Zoey and the Zombies (A Mondamin Court Adventure)

Chapter Seven #2

Des Moines, Iowa

Ethan woke to find his father dressed in fatigues. He was stalking around the house, packing a duffel bag. Mom was dressed too, sitting on the couch with tears in her eyes.

"What's going on?" Ethan asked. He felt foolish standing there in his pajamas while they were both dressed. Should he go back and dress first? But it looked like Dad would be packed and gone before then.

"Been called up," Dad said in a clipped, unreadable tone.

Ethan stared at him.

Dad came over and put a hand on his shoulder. "You're the man of the house while I'm gone," he said, staring hard into Ethan's eyes.

"Yes, sir," Ethan replied.

"Ryan," his mom snapped. "Don't put that on the poor boy."

"Listen to your mother," Dad added.

"Of course, sir."

"Good boy," his dad said and turned away. He finished packing his duffel bag and threw it over his shoulder. "I love you," he said to Mom, giving her a kiss. He turned to Ethan one last time. "And I love you too, son. And your sisters. Tell them. And watch over them, okay?"

Ethan nodded, and his dad walked out the door.

######

Zoey looked up at the sound of footsteps on the front porch. She closed the book she was reading and went to the door. She opened it just as Jack was lifting his hand to knock.

He was dressed in jeans and a gray T-shirt, but Zoey noticed he was wearing a wide nylon belt like the police used, and he had a gun in the holster on his right hip.

He coughed nervously as his eyes took her in. Zoey blushed but refused to look away or give any other sign that the attention bothered her. She was wearing a lavender top that came to mid-thigh and pink tights. The outfit was pulled together with a belt of gold medallions. Any girl my age would wear something like this, and I am a girl, whatever they all think.

"Good morning," Jack said after a pause. "Umm, is your mother around?"

"She's out back. Is there anything I can help you with?"

"You've seen the news, I assume."

Zoey shook her head. "No, we don't watch much TV."

Jack looked taken aback.

"Well, hello, Mr. Haverford," Lydia's voice said from behind Zoey. Both of them turned. Wearing a long skirt and tank top, Mom set a metal bucket on the table. "I was just out back milking the goats. To what do we owe the honor?"

"Just call me Jack," he said. "Umm, milking your goats?"

"That's why I keep them. They're pygmy dairy goats," Mom said. "We have seven at the moment, my billy, three nannies and their young'uns. Would you care for some goat's milk?"

Jack chuckled and shook his head. "No, thanks. I was just wondering . . . I'm calling a meeting of the entire neighborhood this evening. Only I don't have much room, not enough for everyone. I thought maybe you would be gracious enough to host."

"Of course, no problem. But do you think that many will come to a neighborhood meeting? We didn't have a third at the last meeting, and that was the best showing we've ever had."

Jack paused, studying her closely. "Zoey says you've not seen the news today?"

"No, why?"

For a moment, he looked on the verge of giving an explanation, but instead he nodded in the direction of the TV. "Just . . . you'd better turn it on. And yes, everyone will be at the meeting. I'm sure of it."

As soon as Jack left, Zoey found the remote and turned on the TV. She thought she would have to search for a news channel, but it appeared that every single network had been interrupted.

Mom stood next to her. Together they stared in mute horror. The news showed a police dashboard cam. A woman ran into view, followed by a man. The man grabbed her and sank his teeth into her shoulder.

The police officer appeared in the left corner of the screen. The audio was dimmed, but they could just hear his shouting over the woman's screams. His gun was out. He fired three shots into the attacker.

The only effect it had was to make the man drop the woman and fix the police officer with a malevolent stare. He began to stagger toward the officer when the officer's partner appeared from the other side, with a shotgun. He rushed the man, jamming the gun directly into the back of his head and firing. The man pitched forward.

The scene broke back to the newsroom. The ticker read "Zombies in Miami," and the newscaster explained that authorities had confirmed early this morning the existence of some new infection, an infection causing the dead to apparently rise and attack the living.

They emphasized over and over that the infection appeared to only be spread from person to person through direct contact—a bite or scratch. The CDC had declared a quarantine over South Florida. No traffic was being allowed in or out. The government was setting up facilities for citizens fleeing the area. The CDC was cautiously optimistic that they had caught this new virus in time.

The news for those trapped in southern Miami, the epicenter of the outbreak, was dire. Panic was everywhere. Rioting had been going on most of the morning, people attacking each other at the slightest hint that one might be infected. Thousands had been killed, and no one knew for sure how many infected there actually were.