Stephen Drivick's Blog - Posts Tagged "drivethroughfiction"
Virtual Ebook Fair - Sample Saturday #1
Sample from Sometimes We Ran: A Story from the Zombie Apocalypse
Chapter 1
Sightseeing
Of all the things you could find on the road during a zombie apocalypse, the undead kids were always the worst.
I mean, the regular undead and the dogs were bad enough, but the kid versions really messed with your head. I watched from my hiding place among the gas pumps as the little walking corpse shambled around the parking lot. She had been a little girl, really cute and adorable. Her dress, or what remained of her dress, was a little pink frilly job with lace at the neck. She dragged her right leg behind her. The foot was nearly chewed off, and the bones were exposed. Her chest cavity was pretty much gone, and her lower jaw was missing. The only sound she could make was a horrible gurgling sound, like someone was pouring milk down her throat as she was trying to scream.
What was she, seven, eight years old? Damn shame. She's never going to grow up, go to school, or dance at a prom.
Never going to bring home a boy that pisses off her Dad.
I noticed she was clutching a headless doll. It was blood stained and extremely filthy. I think that detail unsettled me most of all. Sometimes you see the dead walking around clutching the last thing they ever touched. It could be an empty gun from their last battle, or a steak knife, or even something as mundane as a coffee cup. The kids usually have a teddy bear or some other favorite toy in their cold, dead hands.
The headless doll was a new one. I'd never seen a zombie holding one before.
I watched for a few more minutes. She didn't notice me among the gas pumps, so I guess she was pretty far gone. Usually these zombies catch on to fresh meat pretty quick and come running for a quick meal.
I knew what I had to do. I knew I had to put her down before she drew more of her undead friends to the gas station. I drew my gun and stepped out from my hiding place to put the little bastard out of her misery. She noticed me and began that horrible noise they all make. It's usually a high pitched squeal, or a low, menacing growl. Without her lower jaw, though, it was more of a low gurgle that raised goose bumps on my arm. No matter how many of these things I put down, that sound still causes the the little hairs on my neck to stand up.
Then there's the eyes. They are usually yellow or red. The yellows are more common, but it's the rare reds that could be a problem. They're more violent and hungry, and will attack on sight. With Red-Eyes, you shoot first and run away quickly.
And you better hit them in the head. It's the only way to put them down. Just like in the movies. Sometimes that doesn't even work on the first try.
One of her eyes was gone; the other was yellow. She raised the arm without the doll and started dragging herself over to me, very slowly.
Sometimes these things can be pretty fast. I recall an incident with one a few weeks ago. It was a soccer mom, I think. I stumbled on her in another parking lot somewhere long ago. For a minute, I thought she was a survivor, until I saw her dead, yellow eyes and the fresh blood on her designer clothes. She had been feeding. Her victim was a younger girl, a teenager. I hoped it wasn't her daughter. Maybe her meal had been part of her carpool or something.
She was one of the fast ones. As soon as she saw me, she made an unholy shriek and ran in my direction. I was ready, and took her out with my rifle. It took two shots. I missed on the first, and hit her in the shoulder. The second shot got her right between the eyes. She was going so fast, she actually ran for a few more steps before falling. I put a bullet in her last meal too, just in case.
The little girl zombie at the gas station wasn't going anywhere fast. She could barely move under her own power. Besides her mangled right foot, most of the bones and muscles in her legs and lower extremities were either broken or missing. As I approached, I circled around her to assess the situation. The best she could do was turn slightly and moan. She was too far gone to be able to chase me.
The back of her head was mostly gone as well. How the hell was she still walking around? Some of these things can be tough customers. I've seen a few with missing limbs crawling on the ground to find their next meal. Others had the skin mostly peeled from their bodies, their skeletons exposed like a realistic Halloween costume. Sometimes, they're burned or crushed beyond recognition, but still walking around and feeding. Then there were the dogs.
Nobody figured that dogs could turn. They ate infected meat from the ones walking around, and then they turned into undead dogs. The turned dogs were always bad news. They're a hell of a lot faster, and they work in groups. It's good old-fashioned nightmare fuel. You must always avoid the dogs.
I followed the little girl zombie for a few seconds, getting ready to blow her rotting brains out. I also looked around to see if she was alone. I didn't want any of her undead buddies sneaking up on me. It was just her and me in this former gas station. A long time ago, people would stop here on the way to work to gas up their cars and continue on with their ordinary lives. Mom and Dad would fill up their coffee cups with inexpensive brew and the kids would buy their sugary snacks. Now the only remaining cars are the stripped hulks abandoned here when the fuel ran out. The coffee and sugary snacks are long gone. Mom and Dad and the kids are dead, or walking around feeding on the living as one big happy zombie family.
It really hurts to think about the old world, before it all went bad.
The little girl zombie stumbled, and fell at my feet. She reached for me in hunger. It might have been my imagination, but I almost saw her begging me to kill her and put her out of her misery. I put the gun up to her head. I wanted to tell her it would be okay, and that her perpetual nightmare was finally over. They are never grateful. They're just animals, living only to feed. I pulled the trigger, and her head exploded like an overripe melon.
Scratch another Yellow-Eye.
I turned my attention to the gas station. I took a quick look around to see if there are any more nasty surprises inside. You can never be too careful. Not in this new world.
The building was clear. The place, a virtual time capsule, was frozen at the exact time the stuff hit the fan. All the gas was, of course, gone. Also gone was most of the food and water. What was left was either spoiled and useless or spread on the ground. The floor was a macabre mixture of smashed food, garbage, and dried blood. A few spent shotgun shells were scattered on the black-and-white tiled floor. This place must have been a war zone when everybody tried to find safety. I could almost see the throng of people trying to buy or steal anything that wasn't tied down. The first few days of the outbreak were pure hell. I didn't find much: a few unopened bottles of water and a few batteries. Everything else was useless. The register was crammed full of old twenty dollar bills. Maybe someone could use them as toilet paper.
I found a few unopened packages of beef jerky near the cash register. Beef jerky is not my favorite, but you can't pass up a meal when it presents itself. I bit off a sizable portion, and started to chew. The dried meat was salty and felt a little like shoe leather in my mouth. I ignored the horrible taste, and swallowed. It went down hard, but the nourishment was welcome. I threw a few packages in my backpack. It might come in handy someday. I finished my little snack, and then started poking around the counter looking for more goodies.
I heard a noise behind me. Without thinking, I turned around with my handgun already drawn. All these weeks on the road running from the undead have honed my skills to a fine point. The slightest noise gets me ready for battle.
It's only a cat. I've drawn my weapon on a skinny, little gray cat with a big round face trying to eat a bloated sugar doughnut on the floor. One of its paws was mangled beyond repair. Like me, this little guy has had to struggle a bit to survive.
So far, all the cats that I have encountered have been normal. I bent down, and extended my hand palm up to show that I was friendly. The cat would have nothing of it, and arched its back. It showed its teeth and howled a little bit. I guess it had gone a little feral.
Okay, little fella. I'll leave you alone. Just to show him I wasn't a bad guy, I ripped a few pieces of beef jerky into bite-sized chunks, and dropped them in front of the cat's nose. Hunger overcame fear, and it pounced on the small meal like a playful kitten. Enjoy, little buddy. Maybe one day you can help me out of a jam. I waved goodbye to my little feline companion, and walked outside into the fading sunlight.
I thought about staying the night here. My legs and back were aching, and I could use a nice long rest. However, the little girl zombie may not have been alone. I decided to walk on down the road. When it gets dark, I'll find a place to bed down and rest. You do not want to travel at night. Things get much worse at night.
As a walked away from the gas station, I noticed the sign It said $3.58/gallon for regular unleaded. Not a bad price for gas during an apocalypse.
***************************
Available for sale in the Amazon Kindle bookstore. $2.99, or read for free with Kindle Unlimited.
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00CZLEYZE
*****************************************
Thanks for reading!
Chapter 1
Sightseeing
Of all the things you could find on the road during a zombie apocalypse, the undead kids were always the worst.
I mean, the regular undead and the dogs were bad enough, but the kid versions really messed with your head. I watched from my hiding place among the gas pumps as the little walking corpse shambled around the parking lot. She had been a little girl, really cute and adorable. Her dress, or what remained of her dress, was a little pink frilly job with lace at the neck. She dragged her right leg behind her. The foot was nearly chewed off, and the bones were exposed. Her chest cavity was pretty much gone, and her lower jaw was missing. The only sound she could make was a horrible gurgling sound, like someone was pouring milk down her throat as she was trying to scream.
What was she, seven, eight years old? Damn shame. She's never going to grow up, go to school, or dance at a prom.
Never going to bring home a boy that pisses off her Dad.
I noticed she was clutching a headless doll. It was blood stained and extremely filthy. I think that detail unsettled me most of all. Sometimes you see the dead walking around clutching the last thing they ever touched. It could be an empty gun from their last battle, or a steak knife, or even something as mundane as a coffee cup. The kids usually have a teddy bear or some other favorite toy in their cold, dead hands.
The headless doll was a new one. I'd never seen a zombie holding one before.
I watched for a few more minutes. She didn't notice me among the gas pumps, so I guess she was pretty far gone. Usually these zombies catch on to fresh meat pretty quick and come running for a quick meal.
I knew what I had to do. I knew I had to put her down before she drew more of her undead friends to the gas station. I drew my gun and stepped out from my hiding place to put the little bastard out of her misery. She noticed me and began that horrible noise they all make. It's usually a high pitched squeal, or a low, menacing growl. Without her lower jaw, though, it was more of a low gurgle that raised goose bumps on my arm. No matter how many of these things I put down, that sound still causes the the little hairs on my neck to stand up.
Then there's the eyes. They are usually yellow or red. The yellows are more common, but it's the rare reds that could be a problem. They're more violent and hungry, and will attack on sight. With Red-Eyes, you shoot first and run away quickly.
And you better hit them in the head. It's the only way to put them down. Just like in the movies. Sometimes that doesn't even work on the first try.
One of her eyes was gone; the other was yellow. She raised the arm without the doll and started dragging herself over to me, very slowly.
Sometimes these things can be pretty fast. I recall an incident with one a few weeks ago. It was a soccer mom, I think. I stumbled on her in another parking lot somewhere long ago. For a minute, I thought she was a survivor, until I saw her dead, yellow eyes and the fresh blood on her designer clothes. She had been feeding. Her victim was a younger girl, a teenager. I hoped it wasn't her daughter. Maybe her meal had been part of her carpool or something.
She was one of the fast ones. As soon as she saw me, she made an unholy shriek and ran in my direction. I was ready, and took her out with my rifle. It took two shots. I missed on the first, and hit her in the shoulder. The second shot got her right between the eyes. She was going so fast, she actually ran for a few more steps before falling. I put a bullet in her last meal too, just in case.
The little girl zombie at the gas station wasn't going anywhere fast. She could barely move under her own power. Besides her mangled right foot, most of the bones and muscles in her legs and lower extremities were either broken or missing. As I approached, I circled around her to assess the situation. The best she could do was turn slightly and moan. She was too far gone to be able to chase me.
The back of her head was mostly gone as well. How the hell was she still walking around? Some of these things can be tough customers. I've seen a few with missing limbs crawling on the ground to find their next meal. Others had the skin mostly peeled from their bodies, their skeletons exposed like a realistic Halloween costume. Sometimes, they're burned or crushed beyond recognition, but still walking around and feeding. Then there were the dogs.
Nobody figured that dogs could turn. They ate infected meat from the ones walking around, and then they turned into undead dogs. The turned dogs were always bad news. They're a hell of a lot faster, and they work in groups. It's good old-fashioned nightmare fuel. You must always avoid the dogs.
I followed the little girl zombie for a few seconds, getting ready to blow her rotting brains out. I also looked around to see if she was alone. I didn't want any of her undead buddies sneaking up on me. It was just her and me in this former gas station. A long time ago, people would stop here on the way to work to gas up their cars and continue on with their ordinary lives. Mom and Dad would fill up their coffee cups with inexpensive brew and the kids would buy their sugary snacks. Now the only remaining cars are the stripped hulks abandoned here when the fuel ran out. The coffee and sugary snacks are long gone. Mom and Dad and the kids are dead, or walking around feeding on the living as one big happy zombie family.
It really hurts to think about the old world, before it all went bad.
The little girl zombie stumbled, and fell at my feet. She reached for me in hunger. It might have been my imagination, but I almost saw her begging me to kill her and put her out of her misery. I put the gun up to her head. I wanted to tell her it would be okay, and that her perpetual nightmare was finally over. They are never grateful. They're just animals, living only to feed. I pulled the trigger, and her head exploded like an overripe melon.
Scratch another Yellow-Eye.
I turned my attention to the gas station. I took a quick look around to see if there are any more nasty surprises inside. You can never be too careful. Not in this new world.
The building was clear. The place, a virtual time capsule, was frozen at the exact time the stuff hit the fan. All the gas was, of course, gone. Also gone was most of the food and water. What was left was either spoiled and useless or spread on the ground. The floor was a macabre mixture of smashed food, garbage, and dried blood. A few spent shotgun shells were scattered on the black-and-white tiled floor. This place must have been a war zone when everybody tried to find safety. I could almost see the throng of people trying to buy or steal anything that wasn't tied down. The first few days of the outbreak were pure hell. I didn't find much: a few unopened bottles of water and a few batteries. Everything else was useless. The register was crammed full of old twenty dollar bills. Maybe someone could use them as toilet paper.
I found a few unopened packages of beef jerky near the cash register. Beef jerky is not my favorite, but you can't pass up a meal when it presents itself. I bit off a sizable portion, and started to chew. The dried meat was salty and felt a little like shoe leather in my mouth. I ignored the horrible taste, and swallowed. It went down hard, but the nourishment was welcome. I threw a few packages in my backpack. It might come in handy someday. I finished my little snack, and then started poking around the counter looking for more goodies.
I heard a noise behind me. Without thinking, I turned around with my handgun already drawn. All these weeks on the road running from the undead have honed my skills to a fine point. The slightest noise gets me ready for battle.
It's only a cat. I've drawn my weapon on a skinny, little gray cat with a big round face trying to eat a bloated sugar doughnut on the floor. One of its paws was mangled beyond repair. Like me, this little guy has had to struggle a bit to survive.
So far, all the cats that I have encountered have been normal. I bent down, and extended my hand palm up to show that I was friendly. The cat would have nothing of it, and arched its back. It showed its teeth and howled a little bit. I guess it had gone a little feral.
Okay, little fella. I'll leave you alone. Just to show him I wasn't a bad guy, I ripped a few pieces of beef jerky into bite-sized chunks, and dropped them in front of the cat's nose. Hunger overcame fear, and it pounced on the small meal like a playful kitten. Enjoy, little buddy. Maybe one day you can help me out of a jam. I waved goodbye to my little feline companion, and walked outside into the fading sunlight.
I thought about staying the night here. My legs and back were aching, and I could use a nice long rest. However, the little girl zombie may not have been alone. I decided to walk on down the road. When it gets dark, I'll find a place to bed down and rest. You do not want to travel at night. Things get much worse at night.
As a walked away from the gas station, I noticed the sign It said $3.58/gallon for regular unleaded. Not a bad price for gas during an apocalypse.
***************************
Available for sale in the Amazon Kindle bookstore. $2.99, or read for free with Kindle Unlimited.
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00CZLEYZE
*****************************************
Thanks for reading!
