The Zombie Uprising Series: Books One Through Five

by M. A. Robbins

  Griffin planted his tomahawk into the forehead of the other zombie and stepped in front of Devin as the middle-aged man counter-attacked. He didn't have time to recover from his last strike, but managed to push the zombie to the ground.

  Jen turned to Chris. He hadn't made any headway. "Turn it around. Hit it with the pointy end."

  Chris looked at the axe head and groaned. "Of course." He reared back and drove the point into the tank. Fuel trickled out of a small hole.

  "That's it," Jen yelled.

  Chris punctured the tank again, and the trickle became a stream. "Not enough. I've got to get it emptying faster than that."

  Griffin shot the middle-aged zombie, then glanced down the slope. "Better hurry."

  The second wave of zombies was nearly on them. Griffin lined up his sights on the horde climbing the slope and took a lead zombie down. Jen pulled her gun, popped the revolver's cylinder open, and lined up the chamber with the first live round. Griffin's gun boomed again.

  Devin struggled to fight off a man with a bloody stump for an ear. He stumbled backward and fell. Jen shot the top of the zombie's skull off.

  Chris widened the hole in the tank, and fuel gushed out. He backed up. "Let's take cover." A growl from behind got Jen's attention, and Raymond raced in and tackled Chris to the ground. Fuel splashed over them as Chris struggled to get him off. He managed to get up on one knee and keep Raymond's clacking jaws back, but he coughed and sputtered as the fuel poured over him.

  Jen lined up her sights on Raymond's head, but he moved just as she fired, and the round went through his shoulder. Shit. Out of ammo. She dropped the gun and picked up her bat.

  Chris pushed Raymond back and struggled to his feet, but two more zombies attacked.

  "Get out of there," Jen yelled.

  Chris put one zombie in a headlock, but the other jumped on his back and bit into his shoulder. Chris screamed. He grabbed at the zombie on his back and ducked, flipping it over. It landed on its back a couple of feet from Jen.

  Raymond grabbed Chris from behind. A dozen more zombies closed in on him, only a few yards away.

  "Get down there and light it," Chris yelled.

  Jen's head spun. Lighting the fuel would kill Chris. But I have no choice. He's been bitten.

  Raymond jumped on Chris's back, bent his head down, and tore his ear off. Chris reached around, but was unable to grasp him. He screamed and flailed at the zombie.

  Devin threw off another attacker and caved in its head with the pipe. He turned and faced thirty more zombies slipping on the fuel, but nearly up the slope. "Let's go."

  Raymond grabbed Chris's head and turned it toward him. Chris pushed against him, but the zombie drew his face toward its mouth. Jen couldn't see what he did, but it looked like Raymond was kissing Chris on his upper cheek. Chris shrieked and Raymond released him, chewing.

  Chris turned toward Jen, his empty eye socket oozing gore. "Please, Jen!"

  Jen glanced at Raymond as he slurped the last of Chris's optic nerve into his mouth like a strand of spaghetti. Griffin's gun barked, and a hole appeared where Raymond's nose had been. He wobbled, then dropped.

  Two more zombies piled onto Chris. He wailed as they tore into his flesh. "Jeeennnn!"

  Tears streaming down her face, she grabbed her father's arm. "We need to get under cover."

  Her father caved in the face of a bearded zombie. "They're between us and the trailers."

  Most of the zombies had peeled off toward Chris, but nine still raced toward them. "We run through them. Knock 'em over. Like bowling pins."

  Griffin charged down the hill, waving his tomahawk over his head and screaming. Jen pulled her father behind her and darted down the hill after him.

  Griffin swung, and his tomahawk embedded in the lead zombie's temple. It fell, and his weapon went with it. He rammed into another zombie, and it held onto him as they both rolled to the ground.

  Jen aimed for a spot between a man with his neck torn open and a girl with an arm that looked like hamburger. Two steps before they collided, she lowered her shoulder and yelled.

  She propelled the two zombies to the side, but another one was just behind them. She hit it full force, its open gut spraying her with blood and bits of innards. She stumbled, but her father pulled her along and behind the science lab trailer.

  She wiped the gore from her eyes. The fuel had made it several yards past the trailers, but had pooled. "It's not going to the village," her father said. "It's seeping into the ground."

  Griffin pushed himself to his knees, but three zombies piled on him. Griffin bellowed as they stripped the flesh from his arms and neck.

  Jen's hands trembled as she struck the lighter's wheel. Sparks flew, but the wick didn't light.

  She pressed her thumb against the wheel again. "Please light," she whimpered, and spun the wheel.

  A yellow-blue flame appeared on the wick. Jen tossed it at the fuel trail, and it ignited with a whomp. A wall of heat drove her back and seared her skin.

  Seconds later the world shook, throwing Jen and her father to the ground. The trailer tipped towards them, its roof peeling off and flying down the hill. She covered her head with her arms. The trailer wobbled, threatening to crush them, then slammed back down in an upright position. Its windows shattered and sprayed shards of glass on her and her dad.

  Jen removed her arms from her face and brushed off glass. She watched a huge fireball rise in the sky, carrying glowing embers and pieces of debris with it.

  Devin picked Jen up under the arms. "We need to get to the boat. This whole village is going up."

  Pieces of the flaming debris rained down, sparking fires all over the village.

  Jen hugged her father. "Chris." She sobbed. "Even Griffin came through in the end."

  He patted her back. "I know. But you did them a kindness. I would rather someone kill me than live as a monster. Would you do that for me if the time came?"

  Numbness flooded Jen's mind. Kill her own father? She peered into his eyes and saw nothing but sincerity. We're OK and we're getting out of here, so what does it matter? "I will," she murmured. "I promise."

  They held each other for a minute, then Jen let go and wiped her eyes. "Which way?"

  Devin pointed off to the left. "I don't see anything over there."

  She nodded and climbed to the top of the hill, the crackling and popping from the fires echoing in her ears. The sweet stench of burnt flesh hung in the air.

  She glanced back to make sure her dad was still with her. Only a few steps behind, he held his left arm close to his body.

  "What happened? Did you get bit?"

  He put his good hand on her shoulder. "Just a sprain. I'm a little old to be playing zombie slayer."

  She put an arm around him. "Could be a second career."

  He shook his head. "Let's hope not."

  28

  An hour out of Point Wallace, Jen looked back. The smoke column coming from the village looked tiny. The weather had cleared, but the sea remained choppy. Devin guided the eighteen-foot boat south and kept it about a hundred yards offshore.

  Soaked from the waves crashing over the gunwale, Jen shivered and hugged herself. The hot weather did little to warm her when she was splashed with frigid sea water every thirty seconds.

  Devin slumped and almost fell off the bench. Jen put an arm around his shoulder and steadied him.

  "You OK?"

  "Not feeling well."

  She put a hand over his. "Why don't you lie down? I'll take the wheel."

  "Keep it on course," he said, slurring his words.

  She eased him to the floor. "I think I can handle the navigation. Not exactly rocket science."

  He rolled into the fetal position.

  She slid behind the wheel and kept it steady. Her mind raced. How long will it take to get to Wainwright? Do we have enough gas? How the hell will we explain what happened?

  A whole village had gone up in smoke. People were going to demand answers
, and she didn't want to give the ones they had.

  A speck appeared in the sky ahead. It slowly grew larger. Her heart leapt. She recognized the sound, even from a distance. One of her ex-boyfriends had been an Army helicopter pilot and had taken her up in a civilian rental several times.

  The helicopter flew toward them, following the coast. The whup, whup of its blades grew louder. Jen waved and whooped. "Over here. Please."

  The helicopter veered from the coast and approached them, its military markings becoming clearer. A loudspeaker turned on with a squelch and a nasal voice said, "This is the Alaska National Guard. We're here to assist anyone from Point Wallace. Head to shore and we'll pick you up."

  Thank God!

  Jen steered the boat to a rocky beach and ran it aground. The helicopter landed fifty yards away and two soldiers jumped out.

  As she helped her dad out of the boat, he slumped, his full weight on her. It took everything she had to keep from dropping him.

  The soldiers were almost upon them. "We're rescued, Dad. We made it."

  The men stopped short. "Are you OK, ma'am?"

  "Yes. We're so glad to see you."

  The other soldier pointed at her dad. "What about him?"

  She smiled. "My dad. He's not feeling well. Been through a lot."

  The soldiers looked at each other. Something passed between them.

  "If we help him," the first soldier said, "can you make it to the chopper on your own?"

  Jen nodded. "But I need to help my dad."

  "We've got him. Go on." The soldiers moved in and each draped one of her father's arms over their shoulders. "Go ahead. We'll catch up."

  Jen let go of her dad, and the men walked him toward the helicopter, his feet dragging on the ground. She ran ahead, remembering to duck as she approached the spinning blades.

  A soldier with a visored helmet waved her forward. He pointed to a canvas-covered bench. "Sit there. Put on your harness."

  She climbed in and he helped her with the straps. The other two soldiers walked her father up, and the three soldiers lifted him in and strapped him onto the bench across from her. His head still slumped forward. The soldier with the helmet examined him.

  "Is he OK?" she asked.

  He nodded and sidled over to her as the chopper lifted off. "How are you doing?"

  "Tired. Worn out."

  He reached into a bag and pulled out a syringe and a medicine vial. He stuck the needle in the bottle and drew out slightly yellow liquid into the syringe.

  Uneasiness crept into her gut. "What's that?"

  The soldier smiled. "Just something to relax you."

  "I don't need it. I'm OK now that we're getting out of here."

  He nodded at the other soldiers, and they held her down. She struggled. "I don't want it," she screamed. "Stop!"

  There was a sting in her upper arm, then coldness seeped into her veins. The soldier who'd injected her checked her pulse. She already felt droopy.

  He patted her shoulder. "You'll be asleep in another minute or so."

  She wanted to tell him "no," but she couldn't get her mouth to work.

  Her father's hands clenched and unclenched.

  Jen's eyelids grew heavy. Just before she lost consciousness, her father straightened, raised his head, and opened his eyes.

  His yellow eyes.

  When’s the next book coming out?

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  Author’s Notes

  When I first decided to write post-apocalyptic fiction, I thought I’d start with a zombie story, since that was my favorite to read.

  But when I looked at the number of zombie books available, I thought the genre was crowded and my series would get lost in the glut. So I wrote The Tilt which is a non-zombie post-apocalyptic story.

  The Tilt was a great story to explore and write, and I’ll finish the series in the future, but I found there are still a lot of readers out there like me—readers who read a lot of zombie fiction and still want more.

  The result is the story you have just read. And there’s much more coming as the zombie apocalypse strengthens and spreads. You can expect a lot of action, unique new characters, both ally and foe, and plenty of twists and turns.

  Thanks for reading this book, and I hope you join me in this journey through the Zombie Uprising.

  M.A.

  Acknowledgments

  First, I want to thank my wife, Debbie, who puts up with me disappearing into my office for hours at a time. I also always appreciate my critique partners Brooke Hartman, Louise Goulet, Molly Gray, and Tam Linsey.

  This book had a great group of beta readers. Thanks for making the book better: A.M. Ireland, Ellen Engelbrecht, Helen Zawacki, Katie Lee Cook, Leland Lydecker, Maureen R. Meyer, Natalie, Rachel Wagner, Shauna Joesten, ’The real Petrovich’, Vinnyz, and Wayne Tripp.

  My editor, Tamara Blain of A Closer Look Editing, did her usual bang-up job. I’m always amazed at the things she picks up that I missed. Domi of Inspired Cover Designs did a tremendous job on the eye-catching cover.

  Mostly, I’d like to thank you, my readers. I ultimately write these books for you because I am one of you. Every email, review, and rating I get from readers is fuel for writing more books. I don’t take you for granted. You’re an important part of this process.

  The Gauntlet

  Book Two in the Zombie Uprising Series

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Author’s Notes

  Acknowledgments

  Copyright © 2018 by M.A. Robbins

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  To Duane Jones, George Romero’s first zombie-fighting hero.

  1

  Officer Dan Brunell pulled his cruiser into the neatly paved parking lot of the Wasilla Mountain View Funeral Home. The only building in sight, it looked almost idyllic. Surrounded on three sides by birch and fir trees, the building had a front facade that made it look like a homey log cabin.

  Dan stopped beside an Escalade with a short, balding man in a flannel shirt and jeans leaning on it. The man tossed a lit cigarette on the asphalt and ground it under his shoe as Dan strode over.

  "Mr. Greenberg. You report a burglar?"

  Abe Greenberg blew out a cloud of smoke and glanced at the front door of the funeral home. "Sounds like it. I came in to pick up some papers, and before I could unlock the door, I heard a crash from inside. I waited, and there were more noises. Sounded like someone was tearing the place apart. They were loudest in the back."

  Dan frowned and hitched his belt up. "And there's no one else in there?"

  Greenberg shrugged. "No one alive. Just one client in the back who arrived today. Did you know One-Eyed Jack?"

 
"That skinny old guy with a patch over an eye? The bartender at the Loon?"

  Greenberg nodded. "The same. I already opened him up and did initial prep, so he damn sure ain't wandering around in there."

  Dan sighed and keyed the microphone attached to his shoulder. "Base, this is Officer Brunell. Made contact with the owner. I'm going to do an interior check."

  "Roger. Need backup?"

  Dan hesitated. His shift was over in a couple of hours, and his flight to Florida with Wendy and the kids was an hour and a half after that. He calculated how long he'd wait for backup, just to rouse some homeless guy who'd found an unlocked window. "No backup at this time."

  "Roger. Make sure you check in at fifteen-minute intervals."

  "Roger that." Dan held a hand out. "Keys."

  Greenberg pulled a set of keys out of his pocket and dropped them in Dan's hand. "The square gold one fits the front and back doors."

  Dan nodded. "You stay here. I'll get this guy out of your place. Won't take but a couple of minutes."

  Dan walked to his cruiser and unlocked the shotgun mount. No need to take chances. The homeless guy could also be a meth head. He jacked a shell into the chamber and strode to the front door. Pausing, he pressed his ear against it. Nothing.