Life After The Undead (Book 1) (23 page)

“Okay.
I’m
sorry.
I
didn
’t
mean
to
offend
you.”

His
grip
loosened
and
his
face
relaxed.
“It’s
okay.”

I
decided
it
was
best
to
change
the
subject.
I
didn’t
know
what
that
was
about,
but
I
was
pretty
sure
I
didn’t
want
to
see
it
again.
“Tell
me
about
North
Platte.”

“What
do
you
want
to
know?”

“What
does
it
look
like?”

“Nothing
much.
The
town
still
exists,
and
we
’v
e
set
up
camp
in
the
most
viable
buildings
and
houses,
but
most
are in ruins.
When
the
threat
got
out
of
hand,
the
people
tried
to
burn
the
undead
down.
You
can’t
kill
a
zombie
like
that
. You
have
to
destroy
their
brain.
All
you
do
when
you
light
them
on
fire is
make
them
a
walking
torch.
They
light
everything
in
their
path
until
they
can’t
walk
anymore.”

“Have
you
killed
a
lot
of
zombies?”

The
right
side
of
his
mouth pulled
into
a
smile
and
he
looked
at
me.
“More
than
any
man
you
’l
l
ever
meet.”

“Are they
hard
to
kill?”

“Nah,
not
if
you
know
what
you
’r
e
doing.
Like
I
said,
you
have
to
destroy
the brain
or
behead
them.
After
that,
the
re’s
nothing
to
‘e
m.”

“If
there’s
nothing
to
them,
and
they
’r
e
so
easy
to
destroy,
how
did
they
get
out
of
hand?”

“Because
they
have
numbers
on
their
side. You
see,
your
average
zombie
isn’t
very
smart.
They
have
one
thing
on
their
mind,
and
that
is to
eat. And
you
don’t
want
to
get
bit.
If
you
do,
you
have
about
twenty-four
hours
before
you
turn
into
the
walking
dead.
They
don’t
move
very
fast
because
they
’r
e
dead
and
their
bodies
are
falling
apart.
So
we
have
that
as
an
advantage, but
where
the
re’
s
one,
you
can
bet
in
a
few
minutes
there
will
be
more. If
you
can
remain
undetected,
you
’l
l
be
fine.
If
you
see
one,
make
sure
you
kill
it
before
it
can
summon
its
friends.”

“How
do they
summon
their
friends?”

“With
the
most
godawful
moaning
you
have
ever
heard
in
your
life.”

I
thought
back
to
the
night
my
family
and
I had hid
in
the
attic
and
shivered.
“How
do they
track
you?”

“I
don’t
know.
No
one
knows.
We’re
not
here
to
study
the
darn
things.”

“How
many
are
there?”

“Too
many.”
He
looked
at
me.
“We
’v
e
got
a
long
time
to
talk
about
zombies.
Let’s
talk
about
something
else.”
He
turned
back
to
the
road.
“Tell
me
about
yourself.”

“There’s
not
really
that
much
to
tell.”

“Tell
me
about
your
parents.
I
don
’t
really
remember
them.”

I
averted
my
gaze
to
my
lap.
“They
’r
e
dead.”

“They
weren
’t
always
dead,
were
they?
You
did
have
a
childhood,
right?”
  He
pushed
on
my
knee.
“Or
were
you
the
first
kid
in
the
history
of the
world
to
be
raised
by
zombie
parents?
Was
it
your
family
who
started
the
plague?
Tell me
what
it
was
like to
grow
up in
Oregon.”

I
looked
at
him,
and
he
smiled.
I
smiled
back
and
told
him
about
my
childhood.
He
listened
intently
and
asked
a lot
of
questions. Occasionally,
he
told
stories
of
family
members
he
remembered,
who
I
saw
frequently,
and
we
laughed. It
was
the
first
time in
years
that I
focused
on
happy
memories
of
my
parents.
I
was
sure I made
the
right
decision
to
leave
Florida.

CHAPTER
6

It
took
us
two
days
to
make
it to
North
Platte.
I
spent
most
of
that
time
contemplating life
and
the
apocalypse.
As
I
said
before,
I
never
understood
peop
le’s
interest
in
it.
I
suppose
thinking
about
it
is
a
luxury
when
you
don
’t
really
think
it’s
going
to
happen.
If
you
’r
e
lucky
enough
to
survive
it
when
it
does
occur,
all
you
feel is
helpless
and
depressed.
All
the
planning
and
foresight
doesn
’t
make
coping
any
easier,
and
it
doesn
’t
change
anything.
The
world
ends
and
you
realize
how
insignificant
you
are, but
there was
a
vague
glimmer
of
hope.
With
every
end,
there is
a
beginning,
and
people
start
focusing
on how
they’re
going
to
make
things
better.
We
survived
the
freaking apocalypse
. We
were
entitled
to
a
little
optimism.

In
reality,
not
everyone
was
ready
to start
a
new
life.
In
fact,
most
people
wanted
to
pretend
zombies
never
rose
from
the
grave
and
have
life
go
on as
usual.
Those
were
the
people
who
stayed
in
Florida.
For
the
rest
of
us,
we
were
ready
to
make
a
difference
and
rebuild
what
we’d
lost.

I
’d
fallen
asleep
in
the
passenger
seat,
and
when
I
woke
up
and
looked
out,
I
was
sorely
disappointed.
There
were
a
few
buildings
still
standing
in the
middle
of
town—the
courthouse,
jail, and
a
few
stores.
Houses
with
peeling
paint
and
broken
windows
surrounded
the
perimeter.
Tents
were
set up
everywhere
else.
The
town
was
overcrowded
with
workers
who
were
in poor
health,
desperately
needed
a
bath,
and
malnourished.
I
wasn
’t
expecting
Paris,
but
I
thought
North
Platte would
have
been
slightly
more
habitable.
I
took
it
back.
Florida
was
the
third
level
of
hell.
Nebraska
was
the
ninth.
Maybe
I
was
spoiled.
I
mean,
life
in
Florida
was
pretty
cush. It
’d
be
fine,
though.
I
could
make
the
best
of
it.
What
other
option
did I
have?

The
wall
was
on
the
west
side
of
town.
It
wasn
’t
much
to
look
at,
just
the
beginnings
of
a
trench
and
a
row
of
razor
wire.
Guard
towers
were
set up
at
varying intervals
down
the
length
of
the
fence,
and
guards
stood
in
each
with
guns
trained
on
the
field
outside
the
city. Others
patrolled
the
grounds
with
dogs,
and
the
rotting
corpses
of
dead
zombies
filled
the
field
on
the
opposite
side
of
the
fence.
I
choked
down
the
urge
to
vomit.

I
opened
the
door
to
the
truck
and
hopped
into
the
mud.
The
stench
of
rotting
flesh
permeated
my
nostrils,
causing
my
stomach
to
clench.
I
placed
my
hand
over
my
mouth
to
keep
the
vomit
in.
Liet
stepped
around
the
truck.

“You
’l
l
get
used
to
that
eventually.”
He
placed
his
hands
on
his
hips
and
arched
his
back.

I
swallowed
down
bile.
“Isn’t
there
something
you
can
do
with
them?”

Liet
popped
his
neck
by
placing
his hands
on
his
cheeks
and
twisting.
“Yeah,
we
’r
e
actually
planning
on
burning
them.
We
haven
’t
had
a
chance
to
build
the
pyre
yet.”
He
stepped
forward
and
placed
his
arm
around
my
shoulders.
“Let
me
give
you
a
tour
of
the
place.”

It
took
five
minutes
for
Liet
to
show
me
the
grounds.
My
stomach
unclenched
a
little,
but
I
was
sure I
’d
never
get
used
to
the
smell.
He
took
me
to
a
house
and
explained
it
was
the
women
’s
dormitory.
It
’d
been
blue
at
one
time,
but
the
color
had
faded
to
gray.
The
windows
were
covered
with
particleboard
that
had
been
warped
by
rain,
and
the
door
practically
fell
off
its
hinges
when
Liet
pushed
it
open.
As
we
stepped
inside,
the
smell
of
mildew
drifted
into
my
nose,
and,
sadly,
it
was
a
welcome
relief
from
outside.
There
wasn
’t
much
furniture
—
a
couch
and a
couple
chairs.
Dishes
were
stacked
in
the
sink,
and
clothes
hung
around
the
room.
Cots
had
been
set
up
in
the
empty
spaces,
and
a
few
female
soldiers
eyed
me
as I
walked
in.

“Ladies,
this is
Krista.
Please
make
her
feel
at
home.”