Zombie Mom

By Sonia Rogers

Frankie Collifax just wants her daughter back.

When a militia group kidnaps the little girl, nothing will stop Frankie from rescuing her - not even the zombies inadvertently created by the same child.

Fighting to survive, Frankie discovers that the monsters in this new world aren't always dead. The power-hungry leader of the Missouri Defense Force has his own agenda – and it involves Frankie and her daughter.

On top of everything else, Frankie is finding it harder and harder to fight of her feelings for Pete, the handsome former Army Ranger who's helping her.

Frankie and friends have a hard road ahead of them as they learn how to live – and love – in the new world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sonia Rogers
• Release date: Apr 20, 2018
• ISBN: 9781987435405

Sonia Rogers

Sonia Rogers is the author of a lot of books. Some are good, some are so-so, and a few are pretty terrible. Regardless, she continues to put her work out into the world, hoping to connect with the same sort of twisted minds as her own. She lives in Missouri with her husband and a pack of annoying (yet loveable and funny) beagles.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Iwoke up screaming again.

Jeremy shifted around to lay on his other side, sleepily mumbling, S’okay, Frankie. Curling his body around the warmth of his dog, he drifted back into slumber.

I sat up on the bed, doing my best not to disturb the boy. An eight-year-old needed his sleep, and Jeremy had been having his own share of nightmares recently.

A soft click announced the door opening, and a wave of guilt washed over me for waking up someone else with my screams. Eyes straining in the dark to see who stood there, it was his voice that finally identified him.

Y’ok, Frankie? Ben’s familiar gruffness cut gently through the darkness. Slowly sliding the blankets off my legs, I reluctantly left the warmth of the bed, knowing there would be no more sleep that night.

Ben held an oil lantern high in the air, lighting the frigid steps of the stone staircase and the large, open living room of the house as we silently made our way to the kitchen. I could feel the cold from the stone tiles seeping through my wool socks and wished I had stopped long enough to grab my tennis shoes.

The kitchen was no warmer than the rest of the house – the weather outside cooled a little more each day. With no electricity, and unwilling to use the fireplace, we were adding heavier layers of clothes by the week to stay warm.

Jackets hung over the backs of the wooden chairs surrounding the kitchen table and with numb, half-frozen fingers, I grabbed the closest one, planning to wrap it around my shoulders.

It was Pete’s heavy flannel over-shirt, and I sniffed the collar when Ben wasn’t looking. Even his scent is enough to make me feel better, I thought. The old man set about making coffee on the Bunsen burner setup he had created, affectionately called the Franken-coffeemaker, and in a matter of minutes, the kitchen began filling with the aroma of fresh-brewed liquid gold.

Settling into one of the chairs, I tucked my cold feet under my butt to warm my toes with body heat. Pulling the flannel shirt around me, I breathed in Pete’s scent again, feeling a little guilty at the amount of happiness it brought me.

Same dream? Ben’s voice was warm. He knew about the nightmares – the screams always gave me away – but he always asked for the details, knowing that speaking the words out loud would stop my trembling limbs and temporarily banish the demonic visions from my head.

Evasively, not quite ready to relive the horrific images, I said, I’m sorry if I woke you up.

Ben chuckled and said, Ya think I can’t sleep through a couple of screams? Psshht. He rubbed his hip and continued, Hip’s bad tonight. Weren’t you this time. Come on girl, tell me the dream so we can chase it away.

I took a deep breath. Reliving the dreams sometimes traumatized me as much as the events they stemmed from.

Trying not to cry, I said, Oh, Ben, I just want to find India! We’re so close!

A familiar - but unexpected - voice came from behind me, and startled, I couldn’t help but jump a little. Pete shuffled across the cold floor, his footsteps muffled by the heavy socks he wore, and as I felt his rough hands gently squeeze my shoulders, he said, We’re going to get her back, Frankie. Ethan and Abby too.

As if I didn’t feel bad enough about waking up Ben and Pete, Arlo called out from the doorway of the kitchen, You all know it’s only four o’clock in the morning, right? You having secret meetings about me again? The grin on his face softened the smart-aleck words, and he headed straight for the DIY coffee pot to pour his own cup of the strong brew.

Used to Arlo’s sarcasm, Ben ignored the remarks and handed me my coffee, the steam rising from the top of the mug like a miniature chimney. I blew across the top of the cup before taking a sip but scalded the roof of my mouth anyway.

Circling the raw spot with the tip of my tongue, I realized my emotions were as exposed as the nerves under my tongue, and I forced myself to leave it alone as I finally began shoving the images in my head out into the room.

Same old thing, guys. India starts running a fever, she begins to seize, then she bites my mom, and suddenly, the whole thing starts all over again.

I started having the nightmares after taking India to the hospital for her sudden, mysterious illness. Our first night in the quarantined area they placed us in was when I had the first one, but I’d been having them regularly ever since. The dreams varied in content, although they were always part of the same waking nightmare we were living in – the new, terrifying world that India had created.

Sometimes, the dreams were about killing my mother. Or rather, the monster my mom had become after India’s poisonous bite. Sometimes the nightmares were about my sister Beth, India’s biological mother, attempting to steal her daughter back from my custody. And sometimes, they were about the day India was kidnapped, along with her nurse Abby and her husband Ethan.

I know none of this is my fault. I’ve accepted that. Once India contracted rabies, there was no stopping the virus from spreading, but these dreams bring back the guilt all over again. Having to kill my mother, making the decision to let Dr. Porter leave the quarantine zone, worrying that India will have another episode while we’re trying to find her - all of it keeps me terrified all the time.

Putting my head in my hands, I drew in a deep, shaking breath before I lifted my head and peeked over the top of my fingers as I asked, What if she bites Abby? What if their kidnappers discover that India carries the virus? What if they decide to use her as a weapon?

In despair, I put my head back into my cupped hands. Pete’s strong hands, which hadn’t left my shoulders, began kneading and rubbing the tense muscles, knowing what I needed without having to ask.

From the moment I met Pete at Abby’s farm, after escaping the hospital and all the horrors there, there had been a connection between us. I tried to deny it at first, but there was no arguing with the feelings that overtook me every time we were near each other.

I wasn’t looking for love at the ripe old age of twenty-three, but then again, I hadn’t been looking to become a mother when custody of my niece India was thrust upon me suddenly and unexpectedly. I had been perfectly happy to be the doting aunt, spoiling my sister’s infant from a metaphorical distance.

I knew Beth had done drugs in the past, but my mom and I thought – we hoped – that the birth of her daughter would force her to clean up her act. We did our best to keep an eye on Beth for the baby’s sake, but drug addicts are notorious for leading double lives, and she convinced us that she was doing great in her rehabilitation.

To be honest, it didn’t take much convincing. We both wanted so badly to believe she had stopped taking drugs that we overlooked some of the things that, in retrospect, were huge red flags. Beth withdrew, keeping to herself except for the times she needed childcare.

She would drop India off for a night with my mother and disappear for days- or sometimes weeks. In spite of that, we told ourselves that she wasn’t doing drugs again – that her ever-increasing disappearances just meant she needed a break from the responsibilities of being a mom.

Beth didn’t need to lie to us about her drug use – we lied to ourselves - not wanting to face the truth of her addiction.

An anonymous tip was the beginning of the end. Authorities raided Beth’s home and discovered a large stash of drugs that her boyfriend Bobby planned to sell.

Beth and Bobby were both sent to jail, and CPS gave me a choice – bring India home to live with me, or she would be placed with strangers in the foster care system.

I brought her home with me. What other choice did I have?

Despite my lack of maternal feelings, I loved India, and as an elementary school teacher, I had seen first-hand the effects of foster homes on children. There was no way I could let my sister’s baby go into the broken system.

But that terrible morning, when she had been living with me for six months, that terrible morning when her forehead was so warm that it almost burned my fingers to touch it, that terrible morning when she had her first seizure, that terrible morning when all of this began - when I thought I might lose her for good, my maternal instincts finally kicked in, and I knew she had become more than just a niece to me. For the first time, I realized that I loved her as a daughter, and as my feelings for her bloomed, it left me open to new emotions that I’d never felt before. Emotions like the ones I felt for Pete.

The soft click of Pepper’s nails on the floor pulled me out of my reverie. Hearing the dog meant that Jeremy would be right behind him. Boy and dog never left each other’s sight, or at least they hadn’t since I had known them.

We had found Jeremy cowering in a motel room bathtub, hiding behind the shower curtain as he waited for the return of his mother. Terrified, confused, and alone, it took me a little while to win over his confidence and convince him to put down the heavy pistol he pointed at me.

The eight-year-old boy missed his mother, who had become one of the ‘sick ones’, as he phrased it, and my daughter had just been kidnapped. We couldn’t replace our missing family members, but our yearning for them helped to create a bond between us, and now I considered him my son just as much as if I had given birth to him.

Jeremy suffered his own nightmares - dreams of his mother’s return haunted him almost nightly. Having someone else sleep in the bed with him was the only thing that seemed to prevent her appearance and I felt terrible that by my leaving the bed, it must have triggered his own nightmare.

Holding out my arms, I scooped the silent boy into my arms, pulling him up and onto my lap, even though he was too big to be held that way. I wrapped my arms around the trembling, too-thin body, sharing my body heat with him as Pepper sat on the floor next to us, his worried eyes never leaving his boy.

Hugging Jeremy tightly, I spoke over the top of his head to the men watching us, We have to find her soon.

Chapter 2

The sun was creeping up into the sky, the temperature already well into the sixties even though it had been cold enough for a heavy jacket earlier that morning - a typical fall day in the Ozarks - when someone finally drove down the road where our ‘broken down’ car sat.

It had taken weeks of planning and searching to get to that spot.

We wouldn’t have had any idea who had taken India, Abby, and Ethan if it hadn’t been for Ben, who chose to ride in the van with them on that fateful day.

Deemed useless because of his age, one of the kidnappers had stabbed Ben in the gut, leaving him for dead. The ex-Marine was tougher than they gave him credit for, though, remaining alert enough through the pain to pay attention to details most men would have missed.

When we found him later that day near the abandoned van, it was almost too late. Although the knife didn’t hit any vital organs, Ben suffered from blood loss. With no way to give him a transfusion, our only option was to stitch him up and hope. Within days, though, the old man was up and moving, weaker than he had been, but not ready to give up on life yet.

While he recuperated, he figured out who the men were that assaulted and kidnapped them. Remembering an old news story, he had managed to piece it together with the uniforms he had seen to come up with the name of the militia group that had taken my baby.

The Missouri Defense Force was – ironically - well known in the area as being reclusive and secretive. The only time they had been in the news was when they had helped with the manhunt of an escaped prisoner who had strayed onto their massive land tract.

Refusing to allow local law enforcement to search the property, the militiamen had eagerly offered their services, bringing the prisoner back a few days later in a somewhat questionable state.

Ben had remembered the old news story, and combined with the markings on the soldier’s uniforms, it simply became a matter of finding their compound. Although simple wasn’t exactly the right word for it.

Finding it took weeks of searching. The reclusive militiamen, headed by a mysterious man who hid behind the soldiers he trained, made it as difficult as possible to pinpoint exactly where the compound lay. Surrounded by hay fields and dairy farms, the expanse of land he owned was well-hidden in the rural area.

We assumed, correctly as it turned out, that the militia group would send security patrols around their compound on a regular basis. Where those routes were though, was anybody’s guess. It took several exhausting days and a multitude of different hiding spots before we finally discovered the route they used.

Using maps of the area, we spent another week planning how to infiltrate the camp and rescue our friends. An entire day was wasted as we argued – again - over who would go undercover into the compound.

As the only female left in the group, the men immediately voted hands down that I wouldn’t be allowed to set foot inside the gates. They forgot who they were dealing with.

It wasn’t the first time we had argued over who would infiltrate the compound. What they didn’t realize was that I had already made up my mind. I needed to be the one to rescue my daughter, and nothing they said would sway my decision.

So slowly but surely, I repeated my arguments, destroying their male chauvinism with logic.

I took a deep breath and began with Ben, These pseudo-soldiers have already tried to kill you, Ben. You’ve been seen by several of them, and if you were to run into one of the soldiers that were there that day, they would recognize you.

Still looking directly at the old man, I asked, When Ethan tried to stop them from taking Abby and India, they beat him into submission. Isn’t that what you said, Ben? Reluctantly, the old man nodded his head, and I continued my argument.

They left you for dead, and who’s to say that they didn’t decide Ethan was too much trouble? I left the implied statement that he might have been killed dangling in the air, knowing Pete would make my argument for me.

His face growing dark, Pete growled, I will kill every person inside that compound if they’ve hurt any of them.

Steadily looking at him, I maintained the outward appearance of calm, even though it would have been easier to stop right there and let Pete be the one to go undercover. Reaching over to put my hand on top of his, I said, That’s exactly why you can’t be the one to go. You are too close to Ethan to stay unemotional, and we don’t have the numbers or the weaponry to start a war with these guys.

I turned to look at Arlo, who was nervously picking at a hangnail on his thumb, and said, And you, Arlo, you would be perfect to send in undercover – except for the fact that you’re still recovering from your addiction. Do you think you’re strong enough to handle the stress of going undercover without using?

Arlo opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it again. He thought for a second, then shook his head no. I’m doing really good with you guys here. I don’t have access to any drugs, even when the cravings are so strong that I want to scream. I don’t know if I could keep myself from taking something if I didn’t have someone to stop me.

A little more confident now, I looked each of them in the eye before asking, Who would suspect a helpless woman and child stranded on the side of the road? None of them have seen me, and we already know that they’re looking for women of child-bearing age. They’ll gladly take us in.

With a lot of grumbling, the three men finally - and reluctantly - agreed, and I found myself sitting in a ‘broken’ car the next morning, with Jeremy and Pepper happily chasing each other in circles on the abandoned road.

Vehicles in the rural area were scarce, so I knew the approaching truck almost had to be what we were looking for. And all we have to do is convince the person inside to take us home, I thought nervously.

It was a lot simpler than I ever imagined – and I had imagined just about every type of situation while waiting. The bright red truck with bass pounding loud enough to hear from where I sat pulled up next to my car with the distributor cap loosened.

I had parked strategically in the road, hood raised and doors open – creating a typical storybook damsel in distress scenario, especially when you added the boy and dog into the faux fairy tale. The hero of the story looked us over carefully before jumping out of his oversized truck.

Just then, the little voice in my head piped up for the first time in a while. The voice always sounded like my younger sister Beth, who I hadn’t seen since before this whole awful mess started. Usually, her remarks were right on point, although a little snarky in the delivery, and this time was no different.

‘Look how little that guy is! That truck is the biggest phallic symbol I’ve ever seen!’ Doing my best not to laugh at the comment, I bit the inside of my cheek and tried to look helpless.

With a mouthful of what I could only assume was chewing tobacco, the little man strutted toward us, spitting a wad of disgusting black juice into the dirt on the side of the road, the dust bowling up before settling back down to cover the tarry saliva. Y’all gotta problem here? 

He pushed his cowboy hat back, then hooked his thumbs into the belt loops of his pants, and suddenly, he reminded me of a rooster. ‘A little strutting banty rooster that thinks he’s the cock-of-the-walk,’ Beth laughed.

I looked up and batted my eyes, trying to quell the nausea in my stomach as I did it. The idea of dumbing myself down tore at the very fiber of my being, but I needed to make him think I wasn’t a danger to him or his group, so I did what was necessary.

With a coy voice, I said, I don’t know what happened. I was driving down the road and all of a sudden- well, it just quit. I pooched out my bottom lip and gave him the most sorrowful look I could muster, hoping my limited acting skills worked.

Spit.

A long blink on my part kept me from grimacing, and the rooster-man took another step closer. Pepper stepped in front of Jeremy and growled, his body stiff as he protected his boy. Jeremy played his part to perfection, glancing up at the stranger before putting a hand on the dog’s back and saying, It’s okay, Pepper, he isn’t going to hurt us... Wide-eyed and perfectly innocent, the boy asked, You aren’t, are you?

The handsome hero (at least in his mind, I thought), gave the kid a warped smile and turned his head to spit again. As he casually swaggered over to my side, I struggled to keep a straight face, picturing a rooster strutting his stuff as he passed by the hens in the chicken yard. He looked me up and down, taking his sweet time before he gave a short whistle and said, I ain’t seen you around here before. I reckon I would have remembered somebody that looked like you. What’cha doing out here?

Spit.

It’s going to take every bit of acting in my body to get through this, I thought, ready to hit the little man who stood a good five inches shorter than me. Wearing cowboy boots with the highest heels I’d ever seen, and a cowboy hat that added another few faux inches to his height, the man reminded me again of a tiny banty rooster that needed to prove his superiority to the other chickens in the henhouse by grooming himself with great vanity.

I flapped a piece of paper in front of my face, a makeshift – but ineffectual – fan as we stood under the sun’s rays, and imitating his accent, said, Just passin’ through. My boy and me, well, we was headin’ for St. Louis, but I think we might’ve taken a wrong turn somewhere.

I did my best to sound like an uneducated fool without overdoing it, and he must have believed me because he walked to the front of the car without answering, bending over to look at the exposed engine.

Spit.

Worried that he might actually know something about cars, I minced my way forward until I was standing as close to him as I could comfortably get, bending over the engine to give him an unobstructed view down the front of my shirt, and trying not to curl my lip in disgust as I did.

In a simpering voice, I asked, Can you fix it? I was really hoping we could get to his daddy’s house today. Using a stage whisper, my hand held to one side of my face as though it would keep Jeremy from hearing me, I hissed, I’m dropping him off. I’m going to live it up for a while before one of those things get me!

I wanted to turn to the boy and remind him that it was all an act, but we had stressed over and over to him not to pay attention to what I said during this rendezvous.

Rooster-Man looked up from the engine, reappraising me.

Spit.

He stood close enough that I could smell the menthol from the tobacco and the resulting bad breath from chewing it. I forced myself not to wrinkle my nose. Slowly, with a sneer on his face, he asked, What, you don’t want your kid no more?

Fearing I’d made a mistake, I grabbed his arm and pulled him close. Whispering now, clutching his arm tightly, I softly breathed in his ear as I said, I don’t want to get rid of my kid, but how am I supposed to protect him? It’s been pure luck I’ve managed to get him this far. I don’t know how to kill those things, and he’s not big enough yet! At least if his daddy is still alive, he’ll be able to keep him safe from those- things.

Rooster-man turned to face me, his mouth far too close to mine for comfort - or breathing - and said, And what about you? I pulled back a tiny bit, putting my sparse acting skills to use again as I held my face straight instead of pulling my lips back and squinting in a grimace of disgust. I widened my eyes instead and innocently asked, Me? What about me?

Rooster gave a leer that made my flesh crawl, and the only thing going through my mind while he smiled his lecherous smile was that I would rather be eaten by a Deadhead than be kissed by that mouth. I held my breath and patiently waited for his response. He moved another inch closer and I caught another whiff of fetid, decaying teeth mixed with the sour stench of the menthol tobacco. It took every bit of willpower I had not to pull myself away.

The little man’s mouth barely reached my chin, even with the absurdly-heeled boots on, but it didn’t stop him from raising himself up on his tiptoes and trying to drop a kiss on my lips before saying, "Don’tcha need somebody to protect you? I could help ya with that..., just as I heard the deep growl of Pepper, and the higher pitch of Jeremy screaming, Get away from my mom! You- you jerk!"

Before I could react, I heard the dull thump of Jeremy’s booted foot connecting with Rooster’s leg, and almost exactly at the same time, Pepper’s growl suddenly muffled as Rooster let out a scream worthy of any horror movie ever made. It sounded both girlish and - kind of like a chicken’s cluck, Beth spit out, laughing hysterically. I covered the smile on my face as I tried to salvage the situation.

Jeremy! Turning my head away from the injured stranger, I quickly hid the grin as I tried to sound angry. That was wrong and just rude! Apologize to the nice man for kicking him! Looking at the ground, Jeremy muttered, Sorry, but not before I saw the twinkle in his eye.

Still pretending to be mad, I instructed the boy to put his dog in the car, but he immediately began protesting, It’s too hot! He’ll die in the heat!

I had no intention of putting the dog out of reach, but I needed to make a showing for the sake of the man sitting in front of me. Acting as though I were reluctant about it, I allowed him to leave Pepper out on a leash.

Turning to look at the little rooster, who was still sitting on the ground rubbing his calf, I sank down next to him so he could see my concern. Forcing my face into a worried look, I asked, Are you okay? I’m so sorry. I’ve never seen Jeremy – or Pepper - act that way before.

Grouchily, he pulled off the cowboy boot, lifted his dirty pant leg, and then pushed the long crew sock down to look at his calf. Two bruised marks about the distance of a small dog’s canines made dents in his leg. Under the teeth marks, a red mark the size of a small boot’s toe made another oval spot. I reminded myself to tell Jeremy later that he and Pepper had managed to make a bruise in the shape of a little pig face on the man’s leg.

Rooster wouldn’t appreciate the humor, but Pete sure would, I thought, already missing the man that I was developing a huge crush on. I didn’t have time to think about Pete, though. I needed to charm my way into this man’s home.

I’m really sorry, Mister... I paused, giving him the opportunity to fill in his name, but the little dirtbag didn’t take it. Instead, he yanked his boot back on and rubbed the bruise on his leg while glaring at the boy and his dog. Childishly, he said, Whatever. I was gonna try and hep ya, but now I don’t think I wanna. He jerked his pant leg down over the boot and stood up, lifting the cowboy hat, and resettling it onto his sweaty head with a flourish.

Desperate to get his trust back, I pleaded, Please, you can’t leave us out here in this heat. We don’t even have any water! We could die! Doing my best to sound terrified, I gripped his arm and asked, And what if one of those things come? I have no way to protect us! Please!

The last thing I wanted to do was to beg this cocky little man, but I had to get inside that compound. If begging was what it took, then I would happily do it.

Pouting, he jerked his arm away from my hand and rubbed his leg one more time before straightening himself to his full height, shooting one last glare in Jeremy and Pepper’s direction. Turning away from us, he took a few steps toward his truck before he looked at me over his shoulder, gruffly asking, You comin’ or what? They gotta ride in the back, though. He jerked his thumb toward the bed of the truck, and I must have hesitated a moment too long.

You can go with me or stay here. Them’s your choices. Waving Jeremy to the back of the truck, I lifted Pepper