Suburban Zombie High: The Reunion: Suburban Zombie High, #2

By Jeremy Flagg

Five years have passed, and each survivors copes with the knowledge that zombies nearly ruined their graduation. A covert team investigates the dead, silencing outbreaks around the United States. Intel suggests the next outbreak is only miles from Boxford High at the King David Mall.

 

The suburban town of Boxford remains oblivious to the heroics of the small group that prevented the zombie apocalypse. Now, the school is rebuilt, and the auditorium is being dedicated to the aloof teachers who "vanished" in the fire. The few survivors are invited as the guests of honor.

 

Meanwhile, angry moms and vicious mall walkers threaten to destroy mankind. With new additions to the cast, they fight their way through zombie hoards and clearance sales. While the outbreak ravishes the mall, something darker is afoot and may shake the graduates to their core.

 

Suburban Zombie High Series

• Suburban Zombie High
• Suburban Zombie High: The Reunion
• Suburban Zombie High: Final Class

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brave New Words
• Release date: Dec 16, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223711421

Jeremy Flagg

Jeremy Flagg is the creator of the dystopian superhero universe, CHILDREN OF NOSTRADAMUS. Taking his love of pop culture and comic books, he focuses on fast paced, action packed novels with complex characters and contemporary themes. He continues developing the universe with the Journal of Madison Walker, an ongoing serial set two hundred years in the future. Jeremy spends most of his time at his desk writing snarky books. When he gets a moment away from writing, he binges too much Netflix and Hulu and reads too many comic books. Jeremy, a Maine native, resides in Charlotte, North Carolina and can be found in local coffee shops pounding away at the keyboard.

Book preview

Suburban Zombie High

Also by Jeremy Flagg

Dawning of Heroes

Awaken the Daughter

Anoint the Daughter

Ascend the Daughter

The Dawning of Heroes Boxed Set

Suburban Zombie High

Suburban Zombie High

Suburban Zombie High: The Reunion

Suburban Zombie High: Final Class

Suburban Zombie High Trilogy

The Synthetic Wars

Morning Sun

Nighthawks

Night Shadows

Night Legions

Night Covenants

The Synthetic Wars Completed Boxed Set

Watch for more at Jeremy Flagg’s site.

SUBURBAN ZOMBIE HIGH

THE REUNION

JEREMY FLAGG

Brave New Words

Copyright © 2020, Jeremy Flagg

All rights reserved.

Book design by Jeremy Flagg

CONTENTS

Also By Jeremy Flagg

Friday

8:03 AM

11:00 AM

12:11 PM

2:01 PM

5:03 PM

6:00 PM

8:17 PM

9:02 PM

9:19 PM

10:05 PM

11:15 PM

11:46 PM

Saturday

12:18 AM

1:17 AM

1:23 AM

2:00 AM

3:00 AM

3:59 AM

Epilogue

Embark on a New Adventure

Sneak Peek

Suburban Zombie High: Final Class

FRIDAY

8:03 AM

Her shoes gripped the pavement while her muscles worked in overdrive. She could hear them behind her. She feared they were gaining on her. She wanted to see the distance growing between them. She wanted to be somewhere else.

The slightest misstep could cause her to falter, to fall, to die. Running was the only thing keeping her alive. Her heart thumped in her chest. Her ribs worked hard to keep the organ from exploding. She choked back her breathing for a moment to listen.

The sounds of groaning, gurgling cries and scuffling feet were thick in the air. They weren't far behind her; they were gaining, and that meant she was living on bought time. She wanted to scream for help, but she knew that there was nobody around to hear. She was the last of the living.

Lost in her thoughts, she felt a tug on one of her legs. She glanced down as she was in the process of tripping over her shoelaces. She landed on her side and skidded along the floor, scraping the palms of her outstretched hands. She fought off the daze trying to wrap itself around her vision. Shaking her head, she attempted to stand and realized her ankle throbbed the moment she put weight on it.

Now she screamed.

She peered down the hall; the shadows were coming for her as the distance between her and them quickly vanished. She wanted to scream in horror at her impending death, but in her last moments, she decided that it would be best if she prayed.

Our Father, who art in heaven, she took a deep breath and clenched her eyes at the thought of being torn limb from limb.

She could sense them closing in on her, the looming essence of death overtaking her. But as she braced herself for the biting, a sudden rush of heat washed over her delicate, flawless skin.

She opened her eyes in thin slits. It was the mysterious man from earlier. In his hands, he held a can of hairspray and a Zippo. His makeshift flamethrower was keeping the hordes at bay. He passed the hairspray back and forth, the light reflecting off the beads of sweat glistening on his exposed chest.

You came back for me, she mumbled.

Flames danced around him and made his face shine as he turned to her. Of course I came back for you.

Her eyes gave away her admiration for him as he tossed the can to his other hand and sprayed an undead on-comer in the face with liquid flame.

Not only is your blood the cure to this epidemic, he lowered his sunglasses so his eyes could meet hers, but I love you.

Laughter filled the air, followed by, You can't be serious.

The small coffee shop fell silent as everybody tore their eyes away from reading their manuscripts. The sound of the espresso machine filled the space as wave after wave of Irish blend coffee filled the nostrils of its patrons.

A small woman with thick-rimmed black glasses looked up from her pile of papers, annoyed at the heckler. The eclectic group of women and a single man stared at her, disbelief written across their slack-jawed faces as they waited for her retort to the laughing woman.

The author took off her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose, making sure everyone took note of her deliberate pause. When she put the glasses back on, she leaned forward. I would have you know, my publisher thinks this is gold.

All eyes slowly moved across the table to a dark red-haired woman, who was finding it difficult not to start laughing again. The eyebrow ring was quivering; a telltale sign that doom was hanging in the air. Each person’s skin crawled as an icy chill filled the coffee shop. They gripped their coffee for comfort.

Which part of that was gold? The part where your weak-willed woman needs a man to save her? The part where your undead friends skip down the hallway to kill her? Or the part where a wall of fire produced by hairspray and a Zippo saves the day?

The petite woman was about to reply, but the red-haired woman held up her hand to silence the author, and then continued. Her blood is the cure? The cure to what? Death? Cause I'm sorry, once you're dead, you're just dead. Coming back to life isn't really an option. The dead are dead!

The little author jumped out of her chair, knocking over her liquid motivation and started to growl while she tried to think past her rage.

The red-haired woman leaned over. And since when do zombies move at a snail's pace? The smelly bastards run.

The group of onlookers started whispering amongst themselves. One of the women was pointing to the red-haired vixen as she whispered to her neighbor, whose eyes grew wider and wider. The slack-jawed group of writers were becoming agitated and excited from the heckler.

"Who the hell do you think you are? I'm about to be published, and this is my writing group," the woman hissed, obviously satisfied with her establishment of expertise.

I know your kind. You refer to yourself as the Zombie Romancer on your website. I had to come see it for myself. I cannot believe the drivel you're writing. And God help them, she waved her arm to the seven other members of the writing group. Are you seriously being cruel enough to force these people to read it?

The little woman hissed, Who the hell are you?

The red-haired woman grabbed her messenger bag and ripped it open with an over dramatic flair. Let me see, who am I?

She's going to do it, one woman said out loud, her face revealing her sheer delight.

Zombie's on the Loose, she slammed a book down, Zombies: A theoretical guide, she slammed down another volume, Zombies: A not so theoretical guide, another, My personal favorite, 'The Everyday Guide to Killing the Dead, she smiled as she turned the sack upside down and another dozen books fell out.

What? the little author asked in disbelief.

Oh, the red-haired woman said, pulling out a bound manuscript. And soon to be author of, 'Your Zombie Book Sucks,' part of a three-volume expose looking into shitty zombie writers.

The man in the back tried to bite back his smile as he whispered, Bitch just got served.

The red-haired woman turned to her fan and smiled. Yes, the bitch did.

The thick-rimmed glasses dropped as the zombie romancer lifted one of the books to examine the name on the spine. Cadence Winters.

The woman's eyes slowly grew wider as the reality of the situation began to sink in. She fell back in her seat, trying to figure out the puzzle in front of her. Her breathing turned shallow. She slid from her chair to her knees, her hands clasped in front. Please forgive me, I didn't recognize you. She pointed at the flaming locks of red, Your last photo had you as a blond.

The man in the back snickered, leaning over to his equally amused companion. Do you think she's really in awe, or just scared that Cadence Winters might have a gun hidden on her?

Shhh, the woman replied smacking her friend, if we're lucky she'll pistol whip her.

Another young lady leaned in over his shoulder with a perplexed expression. What did I miss here? Who is Cadence Winters?

Another one of the attendees, a bohemian-looking woman turned away, horrified by the question. You're new to this Zombie Inspirations Writing Group, she stated. Turning in her seat, she whispered loudly, Cadence Winters wrote over a dozen successful zombie field guides and at least as many horror novels. I didn't join the fan group until a year after she started producing work, but today, magazines refer to her as the 'The Zombie Queen.' She is the expert on all things zombie.

The younger girl's perplexed expression intensified as her eyebrow raised higher. How can she be an expert on zombies? It's not like they're real.

The gasps were audible; every person's head turned slowly toward the young naïve girl. Nobody dared to say anything, the animosity was too strong. The tension grew until Cadence stepped away from the worshipping b-list writer. You do realize what you just said, right?

The young girl straightened her back. Yeah, she reiterated, they're not real.

Anybody know what this means, Cadence asked to the group of eager writers.

Without hesitation, the guy shouted with obvious glee, She'd be the first one eaten if zombies appear.

Cadence nodded her head, and the young girl grabbed her laptop and notebook in a fluster and walked away. I think you're all crazy. This isn't a writing group; it's a cult.

Cadence met eyes with the man and woman looking at her. She flashed a quick smile while raising the edge of her skirt. They both gasped and giggled like groupies as a glint of metal from the leg holster shimmered in the open. Cadence took a quick bow and stepped back. I'm sorry I can't stay, she flashed a grin at the group leader. My own mysterious man has arrived.

Cadence walked out of the Starbucks with her bag slung over her shoulder and her venti skinny mocha with no whip cream in hand. She walked down the ramp to the waiting black Firebird. The door opened. Inside the vehicle, smiling at her, was Xander, her crazy man with a real flame thrower.

Are you done getting your jollies? he asked.

You shoot guns to unwind; I harass groupies that need a bit of worshipping to help me end a rough work week. Besides, they all loved it, she paused, but nobody cried this time. I'm thinking I might have to start pulling the gun like I used to.

Xander tapped his head against the steering wheel. Remember a long time ago when you were an art major, when you would bleed to express yourself.

She wrapped her arm around his and leaned against him. Why should I bleed? I can make other people do that. Art will always be my first passion, but you have to admit, zombie novels, she did air quotes with her fingers, make a pretty sweet profit.

Okay, maybe you don't bleed anymore, he laughed. You are pretty damned sadistic, writing your memoirs into a bestselling horror novel. Only you Cadi, only you.

Speaking of sadistic, she flipped open her cell phone, did you by chance get Olivia's text message?

Yeah, he said with a sense of dread.

You don't sound excited.

Why should I? It's a dedication for a place where everybody either got eaten or burned alive. Yay, he feigned enthusiasm. Let's reunite and it'll all be like the glory days of undead scarfing down our teachers.

I know, Cadence said without hesitation, If a sequel were ever going to happen, this would be the perfect opportunity.

I'll need bigger guns for this, he said to his partner in crime. Candice Winter's newest novel, 'Zombie High Reunion.' This is going to be fun.

11:00 AM

The guard's gaze paused as each kid passed, their oversized pants hanging below their waists, gray hoods hiding their faces. He was like a hawk. Every detail was recorded to memory, filtering and organizing faster than any computer. His five senses tingled. The smell of cologne wafted by him while he noted the vibrations of the floor. The mall was like an old melody. Even his taste buds were hard at work.

Are you going to finish eating that? asked Hank, a fellow security guard.

John's head spun around to his co-worker. What was that? I didn't hear you. The man took another bite from his burger, while scouring the food court for trouble. I was busy profiling.

Hank shook his head in disbelief. Are we going to have a throw down with another eleven-year-old black kid who you're convinced is hiding cocaine in his mp3 player?

Hey, John's face became serious. He was acting all sorts of suspicious, the man said, taking another bite of his burger.

Hank’s head began to lower in shame. He ran his hand over his bare scalp, trying not to bark at the man. He was asking if we had seen his mom.

My point exactly! You don't seem to understand the importance of what we do here, Hank. We're not just mall security. We're the defenders of merchandise. The protectors of the mall pedestrian. We have to be aware of every action in this place.

Hank was perplexed. He wasn't even sure how to respond to his supervisor. A voice spouted from the walkie-talkie on his boss's belt, providing a distraction. Suspected shoplifter is leaving Hot Topic, squawked the voice.

John turned the volume dial until the voice faded away. Damn interruptions. Like I was saying, you have to stay on your toes. Some people might scoff at you for only being a 'mall cop' he made air-quotes. But you're every bit as important as the cops fighting crimes in the streets.

Hank tried to appear interested in the mindless dribble he was hearing, but couldn't help but notice a guy clad in all black with chains dangling from his pants running across the food court. The kid seemed to be holding a mannequin clothed in a corset, pleather pants, and various silver chains. John, I think your perp is fleeing.

John's head turned. Oh shit. He stood up, tossing the remainder of his burger onto the tray. He began straightening his tie as he ran the opposite direction toward the security offices. To the Segways, he exclaimed.

Hank lifted his husky frame from the chair. As his boss ran back toward the storage area where they kept the Segways, he lifted his pants and turned to run after the kid. Within the first few steps, he knew he was about to burn off the calories from his bad food court Chinese.

Hank ran through the food court, knocking over chairs as he went. It was the first action he had seen since he got the job a few weeks ago. While he had always wanted to find a way to protect people, telling kids to quit spitting over the railing and stop loitering hadn't been what he expected.

The kid stopped for a moment to glance over his shoulder. His face gave away his panic at the security guard's pursuit. The kid picked up speed; the mannequin held nestled against his chest. As he rounded a corner, the kid pushed a woman out of the way and in the process pushed her baby stroller into Hank's path.

Hank jumped over the stroller, his feet inches from clearing the infant, the adrenaline coursing through his veins. Sorry ma'am, he saluted her in mid-leap. We'll be back to help in a moment.

Hank realized he was gaining, but not quick enough to catch the kid before he vacated the building. If he made it to the exit, the kid would become a real cop's problem and he'd be powerless. Hank reached the top of the escalator as the kid ran down the upward moving stairs. Hank pulled out his nightstick and hurled it at the kid's legs.

The teen’s world shook as the baton got caught between his legs. The mannequin flew from the side of the escalator as the kid plummeted downward in a mass of black. What should have been a simple fall continued as he fell down and slowly rode back up the stairs like a Slinky. With one last crash, he hit the pavement at the bottom of the stairs.

Hank's chest swelled with pride as he jogged down the stairs after the teen delinquent. Before he could reach the bottom, he saw the kid stand up and prepare to bolt. After only a couple of steps, a black blur knocked him to the ground and vanished just out of Hank's line of sight.

Hank jumped the last few steps and saw the kid on the ground with a small woman standing next to him. One of her feet was planted firmly on his back, pressing the kid against the floor. Hank couldn't help but smile as she ground her heel into the kid's spine.

Young lady, it looks like you're a hero today, he said between gasping breaths.

The dark-haired woman raised her head, pulling her hair back into a ponytail to reveal a delicate round face. Her raised accentuated cheekbones and beautiful almond-shaped eyes caught him by surprise. It was nothing, she said, revealing a hint of an Asian accent he couldn't place. Taking down bad guys is my job.

He reminded himself to blink as he stared.

Hank eyed the table covered in brochures sitting between the two escalators. Posters showed young students wearing gis in various martial arts positions. I thought being an instructor at a dojo was your job.

Her soft eyes hardened as she spat out her words in a huff. That's my punishment, white man.

Hank couldn't help but smile at her cute tongue lashing. My name is Hank. He held out his hand.

She stepped onto the fallen teen, bringing her eye level with the badge on his chest. She reached out to shake Hank's hand. They call me Sensei Kim. She couldn't help but smile at his googly white man eyes. Call me Min, cracker.

Miss! shouted a gruff voice.

They both turned to see a security guard exiting the elevator, traveling on his Segway: a scooter with the wheels in the wrong place. Min raised her eyebrow at her new associate. I thought that was for fat men over fifty?