Zombified (Episode 3): Garden Harbor Read Online Free PDF Page A

softly.  She looked pale.
    "I'm sorry, Dana." Matty struggled.  "All of this fucked-up shit is my fault."
    "I don't think you created the zombies, Matty."  She sounded weak; her words slurred and her eyes fluttered.  "It's not anyone's fault… this shit's just all fuhhhh…"
    "Dana?" Matty reached back and nudged her leg.  "Dana!"  She didn't respond; her limp body rolled along the seat and fell on top of Joey. 
    "Fuck me!" Matty rubbed his temple.  "I gotta find somewhere to hold up.  Think, moron, think!"  He ran through possibilities, trying to narrow down the ones farthest away from people.  The wagon made a racket, and he didn't think it would make the trip to Timmons. 
    Six miles later, the answer presented itself on a brown sign with white lettering: "Pawranna Campgrounds, 7 miles".  As long as they didn't draw attention to the area, there should be plenty of space to avoid munchers—at least, that's what Matty hoped. 
    If these fuckers are starving , he thought, they'd have already moved through sparsely populated areas like campgrounds . 
    He pushed the wagon as much as he dared; it shuddered violently, jarring his bones and numbing his ass.  Bits of broken glass bounced and shook on the front seat.
    Reaching back, eyes on the road, Matty felt for Dana's pulse: she lived, but her skin felt cold and clammy.  He felt around and checked Joey's wrist: his heartbeat felt strong and even, but the gash on Joey's head looked swollen and angry.
    Aside from a throbbing welt and bruises, Matty had no significant damage.  How am I walking around unscathed?   All the carnage, death, and gruesome injuries—from Mike's severed fingers to Kayla's mutilation—passed through his mind's eye.  He smiled.  That just means there's something particularly nasty in store for you . 
    A gale of madman laughter broke from his lips and tears erupted, pouring over his filthy cheeks; he cackled and punched the dashboard, mumbling strings of gibberish and snippets of conversation from people he had watched die. 
    "People got a funny way of dying around you!" He blurted out, gripping the wheel and gasping for air.  "What's the body count up to, Matty?"  Holding up fingers, Matty rattled off names of those who had died in his presence: "Kayla, Mike, Dan, JD, Kate, Alex—what's that, six already?"  He stared at the five raised fingers and the thumb on his opposite hand; he raised two more, marking eight people dead.  "Hank and Gigi make eight."
    I should patch them up and then leave .  He looked into the back seat.  Nine and ten , the thought popped in his head. 
    His eyes flicked to the rearview.  "Nine," he said to his reflection.  "No one else but you, got it?" 
    He looked away.  Talking to yourself in the mirror—that's fucking great!         
    Twenty minutes later, the hobbling wagon turned onto a dirt road and weaved through the wooded lanes of Pawranna Campgrounds.  It was eerily quiet.  Matty contemplated going dark, but without headlights his luck was bound to land them in a lake or wrapped around a tree.
    He drove far into the lightless forest—as far as the car would go—and stopped in a secluded campsite surrounded by thick undergrowth and densely packed evergreens.  Matty killed the engine; the wagon rattled and thumped before whimpering out.
    Insects hummed all around and crooked beams of moonlight lanced between drifting branches.  Matty sat, gun in hand, and pressed his forehead to the steering wheel.  He waited for the groaning or cracking of branches; he barely breathed, expecting them to swarm the car.
    There's always somebody here , he thought; but he couldn't recall seeing any campers, tents, or fires while driving down the paths.  Maybe you got lucky .  He laughed aloud and leaned back in the seat.  Yeah, okay!  It's only a matter of time .
    Matty flung the creaking door open and stepped out; the ground felt spongy, like a blanket of pine needles had built up over many