Zombie Patrol (Walking Plague Trilogy 1)

“Joe...”

“I didn’t know where to go,” he said miserably. “I can’t think. I could barely think during the interpretation. No. Wrong word. Interrogation. But I’m smart, kind of, you know? I got us out of there.”

The hole in my gut was widening by the second. I crossed to the window. I expected to find the military car Joe usually drove, but the driveway was empty.

“Where’s your car?”

“I don’t know. It’s gone. I switched it. Then we walked. So bright outside. Close the drapes.”

I closed the drapes. I crossed the room in two strides. I didn’t care if he got angry; I took him by the shoulders.

“What the devil are you talking about, Joe?”

My brother let out a low, guttural snarl. I wasn’t sure he recognized me. I let go, backed up. He slapped himself in the face, hard, and then took another deep breath that looked painful. Next, he fell to the wooden floor, so hard that the entire house shook. He hugged himself, curled in the fetal position. When he looked up at me, I could see a little of my brother again, just a little, but I’ll never forget the agony in his eyes.

“Jack! You can’t let me leave here. I don’t want to be locked up and I’m afraid.”

Now I was afraid, too. Very afraid. But I knew I was the strong one...for now.

“You need to see a doctor,” I said.

“No, no! Jack, listen. Don’t you understand? They’ll find me, and they will lock me up. And I’ll go crazy. No, Jack, please. Keep me here. I’m AWOL.”

“AWOL!” I should have figured it out. “What the hell happened?”

Instead of answering, my little brother crawled into the corner of my bedroom and would say no more. In fact, he didn’t seem capable of talking.

Sweet Jesus.

I stood watching him a moment, as he rocked himself back and forth. I didn’t know what to do. Then I thought of Anna. Sleeping right across from her was his sick buddy, Mike.

* * *

I grabbed my gun and house keys.

This old house had those cool, custom keys that would lock doors from both inside and out. I’d never liked them before...but now I was glad. I locked the glass doors to the tiled patio, then stepped out of the bedroom and left my brother Joe in the corner. I turned toward Anna’s room and froze.

Mike was standing in the middle of the dark hall.

Chapter Eight

He didn’t recognize me.

He just stood there, staring into space.

I approached cautiously. “Hey, Mike.”

No response. He stood stone-still. I moved carefully around him and opened Anna’s door. She was sleeping. I thanked the gods for her safety. As I turned to leave, I tripped on the large stone she used as a doorstop. I cursed silently, but it was too late.

“Dad?” Her sleepy voice carried eerily into the hall. Mike was still standing there, but now his head was cocked to one side like he’d heard something.

I faced her and put a finger to my lips. Anna saw my gun and drew her covers up tight.

“Honey, I don’t want to scare you,” I said softly. I slipped into her room and shut the door behind me. I sat down on her bed and kissed her forehead. She would have none of it, though.

“What’s going on?” she whispered, pulling away.

I didn’t know what to say. That I was afraid for my daughter because my brother and his Navy buddy seemed to be out of their minds?

“Anna,” I began, keeping an eye on the closed door. Jesus, what the hell was going on? “Your uncle—and his friend—are ill. I think.”

“But if they’re just sick, why do you need your gun?” Anna was always observant...and right to the point.

“I’m just going to make sure you’re safe.”

We tensed at a scratch on the door. A slight pawing made me bristle—and caused me to squeeze my gun a little tighter. My gun? With my brother and his friend in the house? Maybe I was the one dreaming. Or the one ill. None of this made sense.

Anna backed into her bed as much as she could, her eyes wide, the color gone from her cheeks. “Daddy, what is that? Is it Uncle Joe? Is he okay?”

It wasn’t Uncle Joe, I knew. And he wasn’t okay. Nor was his buddy, Mike, who was going insane just like my brother. But I was the father, the protector.

“Sweetie, I think they have some rare infection—”

“From what?”

“I don’t know.”

I recalled my brother’s words: “I don’t think we should have touched it.”

Jesus, what the hell had they touched?

“What are you going to do, Daddy?”

I thought about it. “For starters, I’m locking you in here. Don’t let anyone but me in, okay?”

“You’re not locking me in!”

“Just for five minutes, honey. I promise you. I want to get those two, ah, settled. They can’t think straight, and they are agitated.”

She nodded, her eyes big and round and reflecting what little ambient light was in the room. “Is Uncle Joe all right?”

“He will be.” I prayed that this was true. “I’ll make sure. I just need you to stay put for five minutes. I promise I’ll be back.”

She was almost on the verge of tears now, forcing control. “Okay.”

On impulse, I handed her my gun. “Trade you for your knife?”

She took the gun in her hand, feeling its weight. She knew how to shoot; I’d taught her. I could tell she was conflicted between fear and comfort. She reached under her pillow, handed me her Bowie knife. Like father, like daughter.

Another scratch at the door. “Get behind your bed,” I ordered.

She silently complied, slipping out of her covers and wedging herself between the wall and bed.

“I’ll be back in less than five minutes.”

Peeking over the ruffled comforter, she looked up at me. “And if you’re not?”

“I will be.”

* * *

It all happened at once.

As I opened the door, I shoved Mike hard across the wall, and turned to lock Anna’s bedroom door. Anna, good girl, made no sound. Mike was dazed at first. Then with a rush of rage, he lurched toward me. I had his arm locked behind him before he could say “Boo.” I knew, the easier I made it, the likelier it was that he would comply.

“Easy, fella,” I soothed.

He fought me, then calmed down. It was a good thing he did...I had the hunting knife ready. I let up on my grip a little.

“Joe?”