Undead Ultra (A Zombie Novel) Read Online Free PDF

first?” I ask. “And what about Brandon? Maybe you should call him, too.”
    “Brandon is deployed in Puerto Rico. There’s no way for me to reach him. Aleisha . . .” He hesitates. “You know how things are between us. She usually won’t answer my calls.”
    Frederico’s daughter has never forgiven him for his years of alcohol and drug abuse. He doesn’t talk about it much, but I never miss the pain in his eyes when he mentions her.
    “I know you guys don’t communicate much, but you should call anyway. Even if you just leave a message. You should warn her to stay home. She might not know about the zombies. Besides, my number will come up on the caller ID. Maybe she’ll answer.”
    “Yeah, okay.” Reluctantly, he dials her number. After a few rings, I hear the automated voicemail service answer.
    “Hey, Aleisha,” Frederico says. “It’s Dad. Look, Kate and I are on our way north. Thought we’d swing by and say hi. Haven’t seen you in a while. There’re, um, I mean, uh, I don’t know if you’ve been watching the news, but there have been . . . meth-head attacks up in your area. Stay inside if you can, okay? Carry one of Du—Dan’s guns, okay?” He disconnects.
    I glance at him in silent, open-mouthed disbelief.
    He hunches his shoulders uncomfortably. “She’s never listened to my advice. Why should she start now? At least if I tell her they’re meth-head attacks, she’ll believe me. She’ll think I’ve gone over the edge if I use the ‘z’ word.”
    Zombies. God, I can’t believe we’re using that word to describe real life.
    I flip on the radio and scroll through the news stations.
    “. . . strange reports of a viral mania sweeping through Portland,” says an announcer. “A listener just sent me a YouTube video of a dog walker attacking an innocent woman on the street. He rips right through the shoulder of her shirt and bites hard enough to draw blood. You can see this disturbing video by googling Cannibal Dog Walker.”
    The station cuts to a commercial.
    “Fuck.” Frederico turns down the volume. “It really could be zombies.”
    “What do you think happened to Carter?” I ask softly, eyes focused on the road. “What about—”
    “Don’t think about it.” Frederico cuts me off. “You have no control over it. All you can do now is get to Arcata.”
    I nod, flying around a corner at eighty-five miles an hour—and slam on the brakes.
    “Shiiit!” My tires squeal against the pavement, sending up a gush of smoke.
    Sprawled in front of us are three Hummer limousines. One has careened into the side of a bluff. The second one has smashed into the first. The third one has spun out and lost a tire.
    When I see the three massive, obnoxious cars barricading the entire road, I know we’re in trouble.
    Hummer limos are a hot topic in the small town of Healdsburg. They ooze luxury and badass in one neat package and are all the rage for tourists when they go wine tasting.
    Residents—myself included—hate them. No, hate is too mild a word. We loathe them. We write letters to the editor extolling their evils. They are agenda points at local city council meetings.
    For starters, they’re obnoxiously large. Around the Plaza, a Hummer limo can literally take up half a city block. Out in the countryside, they clog up the quaint one-lane vineyard roads and back up traffic for miles. Some wineries have gone so far as to ban them from their property.
    So when I see the three wrecked Hummer limos completely blocking the road, I’m pissed off. These assholes are keeping me from my son.
    Then I see the six bloody people with milky white eyes, each of them covered with bite marks and grotesque wounds. Based on their clothing, I’d say they were imported from San Francisco’s financial district. Shiny shoes and Oxford shirts for the men, conservative pencil dresses and pumps for the women. They probably came up here on a team-building excursion.
    As my car tires squeal against the asphalt,