his head was on the verge of exploding in any case.

  As he stood in the doorway, clutching the bar above the opening, the ground grew larger and more detailed. He could have jumped out sooner, perhaps, but his knees were no longer what they were in his youth, regardless of the physical training he'd treated his body to each and every day. He instead waited for the helicopter to meet the ground, landing with a jerk, rather than the smooth landings he'd been used to in his official military days. The pilot of this chopper was apparently...less trained than others. He gave a disapproving glance to the pilot who probably wasn't paying attention to him anyway, and then climbed from the chopper, boots once again home on the ground where they belonged. He was glad to be out of the chopper, but, for the moment, refrained from kissing the dirt.