Z Walkers: Strangers - Episode 4: Z Walkers, #4

By Luke Shephard

Episode 4 of the Z Walkers series! 

Hank, Collin, and Sara. A janitor, a thief, a personal trainer. 

Three strangers in an increasingly strange city come together in one last attempt to survive. With the infected crawling out of every crevice, they need to get to safety--now. 

Each wants a different direction: Hank still waits for his lady love to arrive so that they can head north, while Sara wants to get on a boat and get out onto the open waters. Collin...well, Collin just wants to be the aloof dangerous guy in a zombie apocalypse. 

Little do they know, that each of their best-laid plans is going to hit a rocky detour, and there's no telling just who will get out of everything alive. 

Will any of them?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Our Pack Press
• Release date: Jan 19, 2016
• ISBN: 9781516385430

Book preview

Z Walkers: Strangers – Episode 4

Hank, Collin, and Sara. A janitor, a thief, a personal trainer. Three strangers in an increasingly strange city come together in an attempt to survive. With the infected crawling out of every crevice, they need to get to safety—now. Each wants a different direction: Hank still waits for his lady love to arrive so that they can head north, while Sara wants to get on a boat and get out onto the open waters. Collin... Collin just wants to be the aloof dangerous guy in a zombie apocalypse.

Little do they know, each of their best-laid plans is going to hit a rocky detour, and there's no telling just who will get out of everything alive.

Strangers– Episode 4

Did you hear that?

Collin cast a wary look over his shoulder, looking in the direction of the door. Everyone waited, silently, and a part of him hoped there'd actually be a sound. After spending the morning with these two fuck-ups, he would have given anything to go bash some freak's head in. But there was nothing. The woman, Sara, seemed to be shaking when he glanced her way again, and he wondered if she was going to cry—again.

She kept her shit together as best she could this time, and he tried not to roll his eyes. Weren't personal trainers supposed to be tough as nails and super athletic? She was hot, yeah, but he was surprised she'd been able to survive a fucking zombie invasion on her own. After all, she'd been a mess since they all met up, following the school janitor around like a lost puppy.

If he had to put money on who'd be the first to go of the three of them, Sara would be his horse in that race. Then Hank. The guy had to be late thirties—minimum—and smelled like a public bathroom. It was the chemicals, he'd told the others once they were all settled in the teacher's lounge, that kept him hidden from the freaks. Collin was surprised he was even conscious, given how disgusting the guy smelled—all that bleach could fry a person's brain.

Or so he thought. Collin took shallow breaths, trying not to inhale too deeply. Even if the janitor was seated on the far end of the couch, Collin on the coffee table, he didn't want to risk inhaling the fumes. After all, he'd had a few buddies who thought bleach would be a good way to get high.

It wasn't. Their trip to the hospital and the bills that followed were proof enough. Besides, Collin's vice was alcohol, not drugs. Only idiots got their rocks off on cocaine or heroin or fucking bleach.

It wouldn't surprise me if a few of them are still walking around, Hank mused after they'd been quiet for a suitable length of time. Might be the building too... Air conditioning kicking in for a bit.

Sara nodded, her knees pulled to her chest, and Collin resumed picking at the loose skin around his fingernails. His backpack sat nestled on his lap, his gun hidden for safekeeping. After struggling to find shelter in the halls of the school last night, freaks everywhere, he'd reluctantly joined up with the only two normal not dead people he'd seen in almost twenty-four hours. It wouldn't have been his first choice, but they'd managed to clear the hallway of freaks, luring them outside with a lot of effort before bolting the door. They weren't armed, the janitor and the personal trainer, but Collin didn't want to be mistaken for a freak if he surprised them.

So he showed his face, hands up, gun tucked away, and tried to look as unsuspicious and innocent as he could. They'd practically fallen onto him, welcoming him into their weird duo without hesitation. Which was fucked. Hadn't they watched apocalypse movies? Collin could have been some psychopath getting his rocks off in all the chaos.

But then again, so could either one of them. His eyes darted between the pair, his mouth pressed closed in a tight line. Sara could probably take him: she looked a little better fed, definitely more in shape than Collin. Hank might be an even draw: the guy was tall and lean with a dusting of sandy blond hair, balding from the back.

Collin had a real weapon, however. Sara had nothing but the clothes on her back, and Hank had his stink and power cords and tools.

His hands dropped to his bag slowly, tightening around the fabric until he felt the outline of his pistol.

Is there anything to eat here? Sara asked after another few moments of silence. Was everyone appraising one another like Collin was? Sizing up the competition? Wondering who would win in a fight? Or was he the only one having fucked up thoughts in a fucked up situation?

Hank shook his head, and then gestured toward the fridge. I had to clean out all the leftovers last night... It's all in garbage bags, if you want to dig through.

Her nose wrinkled, and Collin tried not to laugh. Princess. Princess Personal Trainer—probably hadn't ever rooted through the garbage in her life.

Not that Collin had ever needed to either. He wasn't that much of a white trash kid that he dug through people cans on garbage day, or went dumpster diving with his friends. If he saw something in good condition sitting on the top of a trash heap, he wouldn't turn his nose up at it. His stomach gurgled, and he wondered just how far down in the garbage bags the food might be.

He was basically running on empty at this point: he'd eaten all the snacks he'd taken from the suburban nightmare, and it wasn’t like he was some hippie who could forage for wild mushrooms or some shit in the forest. Besides, he'd been a little too busy trying to survive the night to care about food. Food could wait. His body might have been a little slower, a little weaker, but he was doing okay so far.

Probably not for much longer, however.

So there's nothing to eat anywhere in this building?

Cafeteria is in a separate block, Hank informed the personal trainer, throwing a thumb over his shoulder. Out the window, Collin could see a huge building looming on the other side of a field—a field littered with freaks. No thanks.

We could try the surrounding houses? the woman suggested, and Collin rolled his eyes.

"We aren't a we, he snapped, shaking his head and scoffing. We don't have to do anything."

Hank spoke up before Sara could, his voice even and calm. Being in a group is better than being alone.

"Well I don't know shit about either of you, so I'm not about to label us a we."

He was being petty and he knew it. However, the hunger made his temper short—shorter than usual—and Sara's shaking was driving him batshit crazy. Everyone was scared. No need to waste energy on shivering and whimpering and throwing pitiful looks in all directions. Everyone needed to toughen up these days, and if she wasn't going to pull her weight, she could fuck right off.

... If there was any weight to pull. Because. They weren't a group. They were just three normal people sitting in a room together.

Surrounded by roving packs of zombie freaks.

Yeah.

Nobody knows anything about anyone, Sara said, but we're not eating each other, so I think that's a pretty good start.

Collin let out something between a laugh and a scoff, then shifted, his body sore from sitting on the coffee table's solid top. He could have easily joined them on the couch, but he liked the little bit of distance between himself and the other two.

My wife and my neighbors are on their way, Hank added, his elbows resting on his knees, body hunched forward. We're going up north to my neighbor’s cabin to wait this thing out. I'm sure they wouldn't mind a couple of extra people.

Collin expected Sara to jump at the chance: it was a pretty good plan, actually. However, when he looked at her, he saw her nibbling her plump lower lip, face wracked with uncertainty.

That's very generous of you, she got out finally, "but I actually wanted to get to the marina. A friend of mine has a boat, and since I know he won't be using it—"

Why not? Collin interrupted, and he raised his eyebrows when her eyes darted his way. She pursed her lips, glaring, and then cleared her throat.

Because he's infected, she said flatly, and I left him in a locker at the gym. Hopefully the... disease control people find him.

He wasn't sure what to say to that. Collin licked his lips, uncomfortable with her now that she wasn't a simpering mess.

I'm sorry to hear that. Hank, on the other hand, seemed to be better at these kinds of things. Collin crossed his arms, annoyed. Everyone was probably dead. Sara didn't get any sort of special consideration because she already had a gruesome story to tell. Maybe he should tell them about the dead kid in the woods he'd seen, or the lady who'd had her face chewed off on the driveway a few days ago.

Or maybe he should just keep his mouth shut. There was