The Resurrected -- Part Three by Megan Hart

Author:Megan Hart [Hart, Megan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Zombies
Amazon: B006G6005C
Publisher: Chaos Publishing
Published: 2011-11-29T05:00:00+00:00

4

~~**~~

Nothing much about the house had changed. The yard wasn’t mowed, the flowerbeds not weeded, but that wasn’t terribly unusual. She’d always been the one grubbing in the dirt. Ryan had hired someone to come and do the yardwork after she’d moved out, but the service had been sporadic, and nobody had been able to care about the hydrangea bushes the way she had…

“Stupid,” Abbie muttered. Stupid to stand here in the driveway, her car door still open like she might hop back in and drive away if anyone came to the front door, and think about the grass. The grass didn’t matter.

She didn’t want to remember the times she’d spent on this porch, waiting for the door to open for her like she’d never lived here. The screen door hung open a little, like someone had run out and not bothered to close it completely. She pushed the doorbell, but heard nothing from inside. Abbie waited a minute, then opened the screen door and used the brass knocker she and Ryan had bought on their honeymoon. It was in the shape of a pair of hands holding a heart. The claddagh. Symbol of love, loyalty and friendship. It rang against the metal with a hollow thud that made her fingers tingle.

Abbie waited another few minutes, craning her neck for the sound of running feet, the shouts of “Dad, someone’s at the door!” Nothing. She would’ve checked her watch, if she was wearing one. What time was it? For that matter, what day? She tipped her face toward the sky, but that was useless, clouded and gray with only a hint of sun.

She couldn’t remember the date. Were the boys at school or had they already been let out for the summer? Was Ryan at work? She took two steps back, her heels on the edge of the concrete porch, and studied the door and windows next to it. If she pressed her face against the clear design in the frosted glass she might be able to get a peek inside, but what would happen if someone was in there, watching her or waiting for her to go away? She’d look like a lunatic. Likewise if she hiked into the overgrown flower bed to look in the dining room windows.

She knocked again, longer this time. Waiting, she looked around at the yard again. Several of the trees had bent, limbs broken and littering the overlong grass. A section of the fence had been torn away. Around the side of the house, the shed roof bore its own load of scattered branches, one of which looked to have punctured a hole through the roof itself. She’d been unable to get concrete information on the damage done by tornados in this part of town, too much time spent on the road without access to national news, and no cellphone to call home or any of the neighbors, or to check social media sites. The newscasts she’d seen had mentioned uncommon storm activity

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