The Wilsons' Saga (Book 1): The Journey Home by Gibb Lew

Author:Gibb, Lew [Gibb, Lew]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Zombie Apocalypse
Published: 2020-04-23T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Forty

For anyone who was awake—and not a zombie—the day dawned with an amazing display of orange, yellow, and red that Rachel, who was taking it all in through the gaps in the pine canopy, suspected had a lot to do with the number of fires she had seen burning throughout the night. It had been like an upside-down Fourth of July display, with the fireworks spewing up from the ground instead of bursting in the sky and cascading down to earth. Entire sections of the suburbs seemed to have caught fire and were still spewing sickly blackish-yellow smoke that merged with the clouds, dimming their colors while wrapping them in a cancerous gray haze. She was safe in the foothills, separated from any housing by a green area half a mile wide that ran between the two-lane highway from Boulder to Golden and the foothills where she lay.

Rachel snuggled farther into the sleeping bag Jerry had provided, pulling it up around her neck with a shiver at the thought of her husband somehow trapped in a burning house. The danger of fire hadn’t been remotely on her radar as she’d made her way into the woods the previous night, listening to Thomas Walsh and then Linda calling her name. Rachel had kept going, stumbling into the extreme darkness beyond the circle of light cast by the truck headlights, on the alert for wandering zombies and any humans that might want to take advantage of the zombie attack for their own gain. She only slowed when her jacket caught on a tree branch, pulling her up short. She whirled around and tried to stab the branch, thinking she was being attacked by one of the monsters. She flailed at the unseen attacker until she calmed down enough to realize it wasn’t a zombie. By then, she was so tangled up, she was forced to use her flashlight to extract herself. At that point, she was too nervous to go on and reasonably certain no one would follow her. The people in the camp had other things to worry about, so she bedded down without a thought for where she was.

Rachel took a minute to consider whether all the shooting had attracted more zombies. Would she be to blame if a new horde showed up, and the Walsh’s group was unable to fight them off without a crazy woman with a chef’s knife attacking the zombies from behind?

That kind of thinking wasn’t going to get her anywhere. She needed to get home. That was all there was to it.

The sunrise reminded her of the year Jerry had surprised her with a romantic getaway on the redneck riviera, which was what the locals called the Florida panhandle. Jerry had found them a nice little house in Destin, where the pure-white-sanded beach seemed to go on forever and the gulf was like bathwater—seventy-four degrees every day. But the famed sunrises—it seemed like every other person they talked to had told them they were not to be missed—had been less than spectacular.

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