The Undead World (Book 2): The Apocalypse Survivors Read online

  I'm not supposed to talk in time out, remember? Ipes said this with pure innocence in his voice.

  "If you're going to be like that, maybe you won't get any soup today," she said with raised eyebrows and the imperious tone of a mother reining like a queen in her own kitchen. The little zebra dropped its beady black eyes down and she nodded, satisfied.

  She then hurried for the soup. It sat in a glass pitcher that mommy had used to make sun tea in. Now it held pine needle soup. The recipe being nothing more that water and chopped up pine needles. She had discovered it by accident, playing tea with Ipes, Todd, and Teddy-the-bear. Though they had all been there, Ipes took credit for the discovery, which was just the usual for him.

  Next to the pitcher was the big spaghetti pot where fifty acorns floated in water that was a thin yellow. She saw that the water would have to be changed soon, but first things first, she grabbed two of the bitter nuts and popped them in her mouth, one going into the pocket of each cheek—like a squirrel.

  That's how she survived. Like an animal. Ipes taught her everything he knew, and for a stuffed zebra wearing a little blue t-shirt that read: Too Cute, he was very wise. She ate like a squirrel and, when she went outside, she moved like a bunny, freezing in place at the first sign of danger, scampering under bushes or beneath cars where the monsters couldn't get her.

  And always she was fast like a cat. Unstinting speed was the remedy when stealth and luck failed her.

  But what helped her the most was she was smart like a zebra. Ipes was always going on about the inherent and unrecognized genius of the zebra, which was funny since he was always getting in trouble. And yet he did teach her things. Once when Mrs. Bennet had treed her like a dog, Ipes had suggested throwing acorns at her for fun. It was hilarious watching them thunk off her noggin or drop into her open mouth, but when Jillybean missed once and the acorn bounced off the Henderson's car to go bopping down the street, Ipes was quick to point out how Mrs. Bennet had gone after the sound.

  Now Jillybean kept marbles in her pocket just in case she needed to distract one of the monsters.

  That particular spring morning, which was the finest she could remember, Jillybean plunked the soup down in the windowsill and stared out at the world with a hunger that pine needle soup wasn't going to satisfy. "Do you know where my backpack is?" she asked Ipes, forgetting that he wasn't supposed to talk in timeout.

  I could help you find it if I wasn't in the corner, he said.

  Jillybean made a noise in her throat. Ipes was the best finder. It couldn't be denied. He knew everything just like daddy. Back before, daddy had known everything while mommy had known how everything was supposed to be. They had been a great combination.

  "Ok, fine,” Jillybean said. “You can come out of timeout. But only if you stop teasing Todd about being slow, and if you help me find my backpack."

  Ipes walked...waddled really, out of the corner, saying, Todd's a turtle and everyone knows he is the slowest thing on four feet.

  "Yeah well, you meant he was slow in the head, and that's just mean."

  If the dunce-cap fits... Ipes started to say but Jillybean's blue eyes went to angry squints and he quickly changed the subject. Your backpack's on the porch where you left it. Are we going scouting some more? I hope we find some cookies. I'm dying for cookies.

  The little girl carried her zebra to the porch and after a cautious minute of gazing all about she bent to get her school bag. It had once been a fancy, brilliant pink that had been the envy of the first grade since it was a Power-Puff backpack, but now it was scuffed and growing tattered. Ipes went in one of the mesh pockets on the side, where he had a good view and could act as look out.

  Jillybean needed all the help she could get. The world was dangerous for a fifty pound girl who didn't know the first thing about weapons or monster fighting. She slipped down the stairs of the porch and crept through the tall grass to the back fence where there were two broken slats. She squeezed through, confident that no monster could ever follow her.

  A kid monster could, Ipes mentioned.

  This stopped her just as she was about to begin the dangerous part of her trek. "Do they have kid monsters?" she asked.

  They have daddy and mommy monsters, so...

  The thought made her stomach go wacky and her downy brows came down in consternation. "I guess there could be kid monsters. I don't ever want to see one, that's for sure." Shaking off the idea she made her way, sly as a fox, through the Gunderson's backyard. She didn't bother with the shabby two-story home; it had been picked over long before. Instead she went along the overgrown bushes that ran nearly to the edge of Highview Drive.

  She'd been in every house on Highview Drive, even the ones across the street. Her destination that morning was the next street over, Springfield Road—a very daring undertaking for such a tiny girl. Springfield was a major road. It was four lanes wide and always had gobs of monsters.

  Like the tiniest commando, Jillybean slunk from bush to tree and then to a parked car and then...

  Monster on your left, hissed Ipes.

  She slunk back behind the car and put both of her hands up, palms facing out, looking for the "L" that would tell her which way left was. Only when she had her sense of direction did she nudge herself high enough to see the monster over the hood of the car; it had once been a policeman, though now its blue uniform was rags across its grey body.

  "Should I chance it?" she asked Ipes. The zombie was turned partially away and it would be fifty-fifty whether she would be seen.

  It's always the ones you don't see that are the most trouble, Ipes told her. Use a magic marble.

  Though she had only a few left, it was a good plan with so many lanes to cross. She took out one of the marbles, kissed it to activate the magic and chucked it as far as she could, hoping that it would land beyond the monster—it didn't.

  Still it was close. The marble struck once behind the monster with a loud glass "clack" sound and then before the monster could turn the marble was past it and bouncing a second time and a third. The sound of the marble on the street was loud in the dead air and, out from the shadows, a few more monsters went after the little glass sphere like dogs chasing a ball.

  Now for the hard part. With her heart whomping in her thin chest, Jillybean darted across the road at full speed, racing for a parked jeep.

  That was close, Ipes said when they were safely across the street and sitting just in front of a fine old two-story home. After only a second she started forward again, but he tapped her on the back. What are you doing? he demanded. Don't go for the front door where everyone can see you.

  He was right of course. If she went that way she would be seen up and down the block, so instead she went around the side to the backdoor.

  Listen first, he warned as she opened the door inch by inch.

  Monsters rarely stayed quiet for very long and in a house it was easy to hear them move or moan, but she knew this already and didn't need to be told for the hundredth time. "You're the one being loud this time," she said, placing her balled fists on her nonexistent hips. "And beside I already...knew...that...what is that smell?" she asked.

  It's food! Ipes cried happily as he wiggled in excitement.

  Someone was cooking meat and the aroma, stretching along the air, was like a magnet. She left the house and hurried across its backyard to a chain link fence and saw another suburban street. Across that was a cookie-cutter home that resembled its neighbors so much that it was like an ant among ants. The two things that set it apart was the black Humvee sitting in its driveway, and the thin trail of smoke turning in the air above the chimney.

  There were three monsters on this street and because of the smell they were moving about restlessly, looking here and there for the source. Jillybean started forward.

  Don't do it, Ipes warned.

  But it was too late. The monsters had their back to the girl and she took off in a sprint across the street, giving in to the desperate need, not only
for food but for people, too. She wasn't like Ipes who could sit with Teddy and Todd the turtle for hours and be happy. A part of her needed actual human interaction.

  This drove her in a sprint—with her backpack bouncing and her legs flying—all the way to the Humvee, where she flattened against its side and then stared, with her eyes bugged, back to see if the monsters had seen her. They hadn't, however they had heard her slapping sneakers and now they turned her way. In a restoration of some sense, she slunk low and used the black vehicle to screen her as she scurried along the side of the house.

  Movement in the house stopped her cold at a window. Going up on her tippy-toes, she peered in and nearly choked on her acorns. There was a man in the house! She had expected exactly that, and still the shock of seeing another human had her in a strange happy panic. It made her chest all a flutter.

  As she watched he ran a hand through his black hair and put on a thick leather coat.

  "He's leaving, Ipes. What should I do?" Ipes did not answer. "Ipes!" she demanded testily. Turning, she made to cast a fierce glance at him for being jealous, because that was the way he was with anything new, however the zebra wasn't in the side pocket where he had been only moments before.

  "Ipes!" she hissed, staring all around at the ground. She then pulled off the pack and dug through it to see if he had climbed into the main pouch. He wasn't there either. Just then she heard the throaty roar of a big engine start. She rushed to the corner not knowing what to do without Ipes there to help her—he always helped with the big decisions.

  Should she flag the man down? Should she continue to hide all by herself? Should she...the questions in her mind stopped cold as she finally saw her friend. The little zebra was sitting in the middle of the street and the Humvee was heading right for him.

  "Ipes!" she cried. Paralyzed with fear for him she could only stand there with her mouth open as the fat, black tires grazed his big zebra nose before turning to speed away.

  Without thinking—her main problem when Ipes wasn't around to help—she dashed to the middle of the street. Thankfully every zombie in the area had oriented on the Humvee and missed completely the little girl scampering low.

  That wasn't too smart, Ipes scolded when she made it back to the safety of the house. First you drop me and forget all about me. Then you risk everything to come get me. You never do that! The monsters won't hurt me, remember?

  "Oh hush," Jillybean said. She didn't like to be told she was wrong, and certainly not by some silly stuffed animal. "Maybe they would've smelled me on you and eaten you thinking you are tasty, which I'm sure you're not...speaking of smell, what is that?"

  It was food.

  The man had cooked something and the smell sent her stomach rumbling like a motor. She hurried to the back door of the place and was happy to find it unlocked. "Oh my gosh!" she said, rushing in, overcome by the odor of cooked food. There, next to the fireplace, was a frying pan; within it were the remains of the man's breakfast. It had been meat of some sort, fried in oil with a touch of teriyaki sauce.

  The little girl spat out the bitter acorns that she had been storing in her cheeks and ate the scraps greedily. The meat was strangely tangy, yet to her starved taste buds it was heaven. The scraps filled Jillybean's tummy nicely, and though it was still only mid-morning, she pulled a large comfortable chair close to the glowing embers in the fireplace and took a nap, curled up like cat.

  Chapter 2

  Ram

  Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

  Victor Ramirez stopped the Humvee in the middle of the street and clicked off the engine so that the silence of the new world clung to him, wrapping itself around the lone man. Though in truth he wasn't completely alone. A corpse, wearing the black rags that had at one time denoted it as a master chef, turned slowly on its spindly grey legs and gazed at the Humvee from sixty yards, its dull mind trying to remember if the vehicle had been there minutes before.

  Sitting completely still, holding a long handled axe, Ram stared back with deep brown eyes until the zombie turned its head—they were easily confused beasts and the fading echo of the Humvee's engine had the thing looking about in uncertainty.

  When it began to shuffle on, Ram scarcely gave it another thought. Instead he flicked his eyes at the shadows beneath the eaves of the colonial houses, He stared hard into the gloom below the tall trees and glanced into the open doors around him; it was in these dark places where the real threat lurked. It was always the ones you didn't see that were the most dangerous. They hung back, skulking like spiders, waiting for the unwary to become their next meal.

  Nothing stirred. Especially not the body lying on the street. It was this, which had stopped him.

  Stepping out of the Humvee, Ram glanced down at it with his hackles up, nervous at first. However when he saw that it was dead beyond any chance at reviving he relaxed. There was a bullet hole, neat as you please, right in the center of its head.

  Another body, face down on the lawn of a brick home drew his attention. With the axe in his right hand and his Beretta in his left he eased toward the house. Using his boot he kicked the body over; again dead and again a perfect shot between the eyes.

  "Hmmm," he said. On a whim Ram entered the house and ghosted around the lower floor, seeing nothing of note but a ball of snot hawked up on a wall.

  The snot was old, maybe a day, maybe two; it was hard to tell in this new world of theirs. Other than the relics of cities and towns and the empty rivers of concrete that had once been highways, the earth was quickly reverting to its pre-human form and the recent activities of men seemed to stand out and linger against the backdrop of nature. Cooking meat could be smelled for miles; cars or gunshots would waft along the air further than any thought possible, at least until it was experienced; and the sight of a person—a real live person was like a lighthouse beacon on a black night.

  Coming north from the CDC, Ram had seen only thirteen people, none of whom had heard the first thing about the killer he hunted. These thirteen had varied in terms of friendliness. Some had come forward, grinning and eager to shake his hand, while others kept their weapons at the ready. All had the same questions:

  Where was the government? Where were people? Where was food? Where was it safe?

  He pointed them south to Atlanta, while they warned him about going further north. They wasted their breath. She had gone north. Cassie. The murderer.

  Outside the little town of Braselton, Georgia, north of the CDC, he had found the Suburban she had stolen after killing Julia. It had been weathered by the winter, yet he had recognized it immediately by all the bullet holes. Three days later, just across the border into South Carolina he discovered where Cassie had squirreled herself away for at least part of the winter: a well constructed barn close to a medium sized farming community.

  It hadn't taken any of his skills in law enforcement to figure out it had been Cassie staying there. In her boredom she had scrawled messages of hate on almost every surface, with his name being one of the most pronounced.

  And now ten days later in the suburbs of Philadelphia he stood eyeing the snot. It was the third hint of humanity that he had come across in the last five days. Had she been here? Was that her shoeprint in dried mud by the front door? Were these her sooty fingerprints on the mantle? The snot on the wall had his gut telling him this was Cassie's handiwork; she had always been casually vulgar, and yet he had no way of really knowing if she'd been here.

  Still it was these faint rumors of her passing that kept him going north, though he had nearly abandoned the search after Washington DC. That city had been a running hell, one that even a demon such as Cassie would not have stomached. If there were humans left in that sad city, they were deep in its brick bowels and perhaps forever lost to the world.

  Philadelphia was different. The zombies weren't nearly as numerous. Ram laid aside his axe and holstered his weapon before pulling out his battered Rand McNally. After marking his present location in red ink, he studied the map an
d its three red Xs, looking for a pattern. Each represented some sort of human activity, and if they all had been made by the same person then that person was clearly searching for something and not trying to bypass the city...but what were they searching for?

  Food? Weapons? A last vestige of humanity? These were what everyone was searching for, which didn't help him at all.

  "If I was Cassie where would I go?" Ram said and then sighed, turning the map. The flat cartoonish nature of it: streets in white, water in blue "other than city" in green, wasn't much help. He decided to get a better lay of the land and tromped up to the second floor where he spied a pull down ladder to an attic. Without thinking anything of it, he gave the hanging rope a sturdy yank.

  The stairs opened like a black mouth and out of it tumbled a pile of human corpses—they had been gnawed down to the bone, with little left but shreds of skin and tissue clinging to the remains. They rained down on him and the smell had him going dizzy.

  “Oh...oh, that’s horrible,” he moaned. Gagging, he almost hurled up his breakfast, however, it was at that moment when the zombie which had done all the gnawing fell down the attic ladder, practically on top of him.

  It had once been the owner of the home; a man with a family, a large mortgage and a ballooning gut. Now it was a sly zombie with only nine teeth left in its dank mouth. Its skin was grey and aged: puckered, wrinkled, and fissured. Its claws, on the other hand, were long and sharp.

  As it fell, it flung out a hand and raked Ram, catching his shirt and shredding it at the neck. “Jesus!” he cried. One hand went to his neck, feeling the skin intact and breathing a sigh of relief, while his other hand casually went to his hip holster and pulled the Beretta housed there.

  He was too casual by half, while the zombie was far quicker than he expected. It looked to have come down in a jumbled heap, however it had landed in a crouch and now it sprung at Ram, who flung himself backwards firing the pistol, running a nasty groove diagonally through the thing’s face from left to right. The burning hunk of lead made a horrible gaping hole, but that didn’t stop the zombie from attacking Ram with everything in its vicious arsenal.