Free The Dead & Dying: A Zombie Novel by William Todd Rose

somewhere down in my throat. And for the first time in my life I got really scared in a way I can't really explain; I felt like all I wanted to do was crawl back into that cave with my Mommy and stay there forever. I would hold her in my arms like she always held me and keep her safe and make sure nothin' bad ever happened to her.
    But somehow I still couldn't clear my throat enough to tell her I loved her too.
    “I know baby.” she whispered. “I know.... ”

 
    CHAPTER THIRTEEN: CARL
     
    God, I'm cold. I reckon this is what it must feel like if someone drained all the blood out of a body and replaced it with ice water. It's a chill that goes deeper than just the skin: a cold that seems to radiate from somewhere inside the marrow of my bones and I know that even if I had a mound of blankets it would never be enough.
    And it doesn't help that I'm sweating like it was uncle's day at the whorehouse either. My hair is plastered to my head and the drops trickle down my forehead, roll into my eyes, and sting like a mother fucker.
    Outside, the wind is howling through the trees like a pissed off demon. Must be a storm on the way. I wonder if I'll still be alive by the time the rain actually starts to fall. God, I hope so....
    I used to love watching thunderstorms. I'd stand on the back porch and watch the distant clouds flicker with lightning; and there's this smell carried on the breeze right before it rains, a smell that lets you know everything will be fresh and clean soon and all of the ugliness will be washed away; I would stand out there breathing that smell in and count the number of seconds between the flash of lightning and the boom of thunder.
    I hope I can hold out. I know that I don't have much time left, that my body can't just bleed indefinitely... but I'd love to hear the patter of rain on a roof one last time. I'd like to close my eyes, listen to the sound of the storm outside, and drift off to sleep like I did when I was a kid.
    That sounds so good right now. I'm tired beyond belief: tired of the pain flaring through my side, tired of the cold, tired of the ghosts that haunt my memories and remind me of everything I've lost. I just want to lay my head down and let it all be dissolve away.
    But I have that option, don't I? I've got my pistol and, like a bad stereotype, a single round left. I can't imagine it would hurt for long... probably no more than it would take for my heart to beat once. And could it be any worse than what I'm feeling now? A flash of pain in exchange for an eternity of release... is that really such a bad deal?
    But I really wanna hear that rain, ya know? Just once more. If I can hold out until the first drops start splattering against the windows, if I can catch a glimpse of the pines as they bend to the power of the wind while thunder rumbles and lightning bathes the world in electric blue... if I can just hang on that long then maybe.
    Shit, what was I thinking about before? Something to do with Doc, I think. Yeah, I'm pretty sure that was it. But what? It’s getting hard to concentrate, hard to keep stringing these words together in my head. Wonder if this is how Grandpa Jackson felt when his mind first started to go? Confused, mentally exhausted to the point that thought seems to almost take on a physical weight, more than a tad bit scared because there's these gaping holes where memory ought to be. It’s so dang frustrating, like trying to remember a song lyric that's right on the tip of your tongue. But for the life of me I can't remember what I was thinking about just five minutes ago. Only that it was something to do with me and Doc.
    Instead, I find myself thinking back to a time before I met the man. It was right after everything went to pot and most people still had hope that it would all blow over quickly, that the military would step in and stop this insanity before it could spread any further. Thing was, until that time came you still had to run. You still had to find