Jize also hoped that these zombies—or whatever they were—would pass by his relatives. That might mean heading into the gas station, but he would gladly trade his life for theirs. It horrified him to think that way.
Jize waited for an answer on his phone, but the line kept on ringing.
Anxious, he took a peek over the counter to discover a horrific sight: each of the four zombies were smashing the windows of the rental. Instinctively, he jumped up to go and fight the zombies off when his legs suddenly gave out, and he fell to the linoleum floor.
Janice had tackled him.
With a moment to think, he realized he was being stupid, but if there was a chance . . .
“Let me go!” he protested, but she clung on to his legs.
“You can’t help them,” Janice said, “unless you’ve got a powerful gun in your pants.”
“You have no right! What if I do have a gun? I have to do something!”
He continued to struggle, kicking furiously. She let go of his legs. He stood up and looked at the scene.
“Dammit, we have to stay hidden!” Janice said.
The car’s windows were shattered, and each of his three family members were outside the car, prone on the ground. Zombies feasted on their brains.
They were dead—Billy, Jeffrey, and their father, David. It had happened so fast.
And that woman, that cashier, that bitch, had kept him from helping.
Jize turned around, and with his back to the counter, slid down onto his butt, holding his knees to his chest. Anger had given way to angst. He found himself in tears, breathing short, labored breaths, stifling a scream.
Maybe it was a satanic cult. Maybe it was a terrorist attack . . . Maybe it was a zombie apocalypse. All Jize knew was that his son-in-law and two grandchildren were dead—and he was hiding, cowering like a dog. But then, with a new rush of adrenaline, his survival instincts kicked in, and he knew that his only chance was to stay put and hope no attacker found him.
He found he still held the phone. He listened to it. It still rang.
The gondola landed across the road from the strip mall containing the local supermarket, Beaver Park Market. This was Alexander’s destination. He needed to cross the intersection, but on the Northbound side, zombies were attacking several stopped cars. Some cars had doors open, while some had windows shattered, or both. Alexander weaved in and out of the vehicles, careful to avoid the otherwise occupied zombies.
Knowing it would take a few minutes for the posse to arrive and barricade the terrorists inside the city, Marty took the time to change into his uniform.
His phone rang again. In his underwear, Marty answered it.
“Marty.” It was Kevin’s voice, out of breath. “The terrorists came off the gondola before we could defend it.” Kevin was loud, and he spoke quicker than normal for him. “They’re now at the mall across the road.” That was the strip mall anchored by Beaver Park Market, across from the police station.
“Can you defend yourselves? How many are there?”
“A lot. A whole lot. Hundreds. But I think we can, if we shoot to kill.”
There was a pregnant pause. Marty realized Kevin waited for him to say something.
“You do what you have to do.”
“Engage!” Kevin’s voice was now in the background. “Fire at will, but don’t fire unless you can get a clean shot without hitting any innocents. Got that?” A short pause. “Okay, fan out.”
“Marty, there’s more.” Kevin was now talking into the phone. “We’ve got calls coming in. And we can see it, too. Marty, it’s happening all over Beaver Park! They’re attacking everyone they can get their hands on! Everyone! And then . . . oh my god, Marty, you’re not going to believe it . . . “
Another pause. “Out with it!”
“They’re stopping to eat people’s brains!” The deputy’s voice shook as he said that. “You know, like they’re zombies or something. Or like a cult who think they’re zombies.”
Jamie. His son was over at Gerald’s house in Beaver Park. He hoped that Gerald could keep him safe until Marty had an opportunity to retrieve him, but Gerald hadn’t answered Karen’s call. He wanted to rush out and go now, but he had a duty to his county.
What if this were a national cult? What if this was starting all over the country? Or the entire world?
“Karen!” He called out, still in his underwear, phone still on his ear. “Karen, get in here now!”
Karen opened the door. “What is it?”
“Take a shotgun. Load it up and bring Amanda into the basement. Lock yourselves in the bathroom.”
“Jesus! What the hell’s going on—”
But Kevin had started talking again. Marty put up his hand to silence his wife.
“Oh, my god, Marty! The victims seem to be coming back—holy shit, they’ve broken through, they’re heading straight for us!”
Marty faintly heard what happened next. Kevin said, “Fire at will. Repeat, fire at will!” Then gunfire. Marty hoped there wouldn’t be any collateral damage.
“Marty! The guns are having no effect! No effect!” Horrified, Marty thought again about zombies. Was this really happening?
“They’re unarmed, but they’re coming for us!” Kevin said, clearly in pants-crapping mode. “Oh, shit, they’ve broken down the doors! They’re right—”
Marty heard a crackle on the line and then heard Kevin scream.
Chapter Six
Day Six
Jocelyn woke up several times, sometimes during daylight, other times at night, sometimes hot and sweaty under the blankets, other times cold and shivering on top. Vivid, fevered dreams plagued her, though she didn’t remember them. When she awakened, the odor in the room was hideous. Panicking, she sat up and looked around. She had been so disoriented that she had never
