Free Life After The Undead (Book 1) by Pembroke Sinclair

things.”
    “How many are there?”
    “Too many.” He looked at me. “We ’v e got a long time to talk about zombies. Let’s talk about something else.” He turned back to the road. “Tell me about yourself.”
    “There’s not really that much to tell.”
    “Tell me about your parents. I don ’t really remember them.”
    I averted my gaze to my lap. “They ’r e dead.”
    “They weren ’t always dead, were they? You did have a childhood, right?”   He pushed on my knee. “Or were you the first kid in the history of the world to be raised by zombie parents? Was it your family who started the plague? Tell me what it was like to grow up in Oregon.”
    I looked at him, and he smiled. I smiled back and told him about my childhood. He listened intently and asked a lot of questions. Occasionally, he told stories of family members he remembered, who I saw frequently, and we laughed. It was the first time in years that I focused on happy memories of my parents. I was sure I made the right decision to leave Florida.

CHAPTER 6
     
    It took us two days to make it to North Platte. I spent most of that time contemplating life and the apocalypse. As I said before, I never understood peop le’s interest in it. I suppose thinking about it is a luxury when you don ’t really think it’s going to happen. If you ’r e lucky enough to survive it when it does occur, all you feel is helpless and depressed. All the planning and foresight doesn ’t make coping any easier, and it doesn ’t change anything. The world ends and you realize how insignificant you are, but there was a vague glimmer of hope. With every end, there is a beginning, and people start focusing on how they’re going to make things better. We survived the freaking apocalypse . We were entitled to a little optimism.
    In reality, not everyone was ready to start a new life. In fact, most people wanted to pretend zombies never rose from the grave and have life go on as usual. Those were the people who stayed in Florida. For the rest of us, we were ready to make a difference and rebuild what we’d lost.
    I ’d fallen asleep in the passenger seat, and when I woke up and looked out, I was sorely disappointed. There were a few buildings still standing in the middle of town—the courthouse, jail, and a few stores. Houses with peeling paint and broken windows surrounded the perimeter. Tents were set up everywhere else. The town was overcrowded with workers who were in poor health, desperately needed a bath, and malnourished. I wasn ’t expecting Paris, but I thought North Platte would have been slightly more habitable. I took it back. Florida was the third level of hell. Nebraska was the ninth. Maybe I was spoiled. I mean, life in Florida was pretty cush. It ’d be fine, though. I could make the best of it. What other option did I have?
    The wall was on the west side of town. It wasn ’t much to look at, just the beginnings of a trench and a row of razor wire. Guard towers were set up at varying intervals down the length of the fence, and guards stood in each with guns trained on the field outside the city. Others patrolled the grounds with dogs, and the rotting corpses of dead zombies filled the field on the opposite side of the fence. I choked down the urge to vomit.
    I opened the door to the truck and hopped into the mud. The stench of rotting flesh permeated my nostrils, causing my stomach to clench. I placed my hand over my mouth to keep the vomit in. Liet stepped around the truck.
    “You ’l l get used to that eventually.” He placed his hands on his hips and arched his back.
    I swallowed down bile. “Isn’t there something you can do with them?”
    Liet popped his neck by placing his hands on his cheeks and twisting. “Yeah, we ’r e actually planning on burning them. We haven ’t had a chance to build the pyre yet.” He stepped forward and placed his arm around my shoulders. “Let me give you a tour of the place.”
    It took five minutes for