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

surface of the pavement. The engine rumbled like a broken tractor. Staticky rockabilly blared from busted radio speakers.
    Morgan and Savannah moved to the edge of the road and waited. As the truck drew closer, they began frantically waving.
    The pickup skidded to a halt in a cloud of exhaust and gravel, and a cute blond-haired guy stuck his head through the open window. “You ladies need a hand?”
    Morgan stepped forward. “Flat tire,” she said. “We really could use some help.” Savannah couldn’t help but notice how Morgan tossed her hair back from her face like she always did when she met a cute guy. Savannah loved the girl, but that little movement irritated her utterly.
    Savannah nudged her friend and leaned against the door of the pickup. “Einstein here doesn’t have a spare. We thought we were stuck.” She flashed him her best friendly girl smile, which was tough for a girl whose normal expression was a scowl. “But then you came along. Lucky us.”
    “Lucky me, is more like it,” the driver said. His dimples made Savannah’s belly shiver a little. He thrust his hand through the window. “Johnny.”
    Morgan pushed Savannah aside and grabbed the big hand. “I’m Morgan. This creature of the night is Savannah, but I call her Monster.”
    “We tried to call a tow service, but we can’t get a connection,” Savannah said.
    “Phone service sucks out here,” Johnny agreed. “We got a landline at my house. We can call from there. Get out of the sun, too. Nobody wants to hang out on the side of the road all afternoon.”
    “I suppose not,” Morgan said, hustling around the front of the pickup. She pulled open the passenger’s side door and raced to jump in ahead of Savannah, squeezing herself against Johnny’s side. She ran her fingers along the curve of his generous bicep and giggled.
    “Wow. Nice,” she said, then turned to Savannah and winked.
    Savannah climbed in and tugged the door closed.
    Johnny leaned forward on the steering wheel and beamed over at Savannah. “Monster, huh? Cool. You like scary things?”
    Savannah nodded slowly. Despite Johnny’s perfect smile and friendly demeanor, her chest tightened a little. Maybe a ride with this guy wasn’t a terrific idea, after all.
    “She is a scary thing,” Morgan said as they started off.
     

TWO
    THE HUNKY GUY IN THE PICKUP
     
    They sped along the deserted country road, passing more of the same—fields, clapboard houses hidden behind canopies of trees, windmills. Cows and goats.
    Johnny switched the radio volume back up, the static like a live wire. Nasally crooning rose, battling with twanging guitars and Savannah wondered how anyone could consciously make the decision to listen to country music. She imagined needing to clean out her ears when she got back home.
    “Is your place very far?” Morgan shouted over the music.
    “Just a ways ahead,” Johnny answered. Savannah grew more nervous with each passing mile. Maybe they should’ve stayed with the car. A cop might have come along and radioed for a tow truck.
    After a few more agonizing moments of Morgan smiling like a sixteen-year-old and tossing her hair, Johnny turned onto a narrow dirt lane. In the passenger’s side mirror, Savannah watched the paved road vanish in a cloud of beige dust. Through the dirty windshield, a hulking old farmhouse emerged. Things were about to get worse. She took a deep breath as Johnny ignored what was supposed to be the driveway, instead cutting through the patchy lawn and pulling all the way up to the front porch.
    “This is it,” he said, stopping the pickup too abruptly, sending the girls reeling toward the dash.
    “It’s awesome,” Morgan gushed as they climbed from the cab of the pickup. She hooked her arm through Johnny’s as they climbed the steps. The old wood groaned under their weight.
    Savannah hung back a bit, taking in the old place. The wood façade was the color of gravestones and tangles of dead ivy wound the broad porch