Zombologist Book 1 Zombie Hunters (Zomboligist Series) (5 page)

Well, almost everything.

Sarah slipped quietly into her thoughts, as she so often
did. Sarah, always the adventurous one, the one who wanted to ‘investigate’
everything, the one who lived like the devil was on her tail, was the one who
didn’t get away, the one who didn’t survive that night.  “Oh Sarah, I miss you
so much.” Jana caught herself before she started to tear up as she often did
when thinking of Sarah.

And her father, the father she had lost to cancer just a
few years ago. He was the one that made the safe house what it was today and
took
the society
to whole new level. Once just a simple mill worker, an
average man, husband and father it was never easy for him to live with what he
had done to Sarah. That night their lives had changed forever.

Not now!
Jana thought angrily shaking her head. The
past must stay in the past and not clutter her emotions with sadness. She had
mourned plenty of times in the past, and today she needed to get her report
ready.
The society
would be anxious to know how their visits in
California went.

I can get right to that before I head down to the lab.

****

Saturday morning  
 

Curt woke to bright sun shining through his window, tiny
dust motes dancing in the air.

Damn! He glanced at the fuzzy red blur at the side of the
bed, stretched, rubbed his eyes and looked again. The fuzzy red blur became
numbers, 6:44. No! He had overslept. 

With a jounce Curt bounced out of bed and headed toward the
bathroom. Last night he had packed, called Bob down at Whispering Winds Ranch,
made the arrangements with him to take care of Thunder and then called Hank
about the mail. When he finally fell into bed, he was exhausted but still, he
couldn’t sleep. Too many things had been playing around in his mind- Lisa, his
mother and his baby sister, Amber. He must have finally fallen asleep around 1
a.m. He had planned to be on the road by 6 a.m.

Better late than never.

If he got on I-90 then down to I-80 and drove straight
through, he would be in Pennsylvania late Sunday night or early Monday morning.
He hoped he would make it in time to say his final goodbyes.

Curt spent some time in the bathroom and ate a hastily
fried breakfast of eggs and bacon. He left his dishes in the sink and went out
to feed Thunder talking softly to his stallion. He took one last look at his
home and with a shrug, threw his bag into the back of his pick-up, hopped in the
cab, slammed his rig into gear, and without a glance back, spewed dust and shell
down the driveway.

****

Just as she was about to break open her notebook to begin
her report, her cell phone rang. It was Dillon.

“Hey beautiful, guess what?” he asked before she could say
hello, then without waiting for a reply, he continued, “we are personally
invited to visit a Mr. Willis Dye in New Hampshire. He picked up several weeks
ago.
The society
just contacted me to make the house call. Another
millionaire collector Jana, and he specifically wanted YOU- even thought we ARE
the East Coast Division. So what do you say beautiful, ready to fly up to New
Hampshire?”

“Dye, Dye”, Jana said out loud, clicking her nails on the
counter. She knew the name from somewhere. Then it hit her, “Willis Dye, of the
Diamond Dyes’? Well, well, Mr. Recluse…. has a thing for the dead now?”

Not too much got by
the society
in this day and age.
They knew every pickup, every dealer and collector. The collectors were
beginning to grow at an alarming rate.

Members of
the society
have been watching the South
American pickup spot for several decades now. Just this year alone the increase
in pickups has quadrupled.  Someone in South America was making a killing.

Only a few years ago the only ones that had ‘collected’
zombies had been members of
the society,
during the occasional rouge
attacks across the U.S.
But now there were ‘collectors’ on nearly every
continent on earth, with the U.S. holding the most.

In California alone there were eight, three in Nevada, six
in Colorado, three in Louisiana, two in both Florida and Arizona, a whopping
twelve in New York, and now one in New Hampshire.

Aside from the safe houses that were used to experiment and
procure a vaccine and antiserum, there were a total of 524 known zombies
contained in the United States alone. Jana herself had dozens in her
subterranean laboratory, all sizes, all ages and all types.

So far every outbreak had been contained, thanks to their
visits and monthly reports and the expansion of the society.

Up until 10 years ago, entire towns had to be eradicated.
By the time the society found out about an outbreak, it had always been too
late. Zombies were ruthless and the infected numbers grew quickly. But now with
modern technology, social media, and pin point portals, outbreaks were quickly
contained.

The only problem that they faced was the fact that the
society couldn’t be everywhere.

Jana stretched, the bones cracking in her neck and back.
Standing 5’7” and 126 pounds dripping wet, she was still a knockout for her 57
years. Her green eyes glittered with insight and intelligence, her auburn hair
hung in silky strands just below her shoulders and her high cheekbones
exquisitely accentuated the subtle sensuality of her lips.

She was mostly retired from roundups. Even though she was
as fast with a saber or sword and a dead-on shot, her expertise was too
valuable. People listened to her and they respected her. She considered herself
a consultant but she was still head of
the society’s
East Coast Division
of the United States. She planned on being a full blown ‘retiree’ someday, well,
at least as much as she could. She would be a member of
the society
until
the day she died but unless there was a major upset, she would be used strictly
as a consultant and Zombologist. She would no doubt be researching and
experimenting for an antiserum until she could no longer function.

“Alright, you schedule the flight, I’ll bring breakfast.”

“Leaving in two hours, see ya there.” Dillon laughed as he
hung up the phone.

****

Saturday Afternoon

Joe Millers pack was getting heavy. They had only been on
the trail for a half hour but to Joe, it seemed an eternity. He pushed glasses
up off his sweaty nose and adjusted the shoulder straps again, secretly hoping
that his older brother didn’t notice his discomfort.

He wasn’t going to complain. If he did, he would never hear
the end of it. Joe hefted his pack a little higher on his back and bent over
slightly at the waist letting the weight settle into his legs.

That helped, a little.

Joe ran to catch up. He didn’t want to be here in the first
place. He was just as happy staying in his room studying bugs, reading or
watching some horror flicks on TV, not hanging out with his brother’s stupid
jock friends.

They had been hiking in Trout Creek State Park, following
out-dated trails, climbing over large boulders and fallen trees. Joe had no idea
of where they were. If his brother and his friends died suddenly, Joe would be
stuck here forever. There was no way he’d be able to find his way out of here.

He wasn’t a football player, he wasn’t even an athlete. He
didn’t even
like
his brother’s friends. But, his mom thought it would be
a good idea to get out of the house for a while.

Gee thanks mom
.

What she really wanted was to go out with her new boyfriend
and not have the kids underfoot for once. Joe wasn’t stupid. His mom was gaga
eyes over this new guy she had met just two weeks ago. Sure, he wanted his mom
to be happy, but
this
sucked.

Joe considered himself a nerd, and a nerd he wanted to
stay. And, besides, the outdoors made him itch.  

And, to make matters worse, as if they could get any worse,
a nasty thunder storm had passed through the night before dumping buckets of
rain. With the ruthless sun beating down, the humidity was rising off the still
damp earth and Joe could feel the dampness clinging to his skin. But even worse
than that was the strong, rotting mossy smell. It was nauseating. The pungent
smell was making him sick. It stuck in his nose, his throat and was slowly
crawling into his belly.

But, despite all the unease he wanted to show his brother
that he could hold his own. In a lot of odd ways, his brother was his idol.
Where Joe was frail and fragile, Kyle was brimming with teenage muscles and was
afraid of nothing or nobody. It was hard to believe that they came from the same
stock.

But, Joe had his theories about that too. 

He wasn’t trying to impress these jock asses that his
brother hung around with. Rah-rah-team, his ass. It was his mom’s idea that he
tag along.

“Joe you need to get out and socialize more.” She said last
night over dinner of take out.

“Mom, it’s okay. Really.”

“No, no, it’s not honey.” Joe cringed every time his mom
called him honey. It was Joes’ honey-meter that sent him into distress causing
him to nearly choke on his French fries. Honey came out of his mom’s mouth
rising in pitch on the end, turning it into hon-neeee. Honey was always lined
with ‘this is what I want you to do’ or ‘this is what I have planned’ for you.
There was always a catch

“Mom, I have friends.” Joe shot back lamely.

“Friends that sit around and look at yucky bugs all day, or
have their noses stuck into big outdated books? Joey, that’s no fun. You need to
get out and DO something active, honeeeey.”

 Joes honey meter raised another notch.

Kyle stopped mid-bite and shot his mom a questioning
glance. “Uh, mom, uh, what did you have in mind?” Apparently Kyle’s honey meter
was on alert too.

“Well honey-bunny,” she started, and Joes honey meter went
off the scale.  “I think Joe should go with you tomorrow on your 3 day camping
trip. Ya know, just the boys out in the wilderness. Would do you brother some
good to get some fresh air.” And with a pat of her hand on Kyle’s, the case was
closed. Just like that. Even though Kyle tried protesting their mother put her
foot down and ended the discussion.

As if it
even
was a discussion.

More like a sucker punch to the gut.

Joe got plenty of exercise and air. His daily trips to
school and the library after that were proof enough of that. He wasn’t a jock
like Kyle, or Kyle’s friends for that matter. When would mom look at him and see
him for who he really was?

Physically he knew was a nerdy looking kid, it didn’t take
a neuron surgeon to figure that out. Standing at 5’5, thin as a rail, geeky as
all get out, thick glasses, dark hair and blue eyes that gave away all of his
secrets, it was a no brainer. But he wasn’t a wimp, no sir-re! What he lacked in
physical stature he made up for in the brain department. But, his mother never
looked past his frail physique.

Plus the fact was, he was still a twelve year old kid; a
kid that had to listen to his mother, no matter what.

No, Joe didn’t really have too many friends unless you
wanted to call the other nerds that he hung around with friends.

And Joe did.

True, they were almost as socially inept as he was. But,
they had some good conversations on space travel, quantum jump theories or other
universal future time travel- yes, they were real abstract thinkers. They
weren’t just stuck on time travel either. Joe’s friends were quite versatile,
encouraging discussions of social psychology, teen pregnancy, popular
conspiracies and digital programming.

They didn’t drink, do drugs, work out 24 hours a day or
chase after girls. At age 13, they had had some very in-depth conversations
about what type of kids would be raised to inherit the challenges of today’s
fast paced society. They felt that if kids cared as much for their futures as
they did about their hair, they may have a chance. But then again who was to
blame there; the over-doting parents or society itself? That was a rabid
conversation among Joe and his friends. 13 years old and trying to unravel the
mystery of shallow teenagers by an analysis breakdown between parenting and
society. And then there were girls, mainly the bubbleheads that cared more about
their looks than anything else.

The only ones they concluded that actually enjoyed the
company of the bubble headed teenager girls were the mucho males. Mucho males,
well, like the group of boys he was traveling with. They always had girls
panting after them, competing for their attention.

The only difference between these guys and himself, (aside
from his highly intelligent and active mind), was … drum roll please.
Testosterone.

Something Joe didn’t seem to posses, yet.

Maybe never.