Free Ghosts: Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse by Shawn Chesser

slurred Duncan. He
let go of the corpse’s bloodied bare feet he’d been holding onto. “Did you
think maybe she’s calling to tell you the scientists you shanghaied from Outer
Mongolia have perfected the dear departed doctor’s antiserum?”
    Shaking his head, Cade said, “Doubtful.”
    “That would be a game changer,” countered Wilson.
    Cade didn’t answer to that. Guessing the reason for Nash’s
cold call was the last item on his agenda. Instead he said, “Why don’t you go and
stay with Sasha and Taryn. When you get there send Seth back with another
pickup so we can get these things to the pit and bury them. And have him bring
me a shirt.”
    Wilson perked up. He asked, “I’ll bring you a shirt if I can
operate the excavator.”
    “Sheeit, Wilson,” drawled Duncan. “Ole ham-fisted Daymon
here pilots that Black Hawk better than you work that booger green piece of digging
machinery.”
    “To answer your question, Wilson,” Cade said. “No. Can’t
risk having that thing break on us. Plus ... I have zero desire to go poking
around Woodruff or anywhere else looking for parts.”
    Wilson nodded and took off toward the compound.
    Daymon shot his reluctant flight instructor an icy
glare, brought his hands together at neck-level and pantomimed strangling him.
    Swaying noticeably, Duncan fumbled in his pockets for his
flask. He spun the cap, took a long draw and grimaced from the burn. Then,
apparently having already forgotten his barbed comment, gazed confusedly at
Daymon.
    Hands by his sides now, Daymon said, “It’s not like riding a
freaking bike. Not even close. So forgive me if I can’t land the thing yet.”
    “Can’t hover it worth a damn either,” muttered Duncan. “You
know how many hours I logged watching and learning before I even got to touch a
stick?”
    “No ... but I have a feeling you’re about to tell us.”
    “Daymon, my boy …” Duncan paused and took another belt of
Jack Daniels. Wiped his mouth on a sleeve and went on, “a month of Sundays.
That’s how many.”
    “That’s days, not hours,” said Daymon, lips curling to
a smile. “And you’re drunk.”
    The radio in Daymon’s pocket suddenly blared and Seth said
he and Wilson were a minute out.
    Thumbing the Talk button, Daymon said, “We aren’t going
anywhere. And neither are the rotters.”
    “Copy that,” replied Seth.
    As the Dodge Ram Dually approached on the narrow road,
underbrush and branches slapped and scratched at its bulbous rear fenders, making
the sheet metal sing. After squeezing the rig through the opening between a
pair of hewn timber posts that didn’t look wide enough for the full-sized pick-up,
Seth, who was alone, stopped it perfectly with the open tailgate right beside
the stinking mound of twice-dead cadavers.
    ***
    Five minutes later the seven corpses were stacked in the box
bed like cordwood, their scuffed shoes and twisted and stubbed toes resting on
the tailgate.
    After shrugging on the tee shirt, Cade slapped the wheel
well and moved aside and watched Seth back the truck in a mirror image of the
way he’d arrived. A dozen yards down the feeder he found a wide spot in the
road, made a three-point-turn, crushing ferns and assorted ground-hugging flora,
and sped back towards the compound.
    Carbine in hand, Cade looked at Duncan and Daymon and said, “Let’s
go. Time to open Pandora’s box.”

Chapter 12
    Leaving the two men at the forest’s edge near the motor pool
Cade hustled across the clearing and ducked into the compound. After letting
his eyes adjust to the low light, he noticed Heidi seated a dozen yards away, the
glare from the flat panel monitor bathing her face with an eerie blue light.
    That she was still at her post led Cade to believe that his
wife had wisely taken the high road—a good thing for everyone involved. A confrontation
with Brook, who was becoming more hardened to their new world with each passing
day, would have been grossly one-sided, and served only to