Zombie Apocalypse Serial #1 Page 6

  I’ve gone out to complete Bart’s mission myself, taking my Porsche on I-10 through South Texas, riding with the top down, enjoying one final joyride through this soon-to-be dead iteration of the world. This little trip to Houston wasn’t at all part of the plan, but sometimes you have to improvise. I need to find something to do anyway—to keep my mind off the aches in my head. Bart broke my nose and my left cheek in that scuffle. Normally, those injuries would take weeks to heal. Thanks to Team Bruce I expect to be all better by tomorrow.

  I am approaching San Antonio with two items of value in my possession.

  1. A handwritten letter that I composed this morning.

  2. A bottle of water.

  I stop in San Antonio for a quick jaunt on the Riverwalk. Super nice day outside. People are laughing as they have drinks at the café. Teens are strolling together, hand in hand. There’s a group of senior citizens powerwalking in matching jumpsuits.

  I find a black woman in a business suit, standing alone outside the mall. She’s leaning against the railing, gazing into the water. Something about the look in her eyes tells me she’s the one. She looks like a very thoughtful person, someone who would take my item of value and really ponder the implications of it, really give it the time of day.

  And she’s the right age. Late twenties. Curvy hips that have birthed at least one child. No wedding ring. This is a tough lady who will do what it takes to protect her offspring. She’s someone who has a chance.

  I walk up to her. I’m wearing big sunglasses to mask my black eyes and bruised cheeks. My nose is swollen. My lip is cut. Even if she knew who I was, and I expect she doesn’t, she’d never recognize me today.

  “Excuse me,” I say. “This is for you.”

  I hand her the letter.

  “What is it?” she asks, but I have already turned to leave. The letter is long enough that, by the time she finishes it, she won’t be able to come find me. In that letter, I outline for her exactly what’s going to go down over the next week. I tell her it’s going to start as a mysterious illness but quickly get much, much worse. I use the phrase “zombie apocalypse” and tell her to take her loved ones north, staying away from the cities as she goes. “If you don’t have a gun, now would be a good time to get one. There’s a gun show in New Braunfels tomorrow. If you buy a gun there, you don’t have to do the waiting period. Make sure you get lots of ammo.”

  I’ve gifted this woman the thrill of dramatic irony, and a fighting chance. I hope she appreciates it.

  I get back in my car and drive to Houston, going all the way to the airport. I drive around the airport for awhile, looking for the right person to receive my second item of value. I find the bum I’m looking for just off the Essex Freeway, standing at a traffic light at the end of the off-ramp.

  He’s holding a cardboard sign that reads Homeless. Hungry. God Bless.

  I roll down my window and call out to him. “Hey man! Are you thirsty? You want a bottle of water?”

  The bum staggers over to meet me, putting on a good show for the other cars, with a limp that is far too exaggerated to be real. I find myself wondering if this guy’s ever been on the stage.

  “Thank you, Sir,” he says, taking the water. “Might I trouble you for some spare change as well?”

  Might I trouble you…there isn’t a lick of Texan in his voice. Who is this guy? What sequence of events brought him from wherever he came from to this off-ramp just outside George Bush Intercontinental Airport?

  “Yeah, yeah, of course,” I say. I open my wallet and pull out a five dollar bill.

  “Oh, Sir. Thank you so much.”

  “You’re welcome,” I say. “Make sure you drink that water. It’s hot out here today. You’ve got to stay hydrated.”

  “Yes Sir,” he says. “I’ll be sure to drink the whole thing.”

  The light ahead is green and the car behind me is honking now. I’m torn between my desire to watch the bum take the first sip, and my admiration for those stories in which a simple accident sets in motion the larger chain of events. If I leave now, who knows where this story goes next? Maybe this guy takes a drink and brings about the end of the world. Maybe he doesn’t.

  Just as I resolve myself to leave him behind and let fate take over from here, the bum unscrews the lid on the water bottle and takes a big swig.

  “Ahhh…..that’s really good,” he says. “God bless you, Sir.”

  Now multiple cars behind me are honking. I lean my head out the window to smile and wave at all of them.

  “God bless you too,” I say to the bum. “God bless us, every one.”

  END

  Post Novella Q&A with Ivana E. Tyorbrains and Sales Pitch for the Sequel

  Q: Who is Ivana E. Tyorbrains

  A: I am a robot pirate from the 23rd century with a fondness for herbal tea and raw brains.

  Q: How do you know so much about zombies?

  A: In a previous death, I was one.

  Q: What’s the story on Zombie Apocalypse Serial?

  A: Zombie Apocalypse Serial is the ultimate zombie apocalypse epic told as a series of novellas.

  Q: Why a serial? Why not just put it all out there at once?

  A: Zombies have very short attention spans.

  Q: When does the next one come out?

  A: It’s out now. Would you like to read an excerpt?

  Q: Would I? Would I?

  A: Harelip.

  And now….an excerpt from Zombie Apocalypse Serial Book 2…

  At 7:30 in the morning I took the Sequoia down the mountain. I had three cans of gas (both for my use and potentially for bartering), two jugs of water, my GPS, the Colt semi-automatic, one of the Glocks, and a whole lot of ammo.

  I found my way to Highway 75 and headed south to Ketchum, Idaho. I saw my first real-life zombie at 75 and Big Wood Drive. He was meandering aimlessly among the trees.

  I slowed down for a better look. The zombie didn’t walk so much as shuffle. He dragged his left foot on the ground, like it was hurt. He didn’t have his arms out like Night of the Living Dead, but other than that, he was very much the stereotypical picture of a zombie.

  I came to a complete stop and rolled down my window for a clearer look. As soon as the zombie saw my face he became a wholly different being. Snarling and angry, his shuffle turned into a hobbling run. He was coming right at me.

  I stayed in place, letting him take a few steps closer. I was mesmerized by the look on in his eyes. How long could this guy have been dead? A day? A day and a half? Does the body really change that quickly?

  The guy’s face had lost any semblance of living color. In the morning sun, it was a pale shade of gray, a good match to the asphalt ahead of me. His mouth hung open, and some sort of putrid slime was drooling out of it and all over his shirt.

  And his eyes…his eyes were like pearls, glistening and opaque. It seemed like he shouldn’t have been able to see me, what with no pupils or irises.

  I stepped on the gas and watched the zombie fade in my rearview mirror, my eyes so glued to him, my mind so fascinated, that I failed to see the zombie right in front of me until it was too late. Slamming the brakes only slowed the car enough that it didn’t throw him, but rather sucked him right under, his body becoming an instant speedbump.

  Kerchunk kerchunk.

  I slowed to a stop only because my instincts still lived in the past, when you didn’t just run over a human being and drive away. But in my rearview mirror, I watched as this now flatted person pushed himself up, first to his knees, then to his feet, and came after me, as if angry that I had the nerve to run him over.

  If ever I needed a wakeup call as to what I was dealing with, that was it. I stomped on the gas pedal and forced myself to look at the road ahead, rather than the strange abominations behind.

  A minute later, I was in Ketchum, the sort of quaint little mountain town where I might have spent a Memorial Day weekend in my former life. Driving down Main Street, I literally had to hold my legs closed
to keep from wetting myself. The scene was that terrifying.

  At least twenty zombies were roaming the main drag, and all of them turned their attention to me and my car. Were it anything other than Cori’s very life at stake, I would have turned around then and there and headed back for the mountains.

  But I kept it together enough to keep on driving even as the undead charged me from all directions.

  “Fast enough that they can’t catch you, slow enough so you can avoid them,” I said, trying to talk enough courage to myself to keep going. I had the GPS programmed to take me to Sun Valley Drug and Sundries on Washington Avenue. The unit gave an estimated time of arrival at eight fifteen, just two minutes from now. I counted down the numbered streets aloud as I crossed them.

  “10th Avenue,” I said, passing a little girl on my left who got close enough to slap the bumper.

  “9th.” I had to swerve to miss a fat guy who was roaming about with no clothes on.

  “8th…7th…6th.” A huge mob of them stepped out from behind a tree on 6th Avenue, too quick for me to miss them. I plowed right through it, sending one zombie over my roof and another under my tires.

  “Fuck!” I yelled, as I gripped the wheel tight to keep control of the car. I heard something rattling in the back. I had caught something in a rear wheel.

  “Ignore it,” I said to myself, now breathing heavy. “Here’s 5th street. And 4th.”

  My palms were so sweaty it was hard to keep hold of the wheel.

  “Turn right on Sun Valley Road, then turn left on Washington Avenue,” the GPS said in a British lady’s voice.

  I did as she commanded, feeling like I was leaving the main drag of the underworld to go deeper into the bowels of Tartarus. The road ahead was clear of zombies so I floored it. The thumping sound from the rear tires came to a stop and I saw behind me that I’d thrown something loose.

  It was a woman’s severed head, her long blond hair dancing in the wind as it bounced down the road….

  Special thanks to:

  Chris Stenger for once again making the perfect cover for me. Check out all his work at http://stiing.com/

  Rob and Julie for reading the early drafts of the manuscript.

  Kira and Rowan for endless hours of Plants Versus Zombies that fed the need for this story.

  Traff, Yvonne, and Shel for being there whenever I needed to talk zombie.