Outcast Zombie a Post Apocalyptic Action Thriller

By Chris Lowry

They thought they were safe.

 

They were wrong.

 

The community was gated, eveyrone had a place to stay, and food to eat.

 

But the price for peace may be too high, especially when the leaders decide his kids are expendable.

 

Now one Dad will have to become the monsters he fights if he wants to stay alive long enough to keep his group safe.

 

Is he willing to go that far?

 

Find out in this action packed series where the walking dead aren't the worst things to survive the apoclaypse.

 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chris Lowry
• Release date: Mar 13, 2017
• ISBN: 9798215663486

Chris Lowry

Chris Lowry is an author and adventure seeker who has traveled the globe exploring new worlds and writing about his thrilling experiences. With over one hundred thrillers, science fiction, and urban fantasy novels to his name, as well as more than a thousand articles published across various publications, Chris has established himself as a master storyteller and a leading voice in the world of action and adventure. Whether he's fighting off hordes of undead in a post-apocalyptic wasteland or braving the depths of outer space, Chris is always ready for his next thrilling adventure. Follow his journey as he battles against impossible odds and becomes the hero that the world needs.

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Chris Lowry

Outcast Zombie a post apocalyptic action thriller

Copyright © 2023 by Chris Lowry

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

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Contents

Outcast Zombie

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

Outcast Zombie

Battlefield Z

I thought a lot about Odin the Far Walker. The Norse God was known for a lot of things, trading an eye for wisdom, for being cunning and a warrior of legend.

The reality of what I was had me seriously contemplating some of my choices of late. Like how I ended up on a three-lane country Highway jogging at the head of a herd of zombies.

It was not my first choice.

Or second.

Or third.

I’d much rather be smacking my lips over a cold craft beer listening to my kids laugh about my very unique style of dancing. Much like my killer pop & lock moves, the Z behind me stank.

I was down wind and the stench of a couple hundred rotting walking dead followed me like a cloud. It was so bad I was beyond gagging. I would have taken off through the woods and lost them, but both sides of the road was bordered by a nine-foot fence.

It must have been a national forest back when the world was real. Now the signs were gone and the fence designed to keep people out was doing a damn good job of pinning me in.

The Z weren’t any closer.

But they could go forever and I was almost done.

My stomach growled reminding me it had been almost two days since I last ate.

I needed food, rest and I wanted a beer. More than one.

And a weapon.

Something. Anything that could stop or slow down the horde stalking me.

The road stretched out in front of me and it was tough to tell if the heat was making the asphalt wavy or it was my eyeballs.

At first, I thought it was a mirage. Then when it didn’t move, I decided it was real and shifted up into a slow jog. I’m not sure who left their car in the middle of nowhere or why.

It was parked on the narrow shoulder in the passenger door was open.

CHAPTER TWO

The seats stank of despair.

I was used to it.

It seemed like every car or truck we ran across had been the scene of something horrific.

But it was empty and I appreciated it.

I could tolerate some stink, if just to gain a little peace.

Plus, I was tired.

Exhausted.

I was weary of fighting, weary of finding myself cast into corners to do someone else’s bidding. My mind needed a rest, a break.

I climbed into the sedan, shut the door and eased the passenger seat back as far as it would recline.

Then I took a deep breath.

It hitched in my throat and I felt a sob well up. I couldn’t fight it.

The emotion was too much, too overwhelming.

I’d been shot.

I’d been blown up.

Beaten until I couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe.

I’d lost my kids and found them again.

Rescued damsels in distress.

Starved for food and fueled on rage.

Now someone held my kids for ransom.

After knocking me silly. After cutting me loose. It wasn’t the first time I’d been sent packing with nothing more than my smile and what passed for charm in this God forgotten countryside.

I sat in the car and dropped all my defenses.

Except one.

I checked the door locks through tears, just to be sure.

And I cried.

The zombie herd reached the sedan and pressed around it. Rotting fingers clawed at the glass, mouths chewed on the edges, but there were too many of them trying to get in, and the car was locked up tight.

Which made the stink even worse.

I let the tears flow and felt sorry for myself.

Then I felt bad about the self-pity and it got contrite.

How did I have the right to feel bad when my youngest was still lost in the wasteland. Alone and scared.

Or dead.

Sob.

My older two were prisoners in a compound with a megalomaniac. Scared. Feeling helpless.

Sob.

Or dead.

There was no guarantee she let them live past me leaving the gate.

Nothing to suggest she would let them go even if I did what she asked.

And my group was gone too, missing in some mystery, like a ship in the Bermuda Triangle or colonists at Roanoke.

Then I couldn’t cry anymore.

The noise of the Z outside of the window, the fingernails on chalkboard sound of their claws on the metal of the car scraping in my ears, creating cringeworthy moments.

And I slept.

I don’t remember falling asleep, so maybe it was more akin to passing out.

CHAPTER THREE

Once you get used to the noise, the scratching and moaning, the literal sound of nails on metal, the heightened fear that one of the windows might bust, then the gentle rocking of the car as zombies press against the outside can lull you to sleep.

The silence woke me up.

I’m not sure when they left, and there was no rhyme to why. A butterfly flittered past and distracted one, pulling it away and the rest followed.

Or maybe it was me sleeping, not moving, the stillness of the inside of the car making them bored.

It could have even been my snoring, loud enough to drive them away, though that hadn’t been much of a problem since the Z diet helped me drop thirty pounds.

Whatever drew them away, they left me to sleep away the night and wake up as the sun crested the horizon, spilling down the straight roadway in a blazing display of orange light.

I was able to figure the direction from that.

I wasn’t sure if it was the right direction, but when Mags set me on her ransom quest, she pointed this way in a vague general sense.

I still needed a map, which pissed me off, because we got into this whole mess in the first place looking for a map of refugee centers.

I missed my smartphone GPS.

I looked around through the windows to double check the coast was clear of the dead, and got out.

The hint of their stench lingered.

It would take a good slow rain, one that lasted for days to wash it all away. There were too many dead bodies walking around for the breeze to move it. When the wind shifted direction, it just picked up the smell of rotting flesh, and unwashed clothes from that way and sent it in the air.

Like being downwind of a pig farm.

The grass on either side of the road was trampled flat by thousands of feet passing by with the zombie group.

That didn’t stop me from doing a quick scan to find a weapon, but no luck.

I was still unarmed in territory I didn’t know, lost somewhere in Kentucky or Tennessee searching for a town I had never heard of before.

But the Dali Llama told me one day I’d have total consciousness, so I’ve got that going for me.

That’s the problem with the zombie apocalypse. No television to keep the brain distracted so it dives into old movie quotes and references them as answers when you’re talking to yourself.

Ah well, an Irishman talks to God so he can converse with his equals.

I needed to get moving.

A night in the car surrounded by zombies must have built up the CO2