Dead America - Lowcountry Pt. 1 by Derek Slaton

Author:Derek Slaton [Slaton, Derek]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-01-22T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SIX

Grace sat by the window, looking back at the wreck and watching as a dozen zombies continued to congregate around the other driver. She stayed out of sight, not wanting to draw them over.

“How’s it looking out there?” June asked quietly, coming up beside her.

“They all seem distracted by the other driver,” Grace murmured. “I don’t think they saw us come in here. Or if they did, they’ve already forgotten about it.”

June nodded. “Are you hungry?” she asked.

Grace’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. How can you eat at a time like this… she thought, but then shook her head, realizing that it would be a good idea to eat while they had the chance. She patted her stomach.

“Amazingly enough, I think I am,” she said.

June nodded and gave her shoulder a squeeze. “I’ll whip you up something good, then,” she said. “Assuming they weren’t new age health freaks, in which case I’ll do my best to make something edible out of soy sausage.” She dissolved into a coughing fit, and then put a hand to her forehead, straightening up. “I’ll… put a mask on, too.”

Grace smiled appreciatively, though her eyes were tired.

As June went to the kitchen, Bailey fiddled around with the remote control, finally clicking it on. There was an old rerun of an 80s sitcom, complete with a laugh track.

“That hardly seems appropriate,” she muttered, “given the situation.” She clicked around to several different cable stations, all of them showing their regular programming, which made her brow furrow. “What is going on?” she murmured to herself. “Why are they ignoring this?”

Grace crossed over to her. “Most of the cable stations are automated,” she suggested, “so they have their programming set up in advance. Chances are, nobody is at the controls.”

“Try channel twelve,” June suggested, “pretty sure it’s local. Well, Beaufort, so local enough.”

Bailey nodded and punched in channel twelve. The screen displayed an empty news studio. There were some scattered papers on the desk, and one of the chairs was missing, but nobody was on the screen. There was no sound coming from the studio either.

“Maybe they’re on a break?” she asked, though her voice was shrill and uneasy.

A few moments later, one of the anchors, a middle-aged white woman with perfectly styled hair, wandered by the camera.

She turned jerkily, revealing dark blood all down the front of her, eyes glassy and milky white, mouth open in a hungry snarl.

Bailey dropped the remote. “We have no news,” she said hoarsely.

Grace swallowed hard as she stared at the news anchor, and then squinted when she noticed small words scrolling across the bottom of the small tv screen. “Wait a second,” she said, pointing. “Look at the bottom of the screen.”

She and Bailey moved in closer, reading the white scrolling words.

I need help! My name is Katie McClure and I am trapped in the control room of the TV station! The address is 427 Maple Lane in Beaufort! Please, someone, help me, I’m all alone in here

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