Zombies Ate My Neighbors, Family & Friends (Book 1) Read online

  A Peek at What’s Inside:

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Zombies Ate My Neighbors, Friends & Relatives

  Now What?!

  Zombie Apocalypse Z Series – Book 1: The First Wave

  J. D. Chambliss

  This is the first part of a three part serialized novel titled: Zombies Ate My Neighbors, Friends & Relatives – Now What? If you've enjoyed this part, feel free to purchase the entire series in Megabook at a discount price.

  Published by Global Grafx Press, LLC. © 2013

  Copyright © 2013 by J. D. Chambliss

  All Rights Reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including scanning, photocopying, or otherwise without prior written permission of the copyright holder, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

  OTHER BOOKS BY J. D. CHAMBLISS

  Zombies Ate My Neighbors! Now What? Book 1

  Zombies Ate My Neighbors! Now What? – Book 2

  Zombies Ate My Neighbors! Now What? – Book 3

  SAVE BIG * Grab the Entire Zombies Ate My Neighbors! Now What? Series (All Three Books) TODAY

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  A Peek at What’s Inside:

  “Anyone in here?” He asked as he flipped on the lights. There was a slight buzz as they illuminated one by one, flickering to life as if they'd been dormant for weeks.

  “Yeah,” A weak voice replied from the last stall.

  “You alright?” Jack asked.

  “Yeah,” The voice said in the same tone.

  Jack left the light on and returned to the fireguard desk. “One in the latrine,” He muttered, recording it in the fire guard log. At this point, he noticed that the other guard was missing.

  “Hey,” He said, looking around “Where the hell did you go?”

  Jack pushed the chair back, hearing it skid across the tile floor, another noise that would echo through the bay. On the desk there was a courtesy flashlight, military issue, angled, and equipped with a red lens. He grabbed it and pushed the power button on the side, shining it into the bay. The light flooded the darkened bay in a red hue, laying neatly across the other fireguard who appeared to be staggering between bunks.

  “Hey,” Jack hissed. “Hey asshole, I already counted!”

  The soldier did not seem to be listening. Instead, he continued to stagger through the bay, even going so far as to bounce off a wall locker.

  “What the shit,” he muttered as he walked after the stumbling solider. “Hey!”

  He saw the soldier wander to the other side of the bay, so he quickly cut between bunks, prepared to head the soldier off. At this point he was simply in no mood. He ran in front of his fire guard partner and shined the light directly into his face. He immediately recoiled, something was terribly wrong. The soldier's eyes were black, onyx, and his mouth was steadily excreting a white foam. Jack cocked his head slightly, and then it happened. The soldier lunged at him, though not very efficiently. Jack was able to dodge the attack, and watched the soldier move right past him.

  “What the hell?” Jack demanded. All around him he heard blankets being shuffled, and feet hitting the floor. He shined the light around the bay, and his heart skipped a beat. They all had the exact same eyes, every single one of them. “Are you shitting me?”

  Jack immediately turned toward the front of the bay, vaulting over the soldier he'd just knocked down.

  “Okay,” Jack said. “I'm not looking for any trouble, I just...yeah no.”

  He bolted to the left, opening the fire escape door and darted toward the stairs. A quick inspection of the drill pad below showed that there were no soldiers or drill sergeants present, so he darted down the stairs and to the left, toward the armory. Though the Army had issued all soldiers an M-4, rifle, they had not been considerate enough to issue live ammunition. Unfortunately, the door to the armory was locked, and quite securely.

  He pounded his fist against the painted red door and ran toward the parking lot, a mere hundred yards from the armory, and within his direct line of sight. As he ran, he could make out the sound of growling from the upper floors. He stopped mid-run and turned back toward the CQ, which was inset to the rear wall, and equipped with a plate glass door. With any luck, a drill sergeant would be stationed there, and with any more luck, he would be a normal human being.

  Jack ran to the glass door and pulled it open, rushing into the brightly lit CQ office. He turned to the right, ran down a narrow hallway, entering the commander's office, which stood directly opposite the first sergeant's office. Inside he found the second lieutenant that had been assigned to the battery. Rather than sitting at the CQ desk, he seemed to be fumbling with a pistol.

  “Sir,” Jack said. “Private Frost reporting!”

  “Save it kid,” The lieutenant muttered. “I have a family, and you probably do too. I'm not sticking around to deal with this.”

  “You're leaving us here?!”

  “From what I hear on the net, there aren't many people left to leave. Welcome to the zombie apocalypse, dumb ass.”

  The lieutenant looked up at him, sighed and reached into the top desk drawer and pulled out a rifle magazine, which he slid across the table.

  “60 rounds private, try not to use them all up. Get off this base and get home. If you get trapped, be sure and shoot yourself in the head. Good luck.”

  “Wait! How do you know I should shoot myself in the head?” The lieutenant was stuffing things in his government issue, tan knapsack. He almost laughed at the question, “Haven’t you ever watched The Walking Dead?”

  “No,” Frost hesitated. “I haven’t had time to watch much television.”

  The lieutenant eyed him with a mixture of exasperation and pity. “Just trust me, if they trap you, shoot yourself in the head. You’ll be completely dead and won’t turn if your brains are fried.”

  With that, the lieutenant was gone, leaving Jack to stand in the CQ office with nothing but an M4, a magazine, and a lot of questions.

  “Wouldn't it have been better to stick together?” Jack shouted to an empty office. Zombie apocalypse? Shit, now what?

  Chapter 1

  Hey folks, this is KHLA Radio once again bringing you the best news, music, and whatever the hell else we can think of on short notice. Today is Wednesday, May 15, skies are clear, and it looks to be a sunny day! For all your parents with a day off, head to the beach, kick, back, relax, and listen to KHLA Radio!

  Light was just beginning to creep through a slit in Ross's blackout curtains. It was morning, and the clock said 7:15 AM, giving a red, glowing reminder of just how little time was left before children, teenagers, and adults all over the town would be leaving their homes, amped up on coffee and heading toward the school. It was Wednesday, May 15, 2019. In the next five minutes, the bedside alarm would sound, signaling that it was time to climb out of bed. Ross had been awake all night already and was simply waiting for the alarm to sound. He sat on the edge of an unmade bed with his backpack sitting at his feet. In his hands, he held his father's .38 Smith & Wesson snub nose revolver. It was not an intimidating piece; instead, it was small, compact, would get the job done.

  Ross had fired many pistols and rifles in his life, and he would have preferred to be using the GP100. He had calculated it ahead of time, however, and came to the conclusion that the GP100 would be too easy to find if his backpack were searched. He checked the chamber again, seeing that it was in fac
t still loaded with the small .38 slugs. Snapping the chamber back in place, he placed the tiny revolver into his backpack. As the light outside grew stronger, he continued to look over his materials. A history book and a binder placed atop the revolver should be sufficient to hide it. He would pack fairly light today. After all, he would not actually be using his books, would he? Feeling the urge to urinate, he stood and left his bare walled room behind. There had been posters hanging a few days before. A television and a video game console once sat in the corner adjacent to the bed, but an argument over a bad grade had prompted Ross's parents to free him of his worldly possessions.

  This wasn't a new thing, not by any stretch of the imagination. Ross had spent the majority of his sixteen years grounded in one form or another, sometimes for rather petty things. It could range from back talking, slamming a door, forgetting to take the trash out, or even watching an unapproved program on television. Of course, there was no approved list of television programs, so the violations were solely at the discretion of his parents. Home life, was, at the very least, suffocating, but school life was considerably worse.

  Though he could never quite put it into words, or work it out in his mind, a few, insecure idiots, had made his life a living hell. Over the past year, an anger had been building up inside of him; a rage that he could no longer ignore. As he walked down the darkened hallway toward the bathroom, he could only see images that reminded him of his plight. A crucifix on the wall reminded him of a conversation he'd had with his mother mere days ago. He'd sought her out about his anger and the unfair treatment at school. Her only response: “You need to trust in Jesus to take your anger way. Whatsoever things are good, whatsoever things are pure, these are the things you need to focus on!” This was her only advice – the only advice she ever seemed to give in any situation. Her thoughts never seemed to stray far from the Bible or her own Christian upbringing.

  It may have worked well for her, but Ross was in an entirely different situation. He thought on this as he finished in the restroom and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Who was he? He didn't realize it, but he had never been allowed to form his own identity. He was nothing more than a product of his parents and their dreams for him. His room had always been filled with Christian literature, Christian music, and a few PG rated movies. His only friends were the few allowed from the local church, and he could only see them on occasion. To him, unfortunately, this was the entirety of his world, and there were no alternatives.

  He walked back to his room, entering the space just in time to hear the alarm screech. It continued to screen unapologetically as he made his way toward the bedside table and turned it off. He turned his back on the table, which also held a copy of the previous year’s yearbook. A collection of faces and memories that he'd never felt particularly close to, even if he had been present for them. The yearbook was sitting open to a particular page with several of the rectangular photos circled carefully in red marker. He had planned to take the book with him, but now he simply zipped the backpack shut, slung it over his shoulder, and exited the room.

  He walked down the hallway once again, passing a number of religious symbols. The hallway ended in the living room, another spotless space, now illuminated the dull natural light, seeping in through the open windows. Part of the room was still in darkness, and the same went for the kitchen, which was just a few steps to the right. The two rooms were open concept, but divided by the kitchen island, situated on the spot where the light brown carpet met the white kitchen tile. The island was darkened; the light had not yet reached it, but in less than an hour the entire room would be bathed in natural light. Despite this everyday occurrence, Ross still considered this house a prison. It was not a prison of his own making, of course, but more a prison of ideals.

  As he thought on this, he walked toward the front door, prepared to make the one mile trek to school when he heard the bedroom door open. This was followed by a brief pounding of footsteps against the wooden hallway floor, and ended with the appearance of his mother, dressed in a bathrobe and her hair disheveled from eight hours of sleep.

  “Did you do your homework?” She demanded of Ross, who, to her knowledge, had climbed out of bed mere moments go.

  “Yes,” he answered flatly.

  “What about your chores?” Her tone was becoming sharper with each question.

  “Yes,” he answered again.

  “You didn't put the glasses away last night,” she said angrily. “We told you to put ALL of them away. You need to start listening, and you need to start getting up earlier. I'm tired of you cutting corners, do you understand me?”

  “Yes,” he said, as he turned toward the door and began walking, feeling that familiar rage boil up inside him once again.

  “Why are you walking away from me?” She demanded, following him to the door and placing a firm hand on his backpack. “What are you going to do when you get home? Answer me, young man!”

  “Put the glasses away,” Ross muttered, feeling angrier with each passing moment.

  “You put the glasses away, you get the rest of your chores done, and then you report to me. We have church tonight, and you are NOT going to make us late again.”

  “Fine,” Ross said, as he shook free of her grip and walked through the front door, onto the front walk, slamming the door behind him. Another punishable offense that he did not want to be around to experience. He quickly made his way down the sidewalk, slicing through the cold morning air like a dull knife toward his destination – the high school.

  ***

  “Do you see this damn bill?” Leonard Frost demanded, holding the paper bill and envelope deliberately in front of his wife's face, as if she hadn't already seen it. “How the hell are we supposed to afford $200 a week on my salary?”

  “We'll get insurance,” Mary tried to interject.

  “You've been saying we'll GET insurance for months!” He interrupted. “Do I need to show you the rejection letters again?” He pointed at a pile of letters on the table, picking up them up one at a time. “Denied, denied, denied!” He yelled, on the verge of screaming at this point. With a wave of his hand, he cleared the table of bills and invoices, littering the dining room floor with white envelopes. He immediately slammed his hand on the table, shaking both the wooden surface and causing the dining room floor to tremble. His wife took a step back, ready once again to protect her face.

  “I...I've been talking to Doctor Freeman and--”

  “You need to TALK to social services. You need to get this...THING off our hands,”

  “Please don't shout, Leonard; you'll upset her. She’s not a thing; she’s as human as you and me.” Mary pleaded.

  Directly across from the kitchen sat Sarah Frost. Though she was eleven years old as of yesterday, she still acted very much like a small child. She had never spoken a word in her life, and spent her days in the special education classes at the nearby public school. At the moment, she was occupying herself with a set of blocks her mother had gotten her on her eighth birthday. Of course she had no idea they were a gift from her mother.

  As far as she was concerned, the blocks had simply appeared one day, and she gave no thought to their origin, or much of anything else around her. There was the house, where she lived, and her room, where she went to bed. Then there was the school, the place where she played with other toys, and sometimes other kids like her. To her, life was simply a series of rooms, and sometimes, the outdoors. She had been there a few times, but the big open spaces tended to scare her.

  It wasn't always bad though! The park was fun, with the green grass, the picnic tables, and the dog that came to see her. Though she had no idea what was going on around her, she somehow knew that the argument was about her. As she heard the voices rise in the background, she immediately covered her ears and began to let out a shrill scream.

  “Shut up!” Leonard screamed. “Just shut your mouth! There is no damn reason for you to make that noise!”

  He moved tow
ard her quickly and grabbed her arm, making sure to dig his nails into her flesh. As he did so, he shook her violently and continued screaming, which only added to her building terror. She screamed louder amidst protests from her mother, who was desperately trying to place herself between her raging husband and screaming daughter.

  “I do not have TIME; I do not have MONEY; I am getting this useless piece of trash out of MY house!”

  At that moment the unthinkable happened. Mary coiled her arm and delivered a blow to her husband's face, pain shooting up her arm at the same time.

  “You little bitch,” Leonard muttered as he turned his anger toward her, grabbing her by the throat and dragging her out of the room.

  Sarah continue to scream, her hands once again clamped firmly over her ears. Though she screamed for a good hour, the noise in the rest of the house gradually stopped. Surely someone would come for her, but they didn't. Sarah was alone, all alone in a big house.

  ***

  “Get out of my trailer!” The drill sergeant screamed. “Get your ass out of my trailer! Are you rolling your eyes at me? Well, get down and beat your face!”

  Jack tried to push his way out of the trailer, but he was surrounded on all sides by warm bodies, all of which were packed down with heavy equipment. The twenty minute drive from the reception battalion to...wherever this was seemed to have taken hours. It had been further magnified by a fear of the unknown. After all, he'd heard too many stories about basic training, almost all of them horror stories. As far as he could tell, they were all true. The sea of bodies in front of him gradually parted and he was able to see the exit. He burst forth from the cattle car and ran past the waiting drill sergeants, following the line of soldiers in front of him.

  Ahead he could see a wide open space, a concrete floor, and brick supports holding a ten foot tall ceiling in place.

  “Line your bags up like we showed you!” A voice screamed, though Jack couldn't tell where it was coming from to save his life.