Free LEFT ALIVE (Zombie series Box Set): Books 1-6 of the Post-apocalyptic zombie action and adventure series by Jeremy Laszlo Page B

makes me wonder if it’s something more terrifying. There is Kuru, which is a disease people can get from eating other people, but that’s more of a South Pacific tribal thing. I can’t imagine that it would be a problem in America. But it could be something similar, especially if these things are eating people. It’s their arms and legs that convince me they’re eating people. Or they’re eating something that has a lot of blood, and a lot of pieces. Maybe it’s what they’re eating that is doing this to them? I have no clue. All I know is that I don’t want them to find me.
    Once upon a time, I had a gun with a lot of bullets. Hell, once upon a time, I had a Jeep which would have taken me a long way from here, but now I’m stuck in this place with God-knows-how-many of those things outside. Part of me wants to run. They don’t know I’m here. I haven’t done anything to draw their attention. I swallow to feel if my throat is dry and rough, a sign that I was snoring. I swallow smooth and unimpeded. Nope, no snoring. They have no clue that I’m here. As I watch those outside, I know that there isn’t much intelligence left in them. If anything, they were wandering away from the fires of Detroit, not actually tracking me. How were they supposed to follow footsteps when most of them were tripping over their own feet? I could slip out the back and through the backyards before any of them found me or even discovered this house.
    But, another part of me told me to stay put. This house was heavily boarded up and those things weren’t making any progress on the other fortified houses. They tugged at boards, slipping their fingers in and getting them caught on boards as they squirmed and grunted in what should have been excruciating pain. It makes me wonder if their whole nervous system is failing them, like leprosy or something similar. Whatever it is, it’s keeping them struggling and unintelligent. I almost want to sneak downstairs and double check to make sure everything is locked. All of my stuff is spread out and I don’t have time to gather it silently and sneak outside. One dropped battery or knock against a bed post and those monsters will be all over me. I don’t plan on being their next meal.
    Stepping back into the tub, I move silently with fierce determination through the second floor, until I’m at the top of the stairs. Fear grips my heart and squeezes as I wonder if I’m too late. Maybe they’re already in the house and haven’t made their way upstairs yet. I calm myself with a few deep, quiet breaths and tell myself that these things are frail. They’re nothing but skin and bones. If they’re in the house, I can fight them off, run upstairs for the higher ground and fend them off with my cleaver. I take another deep breath and take my first step.
    I pray that there’s no creaking stairs. I try to remember if there’s any stairs that make noise. I note that it’s vitally important next time to remember the sounds of an unfamiliar house, should I choose to stay. I make it down the first flight of stairs and round the corner, moving past a fake plant that is the first green thing I’ve seen in ages. I don’t recall it from last night.
    The house had been tossed long ago. Everything that wasn’t important to whoever set up camp here, was tossed to the side or removed from the house. The foyer has nothing in it but an old, discolored rug that has been trampled by an unknown number of muddy shoes and feet. The windows that flank the thick, wooden door are boarded up, but I see darkness covering the beams of light. Something is out on the porch. I can’t tell if the door is locked, but I do know that I’m in trouble. Everything I notice in the house makes me uncomfortable. While the previous tenant has made the house open and practical, it’s also been converted into a huge acoustic cavern. Every step I take makes a noise. I look upstairs and debate the virtues of making another trip up to