Life After The Undead (Book 1) (3 page)

“We
’v
e
got
to
go,”
I
said.

Carmen
jerked
out
of
my
grasp.
“Wha
t’s
your
problem?
We’re
supposed
to
go
to
school.”

Baa-Baa
One
stepped
closer to
Carmen,
her
lips pursed and her eyes narrowed
as
she
cracked
her
knuckles.
I
think
she
thought
she
was
being
intimidating,
but
with
her
styled
hair
and
manicured
nails,
I
wasn
’t
worried.

I
rolled
my
eyes.

“I
think
she
’s
right,”
Baa-Baa
Two
said
from
the
sidewalk.
“I think
we
should
go.”

Carmen
threw
her
a
dirty
look.
“When
I
want
your
opinion,
I’ll
give
it
to
you.”

The
seventh
graders
were
now
within
ten
feet,
and
I
decided
I
wasn
’t
going
to
fight
with
Carmen.
If
she
wanted
to
go
to
school,
she
was
going
to
have
to
find
her
own
way
there.
I
ran
half
way
up
the
block
before
a
scream caused
me to
turn
back
around.
The
seventh
graders
had
made
it to
Carmen
and
held
her by
her
arms.
They
bit
deep
into
her
flesh,
and
blood
pooled
on
the
sidewalk.
Baa-Baa
One
tried
to
pry one
of
the
boys
off,
but
she
only
succeeded
in
tearing
more
flesh
off
Carmen
’s
arm.
She
lost
her
grip
and
fell
backward.
The
boy
dropped
on
top of
her
and
gnawed
on
her
throat.
Baa-Baa
One
’s
scream
turned
into a
gargle.
Baa-Baa
Two
took
off
running.

I
inhaled
a
sharp
breath
and
ran
for
my
house.
When
I
got
there,
I
slammed
the
door
and
locked
the
deadbolt.
I
looked
quickly
out the
window,
but
the
street
was
quiet.
After running
into
the
living
room, I
grabbed
the
phone
and
dialed
9-1-1.
Oddly,
I
got
a
busy
signal.
I
hung
up
and
turned
on
the
TV.

“Krista?”
Mom’s
voice
called
from
upstairs.
“Is
that
you?”

I
didn’t
answer.
I
flipped
through
the
channels
until I
found
the
news.

“Krista?”
Mom said
right
behind
me.
“What
are
you
doing
home?
I
thought
you
left
for
the
bus
ten
minutes
ago.”

“Mom,
something
weird
’s
going
on.
Two
seventh
graders
just
attacked
Carmen
and
her
friend.”

Mom
rolled
her
eyes.
“Of course
they
did,
sweetie.
Carmen
probably
deserved
it.” 
She
reached
for the
remote,
but
I
jerked
it
out
of
her
grasp.
Mom
huffed
and
placed
her
hands
on
her
hips.
“Krista,
really.
I
don’t
know
what
this
is
about,
but
I
can
imagine
it
has
something
to
do
with
those
serial
killer
magazines
you
’v
e
been
reading.
I
’ll
take
those
away
if
this
is
how
you
’r
e
going
to
behave.
I
’l
l
be
ready
to
leave
in
five
minutes.” 
She
turned
and
headed
back
upstairs.

The
news
droned
on
about
how
nice
the
weather
was
going
to be
for
the
rest
of
the
week
before
switching
to local
sports.
I
changed
the
channel,
but
there
was
nothing.
I
turned
the
TV
off
and
switched on
the
radio.
I
found
the
local
country
station.
A
George
Straight
song
was
just
ending,
and
the
DJ
came
on
the
air,
preparing
to take
the
next
caller.

The
woman
’s
voice
was
frantic. “Something
is
going
on!”
she
screamed
over
the
air.
“Haven
’t
you
guys
had any
reports?
People…people
are
acting
crazy.”

“Whoa,
lady,
slow
down.”
The
DJ’s
voice
was
low
and
calm.
“How
are
people
acting
crazy?”

“They
’r
e
attacking!”
The
woman
broke
into
sobs.
“My
husband…my
husband.”

“What
about
your
husband?”

“He
’s
dead.”

There
was
silence
over
the
radio.

“Do
you
hear
me!
He’
s
dead
and
he’s
attacking
pe—”
Her
voice
cut
off.

The
radio
crackled
and
the DJ
came
back
on.
“Sorry
about
that
folks.
We
don
’t
screen
our
callers
before
they
’re
put
on
the
air.
We’ll
be
back
after
these
messages
with
some
good
ole
country
to
get
you
through
your
morning
commute.”

As the
radio
switched
to
a
commercial,
Mom
came
back
downstairs
and
grabbed
it
out
of
my
hand.
“It’s
time
to
go
to
school,
my
dear.”

I
stared
at
her.
“I
don’t
think
we
should
leave
the
house.”

“Nonsense.
Everything
is fine.
Now
get
your
butt
into
the
car.”

I
stepped
back
and
shook
my
head.