The Zombie Zovels (Book 1): Zombie Suburbia

by Lake, D. K

  Lane's locker was right next to my Biology classroom. I waited for Pip which always took a few extra minutes and Lane would always be waiting by his locker, always searching for a book, or looking over his shoulder for his friends. And now he's just admitted he was secretly waiting to see me. I had always wondered what he was doing there, as he always left his locker empty handed. “Which facility were you in?” he asked.

  “I wasn't in a facility?”

  “What? Why not?”

  “I don't want to talk about it.”

  “Where were you?”

  “Lane, drop it. I said I don't want to talk about it.”

  “Alex-”

  “Do I need to shoot you to prove my point?” I said talking over him.

  “You're so hostile,” Lane said, pulling out a different comic book.

  “Being chased by zombies every other day can do that to you. Usually, when I see something on two legs I end up bashing its head in.”

  I stirred the soup, and Lane didn't bring it up again.

  “The facility I was in, it was one of the new builds...”

  Lane decided that if I didn't want to talk then he would do the talking for both of us. “I was there for nearly eleven months, but then some of the military started been reassigned to other areas, outside was falling apart, the disease was spreading and it was getting into the facility, and eventually they started moving some of us. I was on the second transport bus out of there, they moved us to different facility in Oregon. I was there with my parents for another five months before the contamination seeped into the facility again. My mom got sick, then dad... I left with a small group and we made it to a hospital that was still up and running with other survivors and-” “And let me guess the disease started spreading inside the hospital or it got overrun with zombies,” “The second one.”

  “Well, what do you expect, it's the reason I avoid the main towns, the zombies are getting clever, they know we group together in large buildings.”

  “Then I was lucky enough to find a car that was working and I got the hell out of there, then when it ran out of gas I started walking, looking for another safe house facility.”

  “Nowhere is safe.”

  I lifted the saucepan away from the fire and could feel Lane's eyes on me.

  “I'll eat half then you can finish it off.” I grumbled, getting comfortable on the tree log I had claimed as my own.

  I started eating my soup, keeping one eye on the trees around us. Lane appeared oblivious to anything and was too involved in his comic.

  “How long had you really been following me?”

  “From the town.”

  “I dropped my weapon when I was inside that place when I was ambushed by a gazillion zombies, that town was crawling with them like ants. You were either staying in the town, which would have been suicide or you followed me into the town.”

  “I may have seen you before,”

  “Before?”

  “There was a ranch on the outside of town, the one with the overturned horsebox in the front yard.” “Hmm, I remember, it's where I found the soup and my bottled water. From the look of the place, I think the previous owners had stayed there waiting it out. The way the windows had bars on them and the makeshift alarm system made out of cans and tins... You were there?” I asked. “I was asleep in the upstairs closet.” he replied.

  “Is that what that lumping noise upstairs was? I thought it was a zombie so I made a quick exit.” “No, it was me tripping out of the closet. Once I heard the alarm system rattle I thought I had company. I grabbed my rucksack and jumped out the window, climbed around the porch roof, then saw the back of you.”

  “So you didn't think to call out to me? You thought it was a better idea to follow me into town like a creepy stalker?”

  “I didn't know it was you..you. I thought it was some random girl, and I followed her-you thinking she was heading back to some safe house in the town.”

  “That town was anything but safe.”

  “You stole my soup and my bottled water.” he said.

  “No, I didn't. I found them stashed inside the washing machine, I doubt you even checked the washing machine.”

  “The washing machine?”

  “People that plan on staying in their homes get clever about hiding their food, just in case they have visitors, but I think whoever was there was long gone, it looked as though they cleared out in a hurry and took most of it. And if you followed me through town then you saw me get ambushed. Thanks for stepping in to save me,”

  “From the looks of it, you had it covered.”

  “Yes, right up until those screaming demons showed up.”

  Lane shuddered. “Those looked vicious.”

  “That's what I thought, that's why I ran.”

  “You're really good at it.”

  “Good at what?”

  “Killing zombies, you make it look awesome.”

  “You think killing zombies is awesome?”

  “You looked like something from COD.”

  “What?”

  “Call Of Duty. The way you ducked behind cars and ran along the sidewalk diving behind trash cans, and crawling under shit.”

  “Are you making fun of my survival skills?”

  “No, I was just saying,”

  “Well, I didn't know anyone was watching.”

  “You were so quick at it, the way you took one out and moved straight onto the next-” “Lane, can you stop, I'm trying to eat.”

  “You must have killed a lot of zombies,”

  “Still eating,”

  “What's the youngest you've seen?”

  I knew what he was talking about, and it wasn't something I wanted to talk about. I shrugged. “I dunno, five-ish.”

  “Did you, you know,”

  “Why do you want to know?”

  “Just making conversation,”

  “Well, you can stop now.” I said, standing up and walking over to him. “Here, try not to get too many germs on my spoon.”

  Lane didn't even bother to respond to my snarky comment and took the saucepan, lapping up the soup. I took a sip from my bottled water. The last bottle of water I had.

  “Do you have anything to drink?” I asked.

  “Just a Fanta, but it's nearly all gone, and maybe some beer in my bag.”

  I nodded and lovingly held onto my water bottle like it was my most prized possession. “It's okay, I'm not thirsty at the moment.” he said.

  “Filled up on too much river water no doubt.”

  “Cute and funny,” Lane muttered in-between mouthfuls.

  “I can hear you from over here.”

  “How many do you think you've killed?”

  I blew out a breath and placed my bottle back in my bag.

  “How many have you killed?” I asked turning the question back on him.

  He held the saucepan up, scraping every last drop out.

  “Four.” he said.

  “Four?” I repeated.

  “Yes four,” he said again. “Have you forgotten how to count?” he added.

  “Did you mean forty or fourteen hundred, if you did then you're beating me by a mile.” “I meant four.”

  “How are you still alive? Four? Have you been hiding in a hole I don't know about?” “No, I just don't like killing them.”

  “Four... Oh, I get it, you run away every time you come into contact with a zombie.” “It's quicker than killing them.”

  “I thought you would have loved all this blood and gore. I bet you used to play this sort of thing on your Xbox.”

  “Yes, but back then the zombies didn't jump out from the TV and try to eat me.” “Four,” I said again, still amazed by the low number.

  “Okay, so it's not a large number. What's yours then?”

  “I dunno if I want to tell you my zombie-kill-list number.”

  “Zombie-kill-list?”

  “Oh yeah, I have one of those.”

  “What, like fifty?” h
e said.

  “No, more like two hundred and thirty-seven, oh, actually make that two hundred and thirty-nine including those last two.”

  Lane's eyes widened.

  “You're like Xena the Zombie Princess.”

  “Just trying to stay alive.”

  “I don't know how you can do it? Kill them like that,”

  “Because it's either them or me, and I like me more.”

  “It's still hard, though.”

  “They're not people anymore, Lane, they're empty shells. They don't know what they're doing. The only thing they think about is feeding. They don't worry about washing, finding clean water, shaving...” I said, looking at the rough stubble across Lane's jawline. “They don't even care if they only have one shoe on. You can't feel sorry for them because the moment you do you'll start hesitating.”

  Lane rubbed his hand over his face. “I lost my razor,” he said.

  “You can borrow mine in the morning if you want?”

  “You shave?” he asked.

  “Just because I live in the woods with the animals doesn't mean I want to look like one.” “What do you shave?” he asked, licking the saucepan.

  “None of your business.”

  Ugh! Alex, what is wrong with you? First sharing a spoon, now a razor. What next? Clean Undies? “Err... Alex?” Lane had been speaking, but I had zoned out and not been listening. “What do you want me to do with this?” he asked, holding the pan up.

  “Oh, right,” I leaned over and rummaged around in my bag for my bottle of body wash. “Squirt a little of this in it and rinse it out in the river.”

  He took the body wash bottle and looked confused.

  “I'm sorry I left my dishwashing liquid at home.”

  “It's all right. I already licked it clean for you.”

  “If you lick my cutlery once more I'm going to punch you.” I said, standing up and snatching the spoon away before he could lick it again. “Now hurry up and go and clean my saucepan.” I sat back down and carefully tipped a minimal amount of water over the spoon and dried it on a clean T-shirt from my bag. I had no idea whether it helped or not, but I didn't want to wash my spoon in the river.

  Lane came back after a few minutes, shaking the pan around and hitting me with spots of water. “Stop that.”

  “I was air drying it for you,”

  “Not all over me,” I said, yanking it away from him.

  “It's getting dark,” Lane said.

  “No shit,” I mumbled.

  “Are you always this moody?” he asked.

  “Are you always this annoying?” I asked.

  Lane didn't respond and picked up his rucksack. I packed my cooking utensils away, then saw Lane rubbing something across his bottom lip. He stopped when he saw me watching him. “My lips get dry,” he said, holding his hand out to me.

  I gave him a questioning look but didn't hesitate to take it. I glided the ChapStick across my lips and rubbed them together.

  “You better not be infected,” I said, handing it back to him.

  “What else have you got in your bag? Anything useful?”

  Lane brought his rucksack over to the log and opened it up for me to see inside, pulling out random things.

  Deck of cards, dry cereal, numerous packets of gum, comic books, one T-shirt, a corkscrew, and three cans of beer.

  “You don't even have any spare socks,” I said.

  “I used all of them and then threw them away.”

  “Okay, FYI don't throw your socks away until you can replace them. I usually wash mine out in the river. But I've got spares, so I haven't had to do that for awhile.”

  “What's that?” I asked, sticking my hand into his bag, then I realized it wasn't my bag and I didn't know Lane well enough to go through his stuff, so I quickly pulled my hand back out. “It's okay, did you mean this?” He lifted out an extra large meat pounder with a wooden handle and a steel ridge dual head.

  I didn't like the idea of using something so small as a weapon, it meant having to get close to the zombie, something I always avoided. It meant reaching toward a zombie and exposing your hand or arm for a tasty snack. That's why I liked my butcher-knife-stick-thingy, I kept a safe distance and still managed to cause damage by waving it around like a magic wand.

  “Cool!” I said, taking it from him.

  I was still excited to see one. Those were the times we were living in, when a teenager thought a meat pounder was cool.

  “I'm guessing you haven't used this. It looks new,”

  “No, I haven't used it. I wouldn't know what to do with it.”

  “Pound things with it.”

  “I'm not used to pounding things.” he said.

  I couldn't help the small laugh that escaped my lips.

  He looked at me and smiled when he realized what I was thinking.

  “And you think I'm disgusting?” he said.

  “Shut up! Here have your zombie pounder back. You could probably do a lot of damage with that thing, but I like to keep my distance from their teeth.”

  Lane put it back into his bag and shifted some of the contents around inside.

  “Wait, what was that?” I asked, peering in.

  “It's just a map.”

  “What! Let me see,”

  Out of all the things I thought he would be carrying in his bag, a map was not one of them. He passed me the map and I unfolded it. Trying to remember the name of the last town so I could locate where we were.

  “You're here somewhere,” Lane said, pointing.

  “Really? I didn't know I'd walked that far.”

  “Where are you headed?” he asked.

  I thought about it for a moment. I didn't really have a destination. I had been walking in hopes I would find somewhere safe with other humans.

  “I don't really have a destination.”

  “I guess somewhere with lots of guards and guns would be the best destination.” he said. “Hmm, I don't see that on here.” I said, looking up at him.

  “Well, we'll just keep going until we find it.” he said, taking the map from my hands and folding it back up.

  Lane assumed we were staying together. I hadn't decided yet.

  “What now?” he asked, lifting his rucksack onto his back.

  “Now we find somewhere to sleep.” I said, picking up my saucepan.

  “Where are you going?” he called.

  I spun around. “Shhh, I'm just going to get some water.” I whispered loudly.

  I hurried to the edge of the river and walked back with the saucepan full of water and tossed it on the fire. It wasn't a large fire, so it went out easily, then I stomped on the rest.

  “I think if you want to call me for anything we should come up with something else that doesn't involve you shouting.”

  “You just started walking off, I thought you were leaving me.”

  “Yes, of course, I was leavening without my bag.” I pointed to my bag.

  “Can you please whistle or tweet like a bird or something other than shouting next time.” Lane made a funny calling noise like a large bird would make.

  “That any good?” he asked.

  “It's mildly better,” I said, packing my stuff away. “If you need the bathroom, I suggest you go now.”

  Lane looked around at his choices and walked behind a nearby tree. I did the same and met him back by the burned out fire.

  I wedged my weapon under the straps of my messenger bag.

  “You any good at climbing?” I asked, pulling myself up onto a low branch.

  “Only out of windows, remember?” Lane said, leaving his shovel beside the tree and climbing up behind me.

  I was glad he couldn't see the stupid grin on my face. I climbed until I reached a branch which had an identical branch on the other side, and lifted myself up.

  “This looks good, you can take that side.”

  “Are you always this demanding in the bedroom?” He grinned looking up at me, before pulling himself up onto the
other branch.

  “Are you sure this is high enough?”

  “Yes, it's just right.” I said, carefully pulling out the rolled up blanket from my bag. “You have a blanket?” Lane asked, peering around the tree at me.

  “No, it's a napkin. What do you think? And no we're not sharing, there's a tree in the way anyway.” “Can they climb?”

  “No.” I groaned, getting annoyed with all his questions. It was like he had no idea what zombies could or couldn't do.

  I found a branch not too far above my head and hung my bag strap over it.

  “How do you sleep and not fall off?”

  “Take this,” I said, passing the end of the rope to him. “Wrap it around yourself and hand it back to me.”

  “You tie yourself to the tree?”

  “Well, I don't want to fall out of the tree. Do you have a better idea?”

  He passed the rope back to me and I pulled it tight.

  Lane coughed and grunted. “Alex, can't breathe,”

  “Tough luck! I'd rather be uncomfortable all night than fall out and break my leg.” I tied a strong knot, one that wouldn't slip but I would still be able to undo easily. Lane fidgeted and tugged on the rope every few minutes.

  “Lane, quit it! Every time you do that it pulls against my chest.”

  I wrapped my blanket around my legs and pulled my hood over my head, folded my arms across my chest, making myself semi-comfortable.

  The rope finally stopped pulling and I rested my head back against the tree, waiting for nightfall. “What do we do now?” he asked.

  “We sleep,” I replied.

  “But it's early. I'm not even tired.”

  “Well, I am, I've been walking since 7 am.”

  Lane huffed.

  “So not tired,” he whined.

  “Okay, Lane, what do you want to do? We're up a tree and it's going to be pitch black soon, I don't think we can play cards right now.”

  “Do you think if you rubbed yourself in garbage and blood, and waddled down the street with your arms up they'd leave you alone?”

  “Zombies don't waddle with their arms up. This isn't one of those stupid horror movies, this is real life.”

  “Yeah, but did you really think zombies would become real?”

  “I don't think anyone did, otherwise, they would have been better prepared for this.” Lane went quiet and I thought he'd finally given up on pestering me and was trying to go to sleep. I closed my eyes and tried to think about something other than zombies.