The Lazarus Law

By P.J. Kelley

A shadow government infiltrated by an ancient cult treacherously attempts to engineer a Zombie Apocalypse, to bring about the thousand year reign of The Anti-Christ. The final chapter in the Zombie World Order Trilogy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: P.J. Kelley
• Release date: Jun 8, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311383860

Book preview

Looking back, Loretta always thought the craziest thing about that Friday night was how normally the day had begun.

A week earlier, while in an alcoholic blackout (she said), their mom had called up the suicide hotline and talked some serious smack before passing out. Following procedure, the phone attendant had sent over some paramedics who brought along some cops to open the door. Their mom's blood/alcohol had been at an almost toxic level, and on top of the suicide threat this was enough to have her remanded to a mental hospital for observation.

Their mom, resourceful as always once she sobered up a little, had insisted on being sent to rehab for alcoholics. Unlike mental hospitals, you can’t be indefinitely committed to rehab. Loretta’s dad was fed up, and Loretta and her two brothers were pretty sick of her too, so it had actually been a pretty smart move, considering the possible alternative.

Since their mom had usually been asleep when Loretta and Stevie got back from school, they had long been accustomed to just the two of them functioning at home in the afternoons, so it really was an average day, except the place wasn't as messy when they got there. Loretta had been pulling double duty as a housekeeper and Stevie's governess for years, so she appreciated the respite from being her mom's maid as well.

They came home from school that Friday, did their homework, and then Stevie had played video games in the basement while Loretta made dinner. Even when their mom was conscious, Loretta usually wound up cooking for them anyway, and had been for years. Her mom was all thumbs in the kitchen, especially when she’d been drinking, which was just about always.

Johnny came downstairs. Johnny was her older brother. He mainly stayed up in the attic, playing the guitar and smoking weed when he wasn’t working.

Do the windows all have their steel covers in place and are the doors deadbolted? The Internet is saying those Psycho G Pillhead Zombies or whatever the fuck they are all over the place tonight, Johnny asked, sounding really worried. He was a night owl, and this, combined with an unhealthy diet and an increasing obsession with the Internet, had imbued his naturally good looking face with an unhealthy pallor and a slightly manic look.

We got back a couple of hours ago. We didn’t see anything too strange. The streets were quiet, Loretta replied. She was used to his periodic bursts of paranoia by now, although the profanity was a little unusual. Johnny was a mystery to her. A lot of girls at school had befriended her solely because they had found out Johnny was her brother. She didn’t get it. He was a pretty nice guy and all that, but he was so out of it he was mainly oblivious to girls who liked him, preferring to have a series of unrequited crushes.

Johnny walked around checking everything anyway. Man, I wish Mom didn’t hate guns so much. We’re sitting ducks here. He was looking someplace else, as if trapped between two worlds and fumbling in frustration to stay in the real one. Something had set him off.

Dad installed all those new steel window guards and everything. If anything really bad happens we just call Uncle Jack, Loretta told him. Johnny was a good brother, but lately he was becoming a bore. All he talked about was Pill G Psychosis, and how it was contagious, which nobody else agreed with. It was annoying. For all Loretta knew he was right, but how could you prove it? Uncle Jack said nobody knew for sure, and he was reluctant to even talk about the disease, probably to keep his niece and nephews from worrying too much.

Loretta, I saw this chart on the Internet and it showed the rate of attacks starting to get way higher in the last three weeks. It said it was going parallelabolic, Johnny informed her in an official tone.

You mean parabolic, Johnny. Johnny had not excelled in school, to put it politely, although his I.Q. was supposed to be pretty high. Loretta on the other hand was a preternaturally serious student. For her, making high grades was like a neon exit sign towards a better life, although an escape sign might have been more applicable. She did not want to wind up working in her father’s bar for a career.

All right, parabolic. You know what it means then, Johnny said impatiently. The attacks are starting to hit this thing, critical mass they said, and if it keeps rising, it won’t just be homeless people and cabdrivers getting attacked.

The people on TV are saying it’s not that bad, Loretta pointed out, and instantly regretted it. Johnny hated television, though, in truth, he watched his fair share of it.

Those bobbleheads? All they do is lie, answered Johnny dogmatically. They read off Teleprompters. What do they know?

They can’t just lie, Johnny, Loretta defensively replied. I think it’s illegal for them to.

Johnny scoffed. Where did you hear that? You know that for a fact? Although experience had failed to teach many adults those well-groomed products of plastic surgeons and make-up artists on TV reading from scripts were often truth deprived, these three siblings were the especially cynical products of a jaundiced Age. Stevie sincerely believed network news was like a game show or a situational comedy. Loretta hoped some of it might be accurate.

Johnny, there’s nothing we can do. Let’s just enjoy the peace and quiet around here, answered Loretta in a tired voice. Mom will be back in a few weeks. It's nice to be able to relax a little.

Loretta liked Johnny, but he had dealt with a lot, and coped with it in some ways that weren’t so healthy. His big thing was he didn’t drink, he just smoked pot constantly, so while he was different from their parents, as was his goal, he just dealt with a different set of issues. At least he wasn’t violent, but Loretta sometimes thought his passivity was even more annoying. Shouldn’t someone his age have been out living, not just existing in a self-medicated stupor with a string of dead end jobs to finance his pot habit?

Loretta, did anything seem off to you at school today? John asked her, furrowing his brow.

Off how? No, nothing too different. Four more kids from my homeroom didn't come in, which brings the class size down to fifteen from when we started the year with forty-six, but Mrs. Winkovitch didn't mention them, Loretta answered. Why, what's up?

Nothing. I mean, at your school? I don’t know. I just wondered if you'd seen anything, that's all, Johnny answered her, looking preoccupied.

Zombies again, Loretta thought. Swell. We just got rid of one. Talking about school made her remember how much she loathed the place. The other kids made fun of her red hair and good grades, and one particular clique of girls seemingly had dedicated themselves to destroying her socially.

Okay, now that you mention it, Mrs. W. made a big point of telling us to go right home after school. She never says stuff like that. A couple of times during the day, I saw teachers talking to each other, all tense looking. There was a rumor there was a bomb scare or somebody had a gun, but I didn't see anything.

Does her husband still work for F.E.M.A.? Johnny asked.

Loretta had been surprised John had known this, but then remembered he'd had a major crush on her back in the days when he was in her class. She had never understood why. Mrs. W. was a mousy, intense looking woman who didn't seem like the type to inspire a schoolboy, but Johnny sometimes sensed things about people beyond surface appearances. Something she had done or said must have made a positive impression on him at some point.

Yeah, he does, Loretta answered, uncharacteristically resisting the chance to jibe him about his crush on his former teacher. He's out of town a lot, but the last few days he's been picking her up after school. He never says hi anymore, either. You can tell he’s always carrying a gun, just like Uncle Jack, Loretta said, referring to their dad's brother who was a cop. Uncle Jack was a good uncle, and in command of a unit of an elite branch of S.W.A.T. known as the Psycho G Strike Squads, or as they were informally known on the street, the PYGSS. Loretta’s association with her uncle and his coworkers had made her better at scoping out concealed weapons.

Johnny's face became wooden. Loretta, I'm not going to work today. I'm not feeling well. Don't let anybody in the house. Have you talked to Dad today?

No, I didn't call him. He gets back pretty late on Fridays.

Is Brian here? Johnny asked, referring to a gamer friend of Stevie's who visited a lot. I'll walk him home.

You don't even like Brian, Loretta laughed. Besides, he didn't come over today. Though come to think of it, he was supposed to, she reflected, in a puzzled tone.

I like him, they just annoy me when they're together, that's all. Plus, I think Stevie stole some of my weed the last time Brian was here. That's all I need is for those two to get caught smoking my pot. I'd be so busted, Johnny said in an anxious voice.

Loretta looked shocked. I can't believe Stevie would do that.

That's what I mean. He might have done it to impress Brian. Still, let me know when he's going, okay? You making pizza? Johnny asked, and had shuffled back upstairs without waiting for a reply, or expecting one. No Johnny, I just have all the ingredients out and I'm rolling a pizza shell because I'm making a turkey dinner, Loretta thought. Those types of questions always annoyed her, which may have been why Johnny always asked them of her.

She had gone to bed really early that night, and hadn’t seen Johnny again until two a.m., when he’d been shaking her awake.

Get up, Loretta, Dad’s outside acting crazy. Johnny had looked close to panic.

Great, she remembered thinking. He had finally fallen off the mental health wagon again. Time for another episode of Growing Up With A Manic Depressive Terror, but then she had felt guilty. It had been years since her dad had been completely out of control, and never when their mom wasn’t around to egg him on. With her off at rehab, Loretta had been lulled into a false sense of complacency, from the sounds of it.

It isn't what you think. Dad's turned into a Pill G Psycho, Johnny told her.

He’s a Zombie? No way! shouted Loretta, instantly awake.

Yes way, Johnny had answered grimly.

As if in a nightmare, she had gotten up to look at their dad on the security monitor. Their dad had been in a frenzy, tearing at the heavy new steel gates bordering their home he himself had installed last month. He’d been furious and seemingly insane, but when he had finally happened to look up at the camera, Loretta had seen the awful truth. His blood stained shirt should have given him away, but their dad had obviously gone Zombie, caved in eyes and all.

Johnny had been the first person she knew to call the Pill G Heads Zombies. He’d picked it up from the Internet someplace, and had made her and Stevie watch Romero’s The Night of The Living Dead with him as an instructional video. As she watched her father gone berserk, a man she had genuinely loved, she realized why Johnny hated newscasters so much.

She and Johnny had exchanged helpless looks. To the question in his eyes, all she could think of was what she normally would have suggested under somewhat analogous circumstances.

Better call Uncle Jack, she said sorrowfully. Involving their police detective uncle was always the nuclear option in family disputes, but this intervention would have lethal consequences for their Zombie Dad. The only known cure for Pill G Psychosis was a bullet in the brain. I don’t understand it. Dad never took Life Pills, she said. Johnny said nothing, but merely nodded his head in a knowing manner.

They’d called their uncle who had sounded harried, but said he’d be right over as soon as he could when they explained the situation to him. Funny, as close as their dad and Uncle Jack were, he hadn’t sounded really shocked. Maybe he just had been afraid to dwell on it too much, or maybe he had been trying to avoid upsetting them. With his own family gone and given his brother's family situation, the veteran cop had become like a surrogate parent to them.

So they waited, watching their dad on the security screen. While they waited, however, they started seeing more chaos out on the street. Zombies were running amok, and some of them started joining their dad at the front gate. Soon there was a whole flock of them, and Loretta started feeling extremely ill at ease.

Stevie woke up and came downstairs, still dressed in his pajamas. His appraisal of the situation was uncannily adult for one so young. When told Uncle Jack had been called, he knew what would happen next, and simply nodded, then sank down on a chair to watch his dad on the screen, as if looking his last.

Get upstairs and get dressed, Stevie. We may have to try to make a run for it, Johnny snapped at him, and Stevie ran off. Seeing the wisdom in Johnny’s words, Loretta got up to go get ready herself. She missed the sight of Uncle Jack pulling up with The PYGGS. Later, it occurred to her Johnny had seen them coming, and sent Stevie away to spare him the sight of their dad getting gunned down by their uncle.

When they’d gotten downstairs, Johnny had immediately made them go fill up their schoolbags with drinks and food. As they were stuffing the bags with a hodgepodge of supplies, they’d heard what Stevie said were M16s firing from the front of the house. Stevie knew a lot about guns from playing Call of Duty with Brian. They’d run to the front room, where Johnny was standing in front of the monitor.

Loretta pushed past him, despite his protests, and was confronted with a large screen shot of her father’s bullet riddled corpse lying on top of about a dozen other Zombies.

Dad, was all she said, in quiet shock. Stevie broke down in tears at the sight of their father’s body jumbled up with the others. The doorbell rang. Uncle Jack was at the door. Johnny had let him and his squad pull into the driveway by using the remote to deactivate the lock and open the heavy gates.

John opened the door, and immediately their uncle walked to the liquor cabinet and poured a healthy dollop of bourbon into glass. He pounded it, and had another. He finally looked at them, his nieces and nephews.

Did you see? he asked. Johnny spoke for them.

I saw it. Loretta and Stevie were in the other room.

That’s good, Uncle Jack said. He poured another drink. He was on duty, but all three knew his capacity was extraordinary. I did what I had to do, what I hope any of you might do for me if push came to shove. You all know I loved your father. This is by far the worst night of my life. When you called, I had just shot my old partner, a cop I had worked with since I was driving a squad car. I know you hate me, someday…someday you’ll…, Uncle Jack couldn’t choke out the rest of the sentence. He hugged each of them. He seemed to be trying to make up his mind about something.

You three better come with me. We can still get out of the city, I think, if we get rolling right now, Uncle Jack said. There are four members of my Psycho G Strike Squad unit left. Their families are all meeting up at my house. With your dad gone, I’m responsible for you, and I have no family of my own in the city. Uncle Jack had been divorced for years. His wife had run away with a meter maid and moved to Montana with his two boys.

The three young people nodded and got up to go. Johnny dashed upstairs for his coat and boots, and Stevie ran to his room to get the Swiss Army knife his dad had given him for Christmas the year before. When they came back moments later, Johnny was wearing his coat and carrying a baseball bat he hadn't used since the Little League. Thus equipped, they all had walked out into the chill early morning air of Queens in the fall.

CHAPTER TWO: Back to the Belinda

The rapidly darkening skies again gave birth to a stupendous simultaneous burst of thunder and lightning, and when the helicopter landed on the deck of the Belinda, everyone on board breathed an audible sigh of relief except Marie, who was lost in thought and didn’t appear to notice.

Such gales typically presaged the onset of coming winters and the dying away of Indian summers, but there also seemed something diabolical about its sudden fury. It had lashed out against the entire East Coast like an angry fist, true, but the absolute nexus of the storm was right here, in a few square miles off Long Island. Superstition already perches like an evil crow on most seafaring vessels, but dealing with this blatant supernatural hat tip brought fear into the equation as well, which has yet to improve anyone’s mood, or do much to clarify anyone’s thinking.

Joe and George came charging out of the boat in rain gear to help them secure the helicopter, while Isaiah and Jorge started assisting the passengers inside, all the while lashed by torrents of sea spray from twenty foot high swells.

Mason staggered a little against the weight of the wind, almost falling overboard, but Bridget grasped him roughly by the shoulder and jerked him violently forward.

Don’t die on me now, old man. You have a lot of squeaking to do yet, she snapped savagely. The stress of the day had Bridget’s nerves and temper on a hair trigger, or rather a finer hair trigger than usual in her case.

Is handling him like that really necessary? a slight, well-dressed man a step behind them asked. He was Mason’s right hand, Nestor, and his shock at seeing his powerful friend treated so roughly had made him forget the circumstances of their presence on this boat.

Unceremoniously, Jerry grabbed the small man’s jacket and dragged him onto the deck to remind him. He pulled a very large knife from a scabbard and held it against the man’s throat. Lightning flashed again, silhouetting Jerry and Nestor against the deck in a grim tableau. Jerry closed his eyes and appeared to be practicing an exercise in meditation. When calm enough, he opened his eyes, sheathed his knife and yanked the man to his feet.

Not yet, Jerry muttered in a hoarse and evil whisper. David pulled Nestor up from the deck and led him away from Jerry in a hurry, creating as much distance between the two as possible.

Marie and The Captain exchanged meaningful looks. This situation was almost out of control. Every person in Marie’s crew had lost people they loved because of the Zombies Mason had unleashed. To say the anger they felt was palpable would be a gross understatement. The crew was not just ready to kill. There was a pagan-primitive blood lust in the air, hearkening back to the days when the elaborate torture of vanquished foes was used as a popular form of public entertainment.

Marie felt it too, and had felt it from the moment they’d intercepted Mason’s speedboat on the Hudson River. Reilly had looked at her from his perch behind his .50 Caliber machine gun, waiting for her signal. The hunt had been over, and all that remained was to prepare the prize for the trophy room. Instead, Marie had taken a megaphone, instructed Nestor where to dock the boat, and had taken the two men into custody, listening to the proddings of an inner voice even she didn’t fully trust, let alone understand. The storm had hit almost immediately, as if the foul spirits who held Mason in sway had risen to his defense.

Do you think it might have been a mistake, bringing them back here? Reilly yelled worriedly, stepping up through the pelting rain.

In this weather we didn’t have much of a choice, The Captain called back. They could barely hear each other over the roar of the storm. The small group filed into the interior of the boat. The door closing behind them brought the volume of the storm down to a dull roar.

The sudden comparative stillness was unnerving to Marie, who sensed murder in the air. To compensate for the chaos of the moment, Marie started barking orders to Isaiah and Jorge, whose level of emotion was less elevated due to their not being part of the expeditionary party.

Quick, get two cabins ready so we can put the prisoners in them. Make sure there are no sharp objects or anything they could use to kill themselves. Get every bit of unnecessary furniture or equipment out. Take out their beds. Leave them a mattress on the floor, two chairs, one blanket, and that’s it. They don’t even get so much as a toothbrush. More quietly, to Reilly, out of the others hearing, she whispered Wire their rooms. I want to be able to hear and see them at all times. If they talk in their sleep, I want a recording. Anything.

Reilly nodded and went to do it, happy to have a task. For him work was a buffer against the creeping madness he could feel infecting everyone else. It painted a patina of normalcy over the events he was living through, and helped him keep an emotional distance. His military training helped him with this as well. He was just as angry with Mason and Nestor as everyone else, but doing his job and focusing in times of stress was a part of his profession, and he was good at it.

The events of the day had been apocalyptic. Half of the U.S. Congress had been wiped out. A good portion of Washington D.C. was still swarming with Zombies, an outbreak which according to radio reports had been mainly contained within the governmental center, thankfully. The Zombie Lures Marie and her crew had choppered in the day before had been key in controlling and diverting Mason’s attempt at mass annihilation and seizure of the reins of government. Mason’s compound on the Palisades along the Hudson River had been torched as well.

There also was some sobering news to defuse any potential celebratory feelings on the part of Marie’s crew. The news had come in over the helicopter radio--Charlie had been found shot dead, and his level of fame had reached the point where this was a globally reported news event.

When they’d heard about Charlie while flying back to the boat, Marie had almost lost it and thrown Mason out of the helicopter on the spot. The moment had passed though, partly because Marie still had use for Mason, and partly because she realized her anger mainly stemmed from guilt. Mason may have given the order, but Marie knew she had been the one who had set Charlie up for death. He had been the only way they could transmit the facts about The New World Order to enough people at once to insure the truth got out, and Marie had played the card ruthlessly. Killing Mason wouldn’t change this, and, in fact, would make Charlie’s martyrdom less significant.

Also, Marie knew the problem was partly that while their immediate goals had been achieved, and Mason had been stopped, nothing had really changed. To get back to the boat, they still had to fly across a Zombie ravaged New York City. So many people were dead, and all the anger in the world wouldn’t change it, the realization of which was just making her crew crazier. The Zombie genie was out of the bottle, and if they couldn’t stuff it back in, her people wanted payback. Mason and Nestor were looking like convenient places to start.

Marie addressed David and The Captain. You know I’m not being a bleeding heart, but we need to keep these two alive, at least until we have time to interrogate them.

The Captain looked exhausted. We can’t stay on the boat for long then. I don’t trust myself around them, let alone the others.

David nodded in agreement. Whatever you decide to do I’ll support, Marie, but these two are responsible for a lot of people here families being dead. Some of them are going out of their minds with grief. I don’t know how long they can restrain themselves. Why do you need them alive anyway?

Marie looked troubled. I’m not really sure myself. I want to think first, I guess, before we do something we can’t take back. I have an idea, but I can't explain it yet.

CHAPTER THREE: Saved By the PYGSS

The other members of the PYGSS were smoking cigarettes and watching the streets suspiciously through the high metal fence Loretta’s dad had installed. There were three men with handguns, and one woman carrying a submachine gun. Loretta and John knew all of these cops, and Stevie had met most of them too. These were reassuring people to be around at such a time, but Loretta wished she and her brothers could have just holed up in the house. Uncle Jack seemed to think this situation was dire enough to require evacuation though, and he was in a position to know.

You remember my niece and nephews, Loretta, Stevie and Johnny. You've all met before, I think. Kids, you know J.J., and this is Pete, Reggie, and Fritz, just to refresh your memory. They'll be joining us. We're calling it a night and getting out of Dodge. We're going to get our families somewhere safe, out of town, and we’ll try to regroup tomorrow at the precinct, Uncle Jack told them. The kids and the cops nodded at each other. Their dad's bar had been a favorite haunt for the PYGSS, and kids had met all of them there while working for their father.

What's the bat for John? J.J. asked him, grinning broadly. Going to a home run derby? J.J. was a darkly pretty, amped-up woman who always flirted with Johnny in a funny way. His shyness seemed to amuse her.

Johnny blushed, and Loretta remembered this tough talking policewoman was another one of Johnny's crushes. Loretta knew she would never understand the ways of love. Although the woman was attractive, she just didn't seem like Johnny's type.

Well, no, I mean….the Zombies, er, I mean The Psychos, Johnny said shyly. It might be useful.

All the cops laughed, but not unkindly.

Zombies, Pete laughed. Somebody has been reading the Internet again. Pete was a classic New Yorker. Like all the PYGSS, he was a fitness fanatic. Part Irish, part Italian, he was the friendliest person in the world until it was time to act. He talked about his family all the time, and his only real goal was to do the job and go home in one piece at the end of his shift.

These weren’t the standard NYC crowd control cops most people were familiar with. These were tactical specialists, all long time veterans of S.W.A.T. before joining the PYGSS. What drew them to the Zombie Squad (another informal nickname) was the excitement and the chance to make a visible difference. Both Fritz and Reggie had done multiple tours in Iraq, both as Infantry Marines, though they were completely different personalities.

Reggie was an affable intellectual who was very much in love with his wife. He had ideas about things, which he argued about with J.J. and Fritz a lot in the back, those two being of the opinionated sort. Fritz was often morose, and though it’s an overused and often fake excuse, he had adopted an arrogant attitude to mask a very real lack of self-esteem.

J.J. was a high achieving adrenaline junky who would have been stunningly qualified for the PYGSS even if she had not been a diversity applicant on several counts. She was one of the few women who had ever been accepted into the innermost confidences of the PYGSS, maybe the only one. A fearless team player, she was on every member of the PYGSS short list of cops they’d feel most comfortable kicking a door down with on a den full of Zombies.

On normal nights, Uncle Jack and Pete sat in the front and talked about baseball, baseball being the closest thing either of them had to a real religion. Being lifelong Queen’s residents, their love of the Mets was epic, and their antipathy for the Yankees could not be adequately overstated. The only good thing about the Zombie Escalation, Uncle Jack had recently been heard to say, was it interrupted The World Series when the Yankees were two games up. Pete had nodded emphatically. Tonight was no normal night though.

Why don’t you help him with his bat, J.J.? Fritz asked J.J. nonchalantly. We know you want to. Fritz was a short, muscular man with scruffy red hair. A well respected member of the PYGSS, he had a long running verbal feud with J.J. They were rumored to be an item, though Fritz appeared to be the only one spreading the rumor.

From what I hear, you’re the one who likes bats, J.J. replied sweetly.

We don’t have time for this bullshit tonight, Uncle Jack barked in a surly manner. Get in the truck.

The cops came to some semblance of order. Pete got in the driver’s side of their vehicle, a large armored behemoth without standard windows but large and thick portholes of glass. Communication equipment was built right into the structure of the van, to make it harder to disable.

Uncle Jack had given Stevie a tour of the Pygssmobile before, so when Stevie got in, the first things the Call of Duty fanatic noticed were the new machine guns.

Whoa, Uncle Jack, when did you start using those? he asked, referring to the freshly installed .50 M2 Brownings.

Fritz looked up We’re not supposed to have them. The Mayor says they are too heavy for urban use. We swiped them from the evidence room last night from a gun running case.

I haven’t fired anything like these since Fallujah, Reggie chimed in, not sounding especially happy. I never thought I’d be driving around New York blasting away with these things. The tragedy is we’re still barely making a dent.

The machine gun turrets were placed at key points around the armored truck to give a commanding field of fire in every direction if needed. The kids got in first, sitting on cushions somebody had tossed on the floor since they didn’t want to take the cop’s seats. Most of the vehicle was packed with equipment and ammo.

Uncle Jack got in the front passenger seat. Although the gate opened and closed automatically, and Uncle Jack had the remote control, there were a few Zombies hanging on the metal gate leading out into the street, impeding the process with their weight. Reggie handed the kids some protective earphones, and the cops put theirs on as well. Fritz opened up with the Browning. The powerful weapon instantly cleared away the Zombie impediments, and the metal gate rolled opened.

As they were driving away, Loretta cried out to Uncle Jack, You forgot to shut the gate! Uncle Jack looked at her sadly, but hit the button and the gate slid closed behind them.

Loretta, Stevie, and Johnny need not have worried about taking the cop’s seats. J.J., Fritz, and Reggie each stayed ensconced behind the machine guns facing behind the vehicle and both sides of the street. The kids got up and sat down in the more comfortable passenger seats. No one joked anymore, or made any remarks not directly related to the task at hand.

As Pete wheeled through the tumultuous streets, the siblings for the first time got a full sense of the havoc occurring. Fires were everywhere, and on every side people were being chased through the streets by rampaging Zombies. Reggie, Fritz, and J.J. kept firing their machine guns constantly as they went, doing their best to give those in flight some kind of