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  Zombie Day Care

  Impact Series: Book 1

  CRAIG HALLORAN

  Zombie Day Care: Impact Series: Book 1

  Copyright February 2011 by Craig Halloran

  TWO-TEN BOOK PRESS

  P.O. Box 4215, Charleston, WV 25364

  www.twotenbookpress.com

  ISBN Paperback: 978-0-9827799-1-0

  ISBN Ebook: 978-0-9827799-2-7

  Art by Ernie Chan

  Edited by Cherise Kelley

  Information about this author and his other works available at:

  www.thedarkslayer.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system and transmitted, in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recorded, photocopied, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in review.

  Publishers Note:

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to the actual persons, living or dead, events, or locals is entirely coincidental.

  Zombie Day Care

  Impact Series: Book 1

  CRAIG HALLORAN

  CHAPTER 1

  Location Unknown

  He was shuffling over the hillside with a look of desperation on his face. Sweat glistened over his crumpled brow and his curly brown locks were matted and coated with dirt. He looked over his shoulder, gasped and pushed forward. His elbows and knees were scraped and caked with dried blood. His jeans and shirt were in tatters. He clutched his sides as he jogged into the bright sun lowering over the horizon. He could make out the black silhouette of a small town miles ahead. I can do it.

  He felt like he was in summer football practice, pushing himself to the limits, body quivering from exhaustion. This training was different. This time, if he stopped, he was dead. He didn’t like football practice; he hated it … they all did. He remembered the smoking scowl of his least favorite coach shouting behind his back, ‘Move it whale tail!’

  He was a cumbersome teenager back then, stuck on the team’s interior line, which was pure agony. He was good at standing in people’s way, so he got the start. It didn’t hurt that he was big either, except today being bigger was far from better. He would have done anything to be a little guy who could run like the wind. He ran the best he could, long heavy strides turning into a pathetic jog.

  His big belly groaned with hunger and fear. He didn’t know how far he had run. He remembered his last meal though. Yesterday morning. It was fast food, Taco Bell and Mountain Dew, eight dollars worth. His concern subsided for a moment, but a loud moan not so far behind him jolted his nerves. Fear gave his legs new strength. His feet ached and burned with each heavy step as he pushed on. He took a quick glance over his shoulder. Something was back there, trudging after him in the distance. He heard another moan.

  The world had turned upside down. Zombies were real. They were taking over. It didn’t all start in some small town, either. No, it was a meltdown in major cities. The outbreak spread like fire, New York to Beijing to Moscow. Zombies cropped up everywhere and flipped the world into turmoil. He, his friends and family headed for the hills. The hills were alive. They all fought hard after the surprise. He watched his loved ones get afflicted and devoured. They came for him, but he manned the higher ground. He blew their brains out, all of them except one. He ran out of ammo and made a dash for his car. He drove away until he ran out of gas, just a few miles from where he left.

  He had dozed off, feeling safe and exhausted, in the middle of nowhere. He laid his head back just for a second, listening to the madness on the satellite radio. America has fallen! Russia has fallen! The Middle East has fallen! He fell asleep ….

  His eyes snapped open. A shuffle of dirt caught his ear. He wiped the drool from his mouth. The rear-view mirror showed nothing. His heart raced. Something was out there. A flicker of movement caught his eye in the side view mirror. He jerked out of the way just as a hand clutched for his neck. He scrambled through the passenger side door and fell outside.

  The zombie was there, moaning at him. It came around the hood of the car. He moved the opposite way. Now what? It wasn’t fast, but it just came steadily for him, like a stubborn child. He thought of Duck-Duck Goose. Why did I think of that? Around and around they went. He was uncertain what to do. Just don’t let it catch you. His only option was to run into the town that was miles away. Maybe more zombies waited there, anywhere, everywhere … there was no choice.

  He slipped around to the driver’s side of his car, reached in the window, and popped his trunk. He was faster than the zombie, that much was certain. He couldn’t run forever though. As it pursued him around the car he circled back to the trunk and reached in. He fumbled around, eyes never leaving the creature. He found a handle and pulled it forth. A small sense of security filled his body as he wielded a big wooden softball bat. It was a gift he bought for his girlfriend.

  “This is messed up,” he muttered.

  He stepped around the car again and bashed in the back passenger window. Still the zombie came, quicker than before it seemed. He made another round to the smashed window, reached inside, cutting his arm on the jagged glass. Idiot! The zombie came faster now. He grabbed his backpack as his blood dripped down his arm. Screw it! He slung the pack over his shoulder. He hoped everything was in there. Be prepared.

  He squeezed the handle in both hands. I gotta do this now! The zombie came on as he back pedaled away.

  “Please don’t make me do this. Just go away!” he said, waving the big bat.

  Still it came, moaning. He looked at the bloody gash on its shoulder. A man-sized bite of flesh was gone as well as part of its dangling arm. The rest of the zombie was perfect. It was tall, full figured, and dressed in a pro-football jersey and tight jean shorts. He blinked hard. He could see the painted nails that once scratched his back and belly. Black was her color. Now she came for him, unsteady, black-eyed and slack jawed. Blue veins rose along her once soft and sensual skin. He couldn’t believe he had to bash in the brains … of his girlfriend.

  “No!” he screamed, hoisting the bat high in the air.

  Still she came. He swore he could see a smile on her crossed mouth. Jeanine always had a smirk. He blinked hard again. It was something he always remembered. Deep down inside he still loved her, or it. He was ready to propose, but the world began to end. Still she came, chin down, shuffling his way. He wanted to hug her. His instincts screamed to kill her. Everyone else he knew was dead. He couldn’t do it. He felt a lump in his throat rise as he let out a sob. I can’t. He screamed, snatched up his backpack and ran.

  He had been running ever since. Night was coming and the tiny town was getting closer. He tried to remember Jeanine the way she used to be, but could not. He was huffing along, fighting for breath as he tried to reach the town. He gave another look back and there she came, step after determined step. He could swear she was getting faster. She used to be faster than him anyway. He never minded running behind her before, but now he had to stay ahead to stay alive. It was a discomforting memory for Nate McDaniel.

  CHAPTER 2

  Nate was walking as fast as he could, often looking back over his shoulder. His zombie girlfriend was nowhere to be seen. The sun was dipping into the dusk as he made his way into the town. Pear trees and flower beds were planted along the streets. There were no stop lights, just signs and well-defined crosswalks. The polluted sounds of human interaction were vacant. He followed the railroad tracks across a rusting iron bridge as a wide s
tream of water flowed underneath. He was cautious. Zombies could be anywhere. He hoped there were none.

  He cupped his hands to his mouth, but then lowered them. Maybe yelling wasn’t such a good idea. Nate didn’t want to alert the unknown. He knew better. He was starving now and his stomach hadn’t stopped growling for miles. He was exhausted. He never remembered being so tired. His feet were aching and burning like fire. He had to find food. There had to be something left in this town. As he finished crossing the bridge, he looked back again. Nothing was there. He saw a black bird perched on a power line above, then something snapped and he lurched forward.

  “Damn!” he shouted.

  Blinding pain shot over his shin and up through his knee. His leg was wedged between two rotted railroad ties. His jeans and skin were torn just below the kneecap. He was bleeding and held fast. He tried pulling his hurt knee up.

  “Ugh!”

  It didn’t help that he was over two-hundred and fifty pounds. He was dead weight, and the effort jammed his leg further down.

  “No—No—No! Lord no!”

  He closed his eyes and took a breath. The lowering sun went dark as a cloud passed. He felt the shade on his face. Somewhere a crow squawked and flapped away. He opened his eyes and looked back. He watched the black bird dart over the head of a figure. It was her. Already! She was coming his way. His chin dipped into his chest.

  “Come on Jeanine!” he yelled, knocking his bat into the bridge.

  His heart was sinking. He was stuck and she was going to eat him. His stomach coiled into a knot. His will to survive was not the strongest, but his desire not to be eaten alive was something else. Deep inside, fear consumed him. He pushed on the rotting boards. They groaned under the desperate power of his supple muscles. He strained in agony as she approached step by step, stumbling over the rotting ties.

  Fall! Fall off the bridge dammit!

  She came on, unfettered by her missteps, crossing the bridge only a dozen paces away.

  How does she move so fast?

  Nate couldn’t comprehend how the slow-going figure stayed at his heels like a bloodhound. He thought of the story of the tortoise and the hare. He used to love that story.

  He ripped his leg free with a scream. A torn slab of flesh and jeans was hanging down his leg. Thick splinters were burning deep under his skin. He saw muscle, or was it? Don’t look, idiot! Tears watered down his paunchy face as he struggled to his feet. He saw a necklace hanging from her neck. He bought her that on her birthday … a gold crucifix. Why couldn’t she be a vampire? She was almost to him. He ran on in a desperate limp despite the pain building inside his leg.

  He needed a car, a truck, anything with wheels. A bike! He was parched. His body was already pushed beyond his limits. All of those tennis lessons never prepared him for this. Had anything? He looked down at his knee. His blue jeans were soaked. A dark patch of material was sticking to his leg, and his shoe was bloody. His body became weak at the sight of all the blood. It’s why medical school was never an option.

  The sign of a small convenience store was in the distance. He forced himself forward. It seemed to take forever. He looked back and she wasn’t there. He kept moving, holding his stomach because he felt so sick. He made it to the glass doors and tugged on the handle. It was locked.

  “No!” he cried.

  He pulled again and again, looking for someone inside. The shelves were half full, but there were no signs of people. Wiping the burning sweat from his eyes, he surveyed the parking lot and leaned back on the door.

  “What the ­­­— !"

  He fell inside the doors with a thud. As he looked up in bewilderment he noticed the words on the door: PUSH and PULL. A smile crossed his haggard face. He shoved the door closed and looked for a latch.

  “Come on,” he mumbled, “Come on!”

  It was a key only lock. He screamed again. He hustled over to the register and rummaged his blood stained fingers through the shelves. He checked the counter. Nothing!

  He pounded on the counter as he shouted, “Damn! Damn! Damn!”

  He knew she would arrive at any second. What now? He tried something new.

  Whack! Whack! Whack! He busted open the register with the bat.

  He jerked open the drawer and found a key in one of the change bins. He snatched it and limped over to the door. There she was, passing the gas pumps. Almost here! He stuck the key in the lock, but it didn’t fit. The key slipped through his fingers and clattered on the floor tiles.

  “Shit!”

  He grabbed the key and tried sticking it back in the keyhole. It didn’t fit. No! He turned the key over and it slipped inside. Something slammed into the door. She was pushing from the other side of the glass, moaning at him. He shoved back, wedging his foot against a store shelf. He turned the lock, but the door was no longer shut. She was pushing him back inside. She was stronger than a man.

  “No!” he screamed. He lowered his shoulder and knocked the door hard, shuffling her backwards.

  Clatch!

  He got it. “Thank God!”

  He slunk down on the glass doors with a gasp of relief. He couldn’t move. His leg was throbbing and he didn’t have the strength to stand. His breathing was loud and he could feel sweat dripping off of his nose as he closed his eyes.

  Wham!

  Her fist busted into the glass, leaving a spider web mark. He rolled away, eyes wide. How much energy did he have left?

  I can’t do this.

  “Go away!” he screamed. “Go away!”

  CHAPTER 3

  Nate tore his jeans off just below the knee. The bloody gash made him sick, and he spit up bile. He rummaged through the shelves and found some gauze, antiseptic, and medical tape. He closed his eyes as he placed the loose flap of skin back over his shin and knee. His eyes watered as he sprayed on the antiseptic. He pounded at the floor, biting his lip. He wrapped it with gauze and taped it off. He peered at the door as Jeanine pounded and moaned on the other side of the glass. The whole building seemed to shake with every blow.

  He found an ace bandage, and his bloody hands wrapped it around his knee. The blood no longer soaked his bandages, but he still felt ill. He ripped off the top of a bottle of ibuprofen and limped over to the glass cooler doors. He found a twenty ounce bottle of Mountain Dew and pulled it out. He twisted off the yellow cap and read the inside.

  “Better luck next time,” he read, as he flicked it away.

  He took a handful of pills and washed them down with the green liquid. It was luke-warm, but he still sucked the entire bottle down like ice water. It was delicious all the same and his stomach churned again. I’d do anything for a burrito. He tore into a box of snack cakes, washing them down with another bottle of the soft drink. He looked over at Jeanine, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, watching her continue to claw at the door. I have to be dreaming. I can’t believe I was gonna marry that.

  The sky was turning black as the sun dipped and a blanket of gray clouds began to roll in. He heard the soothing sound of raindrops landing on the metal roof above.

  “Now it starts to rain,” he said, as he sat down in front of the fountain drink machines across from the entrance door.

  He sipped on his bottle, watching her hands bang and scratch at the doors. Her breasts jiggled underneath the black and gold jersey, and he thought of all those blissful mornings with her. I’m sick. She’s getting ready to eat me and I can only think about her tits. Her face was a maul of horror. Her hair seemed to be drying out. Blue veins began to swell under her tanned skin. Nate wanted to pinch himself, but the effort wasn’t in him.

  Nate closed his eyes and tried to remember Jeanine from back when. They had been together for years and she wasn’t something he deserved. She had been a good person, but he had been bad. Not bad in the good sense, but rather bad in the pathetic, character lacking, “me first” sense. He was spoiled and brainy, a bit of a slob who ate too much, played video games, coll
ected comics, and watched too many movies. What a winner. But he also had a golden tongue that tickled a woman’s ear with all those words they liked to hear: I want you. I need you. I love you. They never meant a thing to him, until he met her. Jeanine was different.

  She liked him for her own reasons, ones he never understood. They only had a few things in common; one of them was softball. He had the big bat and she liked it. They both were competitive and smart … maybe she liked that, he thought. He had the brains that got you a full scholarship anywhere, and missing classes still got him straight A’s. It was the only thing he was better at than Jeanine. That and video games. Whatever the connection was they had, it was special, and he loved her every single day. Now she was gone, her haggard face etched forever in his nightmares.

  Nate peered around the convenience store. Where was everyone? Many afflicted cities such as his fled the zombies who pursued them, that much he knew. He didn’t see any dead bodies though. Whoever owned the store picked up and ran, hoping to return one day. He pulled the bat along his side and took off his backpack. Unzipping it, he reached inside. He pulled out his phone charger. He patted his pants pocket. His phone was still there. He squeezed it out and turned it on.

  The display showed thirty percent battery life and no signal bars.

  “Great,” he said under his breath. He moved it around in the air and a small green bar appeared. He dialed 9–1–1. It was busy. He waited, and Jeanine’s raps on the door were in a steady cadence now. Her moans continued, like a dying hound, and the glass and metal doors shook over and over. He covered his ears. She never moaned that much with me. He dialed again. Busy. He tried again. Busy — Busy — Busy. He fought the urge to sling the phone down, sighing aloud.

  He stared at her long and hard. He had no choice. He had to kill her. He studied the softball bat he bought for her. It seemed like a crude way to go. He noticed the lighter fluid stacked by some bags of charcoal near the door. Maybe I should set her on fire. The smell would be disgusting, and there had to be a more humane way to kill her. It was the bat or nothing. At least he could bury her body then.