Hounded Book 3: Hounded, #3

By Ellie Douglas

There's more blood…more guts…more glory!

 

PART 3 OF AN ELECTRIFYING 3-PART SERIAL HORROR THRILLER!

 

Part 3 picks up where Part 2 left off, continuing to follow Bellamy Foster and his group of survivors in their efforts to find his twin brother as well as a safe haven in a world gone insane.

 

The determination of the Foster brothers will keep you on the edge of your seat. Always on the move, they encounter a far vaster evil than that of the zombie dogs. The infected SD-16 human coma patients may now be becoming something else altogether.

 

As they travel across the country and through war-torn cityscapes, they'll have to face down more than they'd bargained for. With law and order a distant memory as corrupt human survivors take matters into their own hands, Bellamy must put his own life at risk on multiple occasions.

Will he reach the end unscathed, or will he and his team perish before he's even found his brother? It's not just the alive versus the dead anymore - the stakes are higher now, with new love, new life, and the brutality of the living.

 

Can they continue to escape the four-legged zombie dogs, and now the two-legged human abominations bent on devouring them?

 

HOUNDED makes no attempt to water-down its grizzly content, it laughs in the face of conformity and continues it's rampage of blood and carnage. Ellie Douglas has accomplished what so many authors before her have failed attempting, and has written a novel that truly personifies the word "horror" Hounded is a gore lovers dream from it's first page to it's last. With countless mutilations, dismemberment and gross bodily functions, it is short on neither terror nor gore and is a must-read for any horror fan with a strong enough stomach. But don't be fooled by this outline, unlike most gore-fests which rely heavily on graphic content to fool the reader into thinking they are reading quality work, Hounded accompanies it's gruesome choice of words by incorporating a strong, flowing and extremely well thought out narrative. Hounded takes it's inspiration from the tried and tested zombie virus plot, then twists and molds it, and cranks it up to 11,making it not only twice as terrifying, but twice as interesting as your usual undead flick. What sets Hounded above the rest is it's ability to create a completely unique zombie plot, whilst also keeping it well in the realms of possibility. This enhances the believability of the story, which, in turn, creates the sense of dread and horror. – Amazon Reader

 

READERS CHOICE AWARDS 2017

NEW APPLE SOLO MEDALIST AWARD FOR HORROR 2017

TOP SHELF INDIE BOOK AWARD NOMINEE 2018

GREENLIGHT SCREENPLAY AWARD ADAPTATION 2018

BOOK EXCELLENCE AWARD 2019

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ellie Douglas
• Release date: Jan 12, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215105566

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

THE TRUTH IS OUT

Jesus, Shadow, what the hell are you screaming about? You’re scaring Ronan half to death. Julie scoffed while trying to soothe Ronan.

Shadow was unable to catch her breath. She just kept screaming over and over.

The zombies, they’re here!

More zombie dogs downstairs? Pete snarled at her.

No! Fucking people! Listen to me! The old man, he’s now a walking thing, a zombie!

"Wait, are you saying that now we have people zombies?" Julie frantically asked, hoping it wasn’t the case.

Yes! It’s the old woman’s husband, the one we took downstairs. He’s walking around with his flesh all eaten out or whatever. He’s now a white-eyed, pus-filled, fucking zombie!

Pete left the room with a great need to see for himself. He made his way slowly down the stairs. Not yet halfway to the third floor, he saw Truman making his unearthly strides up the stairs.

Unable to take his eyes off Truman, Pete watched him. He walked more like a scarecrow than a man, his head lopsided and lolling like he had a broken neck. A trail of phlegm and that familiar guttural snarl escaped from his lips.

Pete felt his heart drop to his feet as he stood frozen in fear. Truman’s arms extended as he walked like a reanimated Frankenstein monster, he gained purchase on Pete’s shirt. He pulled Pete off his feet so unexpectedly that he whacked his head on the railing as the old man pulled him down four steps.

Truman launched himself on top of Pete and began gnawing on his neck, ripping the flesh and tendons effortlessly and splattering torrents of blood like a shower of hot ash. Then Truman’s face suddenly shot up like a rabbit out of a hole. His face was mottled and covered in scabs, boils, and flaking, peeling flesh. His most ghoulish aspect was his hunger lust, just like that of the dogs. He aggressively buried his teeth inside Pete’s cheek, pulled back quickly, and ripped it off as if he were eating a juicy peach.

No amount of pushing or pulling could set Pete free. He was locked in Truman’s jaws. His vision blurred as his hands clawed at Truman’s chest. More teeth gnashed into his face, ripping off part of his nose. Blood ran down in gory rapids and filled his gaping mouth, which could no longer scream.

Truman grew more berserk and quickly escalated to total savagery. The taste of Pete’s blood sent him into a hyena-like frenzy, biting everywhere seemingly all at once. Pete’s face looked like it had been chopped up by a lawn mower. Truman worked his way down, then up again, pulling veins and arteries out of Pete’s throat and drawing them outward and stretching them until they snapped clean away from Pete’s gaping wounds.

It was hard to see any skin as Pete’s warm red blood flowed over him and the banister. Truman feasted viciously. He tore a chunk from Pete’s chest, shirt and all, and Pete’s body went tumbling farther down the stairs to the next landing.

His body lay crumpled, his head twisted abnormally to the side where his neck had snapped and his eyes wide open in the final grimace he bore.

Truman awkwardly went down the stairs and perched over Pete’s dead carcass like a vulture over fresh carrion. He feasted feverishly, grunting and moaning incoherently as he buried his head inside Pete’s chest and pulled out bits of heart. Snapping his head upward, his no-eyes gazed hungrily up at Julie.

She’d been standing a mere fifteen feet away, looking down horrified and unable to help Pete. Turning, she shrilly screamed as she fled back to the fifth floor while frantically searching for something to barricade the stairwell door. Finding a water cooler, she dragged it with her as she ran in. She pushed the door closed, flipped the lock, and shoved the cooler against it. It would have to do, she thought as her head exploded with a migraine. Her brain surged as her stomach bubbled acidic broths, bathing her throat in hot, bitter-tasting fluid.

Shadow, I don’t suppose you know how long Mrs. Barton’s husband was infected with SD-16? Julie managed to ask between gulps of air while looking around the room.

I don’t fucking recall, why? Shadow huddled trembling on the floor beside Spike’s bed and gazed up at the others with large, wide eyes.

Please try to. It’s important.

Where’s Pete? Kara asked.

Julie didn’t want to be the one to tell her, but there was no one else, so she’d have to do it. She looked straight into Kara’s eyes and shook her head.

He’s gone, isn’t he? Kara said. Julie could only nod.

I think she said he’d been sick for nearly four months, Shadow said. He was one of the first and the longest. Yes, that’s right. He contracted SD-16 before anyone else, and back then, they didn’t know what it was until a month later when others started getting it, so four months. Why?

We have only four months? Fuck.

It was the second time Shadow had heard Julie swear, and nothing good had come of it the first time.

Julie, just tell us. What the hell is going on? Kara said while holding Ronan tightly.

Julie stood, blankly staring at Tiffany. Then the tears erupted, temporarily putting her into a semi-catatonic state. She finally screamed herself out of it.

They are already dead! she screamed while pointing at every patient in the room.

But they will all wake up! She wailed so hard that Ronan had to put his little hands to his ears.

What are you talking about? Shadow asked insistently.

Our loved ones are infected. They’re dying, and everyone who dies, turns. We don’t just have zombie dogs. We now have human zombies! She sobbed so hard, her cheeks developed a rash that burned her like scalding water. Those blisters, those pus-filled pockets of dying skin that we saw on our loved ones are the same as the ones we saw on Mrs. Barton and her husband, and the same as the shit on the dogs. And Mrs. Barton wasn’t infected. She died of a fucking overdose, so whoever dies is going to turn into a zombie and tear us apart for food. Fuck! That means we’re all dead, too!

Julie cupped her face, swaying back and forth. Ronan hugged his mother, who stared blankly at her comatose daughter. Shadow just stood breathing and not moving a single muscle other than her heart, which beat loud and fast.

You’re wrong, Julie! she suddenly exclaimed. You’re wrong! I remember Mrs. Barton saying she accidently scratched her arm with Truman’s nails when she was cleaning him up and the sore never healed. I think those that have been scratched or bitten by the SD-16 patients will turn, but those that haven’t – you know, like if you die from a fucking heart attack – you won’t get turned into a zombie. Shadow insisted as she rubbed at her eyes, freeing them of the tears that had almost come through.

Ethan’s coming back for us, right? Kara asked in a panic.

Jesus, Shadow, I hope you’re right, Julie said. We have no way of knowing, unless we kill someone who isn’t infected, wasn’t bitten or scratched. Yeah, like totally, we have no way of knowing. Are you prepared to test your theory out and kill someone? She was almost hyperventilating as she spoke. Her breathing sounded like a heaving ball of chewed gum.

He said he was. I can only pray he makes it. Shadow said, answering Kara and ignoring Julie. She cringed at the thought of everything happening so fast around them.

We can’t take them with us. Julie said, pointing to the infected.

Maybe it’s best if we say our goodbyes now and head downstairs to wait somewhere for Ethan, Kara suggested.

What if they don’t turn? Shadow held Spike’s hand, not wanting to give up on him.

You see the sores, right? Julie said. You saw Truman and his wife. Do the math. This isn’t rocket science. We have only a few weeks until they turn, which going by Truman is only four months tops from start to finish.

But... That means we can have a few weeks with them before they turn. Why can’t we stay here with them? Kara asked in confusion as wetness spilled onto her reddening cheeks.

Because we don’t really know for sure. What’ll we do if it happens sooner? I don’t want to leave my girl, but I have to say goodbye to her now. If she changes while we’re asleep, we’re all going to die. What if Spike changes, or even your daughter Summa? We are all food to them. That’s all we are, food!

Who are those two over there? Kara asked, pointing to the beds in question.

That’s Rebecca, Ethan’s wife, and Robert, who is Jessica’s brother. Jessica is dead. Julie coldly replied. She started gathering up the food, shoveling it into the duffel bags Ethan had left behind.

How the hell can you just walk away, Julie? Tell me, how? Shadow growled as she sobbed at the same time, making her speech hard to understand.

Don’t do this to me, Shadow. This isn’t easy. That’s my daughter. She’s only fifteen years old. Don’t you dare assume this is easy. It’s the hardest thing I’ve had to do in my entire damn life! Julie had gotten right up into Shadow’s space, almost nose to nose, her entire body tensing as she practically screamed at Shadow.

Shadow didn’t know what to say, and neither did Kara. They both stood like Medusa had just turned them into stone, expressionless beings with no thoughts other than primordial survival. It kicked in then for Julie, too, and her compulsive fear of dying advanced it. It was taking a little longer to kick in for the others.

Where the hell are we supposed to wait when we get downstairs? Shadow finally asked after a lingering few minutes of silence.

The reception office. It’s got glass windows, so we can see out while we keep safe, Julie decisively suggested.

If we see more of those Truman things, as much as it’ll shake the shit right out of me, it’ll also convince me that you’re right. Shadow said as she grabbed her stuff. Her eyes fell on Spike’s body, and her lips quivered as she silently said goodbye.

Kara gave Summa an enormous hug, and told her she loved her and would see her in Heaven. She picked up Ronan, who leaned in to kiss his sister goodbye. He was too frightened to talk, which suited Shadow, who was easily irritated by him.

Stop! Julie commanded as she trembled just outside the door.

Why? Kara wondered with her voice wavering.

We can’t go down the stairs. That thing is in the stairwell, and we have no weapons.

Jesus, most, if not all, have left this hospital floor already, so we have plenty of empty rooms now to haul our asses into. Shadow gestured with her hand for them to follow her.

It’s all very well to have a secure room, but we won’t see or hear when Ethan arrives, and how will he get up those stairs? Kara asked as she began hiccupping.

Shadow darted out of their new room, and quickly returned with paper and a permanent marker that she’d grabbed off the nurse’s desk. We’ll leave Ethan a note. He’ll be able to manage himself up those stairs. I’ve seen him in action, she said as she wrote out the message. She taped it to the door, locked the door, and then fell onto one of the empty beds.

Now we just sit and wait? Kara asked.

Yeah, not much else we can do. At least this room has its own bathroom. Shadow turned over and shut her eyes. Reality was festering inside her and surfacing at its own pace. Given some time, she’d come to terms with losing Spike. But for now, she didn’t want to think about it.

Getting off the bed, she told them she was heading out for a smoke. She didn’t care anymore that they knew she smoked weed. She needed it and that was that. She took herself to the nearest unoccupied room, closed and locked the door, and hopped onto one of the beds. Folding her legs under her bum, she rolled a joint and took long drags until she began to relax.

Julie started pacing the room. Her short pixie-cut hair clung to her neck as she perspired. Her heart pounded harder and harder, causing an ache she’d not experienced before. Longing for Calloway and Timothy, her thoughts flickered between seeing them dead and seeing them alive.

Kara tried to make small talk with her, but Julie wasn’t capable of it at that moment. Her turmoil was only just starting. Kara picked up Ronan and gave him some crackers and a glass of water, Afterward, he took a long nap.

Shadow knocked on the door, startling the hell out of Julie, who had switched off completely. The banging brought her back to the present.

She called out. On hearing Shadow’s voice, she unlocked the door and let her in. Neither spoke. Shadow lay on a bed counting the holes in the ceiling panels while Julie paced the floor.

CHAPTER 2

ON THE ROAD

Calloway had fallen asleep in the Black Widow. Timothy was watching a movie as Oliver took Highway 47. They passed by many zombie dogs, whose number seemed to have grown exponentially, thought Oliver. As he drove along, his mind wavered in and out of his past. With each human road kill he witnessed, with the abundant number of dogs feasting upon their flesh, he was pulled into a past memory.

He was ten and had just discovered his first road kill, an opossum. He remembered picking up a stick, poking it, and turning it over, then running as fast as he could back home after seeing all the maggots and getting a whiff of that smell. Oh, that vile, rotting, death odor! Another memory took over, from when he was sixteen and had ducked behind the bleachers at school for his first smoke.

He couldn’t understand why his memories were bogging him down so. He rubbed his forehead, blinked hard, and followed some action on the shoulder of the road.

A cluster of people was clambering out of a van, desperately trying to find another working car – or so Oliver thought at first. He stared in disbelief and had to look multiple times to confirm he wasn’t seeing things. In an awkward rush, three humans with what appeared to be broken arms, growling and biting at the air, gave chase.

One of the running women tripped and fell. She was unable to get up in time. A human zombie pulled her head up to its mouth, bit her nose and lips off in one bite, and wrenched them away from her face like pulling gum off the pavement. The other two soon grabbed at her fallen body. Each of them bit harder and faster, greedy for her flesh. Her screams blasted Oliver’s ears like a hurricane. He hadn’t been watching where he was going and slammed into an abandoned car.

Shit! Calloway said as he rubbed at his knee, which had banged into the dash.

Oliver just pointed. Calloway couldn’t believe his eyes. That can’t be right!

Afraid it is. We’re more fucked now than ever! Oliver said as he backed up enough to go forward again. He quickly picked up speed, leaving behind what they saw.

What’s going on, Dad? Timothy asked.

Nothing, son, go back to watching the movie. We just hit a car.

Don’t lie, I heard Oliver. So, what gives?

Oliver looked at Calloway, his eyes empty yet filled with alertness.

I don’t really know how to tell you this, son. It seems we have more to deal with than just the zombie dogs.

What?

Well... We now have human zombies, Calloway heard himself say, even though it sounded unbelievable. Had he not witnessed it himself, he’d have burst out laughing, thinking it was a cruel joke.

Sure, sure, fine. Don’t tell me, then.

Kid, your dad isn’t lying. I crashed into the car because I couldn’t take my eyes off them attacking a woman. They tore her apart just as wickedly as those foul-smelling, decaying mutts.

How is that possible? The dogs aren’t turning humans into zombies, so how?

I don’t know, kid. Wish I did.

Dad?

I haven’t a damn clue. All I know is, now we have two kinds of fucking zombies to deal with.

Oliver kept his speed at a steady forty miles per hour. He was unable to go any faster because of the ever-growing wrecks, wandering people in search of escape, and the many abandoned cars. He carefully watched the fuel gauge while keeping an eye out for a gas station. Even though he found a few along the way, they were infested with the undead.

Finally, he came across one that appeared to be clear. He slowly pulled in next to the pumps as his eyes darted left and right. He saw no signs of anything dangerous. It was nearing midnight, and both Callaway and Timothy had fallen asleep. Oliver got out, quickly filled the vehicle’s tank, and then took three cans and filled them, too. Although the air had a bad smell, it felt good on his face. Wanting to stretch his legs, he wandered casually to the front of the store.

Peering inside, he was unable to see anything. The automatic doors were not opening. He stood on the pad, jumped, and moved sideways, but they were without power and no longer functioning.

Grabbing a nearby bag of firewood, he tossed it at the bigger window. The sound of smashing glass woke Callaway. Oliver stepped over the broken glass and immediately put a hand to his mouth, also covering his nose. "More death!" he said to himself through his palm.

He approached the service desk and peered over the top to see two men, no older than twenty or so, decomposing. Grabbing a bandana from the countertop, he pulled it open and wrapped it around his mouth, giving him even more of a cowboy look than he already had. Walking into the back room, he found it was clean. He went back to the car and parked it as close to the back as he could.

We’re gonna crash here for the night. It’s the safest place I’ve seen in a while, and I can’t keep driving without some sleep.

I can drive for you if you like, Calloway offered while rubbing his eyes clear of sleep.

No, I think it’s better if we all get some proper sleep.

Where ya gonna sleep in there? Timothy pointed toward the store.

Well, there’s an office, so grab your backpacks. We’re going to rough it inside, unless you want to sleep in the car.

Seventeen-year-old Timothy looked at the store, then back to the ‘car’. The leather upholstery was more inviting to him, but he didn’t feel like being alone, even though he knew the dogs couldn’t open doors. Neither could the human zombies, probably. He was more worried about thieves breaking in and stealing the car with him in it.

It’s cool. I don’t mind roughing it. Besides, my legs need a good shakeout.

Done deal then. Everyone out.

Oliver set the car alarm and they entered the store. He had Calloway help him move boxes in front of the broken window. When they’d each finished with the bathroom, Oliver showed them the back office. Timothy excused himself quickly and soon returned with canned drinks, chocolate, candy, and potato sticks.

Oliver and Calloway moved the large wooden desk to block the door and make more room. The smaller desk was pushed to the far side. Oliver sat near the window, just watching outside until his eyelids refused to stay open. Then he lay down, placed his head on his backpack, and within seconds was snoring. Calloway tried to engage Timothy in a conversation while downing a can of Coke. Timothy made it known that he didn’t want to talk. Instead, he munched on some candy, gulped down a drink, and then lay down.

Calloway couldn’t help but notice a permanent glaze in Timothy’s eyes that made him aloof. It worried Calloway a great deal, and reminded him he shouldn’t have left Sleepy Hollow. His guilt ate away at him like corrosion. He found his hand reaching for Oliver’s Glock. That all-too-familiar desire to end his own life invaded his mind, a cataclysmic force he struggled to push away. Releasing his hand from the Glock with a heavy sigh, he slumped to the floor and let out a wheezy murmur. Silently, he wished his son goodnight.

Callaway’s dreams were dark. He was in a forest of thorny spikes being chased by dogs more grotesque than those in real life. Their heads were larger, with bigger gleaming teeth and much stronger bodies. He ran blindly into a spike, impaling himself right through his body. He was unable to move as the dogs tore away his flesh bit by bit, making way for the human zombies to feast upon his immobilized body. Tossing and turning, he opened his eyes. Sweat trickled down his forehead. His chest and back were wet, soaking his shirt.

Looking around the room and realizing where he was, he closed his eyes. He found sleep again, only to have more nightmares that were even more lurid.

Timothy woke to a strange noise, scared it was the dogs trying to get into the room. His body ached as his bruises raged all over his body. Blinking open one eye, he saw a fast-moving object darting up and down, which startled him. He opened both eyes and felt silly as he saw Oliver doing pushups.

He reached over and grabbed his water bottle. Pouring some into his cupped hand, he splashed his face to wake up fully. Sitting up and still watching Oliver, he wished he were as energized and strong. Looking down at his forearm, he flexed it and saw nothing more than a mild bump. His eyes turned back to Oliver, who was now watching him with a big smile.

They’ll grow with an everyday routine. Come on over here and I’ll teach you how to do some pushups.

Timothy scooted closer. He got onto his hands and knees, following Oliver’s example, only to collapse. He was unable to do more than five pushups.

Every chance you can, get on your knees and practice.

I’ll never be able to do it, Timothy said despondently, lying down with his arms folded under his chin.

You will. It took me years to get to this stage.

How many can you do?

A few hundred.

In one go? Timothy’s mouth gaped open and his buck teeth shot into view, reminding Oliver of Bugs Bunny.

Close ya mouth, boy. You might swallow a fly. Oliver giggled, trying hard not to focus on Timothy’s buck teeth.

Timothy closed his mouth while still eyeballing Oliver’s biceps. They were as big as Arnie’s, he thought.

Calloway had awakened and rolled himself into a sitting position. He wiped sleep from the corners of his eyes while giving his son a warm smile. Timothy frowned, and then smiled back.

What was that look for? Calloway said as he rubbed his forehead, brushing dark blond hair away.

Your hair. Let’s just say it looks like a bird took up residency in it.

Calloway ran his fingers through his thick hair. It was knotted and became caught between his fingers. He patted it down as best he could, flicking a withering smile back at Timothy.

Hey Dad, you should watch Oliver do pushups. He’s like a guru at it.

Come on now, boy, I’m no guru.

An Egyptian god then?

They all laughed. Oliver finished his set, then stood and did squats, followed by star jumps and lunges.

Do you do this every morning? Timothy asked.

Before the world turned, I was doing it multiple times a day, as well as a ten-mile run, an hour at the gym, and other stuff when I could. If the chance to do it was there, I would take it.

Timothy felt very envious, and a desire grew to be just like Oliver.

Calloway stood and his mouth parted slightly.

Better check this shit out, Calloway said, pointing a finger toward the window. Oliver and Timothy turned to see.

What they saw had Timothy backing up and ducking out of the way. His cries of fear resembled that of a terrified cat. Oliver stood and observed the human zombies who’d caught sight of him. They started slamming the window with their hands, head, and shoulders, causing the frame to rattle. Oliver, unable to tear his eyes away, stood as motionless as a tower of bricks.

Timothy pulled on Oliver’s cameo pants.

Please, Oliver, move! They’re going to break the window and eat us!

No! Oliver said as he pulled out his Glock and shot through the window. Both Calloway and Timothy covered their heads, trying to avoid the shower of glass and noise. Unable to see Oliver with their heads down, they heard four shots, then nothing but silence.

Timothy looked up. A zombie lay halfway through the window, a shard of glass embedded in its throat. Dark mold-colored blood poured from its wounds, coloring the wall as if a drunk had been painting it. Three more lay outside, just as dead. There appeared to be no more.

Calloway examined the decaying corpse from a distance, noting the clustered pus-filled sores covering its body, the gangrenous areas, and the charred welts spreading like scorched pig skin on a spit.

Calloway, you ever teach your boy how to shoot?

Not exactly. He’s had a couple of lessons on the sly. Why?

Calloway immediately wanted to slap himself upside the head, quickly realizing the importance of his son being able to handle a gun.

He’s gonna need to know how, so he can protect himself.

I realized that after I answered you. But where, and do we really have the time?

I can teach him pretty quick. At least he’ll know how to shoot and be familiar with the safety of the weapon.

You know I’m standing right here, right? Timothy said.

We know, Calloway and Oliver said together.

Timothy rolled his eyes. He’d never understand adults. After gathering up his sleeping bag and backpack, he stood by the door and waited impatiently. His need to get the hell out of there grew intense.

Come on, let’s go, he said.

Hold ya horses, kid. We need a plan.

Timothy shook his head and slid down the door. His stomach growled for food. But when his eyes caught sight of the blood pool, he instantly lost his appetite.

First things first. We gotta eat. I already rounded up some food while you two slept. Oliver handed them cans of baked beans.

Timothy screwed his face up. I gotta eat this cold? And with what, my damn hands?

Yeah, boy, or use this. Oliver threw him a plastic spoon and tossed one at Calloway, too.

Timothy couldn’t get his head wrapped around eating cold baked beans. His face showed sour distaste, as if he’d just been forced to eat a very bitter lemon.

Come on, son, it’s all good, Calloway said as he scarfed down a large spoonful of beans, the tomato sauce dripping down his chin.

I can’t do it. I don’t want to open it and waste it. Just... Um, I’ll have some crackers. There must be some on the shelves.

Oliver walked toward the door, looking down at Timothy.

Come on then, ain’t letting you rummage around there by ya self. You coming or what?

Timothy got up and made room for himself and Oliver to exit. They returned a few minutes later with two packets of saltine crackers and a tin of sardines.

At least you got some protein. Oliver said as he finished his first can of beans and tossing the can into the trash basket.

Calloway was chuckling, making a real mess of his face. The sauce oozing from the corner of his lips made him look as though someone had smeared watery lipstick from corner to corner, causing Oliver to grin wider.

Are you two robots? Timothy asked.

Er, no. Why, son?

"Cause you just watched Oliver take out four zombies, Dad, four fucking human zombies, and the both of you are acting like it’s just another ordinary day."

Kid, the quicker you accept what’s happening out there, the better. It could mean the difference between living and dying. Oliver shoved more beans in his mouth while looking directly at Timothy and giving him a tomato sauce grin.

What he said, son, Calloway concurred. No one said it’d be easy. Truth is, I’m as scared as a rabbit staring down a double-barreled shotgun. But what can we do about it? Nothing, except stay alive!

Timothy’s eyes welled up. Managing to blink the tears away, he stared in shock at his father.

Sorry, son, I didn’t mean to yell. I’m just as overwhelmed by all this as you are.

Timothy lazily gazed at the dead thing, fixating on it. Horrified, yet fascinated, he shifted his skinny body to face the others, forcing his gaze away from the body. If he looked any longer, he’d puke. He struggled to eat, in spite of his stomach demanding food.

"I’d have thought there’d be more of