Ryan's Luck (Death's Children - A Zombie Apocalypse Serial Book 2) Read online

  Baileigh Higgins

  Ryan's Luck

  Book 2 Death's Children

  First published by Baileigh Higgins in 2017

  Copyright © Baileigh Higgins, 2018

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

  First Edition

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  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  You're a survivor!

  Sneak Preview

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  The car rolled to a stop in front of the house, and Ryan stared at the open street with trepidation. It looked peaceful enough, but he had quickly learned that looks could be deceiving during the zombie apocalypse.

  A day had passed since it all began. A day spent running, hiding, and scavenging. A day that felt longer than forever.

  They'd been in the mall when it happened, playing ten-pin bowling. Ryan shuddered as he recalled the look in the floor manager's eyes when a kid that barely reached his waist ripped into him.

  The kid had gone straight for his exposed forearms, tearing great chunks of meaty flesh from the bone, shaking his head like a dog. The manager's thick plastic glasses had fallen to the ground and landed in an ever-growing puddle of blood. Ryan had not been able to take his eyes off those glasses.

  It was Jonathan that grabbed him by his arm and shook him from his funk. It was Jonathan that dragged him out of the slaughterhouse the arcade had turned into, and it was Jonathan who stole the car they were now in.

  Neither of them was old enough to drive yet, but there weren't cops around anymore so that hardly mattered. It didn't take a genius to figure out zombies had taken over. They'd played enough Zompoc games to recognize the enemy.

  Their first destination was Jonathan's house, hoping to find his parents. It didn't turn out so great, however. The only thing his friend found was death.

  Now it was Ryan's turn. He gulped as he gripped the tire iron tightly in his hands. The same tire iron Jonathan had used to bash in his dad's skull.

  Ryan looked at Jonathan. “I can't. What if it's Kerry?”

  “It won't be her anymore, Ry.”

  “Yeah, I know but...” Ryan swallowed hard on the lump in his throat. “I don't think I can do it.”

  “I didn't think so either. Until it was either Dad or me.”

  Ryan swallowed again. If he can do it, so can I. I've got balls, don't I?

  “Come on, man. In and out. You can always run if they've turned,” Jonathan said. A faint note of condescension had entered his voice.

  At seventeen, Jonathan was a year older than Ryan, a fact he liked to wave around like a red flag. He thought he was tougher too, often bragging of his many fights won against other boys. A ripple of anger stiffened Ryan's spine. It was enough to get him going.

  After a last quick look around, he jumped out of the car and ran to the front door. He pushed it open slowly. It creaked as he’d known it would. Ryan froze, listening. Nothing happened. Forcing his stiff legs to move, he entered the house.

  The interior was dim and silent. The only sound to be heard was the murmur of voices from the television. His feet sank into the thick carpet, muffling his footsteps. He moved deeper inside. The living room was deserted, a half empty cup of coffee the only sign his mom had been there. She was a coffee addict and drank tons of the stuff every day.

  The kitchen was likewise bare. Dirty dishes were stacked in the sink, and breadcrumbs littered the countertop. It had happened early then. Mom would never have left it like that for long.

  The cat's food and water bowls were empty, and Ryan could find no sign of the feline. That was a relief, at least. He'd dreaded stumbling across its carcass. The past two nights had granted him lots of time to conjure up all sorts of terrible scenes in his mind.

  He neared the hall and slowed. From his little sister's bedroom, he heard a telltale moan. It sounded plaintive and forlorn, sad even. The saliva in his mouth dried up. His stomach did a slow roll as horror set in. Who was it? Mom? Kerry?

  For a second, he hesitated. Sweat trickled down his brow, and his hands shook. Could he do it? Could he kill whoever waited inside? No. I can't.

  With carefully placed steps, he retreated from the open doorway. Another moan, long and low, froze him to the spot. Silence fell once more, and Ryan nerved himself to back away.

  Then he heard a whimper. A choked little sob. It was followed by guttural snarls and loud bangs. Girlish screams rang out, and a surge of hope coursed through him. Kerry!

  Ryan charged into the room without thinking before he stumbled to a stop. His mother's corpse, still in her nightgown, banged on the closed cupboard doors where Kerry hid. Her skin was tinged gray, her hair lank and greasy. Unwashed. A rank smell wafted from her body.

  To Ryan, this was the worst. In all his life, his mother had never been anything other than perfectly groomed. Every hair would be in place before she'd set foot outside the house, a cloud of perfume wafting in her wake. This thing wasn't his mom.

  “Leave her alone!” he shouted to bolster his courage. The zombie turned towards him and milky eyes fixed on his face.

  Ryan lifted the tire iron, heart banging in his chest. Her lips curled back, revealing the canines. She growled. He had the fleeting thought that she looked possessed, demonic. “No, please don't.”

  She didn't blink and launched herself at him with outstretched arms. Instinct took over. The tire iron smashed into her head, whipping it around. It didn't stop her. Her head rolled back into place with a crack of the vertebrae, and she sprang forward.

  With an undignified yelp, Ryan scrambled aside. He hit her again and landed a glancing blow to the temple. She fell to the carpet but scuttled across like a loathsome spider and latched onto his ankle. She closed in, mouth yawning to bite down on his calf.

  He swung his weapon, hitting her over and over again. A loud pop signaled the rupture of the cranial bones. The thing that used to be his mother collapsed at his feet. Her fingers relaxed, blood and brains leaking from her cracked skull.

  He stared, shocked into immobility. I killed her. I killed my mom.

  Kerry's cries roused him. He opened the cupboard doors and gathered his sister's shaking body into his arms. “Shh, sis. It's me. It's okay. I've got you.”

  He clasped her to his chest and ran for the door. Outside, Jonathan gestured for him to hurry, his motions frantic. Ryan ran as fast as his skinny legs allowed, hampered by Kerry's weight. She kept slipping down, her feet banging against his shins.

  From all the corners of the neighborhood, figures emerged from the shadows. Kerry's screams had drawn them out like moths to a flame.

  Panic surged through him, spurring him on. His arms felt like lead, and his thighs cramped, but he sped up.

  The open car door beckoned like a shining light at the end of a dark tunnel. He reached it just when he thought he would collapse and dove inside, landing on top of Kerry. With his legs still sticking out, he screamed, “Go, go, go!”

  Jonathan spun away with a screech of burning rubber. Ryan hung on, clawing his way up into the seat. Kerry wriggled benea
th him, but he ignored her and reached for the door handle. He managed to slam it shut and fell back gasping. “Let's get out of here.”

  “Way ahead of you, Ry.” Jonathan flashed him a cocky smile. “Man, that was close. Did you have to...you know...kill, anyone?”

  “Really? That's all you care about?” Ryan righted himself in the seat while helping his sister into the back.

  “Come on. You know I don't mean it like that,” Jonathan protested.

  “Not in front of Kerry, okay? She just saw our mom die. Not cool!” Ryan felt fury at his friend's callous attitude well up inside. He'd just killed his mother, and Jonathan treated it like it was a joke.

  “Okay, okay, relax. I'm sorry about your mom, Ry. That's a tough one.” Jonathan sounded sincere, and Ryan allowed his anger to ebb.

  Before either of them could say anything else, Kerry flung herself between them. “What's happening? What made Mom like that? Where's Dad?”

  Ryan shook his head, sadness bowing his shoulders. “I'm sorry, sis.”

  “Where's Dad?” she repeated, her voice growing shrill.

  “I don't know, Kerry. I don't know.”

  Ryan didn't want to voice what he already knew. They'd driven past his Uncle Mick's house where his dad had been visiting the day before. The front door had stood open with bloody handprints smeared across the cream paint on the walls. Jonathan had honked the horn. From inside, figures had spilled like maggots from a rotting wound. Uncle Mick, Aunt Susan, Mr. Jameson the next-door neighbor, and at last, Dad.

  They're gone. They're all gone. The enormity of their situation settled over Ryan. At sixteen, he was now responsible for his eight-year-old sister. It was a crushing blow.

  “What now?” Kerry asked. She looked as scared as he felt.

  Good question.

  “We're leaving town. Going somewhere safe,” Jonathan replied.

  “Where's that?” she asked, sniffling.

  “We'll see, sis. We'll see.” Ryan pulled Kerry close, and she huddled against him with her chin on his shoulder.

  He watched the scenery whiz by, the buildings thinning out to be replaced by open plains. Time passed as Jonathan drove with Ryan scarcely paying attention. An hour? Who knew?

  A sign flashed by: Bloemhof 20km.

  “Bloemhof?”

  “It's as good a place as any, man,” Jonathan replied. “My dad and I fished there last summer at a resort on the river.”

  “Okay.”

  “It's got water; we can fish and stuff. There are fences to keep the zombies out, and the town is small. Not too many people.”

  “Sounds okay,” Ryan replied. It wasn't like he had a better suggestion.

  “It's a whole new world now, Ry, and we gotta make it work.”

  Jonathan flashed him a crooked smile, and Ryan wished he could be as confident. But his friend was right.

  They would make it work. They had to.

  Chapter 2

  A sign appeared on the roadside, drawing Ryan's attention. It was an advertisement for a farm stall. Complete with restrooms, a petrol pump, and fruit and vegetable market. “Jonathan, pull over.”

  “Why?”

  “We need fuel,” Ryan replied, pointing to the gauge on the dashboard. The needle hovered just above empty.

  “Oh, crap, I didn't even notice.” Jonathan eased the car off the road and into the turn-off. “But we had better be prepared, Ry.”

  Ryan nodded, his right hand searching for the tire iron. He found nothing, and his mouth dried up with fear. “I left the tire iron in the house.”

  “What?” His friend shot him an angry glare. “Now what are we gonna do? What if there are zombies? Are you gonna slap them silly?”

  “Don't be like that. I had to carry Kerry.”

  “That was our only weapon, you dumbass!” Jonathan's voice rose to an angry howl.

  “I’m sorry, okay?”

  “Sorry doesn’t cut it, Ry.”

  “Yeah, but―”

  “How about this?” Kerry interrupted. She produced a folded umbrella from underneath the back seat. The boys stared at her like she'd grown an extra arm until she shrugged. “You can hit the monsters with this, Ryan.”

  He choked out a small laugh, ignoring Jonathan's glare. “Thanks, Kerry.”

  “You’re welcome,” she replied with a pleased smile.

  Ryan sat back with the umbrella in his hands and examined it. It consisted of flimsy canvas material wrapped around a bar with a plastic handle. Nothing much. When his fingers reached the metal point at the end, he tested the tip. Blunt. “No good.”

  Jonathan followed his gaze. “Actually...that could work.”

  “Really?” Ryan tried to keep the sarcasm from his voice and failed. “Should I stab them with it?”

  “Yeah, stick them in the eye. It'll do the trick if you go deep enough.”

  “You think so?”

  “What else are we gonna do?” Jonathan pointed out.

  Ryan sighed as he fingered the dull point. It hardly made a weapon, but what choice did they have? “Guess so.”

  Jonathan pulled the car to a stop in front of a derelict building. A faint cloud of dust settled around them, a legacy of the dry summer season and windy days. A bland expanse of dry brush surrounded the clearing. As one, they all turned and stared at the shop.

  A petrol pump stood to the side on a patch of broken concrete while a faded sign pointed to a set of bathrooms hidden behind rusted metal doors. The fruit and veg store was plain, a simple brick square with a single door and a serving window overshadowed by an awning of bleached canvas.

  The place inspired zero confidence in Ryan. He imagined zombies crawling inside its gloomy confines and debated whether or not they should just take their chances on the road.

  Kerry tugged at his arm. “I need to pee.”

  He smothered a sigh. “Can't you hold it?”

  She shook her head. “No. I haven't gone since yesterday. Ever since Mom...”

  Her eyes welled up with tears, and Ryan hastened to forestall the approaching breakdown. Little as he wanted to get out, she left him no choice. “Okay, okay, you can go, but let me check if it's safe first.”

  “Okay,” she answered in a small voice.

  “I'll go with you,” Jonathan said. “Just let me look in the boot for something to fight those things with. I’m not going in bare-handed.”

  Ryan was too relieved not to be going it alone to worry about chickening out anymore. “Thanks.”

  They climbed out and slammed the doors shut out of habit. The sound echoed through the warm afternoon air, and Ryan cringed. Immediately, a growl rose from the bushes in answer to his unspoken fears.

  “Oh, crap,” Jonathan cried. “Ry, handle it while I look for a weapon. Keep it busy.”

  “I...I...” Ryan stood frozen to the spot as his friend ran around to the back and fiddled with the lock on the trunk.

  A short distance from him, the leaves on a bush shook and shivered as the zombie pushed its way through the dry grass and foliage. Its face emerged, torn and scratched with congealed blood crusting the wounds. A cloud of stink enveloped Ryan, clogging his nostrils.

  The blood in his veins froze, turning to ice. He couldn’t move. The thing's hands reached for him with broken fingernails. Its eyes fixed on him with single minded determination. Still, his legs refused to move.

  “Keep it busy, Ry,” Jonathan called.

  Ryan swallowed and took a step back until he hit the car. “I…”

  The zombie leaned forward, its lips peeling back over yellowed teeth. He waved the umbrella at it, swatting it like a bothersome fly. “Stay back.”

  It ignored him and closed in for the kill.

  “Almost there,” Jonathan said.

  Ryan knew his friend would never be on time to save him, and he shook with the knowledge that he was about to die.

  Suddenly, Kerry screamed and slammed on the window with her fists. “Leave my brother alone!”

  H
e jumped, and a wave of adrenaline washed over him. Ryan raised the umbrella point first, remembering what Jonathan had said. He jabbed it into the zombie's face, shoving with all his might. The metal sank into the thing's eye and for a second, resisted his efforts. He pushed harder and watched as the metal pierced the flesh. A squelching sound almost made him retch before the umbrella popped open, fanning out with a whoosh. Fluid spattered across the lime green material.

  Ryan danced to the side, holding onto his weapon. It pulled free, and the zombie fell with a thump to lie motionless on the ground. He hardly paid notice to Jonathan as his friend dashed around to his side holding a car jack. Instead, he stared at the corpse, now a grotesque mockery of a human being.

  Jonathan slid to a stop, the carjack raised above his head. His mouth dropped open. He stared from Ryan to the dead zombie. “You killed him with the umbrella?”

  “Yeah,” Ryan croaked, his tongue dancing across his dry lips.

  “Holy crap, I can't believe it.” Jonathan punched his shoulder. “You did it, man!”

  “Yeah.” Ryan couldn't think of anything else to say.

  “Well, don't just stand there. Let's check the place out.” Jonathan whirled around and strode toward the stall, entering its shadowy confines through an open door. “In here, Ry.”

  After a last look at the body, Ryan turned to follow on numb legs. He closed the umbrella and ducked through the opening, pausing when his vision dimmed after the bright sunlight outside. Cold air swirled across his heated skin. “Jonathan?”

  “Over here. Come look,” his friend replied. “There's tons of stuff here.”

  Ryan shuffled forward with cautious steps, his eyes swiveling the entire time. When he reached the other boy's side, he saw Jonathan stuffing oranges, apples, and pears into a plastic shopping bag. He looked around again, noting that the stall was deserted. Some of the tension left him. Maybe there was only the one.

  He picked up another bag and loaded it with bananas and pockets of chestnuts in the shell. A fridge caught his eye, and he stocked up on cold drinks and water. Once the boys had two full bags each, they staggered outside to the car where an impatient Kerry waited.