Dead Sea Games by J. Whitworth Hazzard

Author:J. Whitworth Hazzard [Hazzard, J. Whitworth]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: horror novels, undead, classic horror, zombies, flesh eaters, Horror, books about zombies, novels with zombies, matthew costello, zombie, night of the living dead, dawn of the dead, day of the dead, action, george romero, the walking dead
Publisher: Trismegistus Press
Published: 2014-12-11T23:00:00+00:00

IT SEEMED RUDE to interrupt Ellethea’s rest, so I sat quietly in one of the spare office chairs and watched the monitors while she relaxed into the longest sigh ever.

Flashbacks rolled across my memory, of Mom and Dad waiting on the edge of their seats watching every channel as the Emergency unfolded in front of our eyes. The news was everywhere and came at us so fast it was overwhelming. Somewhere in the blurry-eyed night of flipping, we realized they were showing us the end of civilization. Mom called my sister, Christa’s, cell phone to try and get her home before things got worse and got no response. Calls and texts refused to go through. Everything was jammed. When Dad called the parents of the girl she was staying with and got a busy signal, he snapped. He snatched up his keys and stormed out of the apartment—cursing everyone and everything—en-route to midtown to retrieve his daughter. Dad was never the patient type.

That was the last time I ever saw him.

I could see the worry eat at Mom as the hours ticked by with no word from either Dad or Christa. She was dying slowly inside as we watched people actually dying on TV, hour after hour. After sixteen hours of busy signals and nervous pacing, she looked at the front door and looked at me and told me that no matter what happened she would stay with me…until the end. I would never know how close she was to leaving me and going after Dad on her own. And part of me is glad for that. She broke down in great heaving sobs and I held her until we both fell asleep with the televised apocalypse on mute.

But that was a year ago.

Now, the domestic TV stations only ran government-sanctioned emergency information scrolls. The warnings for the East Coast hadn’t been updated in almost eight months. The broadcast’s only advice on where I lived: New York City and surrounding Burroughs have been declared a dead zone. There are no known survivors. Do not enter for any reason.

The United States government had officially declared us deceased.

One screen in the bottom corner was different from the rest. It was playing a foreign news stream showing a street battle against a swarm of deadheads. The cops, or soldiers, were dressed in green riot gear, and instead of shoving rioters and spraying tear gas, they were lined up shoulder-to-shoulder with young men and women with rags covering their mouths. I’d seen this show a hundred times. I didn’t want to spoil the surprise, but I knew how it ended.

“That’s Bombay,” Ellethea groaned. She moved her chair ever so slightly in my direction to catch a glimpse of the screen. “They were fighting when I left too.”

“This is live?” I asked. “Jesus, they’ve been at it for months. They lasted longer than we did.”

“They watched us fail and adjusted. Our mistakes were their textbook on defense.”

“How bad is it, really? Are there any safe zones left?”

“Humanity will survive…probably.

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