Nuclear Undead (Book 1): Wake the Dead

by McConnell, N. J.

  The next morning was filled with more of the same monotonous drivel, but to pass the time, I made it a point to learn everything I could about these zombies. Not only by watching YouTube videos that popped up with regularity at the beginning, but are becoming less frequent as time wears on, but also through personal observation. One thing that I figured out through watching out the windows, with the lights turned off of course, is that the creatures never come out during the daytime when it is sunny. This is very interesting. From my vantage point, I can’t see where they are hiding, but they obviously don’t vanish into thin air, so I’m assuming that they are hiding nearby. I haven’t seen anyone else who lives on my street, but I know unless they left, they’re still out there hunting for someone to eat.

  There are a few survivors left on the HAM radio and even if I don’t talk with them, I can still listen to their conversations. As long as I can hear their voices, I know that I’m not totally alone in the world. Of course, that can be good or bad. Sometimes humans are the least humane of all animals.

  Nighttimes are different and I try to just sleep through it, but it’s challenging when you’re also trying to listen for every little sound in case your hiding space becomes compromised and you have to protect yourself or run for your life. I know that Coco has great hearing and will warn me if anything gets inside of the house, but I’d feel better if there was someone else here paying attention as well. I keep getting up in the middle of the night to peek out through the blinds to make sure the house isn’t surrounded. I guess all of this is getting to me.

  It seems that some of the undead are in better condition than others. I suppose it has to do with how badly they were injured during the initial attack, but each of them is covered in blood and entrails which works as a reminder of what they are capable of should I be stupid enough to go outside or open the door to let them in. Right now they haven’t noticed me, but I have to be careful or that could change.

  Dad did his best to prepare me for any situation that I might encounter, but I don’t think that even he ever imagined something like this happening. Even so, he did a great job of showing me how to survive in the real world. This isn’t the so-called “real world” that academics throw in students’ faces, but the blood and guts world where people live and die in an instant because of decisions they make.

  As a young girl who just wanted boys to notice me, I resented the training that took place on the weekends. I would have rather been hanging out with my friends talking about the latest antics pulled by boys in our school or curled up with a good book. Sometimes I even wished I was adopted and my real parents would show up to take me home to our castle in a foreign country. Yeah, I daydream big. Now that I’m older and in this situation, what dad worked to teach me finally makes sense. I’m lucky to be in this family. We come from good genes. Well, most of us. There are still the redneck cousins to consider.

  My granddad fought in the Korean war and my uncle in World War II. Dad fought in the Gulf War, then Afghanistan. Through many decades, my ancestors have continually served our nation. After graduating high school, I chose to take a different path and instead enrolled in the local university. At first I thought that my parents would be disappointed. After all, Dad put a lot of years into training me to fight like a man and although I’m grateful, I wanted a different life. I needed to wear dresses, high heels and makeup instead of combat fatigues.

  When we sat down to dinner the weekend before the first semester began, I carefully broke the news to them and waited for the expected disappointment to show on their faces. Imagine my surprise when they both smiled and winked at each other then walked over and shared a group hug with me. “We knew that you’d make the right decision, Honey,” my mother said through happy tears. “You’ve never disappointed us.”

  Well, that did it. I started blubbering and couldn’t make a legible sentence to say my life. When the hug ended, I didn’t want to let go. Mom reached over and gently wiped the remaining tears from my eyes while Dad kissed my forehead. How could I have possibly thought that they’d be upset? I should have known better.

  “Do you need any money for tuition or books?” Dad asked when I finally pulled myself together.

  “No, I’m good.” I replied with a sense of pride. I’d been working hard at my after school and weekend job for the last three years and saved everything I earned for just this purpose. While other girls in my high school were blowing their cash on manicures and shopping sprees, mine went into the bank to draw interest. I know that my parents would happily give me whatever I need if I ask, but it feels good to do it on my own. I’m a proud woman, I suppose.

  It’s not that paying for my school would have been a hardship for them. Dad has retirement income from the Army, the security firm he owns is extremely successful, and Mom has an antiquarian bookstore in town that seems to have a solid following. It’s hard to explain why I turned the money down, but it’s simply because I wanted the satisfaction of knowing that I did it on my own. It’s as simple as that. Maybe it’s the work ethic that they instilled in me when I was growing up.

  Even before I was old enough to get a paying job, I’d spend the weekends and some of the afternoons at the bookstore helping Mom dust antiques and display rare books on the shelves. There’s something comforting about the smell of old books. It’s like wrapping up in a warm blanket on a chilly night. When the work was done, I’d curl up on the overstuffed love seat in the sitting area of the store, prop a cushion behind my back, and read classics like A Tale of Two Cities, the Odyssey or the Art of War.

  Yes, I know that Little Women would have been on most lists, but I’ve never been able to stomach reading a book about women who accepted they were somehow inferior just because they didn’t have a penis and instead of making their own way in the world were forced to depend on others for help. For centuries women have been unable to get ahead because of forced marriages, the fear of losing everything they owned if they got a divorce and the inability to receive an education or get a job that paid the same as men. It pisses me off to read about that.

  I saw an application for school teachers from back in the 1800s. Schoolmarms weren’t allowed to ride in carriages with anyone but men from her own family. She couldn’t dye her hair and was required to wear two petticoats. She had to stay at home between 8 p.m. and 6:00 a.m. every day unless there was a school function. Both dating and marriage were forbidden. Smoking or hanging out at the ice cream parlor were forbidden as well. In essence, women were nothing but property back then. They had no rights, could own no property and were forced to obey the men because they weren’t considered smart enough to make their own decisions. Recently, there have been politicians who have publicly said that they’d love to see us go back to that time. Of course they would. They’re men.

  I suppose that none of my grand ideological ideas even matter now. Unless things change drastically, money is useless for anything other than kindling and the old rules of society are no longer valid. Heck, those politicians are probably all dead and to be honest, good riddance. They were doing too much damage anyway and the heartless bastards didn’t care if their decisions caused someone to die. Their only loyalties were to the masters who got these puppets elected. When the chips fell and this contagion spread across the globe, did their masters come to their rescue? I seriously doubt it.

  I decided it was time to walk topside and run a security sweep around the entrances to check for tampering. I left Coco in her carrier with her favorite chew toy, then armed myself and soundlessly eased my way upstairs. I opened the door slightly and paused for a few minutes listening and watching for movement to be certain that nothing is nearby, then little by little walked through each room checking the locks on the windows and entrances and in some cases, pushing more furniture up against them. After it was completed, I locked the basement door and then rested my back against it while I stopped to catch my breath to calm down. Just the idea of zombies being on the other side of the walls outs
ide was enough to leave me shaking. I must have stood in that spot without moving for a good ten minutes.

  Coco was so excited to see me return that she was almost vibrating when I let her out of the kennel. After licking my face until it was covered with slobber, she lay her head on my lap and stared into my eyes with her tail thumping wildly. I gave her a kiss on the forehead, scratched her ears and placed my hand on her back until she fell asleep next to me.

  I opened my book back up and read, but my stomach began groaning. I eased up off of the sofa, walked into the kitchen to nuke some leftovers, then brought the food back in the living area to eat. After putting a disc into the DVD player, I sipped on my iced tea and ate slowly, trying to lose myself in the plot. It’s an action movie with copious amounts of firepower and explosions. I was careful to keep the volume turned low, but it’s one of my favorites and although it should have had the opposite effect considering what is happening in the streets of my own city, it helped me to forget the reality that I’m facing for a moment.

  The main characters in the movie are hard-hitting heroes, but they have a vulnerable side and a type of twisted humor that keep me chuckling even as destruction is raining down around them as they shoot their way out of danger. It probably wouldn’t make sense to most people to watch an action adventure flick during a zombie apocalypse, but it was really helping me deal with the stress. Who says that I’m ordinary anyway? I’m not.

  When the movie ended, I spent time pulling my weapons apart and cleaning them, then reloading them. I double checked the items in my bug out bag again and did a quick inventory on the supplies stored in the basement. I also fashioned a shoulder sling bag for Coco to ride in if we have to leave in a hurry out of a blanket that I never use. It’s the safest way to carry her because it will allow my hands to be free to shoot and will still keep her close to me so she’ll feel more secure.

  Even though I feel that I’d made considerable progress in handling the mental trauma of these circumstances and fell asleep quickly tonight, my dreams are filled with the same nightmares of my childhood, but much worse. I finally gave up on getting any rest and went into the living room for a while to read and hopefully get my mind off of the things outside.

  I sipped on some hot chocolate and started reading one my favorite Joshua Guess novels from the Living with the Dead series. I finished Mark Tufo’s Zombie Fallout series earlier this morning. These books are so much better than romance novels. Yeah, the main characters are married and in love with their wives, but it’s not full of the game playing that you find in the cheesy paperbacks.

  Most women seem to enjoy reading books filled with romance, but they make me want to gag. They all center around a smoking hot woman who doesn’t believe she’s really pretty. She’s headstrong with no common sense and throws herself into dangerous situations, so a muscle bound man who is a billionaire playboy werewolf vampire lover has to get her out of trouble repeatedly and she reprimands him for doing it.

  They eventually fall in love and she faces the fact that he’s the man in charge. He realizes that she’s the only woman for him and they marry to live happily forever after. Never read one of those without at least a couple Dramamine and a waste basket nearby in case you need to throw up.

  My grandmother grew up during the time when women were expected to marry a man so they would be taken care of. If you hadn’t walked down the aisle by age thirty, society considered you a spinster and you became a burden on your family. I don’t think that my Nana even learned to drive a car. When my grandfather died, it was extremely difficult for her to adjust to the changes and responsibilities because he always told her not to worry her “pretty little head”. My dad was forced to take over the responsibility of paying her bills and driving her to the store or doctor appointments. She was dependent on other people for nearly everything and although she never complained, I know she hated that. As a child, I learned from her mistake and swore it would never happen to me.

  Mom is an independent woman and my dad is a strong enough man to appreciate her. She’s clever and beautiful. People have always said that Mom could easily have been a fashion model or an actress, but she fell in love with dad and that was that. With the looks and sophistication of Charlize Theron, Mom always draws attention when she steps into a room, yet has the grace to act as if she doesn’t notice. You won’t see a hair out of place on my mother unless she’s working around the house cleaning out a drain pipe or doing some other chore. Yeah, that’s right. My mom wears combat boots and we’re proud of it. She’s a contradiction of expectations and growing up, I wanted to be just like her.

  My parents are madly in love with each other. A rare day goes by when I don’t catch them staring, holding hands or kissing. When I was a young girl, it was embarrassing and I complained profusely about what my friends would say or think, but now I understand that what they have is special and most people will never possess that kind of relationship.

  They met at Mission Bay beach in San Diego. It’s a saltwater lagoon and aquatic park area with sandy beaches and a plethora of fun things for young people to do. Dad was stationed in San Diego with the Army at the time and Mom was there on vacation with her family. The story goes that the first time their eyes met, they knew they were destined to be together. Four months later, they married and a year after that I arrived screaming and kicking into the world. I still haven’t shut up. My sister was born another seven years later. She still hasn’t grown up.

  My sister, Ashley, and I were poles apart in our personalities and whether it’s the age difference or something else, we’ve never had much in common. My sister spends most of her time talking or texting her friends on the cell phone and locking herself in her room. She seems more concerned about school cliques and who has a crush on who than in the larger picture of life. When Mom, Dad and I discuss recent world events, she either rolls her eyes and ignores us or leaves the room and says that we stress her out. I realize that everyone has different things that interest them, but it makes sense to be up to date with what is happening around you. Maybe Ashley will change when she gets older. Of course, now there might not be a choice.

  I miss my sister. Where is my family?

  I read for a while longer until an idea popped into my head. It might be a good idea to set some trip wires throughout the house to warn me if anyone is able to get inside. After all, I’m sleeping when the zombies are awake. I’m a light sleeper, so I’ll probably wake up anyway, but there’s no way to be sure there will be enough time to respond if someone or something breaks into the house. I put Coco back in her carrier and after rearming myself, walked back up the stairs. Not wanting to be seen from the outside, I chose to leave the lights off in the house, but I knew where everything was anyway and a held a small LED flashlight in my hand for close up work.

  Before I left the basement, I gathered some nylon cord from a junk drawer and some silverware. I tied the cord throughout the house in front of all the doors and windows and attached the silverware so that if the wires were touched, the metal would clang together and the noise would be heard down below. If anyone gets past the steel doors, we’ll need a few moments to abandon the house and seconds matter in a situation like this. Early warning can make the difference between life and death.

  Chapter Six

  Farmer in the Dell

  Pete

  “The farmer has to be an optimist or he wouldn't still be a farmer.”

  Will Rogers

  I might have a little frost on top and a few wrinkles scattered here and there, but as the saying goes, you can’t judge a book by its cover. I’ve been lifting hay bales and shoveling manure most of my life, so let’s just say that I have a muscle or two. You can’t be a pansy and keep up with all the work that we do around the farm on a daily basis. Well, I guess you could try, but you wouldn’t get much done.

  Just like every other kid that grew up in a small town, I couldn’t wait to get out of here and sow my wild oats. When my classmates went
off to college, I joined the Marines right out of high school. That decision led to a stint in the corps that transformed me from a snot faced country boy into the man I am today. I’ll always be grateful to the service for what they taught me and who they helped me become. Sure, basic training was one of the hardest things I’ve ever suffered through and I wouldn’t want to go back to do it again for anything, but it toughened me up and taught me what brotherhood and teamwork is all about.

  I met my wife Virginia one night by accident and made one of the worst first impressions ever. I was out bar hopping with a bunch of the jarheads from the base and those of us that hadn’t been lucky enough to hook up with some of the local ladies were heading back to our barracks. To put it bluntly, we were shit faced.

  After veering off of the main highway and driving down the back way, we passed this green 1976 Plymouth Duster with its hood up on the side of the road with the prettiest little angel standing next to it staring guardedly at us as we drove up. Well, we brave Marines weren’t going to leave a sweet little thing like that broken down on the side of the road, so we swerved over to offer our assistance. It didn’t hurt that she was a knock out red head who didn’t seem to have a clue how beautiful she was. You could tell in the way she stood and moved. She really knocked our socks off and it wasn’t just the alcohol talking.

  Well, instead of offering us her undying gratitude for pulling over to help like we expected she would, this little hellion with emerald green eyes who stood barely over five feet and might have weighed a hundred pounds soaking wet tore into us for driving while drunk. Virginia gave us a dressing down that drill sergeants would envy. There was no cussing involved, but by the time she finished chewing us a new one, we were well on the way to sobering up. Somewhere along the line, we even promised that we’d stop hanging out at bars. Heck, we would’ve promised anything just to see her smile. I’ve never in my life seen a woman with a smile like that. I mentioned that she was really pretty, didn’t I?