Wheels and Zombies (Book 2): Brooklyn, Wheels and Zombies by Van M

Author:Van, M. [Van, M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Zombie Apocalypse
Publisher: 42Links
Published: 2015-12-05T05:00:00+00:00

| 18

My back ached when I sat up in the recliner and retracted the footrest. Tiny pinpricks ran from my butt up my back. I should have gotten a mattress down from upstairs. That would have given us both some comfort. I glanced at Ash, who lay curled up in a little ball on the couch. Should have thought about that before. I shook my head.

I grabbed my glass of whiskey from the table and strolled to the window. My nose took in a whiff of the single malt. As I sipped, heat trailed down my throat and lighted up my stomach. My body shuddered against the cold air inside the room. We didn’t have access to gas anymore; it must have been cut off for safety reasons. Although we had electricity and we used a small electric heater, the room still felt chilly.

The view from the window displayed a sober picture. Dark clouds unleashed a pounding rain, announcing summer was about to make room for a bleak autumn, and I wondered what it would bring.

A single zombie kept bumping into a fence, bumped, turned around, and bumped into a parked car in an endless loop. It didn’t seem bothered by the rain, though its dress stuck to its bony limbs.

I felt safe having one or two zombies in our neighborhood. They’d act as an alarm for other bad things. The encounter with the men downtown and that poor woman’s screams had turned me, a restless sleeper, into a complete insomniac. I’d wake up in a sweat with the cowboy’s breathy words humming in my ear. Zombies were a disturbing but predictable problem. Thugs, even with brains the size of a pea, could mean all kinds of trouble.

I turned at the chatter of teeth and moved over to Ash. Her upper body shivered, and when I pressed a hand to her forehead, it felt damp and burning hot. “What the hell,” I whispered through clenched teeth.

I tucked her in with an added blanket, but her hands stayed cold as ice cubes, and I had no idea what to do. Her hand tightened around mine as her foggy eyes opened. It took her a little while to focus.

“Hey,” she croaked through clamoring teeth. “I’m cold.”

I sat down on the table and rubbed a hand over her back. “I know, but I can’t get you warm,” I said. My voice had reached a breaking point. I cleared my throat and stood. “I’m going to find the other sleeping bag.”

“Please don’t go.” Her voice was a mere whisper as she clung to my hand. Her pleading eyes made me stop. With a faint smile, I kneeled down beside her and placed a hand on her head. I chewed my lower lip, uncertain whether to ask, but I decided to risk it.

“What stage of treatment were you in?” I asked.

“Does it matter?” She closed her eyes and turned her head from me. She wasn’t ready to deal with that. I couldn’t blame her. Besides, she was right: there was nothing I could do.

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