Life After The Undead (Book 1)
LIFE
AFTER
THE
UNDEAD
By
PEMBROKE
SINCLAIR
Copyright 2011, 2015, 2016 Pembroke Sinclair
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Cover Design by Greg Simanson
Edited by Marisa Chenery
Previously published as
Life After the Undead
, eTreasures, 2011, Booktrope, 2015
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to similarly named places or to persons living or deceased is unintentional.
ISBN-13: 978-1533257925
ISBN-10: 1533257922
Library of Congress Control Number: 2015951539
For Dax. Thanks for always believing in me.
PROLOGUE
I
will
never
understand
peop
les’
fascination
with
the
apocalypse.
Why
would
you
waste
so
much
time
and
energy
worrying
about
something
you
can
’t
change?
Besides,
most
of
the
time,
it
never
comes
to
fruition,
anyway.
Remember
Y2K?
I don’t. I was too young, but I’ve heard stories.
What
a
hullabaloo
that
was.
People
were
so
afraid
of
computers
failing
and
throwing
society
back
into
the
Dark
Ages,
they
stockpiled
supplies
and
moved
into
the
wilderness
so
they
could
get
away
from
technology.
Why
would
they
move
to
the
wilderness?
If
technology
was
going
to
fail,
wouldn
’t
they
be
just
as
safe
in
a
city?
I
guess
they
were
afraid
when
it did,
everyone
would
go
crazy
and
start
killing
each
other.
Either
way,
it
didn’t
happen.
I
wonder
how
those
people
felt
afterward.
Then
there
was
the
whole
2012
scare.
This
one
was
supposedly
based
on
an
ancient
prediction,
so
you
know
it
was
reliable.
Are
you
kidding?
Even
the
Mayans
didn’t
believe
their
own
ancesto
rs’
“vision.”
What
happened
was
there
had
been
a
tablet
that
had
the
Mayan
calendar
carved
into
it.
The
end
was
broken
and
faded,
so
no
one
knew
what
it
said. Our
culture,
being
the
pessimistic
lot
we
are,
automatically
assumed
it
was
an
end-of-the-world
warning
, but,
again,
nothing happened
on
December
21,
2012.
Christmas
came
and
went,
and
I
think
everyone
everywhere,
even
the
skeptics,
had
a
little
something
more
to
be
thankful
for.
Life
went
on as
usual,
and
all
those
doomsayers
faded
into
obscurity.
The
day
the
world
did
end
was
pretty
nondescript. B
y
that I
mean
there
was no
nuclear
explosion
or asteroid
or
monumental
natural
disaster.
There
weren
’t
even
any
horsemen
or
plagues
to
announce
the
end
was
coming.
The
world
ended
fairly quietly.
I
couldn’t
even
give
you
a
date
because
it
happened
at
different
times
depending
on
where
you
were.
It
was
never
predicted,
and
I’m
sure
a
scenario
no
one
even
considered.
Who
really
thinks the
dead
are
going
to rise
from
the
grave
and
destroy
the
majority
of
the
population?
No
one
but
Hollywood,
and
we
all
know
those
are just
movies
, but
that
’s
exactly
what
happened.
Those
of
us
who
survived
were
left wide-
eyed,
mouth
agape,
trying
to
figure
out
what
to
do
next.
There
were
a
few
who
were
able to
pull
their
heads
out
and
organize
those
left
behind.
They
made
sure
the
populace
had
food,
shelter,
and
protection. They
were
saviors,
the
United
State
s’
heroes.
Life
wouldn
’t
have
gone
on
without
them,
and
it
was
pretty
difficult
those
first
few
years
after
the
zompocalypse.
Sometimes
it’s
difficult
for
me
to
remember
what
life
was
like
before
the
rise
of
the
undead.
I
was
a
teenager,
though
I
hesitate
to
say
normal.
I
wasn
’t
deformed
or
anything,
but
my
classmates
thought
I
was
strange.
I
had
a
fascination
with
the
dark,
the
macabre,
although
I
wasn
’t
a
Goth
or
Emo.
I
read
books
and
magazines
about
serial
killers.
I
didn
’t
idolize
them
or
want
to
be
like
them—hell
no—
I
was
fascinated
with
how
evil
and
black
a
human
’s
soul
could
get.
I
wanted
to
be
a
psychologist
and
work
with
the
criminally
insane,
maybe
figure
out
why
they
did
what
they
did.
Apparently,
when
you
’r
e
fifteen,
your
friends
think
you
’r
e
weird
if
you
have
desires
to
help
someone
other
than
yourself.
While
they
were worried
about
becoming
popular
and
getting the
right
boyfriend,
I
tried
to
figure
out
how
to
make
society
better.
Of
course,
those
dreams
will
never
come true. Society
doesn
’t
exist.
Everything
I
once
held
dear
is
gone.
I
lost
my
parents
to
the
horde,
like
a
lot
of
kids.
Unlike
some
of
the
others,
mine
weren
’t
taken
by
surprise
or in
some
freak
accident. They
were
taken
because
of
their
own
stupidity. Some
days
I
miss
them
a
lot,
but
others
I
believe
they
got
what
they
deserved.
I
might
sound
callous
and
uncaring,
but
what
about
them?
Why
would
they
abandon
their
fifteen
-
year
-old
daughter?
It
used
to
keep
me
up
at
night,
trying
to
find
the
answer
to
that
question,
but
I’v
e
given
up
asking
it. No
reason
wasting
time
on
things
that
cou
ld’v
e
or
shou
ld’
ve
been.