Zombie High Chronicles (Book 1) Read online

  “Hot girls almost make me look forward to school.” Vaughn leans back to stare at a girl’s short skirt as she bends over to pick up her bag off the ground when the squeal of a school bus brakes announces its arrival. “At least the view is much better there.”

  Ember punches him on the arm. “Do you think girls like when you mentally undress them in public? Paislee is actually really nice and doesn't deserve to be treated like some pinup model on your wall.”

  “Yeah.” Vaughn takes another look at the perky blonde as she bounces lightly on her toes to stay warm in the chilly morning air and nods. “I bet she is real nice, both in public and private.”

  Flynn swings his bag around to smack into his friend. I watch the two and feel a temporary a pang of regret. Some of the Zoners were lucky enough to come in together. Flynn and Vaughn have been friends since Jr. High and when things went south their two families joined up to hit the road. There was safety in numbers, at least until you had the misfortune to run into a group of raiders looking to increase their supplies.

  Their bro love is a bit much at times but it seems like a good enough distraction as I follow them onto the bus, but not before sending my own glance toward Paislee. Vaughn is right. That girl is nice on the eyes and no true blood nice girl wears a skirt that short.

  “I saw that,” Flynn says as he steps aside to allow Vaughn a chance to chat up Ember as they climb on board.

  “So?”

  “So I’d be careful. Vaughn might seem like an ok guy but he’s got his moments. He'll fight you for her. ”

  “Trust me if I wanted her, he wouldn't stand a chance.”

  I find myself grinning as I grab hold of the metal bar and swing myself up after him but the smile wipes clean the instant I come face to face with Sargent Bo Tompkins. He is your classic meathead with a trigger finger that makes me twitch more than Coleman. A guy like that should never be given a gun.

  “Sterling.” He makes sure to bump his shoulder hard into mine as I pass. Ember turns to look back at me over her shoulder and gives a slight warning shake of the head. I glare back at her for butting into my business but release my fisted hand and moved down the aisle.

  “Roan, you came back!”

  I close my eyes at the high pitch shout of joy and sigh. Sammy Reisman is my shadow and a certified menace.

  “Yell it a bit louder, why don’t you?” I slump into the seat at the back and throw my leg out across the seat to make sure he doesn't see the open space as an invitation.

  “Sorry.” His double chin jiggles as he flops into the seat across the aisle with about the same amount of grace as a walrus flopping onto the shore. “That was a secret, right?”

  “No, Sammy,” I rub my hands over my face and count slowly to ten instead of throttling him. “I actually want the Stars and Stripes to know that I’m breaking out.”

  Despite the cool morning air, Sammy’s navy blue shirt already shows signs of underarm sweat and it is growing by the minute. Word around school is that he was found a week ago on a back road somewhere near Orangeburg, SC running away from a Dead Head that we claimed was trying to eat him. I seriously doubted that the kid could jog ten feet without breaking into an asthma attack. The kid actually wears his inhaler on a chain around his neck.

  “Well, you sure are all sorts of cranky today! Get up on the wrong side of the bed?” He huffs and tries to pull his backpack up from the floor, managing only to get it lodged between his stomach and the seat.

  I grin and leaned forward. “Yeah, your mom kicked me out just before you woke up.”

  “That’s not funny.”

  Maybe it isn't all that funny. Momma jokes lost their edge long before the outbreak left far too many kids as orphans but Sammy knows just how to get under my skin. I shouldn't let him get to me.

  I turn to look out the window and wave when I see Short Stack marching by with a soldier. He's been changed into actual clothes and been given a camo backpack that bounces when he walks and matching hat. There is a hint of fear in his eyes when he looks up at me, squeezing his teddy bear tight, but also a hell of a lot of bravery when he smiles. Too bad some of these other kids don't have his guts.

  Short Stack will take a different bus to school with other kids his age. Even though the lower grade school sits just across a small courtyard from ours, it is separated by its own fence and therefore, the bus entrance is on the opposite side.

  Just before he moves out of sight I spy the tiny black numbers on his forearm, a red and slightly swollen tattoo number assignment that will soon replace his name. We all have them. I can just imagine the look on the face of the unlucky bastard who was assigned to the bookkeeping department to keep track of us.

  I should have warned Short Stack about the tattoo. I just didn't want to scare him. The kid has obviously been through a lot.

  I turn to look out of the opposite window and focus on the steady rumble of the diesel engine. It's hard not to wonder why we are wasting such precious resources on an old school bus when it's obvious the refineries are all shut down. Eventually, there won't be any more gasoline or diesel to be had.

  Three more students board before the doors close and we pulled away from the lab. Poppy and Willow Manson are living examples of the definition free spirits. With long flowing skirts, fake flowers in their braided hair and a grating tendency to finish each other’s sentences it makes me grateful when they take a seat up front.

  The third person holds slightly more interest. Her name was Teegan Saunders and she looks to be around my age as she waddles down the aisle with her hand propped firmly against her back. I don't know much about pregnant girls but she doesn't exactly have that glow that you hear people talking about. In fact, this morning she looks more like a grizzly bear someone woke from hibernation a month too early.

  “Whatcha looking at Teegan for?”

  I glare over at Sammy when he shouts his question loud enough for the girl to look up and see me staring.

  “Smooth, Sammy. Real smooth.”

  Finally getting his bag dislodged, with the help of the swaying of the bus I am sure, I turn away and let my thoughts return to my parents. Some of the kids I spend my days with have the luxury of returning home to loved ones but I am all alone.

  After the CDC went into full lockdown I figured my Dad would at least send word that he was safe. Landline access required high-level security, which my dad had, but he was a stickler for the rules. When the government said jump he was already in the air before he asked how high.

  His lack of contact after we arrived here told me that things between my parents were worse than I’d suspected. I know that I didn’t exactly help their struggling marriage any. I’d like to say that I feel a twinge of guilt about that, but I don't. My dad is a dick. All he has ever cared about is himself and his research.

  A therapist might say that I became a detriment to society as a ploy to gain my father’s attention. I just did it because it was fun and I loved to see him squirm when I was called yet again into the principal’s office.

  My mom may be in her mid-forties but she still has her looks. She could have moved on and found a decent guy that would treat her right but I think she stayed for me. I wish I could have told her sooner to jump ship and take me along for the ride.

  Not hearing from my father is no big deal. Not hearing a peep from my mom is a whole other story. Even though I know she is still in the same Zone as me, she might as well be on another planet. Though I’ve managed to spot her once or twice, I’ve never been allowed to do more than wave from a distance.

  One time she caught my eye and shook her head before I could wave. She’d lowered her head and marched into the back entrance of the hospital as if she never saw me. That wasn’t like her. I knew she was either hiding something or trying to protect me. Not knowing which it keeps me up at night.

  She’s the reason I break curfew.

  One way or another I’m getting us out of here. If Flynn wants to tag along I won’t stop hi
m but his roomie Vaughn will just slow us down. I can’t risk that. Nor can I risk Sammy discovering my real plans and blabbing them to the whole Zone. I’ll have to find a way of keeping him occupied since he and I were forced into being roommates at our group home after he arrived.

  Two weeks ago I managed to steal a pair of bolt cutters and have them hidden at the back of the top shelf in my closet where Sammy can’t reach. I’ve already mapped out my escape route and the patrol schedules. Nothing is holding me here apart from my mom and I’m not leaving without her.

  Tonight I am busting us out of this joint.

  2

  WELCOME TO ZOMBIE HIGH.

  The bus ride around the Safe Zone takes nearly an hour. Our lab station is the first stop, which means we have to arrive at our testing sites a full half hour before anyone else. I have petitioned to be moved to a different group home but so far I’ve been ignored. Apparently my desire for extra beauty rest hasn't been deemed as an essential need. I beg to differ.

  The bus route takes us to three different labs, each one set up in a makeshift building that at one time was a business providing someone’s livelihood. A someone who most likely no longer possesses the mental capacity to give a damn what they’ve lost.

  The soldiers can load us up on buses, ship us off to school and pretend like everything is ok, but I’m not brain dead. I know fear when I see it and the soldiers manning the gates we just passed through were gripping their guns just a little too hard for comfort. The ones up in the mobile crowsnest lookouts were restless too, pacing back and forth in the narrow space as they peered into what used to be a “last place on earth anything would ever happen” slice of suburbia. Until something did happen.

  Or rather they happened.

  Something flipped a switch in the Dead Head’s brains and the lights went out, but I have a growing suspicion that the blackout is only temporary. I’ve started seeing things...things I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to.

  The extractions began nearly two weeks ago and have been increasing in numbers ever since. The patrol schedules have doubled and with each passing day, it seems like more men are having guns placed in their hands with minimal training being given. There is a storm brewing on the horizon and I seem to be among the few willing to pay attention.

  The Dead Heads are pretty much everywhere outside of the fences now. As I settle back into my seat at the back of the bus and we pull through the final checkpoint, I see no less than ten shuffling just on the other side of the fence. Standing just the other side of the guard post is a woman wearing a floral nightgown and filthy pink slippers. Her hair is knotted and matted to her forehead. Her gown is soiled and stained. Her bony arms and legs are caked in filth. Her face is gaunt and her skin is peeling in places. None of that is out of the ordinary.

  When the soldier manning the gate lifts his arm to signal the gate to close behind us, I hear the clattering of the fence as it rolls back in place and watch as the woman’s head turns to follow the sound. Not just to follow it but to draw nearer to it. Though her face remains expressionless and her eyes unblinking, she takes four steps toward the sound.

  I press my hands and forehead against the chilled window to make sure that I’m not hallucinating but she is quickly lost in a cloud of exhaust at the bus pulls forward. In all fairness, I haven’t been sleeping well. Not when the likes of Susie Pellagrino have free access to my brain. It is possible that what I’ve just seen isn’t real, but the raised hairs on the back of my neck say otherwise.

  That Dead Head’s lights are definitely flickering.

  Though the scenery outside my window shifts as we take to the perimeter road, it all feels the same. Middle class homes with barely a side yard to chuck a pigskin about in, an abandoned white SUV parked out front of nearly every home and lifeless sprinklers on a timer no longer juiced up to spits water onto sun-bleached grass. I've lived in neighborhoods just like this at every post my dad was called to but this one…this is the worst.

  I don't fit in here and everyone knows it. Not that I care. I am always better off on my own. In less than five months I’d planned to skip through graduation and head to some remote European town where I could disappear. Not that my dad couldn't have tracked me down if he’d really wanted to. The good thing was that he probably wouldn't have, even if this outbreak hadn’t happened.

  I hadn't exactly lived up to my full potential in his mind. I've spent my life bouncing through multiple principals offices, lost count of suspensions and expulsions on my record before spending my summers in military versions of youth boot camps to help instill proper work ethic and respect in disturbed children. They were wrong about me. I was never disturbed. I was bored.

  My last stint at boot camp came after I walked in the door with new ink on my shoulder. I gotta admit that I was totally worth it to see the veins pop up on my dad’s forehead. Priceless!

  Shoving in my earbuds, I crank up my iPod and try to drown out the world. We are limited on our power usage but after a few choice words with my group parents we’ve come to a mutual understanding that I won’t sneak out anymore if they let me have thirty minutes of charging time. Of course, I had no intention of following through on my side of that bargain and after tonight, they will be none the wiser.

  Looking out through the smudged window of the bus as the brakes hiss and slide to a halt at our final scheduled stop, I stare at a distinct hole in the outer fence that appears to have been recently welded shut. Someone used bolt cutters to escape.

  “Looks like I’m not the only one who wants out of this hellhole,” I mutter under my breath.

  The bus engine growls and lurches forward as the door closes and I look up in time to see two guys I kinda know thrown into a seat as the bus takes the corner too sharply and curbs hard. Sergeant Tompkins face plants into the window and I don’t even try to hide my snicker.

  “See your mom today, Roan?” Sammy leans in close enough for me to smell the pop tarts he inhaled before boarding. I don’t have a clue where the kid hides that stuff but if Coleman ever finds his sugar stash I have no doubt that will be a fight worth watching.

  “Nah,” I shake my head, uncomfortable with the hollowness that instantly forms in my chest at the thought of her. I clear my throat and shrug it off. “She’s busy.”

  “Do you think she knows what all of the tests are for?”

  “They’re for making sure we aren’t infected, duh,” a dark haired kid says, swinging out of his seat to move nearer to us. I think his name is Austin. He has thick eyebrows and a haircut that makes his ears seem larger than they should be on his head. Or maybe they really are that big.

  I notice a wooden beaded bracelet along his wrist but don't say anything. If the guy wants to wear jewelry that is his business.

  “I’d buy that if they only took one vial.” I turn off my iPod, unwilling to waste precious battery life on these two. I’ll just wait for chemistry class to zone out.

  “So what do you think they do with the blood?” Sammy asks just before I shove him back so that I can breathe fresh air again and regain what little private space I can get on a cramped bus.

  I shrug noncommittally but Austin shakes his head. “No way, man. You must know something.”

  “Why, because they took my mom to do the tests?” I snap. I’m running on fumes this morning. My late night scouting trip ended up taking nearly three hours longer than I’d planned thanks to having to skirt the long way around the extraction site.

  “No. I’m asking because you always know stuff.”

  I rub the back of my head at a place where I’m just starting to feel the onslaught of a killer headache forming and glance past him down the aisle. When my gaze falls on Teegan’s swollen belly I jerk my head in her direction. “You guys ever get tested with her?”

  They followed the direction of my gaze but shakes their heads in unison. “Well, I have. Want to know how many vials they take from her?”

  When they lean in closer I sink further back
into the corner. What is it with these guys and personal space, anyways?

  “They take four vials.”

  I let that sink in for a moment. Sammy’s smooth black baby face scrunches up as he ponders the meaning of the extra vial but I see understanding light in Austin’s eyes much faster. I look him over. Maybe he isn’t as stupid as he looks.

  “The baby,” he whispers.

  I cross my arms over my chest and shift to get comfortable in my small nook. “Next time you walk by her, see if she has any bruises on her arms.”

  “Why?” Sammy asks with awe in his voice.

  I leaned forward and smack him. “Have you always been this thick?”

  Sammy rubs at his sore ear but it is Austin who takes pity on him with the explanation. “They are gentler with her, Sammy. That means they care for some reason and you gotta ask yourself why.”

  Sammy looks quickly back and forth between us and then finally settles on me. “That’s why you were staring at her, right? She’s wearing a t-shirt so you were checking out her arms.”

  I roll the wire of my earbuds around my hand and then tuck them into my bag as we rumble down the final stretch toward the school. “Well, I certainly wasn’t checking her out because I think she is hot.”

  Zipping up my bag, I set it aside and draw one knee up to my chest to tie my combat boot laces. After school today, I have plans and they do not include nosy roommates. One way or another I plan on missing my ride home so that Sammy isn’t around when I sneak in through my window to collect my belongings.

  If things go according to plan I will locate my mom during her shift change and be beyond the perimeter fences before anyone is alerted. That is the best case scenario. Life has taught me to bank on the worst and that means that by morning I could be locked up in the brig instead.

  Curfew begins at dusk each evening but you would be hard-pressed to find a soul outside the safety of their homes after 4pm. The streets become a ghost town each night as patrol units in armored trucks rumble through with blinding searchlights. They will make the one-mile trek to the apartment building where I am pretty sure my mom is being housed tricky, but I am smart. I know how to keep my head down when I need to.