Life After The Undead (Book 1) (2 page)

As I
stare
out
the
passenger
side
window
of
the
semi,
I
’
m
reminded
how
bleak
the
future
has
become.
The
truck
rolls
down
a
once
heavily
traveled
highway
that
has
been
reduced
to
a
cracked
trail.
Gas
stations
and
towns
dotting
the
landscape
have
been
abandoned
and
are
crumpling
into
the
weeds
that
are
taking
them over.
There
are a
few
areas
that
still
resemble
pre-zombie
destruction,
and
these
are
the
military
outposts
set
up
along
the
road,
used
for
protection
and
refueling.
I use
the
term
“military”
loosely
because
there
is
no
formal
military
anymore.
It’s
a
rag-tag
group
of
men
and
women
who
were
lucky
enough
to
get
guns.
I
chuckle
to
myself.
It’s
been
two
years
since
I
was
last out in
the
world,
and
a
lot has
changed
since
then.
I still
remember
the
day
the
zombies
attacked.
It’s
as
clear
as
if
it’d
happened
yesterday.

CHAPTER 1

I sat
on
the
bench,
my
head
bobbing and
feet
tapping
to
Ko
rn’s
Freak
on
a
Leash
as
it
pulsed
through
my
eardrums.
I
mouthed
the
words
until
movement
caught
my
eye,
then
turned.
Carmen
and
her
friends
walked
toward
the
school
bus
stop
where
I
sat.
Carmen
walked
by,
and
for a
moment,
our
gazes
met,
then
she
flipped
her
long,
blonde
hair
and
huffed,
averting
her
gaze
to
the
sky.
I
smiled
and
turned
up
my
iPod.

Carmen
and
I
used
to
be
friends
back
in
grade
school.
She
used
to
be
shy
and
awkward,
like
me,
but
when
we
got
to
Junior
High,
she
broke
out
of
her
shell. She
started
making
new
friends,
ones
who
apparently
weren
’t
as
weird
as
I am.
She
quit
talking
to
me.
I
guess
I
embarrassed
her.
I
called
her
friends
the
Baa-Baa
Twins
because
they
followed
Carmen
mindlessly
and
did
everything
she told
them
to
do
without
question—like
sheep.

I stared
at
my
feet,
which
once
again
tapped
to
the
beat.
Someone
bumped
me.
The
other
students
headed
to the
curb.
Some
of
them
believed
they
had
to
have
the
“right”
seat
on
the
bus,
so
they
wanted
to
be
first
through
the
door.
I
remained
seated.
The
bus
was
a
little
way
down the
block
when
it
stopped.
I slid to
the
edge
of
the
bench
to
look,
turning
down
my
music.

Carmen
stepped
off
the
curb
and
waved.
“Helllooo,”
she
called,
“we
’r
e
down
here.”
She
placed
her
hand
on
her
hip.
“What
are
they
doing?”

I
got
up
from
the
bench
and
stepped
into
the
street.
The
sun
reflected
off
the
bus’
windshield
so
I
couldn’t
see
inside.
I
paused
my
music.
The
only
sound
was
the
idling
of
the
engine.
Suddenly,
the
bus
rocked.
A
thud,
as
if
something
hit
the
ceiling,
echoed
through
the
streets.
All
of
us
froze.
The
doors
slid
open
and
the
bus
driver
stumbled
out,
rolling
onto
his
back
after
he
missed
the
last
step.
He
struggled
to his
feet
and
ran
toward
us.
Two
of
the
students,
I
recognized
them
as
seventh
graders,
got
off
the
bus.
They
almost
fell
down
the
stairs,
and
I
wondered
if
they’d
hurt
their
knees
because
they
didn’t
seem
to
want
to
bend
them.
As
they
stepped
into
the
sunlight,
they
flinched
and
seemed
slightly
confused.
They
turned
to
their
right,
then
to
their
left,
and
when
they
noticed
me
and
the
other
students,
they
moved
forward.
As
they
drew closer, I
noticed
their
eyes
were
bloodshot
with
dark
circles
underneath.
They
both
walked
slowly,
and
one
of
them dragged
his
foot.

I
was
convinced
they’d
injured
themselves.
They
were
on
the
JV
basketball team,
so
they
could
have
fallen
on
the
court,
but
I
couldn
’t
figure
out
why
they
were
getting
off
the
bus.
It
must
have
something
to
do
with
the
sound
I’d
heard.
The
one
who
wasn
’t
dragging
his foot
opened
his
mouth and
let
out
a
low
moan.
A
shiver
ran
down
my
spine.
The
bus
driver
ran into
the
center
of
our
group
and
grabbed
Carmen
by
the shoulders.

“Run!”
he
yelled.

Carmen
pushed
him
away,
mumbling,
“Eww,
don’t
touch
me.”

Baa-Baa
One
stepped
to
her
side
and
whispered
something
I
couldn
’t
hear.
A
look
of disgust
covered
both
their
faces.

He
turned
to
another
boy.
“You
’v
e
got
to
get
out
of
here.”

All
the
kids
stared
at
him.
Was
this
some
kind
of
joke?
A
few
of
them grabbed
their
backpacks
and
headed
away
from
the
bus.
Carmen
watched
the
man,
her
hand
still
on
her hip.

“We
’v
e
got
to
get
to
school,
you
know!”
she
said.

The
driver
took
off
down
the
street,
glancing
only
once
over
his
shoulder.

I stared
after
him
and
then
back
at
the
seventh
graders.
There
was
something
not
right
about
how
they
moved,
something bizarre
about
their
stare.
I
stepped
a
little
to
the
right
so
the
glare
was
off
the
bus’
windshield
and
noticed
what
looked
like
blood
on
the
window.
I pulled
my
earbuds
out
and
grabbed
Carmen
by
the
arm.