Free Death After Life: A Zombie Apocalypse Thriller by John Evans Page A

fence, cawed, and cast a beady eye toward the kitchen window.  
    Inside, a small TV glowed from the counter, which was cluttered with toast crumbs and a breakfast-littered plate. “Meet the Press” was on and the guest was a former White House Chief of Staff, a man who resigned in disgrace earlier in the year.
    “There is no coherent strategy for combating the virus,” the droopy-eyed, burnt-out looking man said. “The administration is simply trying to maintain the status quo, which people have learned to accept rather than aggressively seeking any solutions.”
    “Let me draw your attention to something you told the New York Times in April of last year….” David Gregory said as a quotation appeared on the screen.
    Darla King passed in and out of the kitchen, paying little attention to the TV. A pretty brunette in a blue running suit and yellow headphones, Darla was more involved in the hip-hop music on her iPod. She took a last sip of orange juice and fished light gloves from a drawer.  
    Darla ran three miles every other day. Her favorite route took her on a loop through the hills, a quietly scenic course. That was her plan this morning.
    Something outside caught Darla’s eye and she paused at the kitchen window. On the sidewalk, a girl in an oversized plaid coat took a running slide across a patch of ice. A beaming, blond-headed boy watched from the other side.  
    Darla winced when the girl lost her balance at the end of the slide, her feet flying out from under her. But the boy dashed forward to catch his friend, sister, whoever she was to him.
    The children looked up at the faint but booming sound of a gunshot, just a few blocks away. It was immediately answered by two more, in a different register. A smaller caliber, in fact. POP! POP!
    A plump woman Darla guessed must be their mother appeared on the porch of the nearest house. She beckoned to them and the little ones obediently ran home. The woman cut a worried glance down the street, toward the Safeway store from which the gunshots came.  
    “There they go again!” Darla’s father called from the bathroom. “Got your gun, honey?”  
    The sound of shots being fired was not terribly uncommon in any populated area; it was merely a reminder to be wary.
    Darla glanced at her right ankle. A tiny .22 caliber gun was Velcroed just above her pink Nike shoe.
    “Thanks, Dad,” she replied in singsong. “I’m twenty-three years old, but I guess I don’t know how to take care of myself.”
    While Darla was polishing off her pre-run Gatorade inside, she didn’t see a sporty, silver Acura weave erratically down the street. It sideswiped an old truck parked at the curb and the driver’s side panel crunched.
    Moments later, Darla left her house and ran down the driveway at a brisk pace. She started off down the sidewalk toward the hills.
    Unknowingly, she was heading in the same direction as the Acura.  
    She noted a fragmented reflector on the pavement as she passed the truck but thought nothing of it. A new dent on the neighbor’s old heap was no cause for alarm.
    Her breath pluming in the crisp air, Darla ran confidently ahead. She knew this route like the back of her hand. The two-lane road was bracketed by towering evergreen trees as it wound along the slope of the hill. There was a nice view as she reached the summit and entered the forest.
    Were it not for her music, Darla might have detected a wail of sirens rushing toward the Safeway, but their sound was blotted by canopies of branches reaching over the road from both sides. The farther from civilization she went, the closer the woods crept to the road.
    A murder of crows watched her passage avidly, harsh caws more knowing than frightened. The only other sounds were Darla’s faintly audible music and her regular breathing.  
    She turned a bend and suddenly came upon the Acura. It was stopped at the side of the road, turned at an odd angle. The rear wheels were at least six inches into the road