MZS: Boston: A Metropolitan Zombie Survivors Novella by K. D. McAdams

Author:K. D. McAdams [McAdams, K. D.]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Caveman Worldwide
Published: 2014-08-21T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter 7

An occasional tremor racks my body. I just killed someone. Technically it was an accident and technically it was self-defense, but technicalities don’t make me feel better.

I feel like I could vomit but there’s nothing in my stomach. I’m dehydrated and my hangover is coming back to pound the shit out of my fucking head.

For some reason, the ones I pushed off the overpass don’t bother me. Chances are they are still straining and moaning while they look for new people to try to eat. If there turns out to be a cure for this, those people could be helped. The Yankee fan is done for good.

There were a couple more zombies on the road, but I was able to get around them. I considered killing them, but I was afraid I was developing a bloodlust. Even if I have to keep slaying zombies, I don’t want to get to the point where I enjoy it.

Now I’ve made it to the Fens, and while a second ago I was in a concrete jungle, now I’m in a real jungle. There are more trees and plants than I thought there could be in the whole city.

This area is part of the old “emerald necklace,” and there ends my knowledge. My dad probably tried to teach me more about it when I was a kid, but I can guarantee I wasn’t listening. The name makes me assume that there were parks that went around the outside of the city of Boston. Who really cares though?

A small creek or something is running in this park and I think it must go to the Charles River. If I follow it, I’m sure I’ll cross Beacon Street again at some point and can be on my way.

There are no zombies in these woods and the footpath lets me walk quickly.

After about ten minutes of walking, I realize that I am probably going upstream. The Charles River and Beacon Street are the other way. I have no idea if this path is curving toward my final destination or away from it. I am effectively lost.

Checking my phone again reveals good news. I am almost at Beacon Street and, in fact, I see a side street that runs parallel to Beacon, which may be even better. If the zombies prefer main roads, I’m happy to stick to the less-traveled path.

While I commit the route to memory, a text message invades the screen:

“Just heard from Cupcake. Don’t forget the rack. He’s serious.” Tucker reminds me that surviving is not enough.

When I clear the message from the screen, the map is still there. It shows a package store not far from the edge of the green space.

When I moved back here from Telluride, the first thing Wes did for me was download an app that added pins to my map. The pins marked every store that sold beer and wine in greater Boston. He told me you could never be sure where you would wind up and it was good to be prepared.

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