Life After The Undead (Book 1) (4 page)

“Young
lady,
I’m
not
going through
this
again.
Get
your
butt
into
the
car
right
now.”
Mom
moved
to
grab
my
arm,
but
a
pounding
at
the
door
interrupted
her.
“Who
could
that
be?”

Mom
glanced
out
the
window
before
unlocking
the
deadbolt
and
opening
the
door.
Dad
came
flying
into
the
house
and
slammed
it
behind
him.
He
bumped
into
his
wife,
and
she
landed
on
her
side.

“Charlie,
watch
it!”

He
turned
and
noticed
her on
the
floor.

“Laura,
I’m
sorry.”
He
placed
his
hands
under
her
arms
and
pulled
her
up.
“Where
’s
Krista?”

“I’m
right
here,
Dad.”

He
breathed
a
sigh.
“Get
upstairs.
Both
of
you.”

Mom
stared
at
him.
“Charlie,
what
in
the
world
is
going
on?” she
asked.

“I
don’t
know.
Just
get
upstairs!”

The
panic
in
Dad
’s
voice
caused
me
to
take
the
stairs
two
at a
time.
Both of
them
were
right
behind
me,
and
we
went
into
the
master
bedroom. Dad
locked
the
door
behind
us. He
went
to
the
closet
and
grabbed
his
1911
pistol
and
two
rifles,
which
he
handed
to
Mom
and
me.

Mom
stared
at
him,
wild-eyed. “Will you
please
tell
me
what
is
going on?”

I
cradled the
weapon
against
my
chest
and
stared
at
him.

“I
don’t
know,”
he
said.
“I
was
on
my
way
to
work
and
stopped
at
a
red
light.
I
noticed
some
people
on
the
sidewalk,
walking
really
slowly
as if they
were
drunk,
and
they
attacked
the
people
in
the
car
in
front
of
me.
They
reached
through
the
open
window
and
bit
them.
There
was
blood
everywhere.
I
would
have
helped,
but
a
group
of
them
converged
on
my
car. I
got
out
of
there
and
hurried
home
as
fast
as
I
could.”

“Tha
t’s
what
happened
to
Carmen,”
I
whispered.

Mom
pursed
her
lips
and
stared from
Dad
to
me
before
shoving
the
gun
into
her
husband
’s
arms.
“Do
you
two
really
think
I’m
an
idiot?
I
hate
it
when
you
get
together
and
try
to
prank
me.”

“Laura,
I’m
serious.”

“Mom,
really,
something
is
going
on.”

She
rolled
her
eyes
and
headed
for
the
door.
“Fine.
You
two
play
your
little
game,
but
I
have
to
go
to
work.
Charlie,
make
sure
Krista
gets
to
school.”
She
flipped
the
lock
and
flung
open
the
door.

Normally,
Mom
would
have
been
correct
in
her
assumption.
Dad
and
I
loved
to
play
tricks.
They
were
usually
harmless—ice
cubes
with
flies
in
them,
replacing
the
regular
coffee
with
decaf,
or
putting
colored
Vaseline
in
the
jelly
jar. There
was
one
time
we
pulled a
really
bad
one.
Dad
and
I
were
goofing
around
in
the
front
yard,
whacking
rocks
with
a
stick,
pretending
to
be
golfing,
and
one
of
them broke
the
window
next
to
the
door.
Dad
thought
it
would
be
fun
if
we
made
it look
as if
someone
broke
in
and
killed
us,
so
we
poured
some
fake
blood
on
the
floor.
We
hid
in
the
closet
and
waited
for
Mom
to
get
home.
She
freaked
when
she
walked
in.
We
stopped
her
before
she
called
9-1-1,
but
she
didn
’t
talk
to
us
for
two
days.

As
we
cowered
in the
room, I
wished
I
’d
never
pulled
any
pranks
on
Mom.
She
never
really
trusted
us
after
we
pretended
to
be
dead.
Dad
lunged
after
her,
but
she
was
already
half
way
down the
stairs.
I
watched
from
the
top
as
he
intercepted
her before
she
made
it
into
the
garage.

“Laura,
please,
this
is
not
a
joke.”
He
grabbed
her
arm
and
tried
to
get
her
to stay
in
the
house.

She
wiggled
out
of
his
grasp. “Charlie,
seriously.
This
has
gone
on
long
enough.”

Dad
stuffed
the
pistol
into
his belt
and
grabbed
Mom
around
the
waist,
flinging
her
over
his
shoulder.
She kicked
and
screamed,
but
he
wrestled
her up
the
stairs
and
back
into
the
bedroom.
I locked
the
door
behind
them, watching
as
Dad
tossed
Mom
onto the
bed.

Mom’s
face
was
red
and
her
jaw
clenched.
“I
swear
to god,
Charlie.”

A
scream from
outside
interrupted
her
threat.

The
three
of
us
went
to
the
window
and
looked
out.
A
neighbor,
who
lived
three
houses
away,
ran
down
the
street
in
her
robe.
She
had
on
one
slipper
and
half
her
hair
was
curled.
Blood
dripped
from
her
arm
and
the
back
of
her
leg. Three
others
behind
her
walked
in the
same
slow,
jerky
manner
the
seventh
graders
had.
She
screamed
again.