Free Undead Ultra (A Zombie Novel) by Camille Picott Page B

importance in Frederico’s life.
    “What’s the point of all this?” Frederico raged. He snatched a copy of an Alcoholics Anonymous book off our coffee table and waved it in the air. “What is the point of this if I can’t earn her forgiveness?” He hurled the book across the room, chest heaving.
    It smacked loudly against the wall before thunking to the floor. I suppressed a wince, knowing the sound would wake Carter.
    “She said I would never be anything more than a stupid addict.” His words were thin and strained. “I haven’t touched alcohol in seven years, and it’s still not enough. What do I have to do to prove myself to her?”
    He crumpled over, crimping fists in hair that was more black than gray. “I want a drink,” he whispered. “I need a drink.” He lifted haunted, desperate eyes to Kyle.
    “One drink will be too many. A hundred drinks will never be enough,” Kyle replied, voice gentle yet firm. “The pain will still be there when you sober up.”
    “Mommy?” Carter, drawn by the commotion, appeared in the hallway.
    I intercepted him. “Come on, baby.” I pulled him back into his room. “Uncle Rico is here to visit Daddy. Let’s go read another story.”
    Fifteen minutes later, when I reemerged from Carter’s bedroom, Kyle and Frederico were gone. Kyle didn’t come back home until four in the morning.
    “Uncle Rico is sleeping on the sofa,” he said, sliding into bed beside me. “Hope that’s okay.”
    “Of course,” I replied sleepily. “Everything okay?”
    “Yeah,” Kyle replied, leaning over to give me a quick kiss on the cheek.
    He didn’t offer any details. I didn’t ask for any, understanding the sacred privacy existing between AA members.
    When I padded into the living room the next morning, I found Frederico fast asleep, curled around his Alcoholics Anonymous book. That was the first and last time I ever heard him say he wanted a drink.
     
    *
     
    I never did find out what they did that night, or what was said between them. What I do know is that Frederico made it through the crisis without drinking, and that’s what mattered.
    Over the years, he’s learned to manage his daughter’s rejection, though it’s a pain he’ll always carry. Like his sobriety, it’s a razor’s edge he’s forever balancing on.
     

Chapter 10
    The Tracks
     
     
    Only two southbound cars pass us as we run down the frontage road. Both whiz by us without slowing. I look for signs of distress and worry on the faces of the drivers, but they go by us so quickly it’s impossible for me to tell.
    We run another half mile before we’re forced to slow. Two hundred yards in front of us, the road dead-ends at a two-way intersection.
    At the intersection are two wrecked cars and a bunch of zombies. I count seven altogether. Five of them wander in small circles in the road; two others are stuck in cars, beating and scratching at the glass.
    As soon as we spot the zombies, Frederico and I duck into a vineyard and hide between a row of vines. We dig the map out of my pack and spread it on the ground. While Frederico pores over the map, I pull out my phone and check for messages from Carter. Nothing. I tuck it back away, doing my best to ignore the fear chipping away at me.
    Frederico runs his hand along the crinkled map. “We’re right here.” He taps the map.
    “What’s the best way north?” I lean over beside him. “I think we should stay off the freeway as much as possible.”
    “Agreed.” Frederico frowns, studying the map. “We could try to maneuver these country black lines.” He trails his fingers over the roads. “Risky, though. There’s no straight shot. Worst-case scenario, we get lost. Best, we waste a lot of time constantly stopping to check the map so we don’t get lost.”
    “What about the railroad?” I can see the tracks from here, running between the freeway and the frontage road. They run right through the two-way intersection and disappear into a tangle of