Life After the Undead (Book 1 in the Life After the Undead Series)

CHAPTER 2

By the time my parents and I made a plan, it was night. We agreed that whatever we learned from the movies probably wouldn't translate into real life. We talked about all the movies we'd seen and decided the creatures were more like George Romero zombies than 28 Days Later zombies. They didn't move very fast and craved human flesh. Although, we were pretty sure they weren't turned into the undead by space radiation. Other than that, we couldn't make any comparisons. None of us had a chance to study the undead. As if we'd want to. We hoped they could be killed by a shot to the brain or by beheading, but the only way to test our theory was on a zombie. We were all still too scared to poke our heads out the window and start firing.

We figured our best hope would be to get to the nearest military base. On a good day, the closest one was forty-five minutes away, but we had no idea what the roads would be like or how many zombies we'd encounter along the way. We had a 1911 and four rifles, but not that much ammunition. We couldn't stay and wait for help. We had to go find it. We'd stay in the house for the night and start out in the morning.

Dad cautiously lowered the attic stairs and listened. I strained my ears to make sure he didn't miss anything. Nothing. He slowly headed down into the closet and then opened the door. I peered over the edge of the attic as he shone a flashlight into the darkness. The light illuminated our empty house. He signaled for us to follow him, and Mom and I crept down the stairs. Dad's task was to go to the kitchen to grab as many cans of food and bottles of water as he could carry. Mom was in charge of grabbing bedding and extra clothes, and I was to gather ammunition and a bucket to use as a bathroom in the attic. We worked fast. We figured we'd get enough supplies to see us through the night, then we'd gather more before leaving.

It didn't take me long to get my stuff, and after taking them up to the attic, I waited for my parents at the closet door. I had the rifle in hand and waited anxiously, switching my weight from one foot to the other. I heard them rummaging through the house, along with another sound I couldn't place. It was so distant it could have been the wind howling through the trees, but as it drew closer, I realized it was unmistakably human, yet somewhat primal. It sent shivers down my back, and I whispered under my breath for my parents to hurry.

At first, there was only one constant moaning, but soon enough, it was joined by a few more, then a lot more. I didn't know exactly where the sound came from, but it was somewhere in the neighborhood. My parents made it back into the attic when the moaning sounded as if it was at the front door. As Dad pulled up the attic stairs, the sound was muffled but never went away. I popped in my earbuds and cranked the music so the sound was drowned out. I closed my eyes and pretended it was the only sound that existed. Needles by System of a Down was playing when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I opened my eyes and turned. Mom handed me a bowl. I pulled out one earbud and listened. The moaning was still prominent, so I put it back in.

We ate a dinner of cold Spaghetti Os, then Mom and I attempted to fall asleep. It was impossible to get comfortable on my blankets and pillows, and my music was so loud I got a headache. A few times I drifted into sleep and saw Carmen and my neighbor being eaten alive.

At close to three in the morning my batteries died. Groggily, I pulled the buds out of my ears and braced for the moaning. I was surprised when I didn't hear anything and sat up on my makeshift bed.

Mom's soft breathing and Dad's low snores sounded on the other side of the attic. I crawled toward them. They were curled up on the blankets Mom had brought for them, and I wiggled my way between them. They wrapped their arms around me, and we slept for the rest of the night.

***

We woke late the next morning, around ten, and had a quick breakfast of granola bars and water. Dad opened the attic door and surveyed the area before we climbed downstairs. Equipped with duffel bags and backpacks, we loaded up with as much food, water, clothes, and blankets as we could carry. I glanced out the window into the empty streets. The sun shone and it seemed like a normal day, but everything was quiet. Not even a dog barked. My stomach knotted. We couldn't stay in the house. It was a death sentence. So much could happen. The greatest worry was what we'd do if we ran out of food and water. Other things could happen, too. Like the house could catch fire or fill up with zombies. We'd be trapped in the attic and have to endure a slow, painful death. Even those thoughts didn't make me feel any better about venturing out into the open.