Zomb-Pocalypse Read Online Free PDF Page A

speaks.
    “Do you think anyone’s home?” I ask, worry gnawing my stomach at the thought of getting out of this car with all the undead freaks running around and, also, a little bit because I don’t want to break and enter.
    There’s an old, rusted-out pickup truck parked near the house, but it doesn’t really look like it runs. We decide that it might have been left behind.
    I grip the golf club that hasn’t left my side since this morning, and Megan pulls a tire iron out from beside the door. They are both pretty tough weapons, but, in the face of zombies, they feel like toys.
    “Let’s go,” Megan says before throwing open her door.
    I take a deep breath and slowly ease open my own door. It makes a squeaking sound that almost has me jumping out of my skin. I feel even more conspicuous—like every zombie within a hundred miles must have heard it. I can’t shake the feeling that, any minute, a zombie is going to reach out from underneath the car and grab my ankles. I move away from the vehicle pretty quickly.
    We walk up the rickety wooden steps that lead to the house, and Megan puts her hand on the door knob.
    “Wait!” I say in terror, and she looks at me expectantly.
    “We should knock first. If there’s anyone alive in there, they’ll come to the door…if there’s anyone dead, they’ll come to the door too, and we’ll be able to see what we’re dealing with.”
    Megan looks impressed. “That’s a good idea,” she raises her hand and raps on the door.
    I turn around and look behind us to make sure no one is sneaking up on us, even though sneaking doesn’t really seem like a zombie’s style.
    The house stands silent. After ten minutes of waiting, neither of us barely breathing, Megan finally turns the knob. We gently push the door open, poised for an attack. The house doesn’t smell like anyone dead has been inside, but we are still cautious as we enter into what looks like a room to store your boots and coats. Megan shuts the door behind us, and I turn and look at her in horror.
    “We don’t want anyone following us in,” she reasons.
    I nod, that makes sense, even though the idea of being trapped inside this house with zombies is equally as terrifying. The house is bathed in darkness and my hand is sweating on the golf club like crazy; I’m actually scared I’ll drop it.
    “I wish we had a flashlight,” I mutter to no one in particular.
    “That’s just one more reason why finding supplies is so important,” Megan reminds me before whispering, “Let’s go.”
    I nod, but then feel a bit dumb because it’s so dark that she can’t possibly see me. We creep towards the doorway where a bit more light is shining in from some windows. It’s the kitchen. There is a cardboard box sitting on the counter, hastily half-packed. I stare at it, like it’s going to come alive and bite me.
    “Why did they leave all their food?” I ask in confusion.
    Megan shrugs. “Maybe they had to get out in a hurry?” she suggests.
    I walk slowly over to the food and take a peek inside, it’s half full of canned goods and some homemade stuff in jars.
    “We should keep looking, make sure this house doesn’t have any zombies, and get out of here.” Megan whispers, coming up beside me to peek in the box.
    “The house is clear,” a male voice says from the doorway.
    Megan and I both jump. We whirl around to find a guy leaning casually against the doorway. He has a gun in his hand, but it’s pointed at the ground, not at us.
    I see Megan take on a fighting stance with her tire iron, swinging it back like a bat, and I do the same.
    “What do you want?” Megan demands.
    The guy shrugs, “Same as you probably. My truck ran out of gas, and I stopped to see what I could find.”
    He’s tall and well built, with sandy blond hair that’s been buzzed short. He kind of looks like he is military by the way he holds himself. He’s wearing a pair of ill-fitting jeans and a shirt that is a bit too small but