Z-Burbia: A Zombie Novel Read Online Free PDF Page B

houses. Most we have scavenged clean and marked. Some we haven’t. I think about going through the unmarked houses, just to see if we can maybe cut ou r trip short, but Stuart nixes that idea. He thinks Carl has already had Melissa go through them all. He knows where we are heading.
    The dark, blank windows stare at us like the sad portals into the souls that have been lost forever. There is more than just the danger aspect that keeps me from going outside the gate. I hate thinking about the way it was. I hate thinking about all of the people that didn’t make it. I mostly hate thinking that I may have met some of the former occupants of these empty dwellings- and stabbed them through their eyeholes.
    That part bums me the fuck out.
    “You cool?” Jon asks, knowing my tendency towards melancholy. “Not gonna eat the Silver Slugger there, are ya?”
    “That would be a shitty way to kill myself,” I smile. “And I’m fine.”
    “Shhh,” Stuart scolds.
    “Still don’t like this,” Jon whispers. “My gut is all twisted up and shit. This feels wrong.”
    “It always feels wrong,” I say. “Whenever we leave the gate , I feel like I need to take a long, runny shit.”
    Jon laughs, but stops as Stuart turns a death glare on him.
    The road twists and turns for a good mile before we get to the cross street that will take us up into town. We have a good three miles of road to cover before we get to Merrimon Ave, the main artery for North Asheville. And they are a shitty three miles.
    First , we have to get past two churches. The funny thing about Z-Day? It happened on a Sunday. Or at least it became known that it was happening on a Sunday. This meant that many folks were in church when the first real reports came through. And those folks stayed in church to pray and be close to God. Staying put on Z-Day? Not the best idea. One bite became two became four became twelve, and so on and so on.
    Instead of clearing out the church es, teams from Whispering Pines had chained the doors and blockaded the windows. After some time, the Zs that were inside stopped trying to get out. They just gave up and went dormant. At least until they caught a whiff of fresh meat walking by.
    I look to my right, just before we get to the first church (Baptist, of course) and catch movement. It is brief and quick, but I know I’m not imagining it.
    “Hey,” I whisper, getting Stuart and Jon’s attention.
    I point my eyes in the direction I saw the movement. They both look and scan the area, their senses on high alert just like mine. Stuart nods and points. I follow his finger and see the shape semi-hidden behind an oak tree. I take off my bow and nock an arrow, sighting along the shaft at the form.
    Then I see movement behind it , deep in the trees. And more movement behind that. Quick, fast. Not Zs. Not Zs!
    “Stuart,” I whisper.
    “I see them,” he says. “You catching any signs of metal?”
    He’s asking if I think they have firearms.
    “Too far to tell,” I answer.
    “Keep moving?” Jon asks.
    “They haven’t gotten us yet,” Stuart says. “We’ll stay on mission until they engage. I can’t get a clear look at them, so I don’t know if they are hostiles or just curious.”
    I keep my bow aimed at the movement and sidestep along with Jon and Stuart. After a few yards, I don’t see any more movement and I lower my bow, but keep my eyes on the spot. Stuart is scanning the road ahead of us and Jon is looking side to side. It ain’t always about the Zs in the apocalypse. The people, man. The people...
    We pass the church and I can hear the Zs inside, clawing at the doors and windows, their moans echoing through the cracks in the siding. I have to wonder if the people we saw got them worked up. We all keep our eyes on the church, scanning for weak spots that could turn a creepy annoyance into a flood of oncoming death. Best estimate? Close to a hundred parishioners in there.
    We get a quarter mile away before I begin to