Free The Creeping Dead: A Zombie Novel by Edward P. Cardillo Page B

wave of anger and resentment at Marcus, though she didn’t know why.
    She slid out of bed and padded into Tyrell’s room. She watched him sleep from his doorway, watching his little chest rise and fall with each breath. The anger rose up in her, and she lowered herself onto his bed, kneeling next to Tyrell.
    He rolled over toward her, his mouth moving in his sleep. She reached down and placed her fingers lightly around his neck. She watched him breathe some more as the anger welled up inside her and burst into rage.
    She closed her fingers tightly around his neck with a strength that felt strange, even to her. His eyes opened, and he tried to scream, but no sound was allowed to escape in her grasp.
    He began to pull at her hands and then claw, flopping around the bed, but she held him fast. She was on auto-pilot now. No feelings, except rage. No thought except to end her son’s life…
     
    Tara Bigelow sat up in bed, trembling in a cold sweat to the white noise of the air conditioning. She thought she might’ve screamed, but she wasn’t sure.
    “You all right?” asked Marcus.
    “Yeah,” she said, catching her breath. “I’m okay.”
    “Another nightmare?”
    “I’m okay, Marcus. Go back to sleep.”
    “Maybe you need to go back on the Zoloft again. You know, to even you out a bit.”
    Even her out. That’s what she thought happened while she was on Zoloft for a year-and-a-half after Tyrell was born. “I’m okay,” she insisted. “Really. It was just a dream.”
    It was just a dream. Memories, really, of when the postpartum possessed her, planted thoughts and feelings in her head that weren’t hers.
    “Do you want to talk about it?”
    “No, I’m fine.”
    She got up and shook, but it wasn’t all from the crisp air conditioned air. She left the bedroom and looked in on Tyrell. He was in a deep sleep, the kind children have after a busy day of playing hard.
    She went to the bathroom and turned on the faucet. She slashed cool water on her face and looked in the mirror at herself. She figured the dream was because of some mild nerves about the interview tomorrow.
    She had worked with women like the one Dr. Loews had described. She knew how to handle them. She just preferred not to be around them at all.
    She went back into her bedroom and slid back into bed. She closed her eyes, willing herself not to have any more nightmares. She needed to bring her A-game tomorrow, and she needed her rest.
    The only problem was the subconscious took orders from no one.
     
    ***
     
    Billy rolled his tongue around inside Jenny’s mouth as he lay on top of her, sliding in and out of her. She closed her eyes and moaned with each thrust, clutching the sheets in sweet agony.
    He pulled out of her. “Turn around and grab the headboard.”
    She gasped, caught her breath, and rolled over. She pushed herself up onto her knees and grabbed the headboard. He quickly slid up behind her and reinserted himself. He put his hands in the hollows of her hips and fucked her some more.
    When they had finished, they lay there side-by-side panting in the bed as the old window unit pumped out semi-cool air.
    Suddenly, a wave of guilt passed over Jenny. Billy wasn’t her type at all, or at least that’s what she told herself. However, one thing had led to another and here they were.
    “You’re clean, aren’t you?”
    Billy smirked. “This’s a hell of a time to ask a question like that.”
    “Well, are you?”
    “Honey, if I were clean we wouldn’t be in this situation right now.”
    “Just get out.”
    “With pleasure.”
     
    ***
     
                  Marie Russo lay restless in her bed next to Mario. She had been in the mood before they went to bed, but Mario had said he was tired. He’d been tired a lot these days. Working and taking care of his mother was no bargain.
                  Marie felt guilty for thinking so, but she just wished Mama Sophia would croak already. The woman had been in a decline