Xombies: Apocalypso Read Online Free PDF

could only grow as long as there were mortal human beings to inoculate. Otherwise, those “undecideds” would likely die and be lost forever. Thus it was crucial to find such people and save them … even from themselves.
    Easier said than done. Our loved ones had scattered along with the rest of humankind. And as the survivors dwindled, the feral Xombies moved on as well, leaving the coasts and migrating inland, heading west and south as if driven by some powerful compulsion. We denizens of the boat felt this, too, this need to move on. Some simply left and never returned.
    Home was elsewhere, a sanctuary beyond our reckoning. There were no words for it. The nearest thing was love, an emotion we had all but forgotten and knew only through its absence—a vague residual ache in hearts that had long since ceased to beat.
    Flashes of remembrance struck me like electric shocks, that familiar sad face looming out of the mist. Come on in, Sillybean, the water’s fine. The past reaching out its long-fingered hand to stroke my cheek.
    Just a dream, I reminded myself, as I suddenly found myself sitting at a table overlooking a ballroom floor. The band was playing “Hey Jude,” and the moment was rich with the luster of its own impermanence. Moments were priceless when you knew they were finite. That hand, that face.
    It was my mother. It was our last Christmas Eve, and Mummy had heard of a fancy dress ball at the Biltmore Hotel. Come on, sourpuss! Better than moping at home! So we assembled our best outfits and traipsed to the high-priced citadel that was the Biltmore … only to be stopped cold by the admission charge: forty-five dollars a person.
    I was furious—it was so typical of my mother, so typical I didn’t bother whining about it because I knew perfectly well that that ninety dollars would wipe us out for the rest of the month. There was just no way.
    We retreated in shame under the sneering noses of doormen and parking attendants and waiting hoi polloi. Well! What do you want to do now? Mummy asked. Her jaunty game face was painful to behold. I don’t care, I said. Resplendently tacky in our party dresses, we walked to a coffee shop. It was a grubby, forlorn place, and as I sat there with my mother amid the homeless and other beat-down human refuse of the season, I thought, Our natural habitat. I raised the cracked vinyl menu like a shield. Six ounces of USDA Choice Sirloin, grilled to perfection and served with your choice of—
    Hey.
    Mummy hadn’t touched her menu. She was looking at me with that light in her eyes.
    What?
    Let’s go.
    Where?
    Back. Up there.
    We can’t afford it.
    Oh pooh. We’ll figure that out later. Let’s just go.
    Really?
    Come on!
    We fled the dive, running back to the hotel, trailing laughter and flouncing satin.
    Winded, we entered the ballroom. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, all dim-lit opulence, with candles and tuxedoes and tall windows overlooking the city. We were shown a table, and treated as if we belonged in such society. My mother was clearly at ease, having assumed a poise I had never seen before, navigating the etiquette traps with perfect confidence. We ate dinner, prime rib, then sat for a long time, just breathing it all in, watching people dance. The band was good, and when the piano player struck up a cabaret rendition of “Hey Jude,” my mother stood up and reached out her hand and said, Let’s dance . I had never danced before, but I was caught up in it, trusting that the need to believe was enough.
    And it was.
     
    This is it.
    I waited until all the others were ashore before I left the bridge. It was the first time I had ever been alone on the submarine, and I listened to the foam-padded silence with something like worry.
    Could it be possible to live again? I was afraid to find out. To abandon the boat was to put hope to the test—and if hope failed, what then? All that was left was to give up. Give up all trace of the girl I once was; shed