Free Box of Zombies: Rise of the Dead Volumes 1-3 by Donna Burgess

Rise of the Dead Collection
    VOL. 1 -3
    DONNA BURGESS
    E-Volve Books
    Pawleys Island, SC
     
     
     
     
    Biters
    Dead Alive
    Dead Girl
    First Edition
    Published by  E-Volve Books
    Copyright ©2014 Donna Burgess
    http://donnaburgess.com
    Cover by Donna Burgess
    Edited by Diana Cox
     
    This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
     
     
    Dedicated to Zombie Fans Everywhere
     
     
    BITER
    Rise of the Dead Volume 1
     
    ONE
    SAVANNAH AND MORGAN HAVE A FLAT
     
    “What the hell was that?” Savannah shouted over the music.
    The Mustang listed toward the shoulder and Morgan let it coast to a halt. “The tire, I think.” She switched off the engine and raked her thick auburn hair away from her heart-shaped face.
    “You have a spare, right?” Savannah asked. She was ready to get back to school. This hillbilly scene was too much to handle, and after forty-eight hours of it, she was ready to return to the debauchery of campus life.
    Morgan wrinkled her nose. “That was the spare.”
    “Shit.”
    “Shit’s right,” Morgan agreed.
    They climbed out of the car. The front passenger’s side tire was shredded. The old rubber had probably been going for miles, but the girls had been singing to Savannah’s iPod—loud, please—and they heard nothing but each other’s tone-deaf attempts at pseudo-punk bands.
    Morgan tugged her cell phone from the rear pocket of her cutoffs. “Still nothing here,” she said, frowning. “Haven’t had a signal since we got to this hellhole.”
    This hellhole was fifty miles south of Morgan’s hometown of Shitkicker, Alabama, and they were still more than two hundred miles from school. An hour ago, Morgan had actually admitted to missing the stench of vomit that perpetually lingered behind the hedges that lined the lane between Shelby’s Bar and Alston Hall.
    Savannah knelt down to examine the deceased tire. Faux-scowling at her friend and dorm roommate, she kicked the wheel with the toe of her battered Doc Martens. “Smart,” she muttered. “Sometimes, I believe you want to come back here and stay.”
    “Look, Monster. I was driving so hard to get you and your weird, punker-lesbo ass out of here before you got us both killed,” Morgan countered. “Monster” became Morgan’s pet name for Savannah about a week after she moved into Morgan’s dorm room, a year ago. It fit—Savannah’s side of the room was wallpapered with horror movie posters. After a moment of intense, albeit obviously fake, scowling, Morgan burst into a fit of giggles. “You know I love you more than my vibrator.”
    “Small-town whore,” Savannah said, laughing. “So, now what do we do?”
    Morgan shrugged. “We can walk to the next service station or wait until someone comes along.”
    “Two choices and both involve interaction with some inbred bumpkin who’ll probably end up murdering and eating us,” Savannah said.
    “You’ve watched too many horror movies,” Morgan teased.
    “And you’ve read too many shitty vampire novels. I’m betting an inbred bumpkin shows up before a hot vampire.” Savannah reached back inside the open window of the passenger’s seat and grabbed her cigarettes. She tapped out one and lit it with a lighter that had Iron Maiden’s logo emblazoned on the sides. She watched a ghost of herself reflected in the windshield as she smoked. Her dyed-black hair glistened in the sunshine, as did the little silver rings that threaded through the corner of her lip and the edge of one ultra-thin eyebrow.
    A red pickup crested the rise, like a ghost in the waves of heat that danced up from the