Zombies Ate My Neighbors, Family & Friends (Book 2) Read online

  A Peek at What’s Inside:

  Chapter 5 continued . . .

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Zombies Ate My Neighbors, Friends & Relatives

  Now What?!

  Zombie Apocalypse Z Series – Book 2: The Remaining

  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 here:

  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:

  Major Dunfield and his soldiers landed in front of a residential farmhouse, armed with their weapons, and a photograph of Jack Frost from his initial entry training base. From the air, they'd seen one or two people in the yard, though they'd fled back to the house at the sight of the approaching chopper. Dunfield laughed inwardly at the thought of being that intimidating. Dunfield signaled to the six men he'd hand-picked for this mission, who fell into formation behind him, ready to storm the house if necessary. Giving the appropriate hand signals, two of his men were directed toward the side of the house while two others were directed to the back. The rest stayed with him as he approached the front door, almost as if he lived there.

  As Dunfield walked down the paved walkway, he kicked a few children's toys out of the way, his heavy military issue boots breaking a plastic big-wheel. The front of the house was guarded only by a homemade wooden patio, which Dunfield strongly doubted had been permitted by the county.

  He and his men traversed the wooden steps and pulled aside a lightweight screen door. One more glance around the property showed him that this house, like many other houses in the Ohio countryside, stood alone. There were very few neighbors in the vicinity, and only a few horses in a fenced area. He turned back to the house and pounded on the white door. If this had been an interior door, his violent knocking might have torn it from the hinges.

  “Give them thirty seconds, then we break it down,” Dunfield said to his men, who nodded in response. He knocked again, counting down the seconds. He almost wished that he would have the opportunity to terrify the residents in that manner, but moments later, he heard footsteps from within, and the door being unlocked. It opened within a few seconds, and Dunfield was presented with the face of a man significantly younger than him, about twenty-eight, with a full head of black hair.

  “Can I help you?” The man said half smiling and extending his hand to shake. Dunfield eyed it and didn’t return the gesture. Instead, he pushed his way into the house, practically shoving the man over with the door. Dunfield had always liked imposing his will on others, but he had kept it in check until this had happened. Zombies were his ticket to absolute power and he relished wielding it against those less powerful. To him, everyone was now less powerful, and this man was no exception.

  “Hey!” The man began to walk behind Dunfield, but was quickly restrained by two of the other soldiers. Dunfield’s smile was grim, expectant. The man before him didn’t realize that he was about to join the new military or die. If it was the latter, Dunfield might do the honors himself or leave it to an underling.

  “My name is Major Dunfield, and my troops are securing this area, and we are on the trail of a war criminal by the name of Jack Henry Frost,” Dunfield reached into his pocket and produced the BCT photo of Jack Frost in his IET uniform. What he'd said was only a slight fib. Since the event, his numbers had been growing, and he now commanded approximately two hundred soldiers, though many of them had no formal training.

  With a bit more pushing, Dunfield would be able to assemble a formidable force – something that would be very helpful given the climate as of late. If his intelligence was correct, the event had taken the lives of a good portion of humanity, and his own force might outmatch any other on the continent. Restoring law and order, along with the true American way, might actually be a possibility.

  As Dunfield looked about the house, he noticed it was an open concept, which served his purpose all the better. In the corner there was a woman shielding two children, a boy and a girl, both around four years of age.

  “I see you have a lot to lose, Mr....” Dunfield intentionally paused, waiting for the man to answer.

  “Horowitz,” The man stated his last name.

  “Horowitz! Well, Mr. Horowitz, I'm going to need you to tell me a bit about this young man. He's done some very, very bad things.”

  “Care to tell me how he's done so many...bad things?” Mr. Horowitz asked, unfortunately beginning to grow a bit of a backbone. “I know this kid, everyone does. He just shipped out to basic training.”

  “Yes, that's right, he did, and like I said, Mr. Horowitz, you have plenty to lose.” With that, Dunfield signaled to one of his soldiers, who began to walk toward the woman and children standing in the kitchen.

  “Wait!” Horowitz said, struggling against his captors. “I'll tell you--”

  He was cut off when Major Dunfield raised a finger.

  “You'll get a chance to tell me everything you know,” Dunfield said. “But we're trying to rebuild the United States of America here, you understand? We need good upstanding patriots to help form our more...perfect union. Maybe you're a patriot, maybe you're not, but today an example needs to be made, and I'm all about making examples.”

  As he spoke, the soldier pushed the woman out of the way and grabbed each child roughly by the arm, despite her protests.

  “Wait, no, please!” Mr. Horowitz yelled, still struggling. “Jack Frost lived on Home Road, near the grain refiner, with his parents and sister--”

  Major Dunfield held his finger up once again and pointed to the two children who were, at this point, crying hysterically. Both children were young, moldable and under ordinary circumstances, cute. The little girl had a full head of dark curls pulled up in a ponytail, and the boy, slightly older, was sporting a short haircut.

  “Choose, Mr. Horowitz. One or the other,” Dunfield gestured to the children.

  “What?” Mr. Horowitz screamed. “Are you insane? I just told you what you wanted to know?!”

  “Mr. Horowitz, in our more perfect union, otherwise known as the reformed United States of America, there is no place for traitors, or those who would render aid to the enemy in a time of war. Now, you have five seconds to make your decision, or I will kill both of your children and your nightly squeeze, are we clear?”

  “I told you everything!” Mr. Horowitz screamed, finally on the verge of tears.

  “Five, four, three,”

  “No, God, no, please, someone help!” Horowitz had the wild-eyed look of a trapped animal. He strained against his captors, mouth opening and twisting in the internal and external struggle this situation had created.

  “Two,”

  “M
ajor, please spare my children!” Horowitz's wife shouted, trying to take them from the grip of the soldier. Her dress had been prim, perfect. The perfect housewife and her simpleton husband; Dunfield hated her simply because she existed. She reminded him of his mother; his father had beaten her and beaten him. He despised his mother: cookie-baking, pie eating woman who didn’t have three brain cells to rub together and spineless to boot.

  “One.” Dunfield’s smile was broad; he loved this part......

  Chapter 5 continued . . .

  Ohio, or at least this part of it, always seemed to have the most uninteresting forests. These heavily wooded areas always seemed to be flat and featureless. This was something that Ross could be thankful for at the moment as he ran through the trees with little thought as to where he was going in the first place. He passed the trees, though in his current state of mind, it could have been that the trees were passing him instead. His fatigue eventually caught up with him, and he collapsed onto the forest floor, displacing a few leaves and branches in the process. He rolled over onto his back, still breathing heavily and feeling utterly defeated.

  The moment he caught his breath he screamed an obscenity at the forest ceiling and slammed his fists against the dirt floor.

  “WHY?!” he demanded. There was no answer, of course, there never is. Things had finally begun to go right for him, everything was starting to look up. The world might have been ending, but his was just beginning. He closed his eyes, trying to drift away. That's it, he could just lay here and wait to die. It would be either hunger or a monster, but he would die, here, and now. He deserved no less.

  As these thoughts ran through his head, he heard the footsteps. It was a creature coming to claim his life.

  Crunch

  Crunch

  Crunch

  The footsteps announced the coming of their master with each second. They were misguided steps, unlike those of a normal human being. They did not follow a rhythm, but they were very precise. The creature knew where it was going, and it stopped right beside Ross.

  Ross breathed heavily, his eyes squeezed shut. If he rolled out of the way, he might be able to make a run for it, but why? What was there to live for at this point? Nothing, nothing that he could think of. The only thing he feared now was the pain. He pictured the creature sinking its rotting, sharpened teeth into his neck, tearing away the flesh. He would die gasping for breath, his body would flinch reflexively and eventually the life would be sucked out of him, if he wasn't simply eaten piece by piece. No matter, he would deserve what he got either way, wouldn't he?

  He waited for what seemed like an eternity. He'd heard the footsteps stop directly beside him, and he could feel the thing standing over him, but nothing was happening. He waited a bit longer, but to no avail. He was no closer to dying than that...thing...was to leaving. He finally opened his eyes and looked at the ground directly to his right. A pair of feet stood there, covered with white tennis shoes, but christened with blood. Both legs were bloodied, but one of them had clearly been bitten. A set of teeth marks scarred the once beautiful skin, which was...as he looked up, he saw that it was a little girl.

  She was about ten years old, maybe eleven. Surely not twelve. She was wearing a blood stained sundress, something that might have come off the rack at Walmart. She also wasn't a zombie. She had been bitten, but her eyes were her own, and she wasn't making any sort of aggressive moves. Something was wrong. Maybe being bitten didn't automatically change someone. Of course, it didn't, that was just movie superstition.

  “Who...who are you?” Ross asked the girl. She didn't answer. She simply stared at him intently. “What do you want?” Still no answer.

  Ross sat up in the dirt, putting his back to her. With any luck, she could still become a zombie, and perhaps she'd do him the kindness of biting his head off. No such luck. He finally turned around and looked at the girl who had not even turned her head to look at him. She was still staring at the patch of ground where Ross had been laying. What the hell was going on?

  “Where do you need to be? Where are your parents?” he asked her. No response. What was wrong with this girl? He turned away for a moment. This wasn't what he needed – not at all. He wanted to be let alone, or killed...or killed. Either of those would have served him just fine at this point. He sat there, sulking, until he felt a small hand touch his shoulder. It was the girl. So now she'd decided to move, wonderful. Ross turned to look at her. Her eyes were no longer blank; she was staring directly at him.

  “My name is Sarah,” she said with a smile. “What's yours?”

  “I...I'm Ross..” he replied cautiously.

  “Don't be sad, Ross,” she said. “Everything's going to be okay!” She skipped past him, humming happily to herself. Did she not realize that monsters roamed the land, that zombies ate your neighbors, friends and relatives? Did she not realize that he had planned on killing his classmates, and then his classmates decided to die, come back, and kill the only girl who meant anything to him? How could this child skip and hum knowing that the undead roamed the Earth, and that every breath could be your last. He watched her perplexed, appalled and with growing anger.

  Chapter 6

  This is KHLA radio once again bringing you the latest news and the best classic rock. We're sorry to inform our listeners that we have lost contact with the CDC as well as local authorities. We're not sure what advice to give you, other than to hole up and wait until this thing blows over. We'll remain on the air giving you up to the minute news and the best classic rock.

  “Well, here we are,” Jonah said pulling the only working car over to the side of the road.

  “Where is here?” Aimee asked, staring at open fields ahead of them. Jonah was pleasant to be with; even though they were on a fruitcake mission, he was cordial, polite and even solicitous at points.

  “Oklahoma, believe it or not. We've covered quite a bit of ground.”

  “This is what happens when you do not stop to rest,” Aimee practically spat.

  “We're going to rest now,” Jonah nodded, dropping his backpack on the ground. From it he pulled a sack containing a three person tent. It must have been a burden to carry, and Aimee didn't remember seeing him take it from the Q-Mart. “Would you mind giving me a hand?”

  Between the two of them, the tent took about ten minutes to set up, and they were both inside, and out of the hot Oklahoma sun.

  “I want answers,” Aimee said, “I want to know who you are, and how it is you have come here. You say you want to help; how will you help?”

  “There isn't much I can tell you, I'm afraid,” Jonah said, sitting cross legged in on the other side of the tent. “Maybe, you could make some educated guesses, and I could nod if you're close.”

  “Guess?!” Aimee shouted. “Guess? This is not the time for guessing! You give me answers, you see what is going on outside!”

  Jonah declined to answer, instead remaining on other side of the tent with a stoic expression on his face. Aimee relented.

  “Fine,” She said. “Are you...American?”

  Jonah made movement or expression.

  “Do you live here?”

  Again, no movement.

  “Dammit, where are you from?”

  It wasn't a yes or no question, so Jonah did nothing.

  “Are you a spy?”

  No response.

  Aimee was beginning to hate Jonah or at least dislike him intensely. “Are you from a different country?”

  Jonah nodded this time; at least, he was actually giving responses. Maybe, Russia or one of the Middle Eastern countries. He didn’t look Russian or sound Russian. He didn’t look Middle Eastern either. In fact, if he hadn’t alluded to his alien-ness, he would have appeared as just another black guy from some place in America to her. She didn’t feel racist; he was just a non-descript guy, slightly pudgy and non-threatening.

  “Okay, you say that you can help. Are you a doctor?”

  No response.

  “A scientis
t?”

  Jonah nodded.

  All this nodding was getting on her last nerve. Why didn’t he just come out and tell her what he was? Why did we have to play this nodding game nonsense? “Dammit, why can you not just speak to me like a normal human being,” she screamed, beginning to sweat under the heat of the tent canopy.

  He pointed skyward. “I think those questions will suffice for now,” Jonah removed his leather jacket and balled it up as if it were a pillow. “You need to get some rest.”

  “Rest! I do not need rest; I need answers!” Aimee said. Why did he point to the sky? Was there a satellite listening to them? Maybe, he was Russian. There were minority Russians, weren’t there? It would explain the whole satellite theory, wouldn’t it?

  Jonah sat back up, rubbing his eyes for a moment.

  “I can tell you this,” he said finally, “one thousand years ago, aliens visited this planet, and worked with some of the locals experimentally to move things along technologically. They found that it wasn’t working, and many aliens were killed in the process, because they pissed off the native population. So they left, declared the experiment a failure but forgot to take everything with them, or at least that’s the official story.”

  “An accident?” Aimee echoed. “One thousand years ago? Are you an archeologist?” Before long, she would have named every type of job possible. We had now moved into a thousand years past.

  “In a way, I guess. It was an accident. It was a sort of...container misplacement. An oversight, I think you call it.”

  “A container?” Aimee realized she sounded silly, but his situation was silly. He talked in riddles, and now that he was answering something, it made even less sense. “So, what was in this ‘container’ that caused our current situation?”

  Again, he pointed skyward. Why does he keep pointing to the sky? Were aliens going to descend on us at any moment? Russians? Russian archeologists? Maybe, it was a spasm.