Free Dead World (Book 1): The Impetus by Jacob Mollohan Page A

massive body lays unceremoniously in the middle of the pews his dead hands still gripping his Bible.
    It takes hours before him and his congregation begin stirring. Most of them missing limbs entirely they pull themselves off the floor and wander out of the church door, the rain still beating down on them washing away the gore and black blood.
    They set off in search of other converts.

12
    3 days later:
     
    Daniel stares at the mostly empty bottle of Jim Beam in front of him. The past couple days play in his mind like a broken record. He shudders as he thinks of all the things he’s seen and heard.
    The last channels died off after the first night and all they could get was the white wash of static. After that, even the radio even stopped carrying anything useful last night. If there was any help out there it wasn’t likely to be coming any time soon.
    So they took a vote and unanimously all decided to hunker down and try to wait it out.
    They still have a decent amount of food and they decided that in the panic there might be some left over at grocery stores and such, so they would be able to forage for anything else they needed.
    Everyone else went to bed hours before but he couldn’t sleep. The images keep flashing through his mind every time he tries to lie down. He drinks the whiskey to numb the pain, and to forget.
    Whenever he closes his eyes he hears the wet snap of the barista’s skull against the counter, or sees the blood flowing in a widening pool as the once lover tears at her boyfriend in a frenzy of destruction. The most recent, Margie Greene charging at him with those dead eyes that meet him whenever he tries to sleep. Daniel knows they will always haunt him.
    He tilts the bottle chugging. The burn is harsh, but it helps.
    Desperately he wishes he could forget. 
    “I won’t be a failure.” He says to the empty kitchen table, the alcohol slurs the words together. “I won’t let them get hurt.” All he has left to latch onto in life is the small group that lives in Valentine’s home. He clings to them like he would a life raft from a sinking ship.
    It’s only been a few days since everything went to hell but it has made them closer than years of friendship. They’ve had to rely on each other through it all. Not knowing what was going on with their families.
    The pain as they heard of city after city falling to the plague. It was all but an assurance that all of their families had died and yet they could do nothing but sit by and watch it happen. They saw the hordes of undead moving on the streets. They heard the screams drifting in through the windows.
    In the first night the screams seemed to go on constantly. But now it is a rare thing. The world is silent outside their small home.
    Daniel never tried to call his parents, and regret eats at him. Now the cell phones are all dead, the towers unmanned. He regrets not trying, but part of him hopes they are still out there somewhere.
    Static snaps his attention up as the radio blurts. “We are receiving reports that there are safe zones established in Canada. If you are able it is urged that you make all due speed north where cordons are being prepared.” Static floods the radio again and it is hard to make anything out. It sounds vaguely like a coordinate is given followed by another urge to head north. 
    There is hope that the undead won’t be able to survive the cold.
    Daniel sets down the bottle. He stares at the scuffed black box willing the voice to come through again. It has been almost a full day since they received anything on the radio and his heart races as he fears he might just be imagining that there was anything useful coming through.
    He had too much to drink. His head swims. The bottle is empty now. He slides it across the table.
    After a long time of staring at the radio hoping it will say something else he lays his head on the table succumbing to the grief and hopelessness of the situation.

13
    One week later:
     
    Sunlight