After Zombie Series (Book 2): Before Read online

  As I ran in front of an alleyway, I saw a blur of red and then something hit me. I rolled onto the hood of a car, then back onto the ground. Pain coursed through my body.

  I heard the car door open and a woman said, “Oh my God. I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you. What have I done? Can you move?”

  She sounded really freaked out. I rolled onto my back to find that she was about my age, with long auburn colored hair. She was beautiful.

  “Here, can you stand?” she helped me to my feet.

  “I need to get out of here, some men are chasing me.”

  “Well I can drive you. I’ll take you to the hospital.”

  She helped me into the passenger seat of her car, a red Buick and hopped behind the wheel. She drove out of the alley as the two men came around the corner.

  I breathed a sigh of relief as they disappeared into the distance. I was safe. For now.

  The girl grinned at me, “I’m Angie.”

  “Nice to meet you, can you drop me off at the edge of the city?”

  “You should go to a hospital,” she said.

  “I can’t. I need to get out of here.”

  “Are you in trouble? You said men were chasing you?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “We’ve got time. Tell me,” she said.

  I needed to tell someone, to get it all out, so I did tell her.

  *

  Audra

  The train was at a standstill and it didn’t look like it was going anywhere anytime soon. When the two men had taken off after that boy, I assumed that they were cops or feds. So when the train stopped, I thought they had stopped it. The city was full of muggers and criminals. Who knows what he had done.

  That was twenty minutes ago. The driver had come over the loudspeaker, but the message was so garbled I couldn’t make any of it out. The doors were sealed tight; it looked like we would have to wait.

  I shifted my groceries to my other arm worried that my ice cream would melt before I got home. I needed to be back in time for Zach getting home from school. I didn’t like the idea of him being alone in the apartment, even if he was thirteen.

  The old couple sitting near me; were talking softly to each other while the other passenger, a man, stared at his watch.

  “How much longer do you think they’re going to be?” he said. He seemed to be directing the question at me like I had the first clue about what was happening.

  “I don’t know. I’m sure it won’t be long,” I said.

  He gave an exaggerated sigh and rolled his eyes. Why was he getting mad at me? People were so damn rude. If I ever caught Zach acting that way he’d be grounded for a year. Good manners cost nothing. That’s what my mother always said.

  A thump came from the other side of the door leading to the next car, making us all jump.

  There was another thump. I pictured the cops on the other side wrestling with the guy they had been after. Maybe he was some kind of maniac. You heard so many crazy stories on the news. Another reason I didn’t like leaving Zach alone.

  “What is that?” the man said, standing up.

  “I think we should all stay where we are,” the old man said. He was leaning heavily on a cane. His wife was holding onto his arm. She wore a pink cardigan over a skirt.

  That earned him a sneer. I set my groceries on the seat, “He’s right.”

  It now sounded like there was a struggle going on in the next car.

  The man moved closer. He stopped a few feet away and leaned forward to hear better. If those cops decided to shoot he could end up in the crossfire.

  A muffled yell, followed by swearing came from the other side. I got to my feet too, but I didn’t move any closer. If anything came through that door I planned on running.

  The man reached out for the emergency release button, “What are you doing?” I cried.

  He looked back at me, “Someone could be hurt,” he said, shrugging. I was guessing that his need to see what was in there came more from curiosity than concern.

  “Don’t open it,” I said.

  He ignored me and pressed the button. There was a hissing sound and the door opened. One of the cops fell into the room. His face was covered in blood. He was dead.

  A whimper escaped my lips as I moved back. The man knelt beside the cop for a closer look.

  “What the hell?” he said.

  There was a soft growl from the next car. I could see something large moving in the dark.

  “Close the door,” I cried, but he couldn’t. Not with the body in the way. As he attempted to move it, something barreled into him, knocking him flat.

  The other cop stopped a few feet from me. There was something very wrong with him. He was covered in blood for a start, but I suspected that was his partners. His eyes were cloudy looking and he swayed on the spot.

  Instinctively I moved away, knowing there was something very wrong with him. He saw me move and ran at me. I screamed as he knocked me to the floor and bit down on my arm. The pain was terrible as he clamped down like a vice. I kept screaming as I tried to push him off me, but the guy was huge.

  The old man came to my rescue. He brought his walking stick down on the cop’s head. It didn’t seem to hurt him, but he turned his attention on the old man.

  I crawled backwards away from him. Clutching my arm to me, I saw that my sleeve was soaked in blood. A loose piece of flesh hung off my arm and I felt faint looking at it. The cop was attacking the old man now. I lost sight of them as they fell to the floor. Pulling myself to my feet I tried to open the door into the next car, but it wouldn’t open.

  “Someone help us!” I screamed. I hit the button over and over again.

  The man who had opened the door had escaped into the other car. I moved around the cop who was biting the old man. His eyes were fixed and staring, the old man was dead.

  His wife was hunched in her seat, sobbing.

  I reached out my hand to her, trying to get her to follow. She ignored me. She was too busy staring at what was once her husband.

  The cop finished with the old man, turned to her next. I couldn’t stay here. Running into the other car, I saw the other man at the end, desperately trying to open the next door. It wouldn’t open either.

  “We need to get out of here,” I said.

  “It won’t open,” he screeched, his face ashen. I moved to one of the windows, if we could break one then we could get out that way.

  Heavy breathing drew my attention. The cop was standing behind me. I shrank against the wall, fearing another attack. The man was still yanking on the door, swearing loudly.

  The cop made a beeline for him.

  When he passed me, I ran back to the other car, heart thumping in my chest. The man’s screams echoed after me. I needed to get off this train.

  I avoided looking in the direction of the old couple although I could see the pool of blood that had accumulated. My stomach growled loudly at the sight of it. What the hell?

  Reaching the other door, I started banging on it, “Someone help!”

  Somebody banged on it from the other side, “What’s going on in there?”

  “Oh, God, help me. Get the door open please!”

  I could hear them trying to force it open. I looked back over my shoulder. The cop was still with the man. It wouldn’t be long before he finished with him and came after me.

  “Please, please hurry,” I murmured over and over again. I saw him straighten up, as there was a grinding noise behind me.

  I turned to find the people in the next car were trying to pry the door open. The cop was heading my way.

  “Hurry, he’s coming,” I cried.

  He was moving down the car, gnashing his teeth. I had seconds left.

  “Get it open!”

  The cop reached for me as they opened it enough for me to squeeze through.

  “Close it!” I screamed. The man, who was holding it open, stepped back and it closed. I saw the cop’s face as it did.

 
Crying hysterically, I tried to breathe, but there was a sharp pain in my chest. There were a dozen people in the car, all of them looking at me for an explanation.

  “Are you okay?” a young woman asked me. She was about twenty with blonde hair.

  I shook my head, “He went crazy and killed all those people.”

  “Who did?” she asked.

  “I don’t know who he is. I think he’s a cop.”

  “Bull. Why would a cop attack people?” a man asked.

  The cop started banging on the door. Every bang made me jump. I backed away, my whole body shaking now.

  “You’re bleeding,” the young woman said. She reached out to my shoulder. Before I could even think about what I was doing, I grabbed the woman’s arm and sank my teeth into her flesh.

  Chapter Two

  Candace

  As I listened to the sounds of the rainforest filling my ears, I tried to focus my breathing like that guru had taught me. The vibrations from the bus, helped relax me.

  This wasn’t so hard; I could do this and prove to my anger management coach that I had complete control over my emotions. I wasn’t a loose cannon as had called me.

  The bus ground to a halt and I was almost thrown off my seat. Ripping the facemask off, I screamed, “For crying out loud, Patrick! Learn to drive!”

  I stomped up the tour bus towards him. It was a monstrosity in black and purple decorated by the previous owners. Some heavy metal band had owned it before and the place still smelled of stale booze and vomit. God knows what they had gotten up to in here. I had bought it second hand; it was the only thing available on short notice. I had ordered the entire bus to be heavily disinfected before I got onto it, but it didn’t take away the smell. At some point I was going to have to get it re-carpeted too.

  “I can’t help it,” he argued, “traffic has come to a standstill.”

  Rows of cars spread out in front of us, most of them honking their horns in anger. It was total gridlock.

  “I hate this city,” I said. How could anybody relax in this place?

  Fixing my facemask back in place, I laid back down. I wouldn’t be on this tin bucket if they hadn’t banned me from flying. Now I would have to spend days in here as we made our way across country to my latest gig. Most singers had an entire entourage on their tour bus with them, but I needed the peace and quiet. Patrick was my bodyguard as well as driver. I hired him six months ago after a group of fans accosted me outside one of my concerts. They had gotten way too close for comfort.

  The rainforest wasn’t working for me anymore. I scrolled through my playlist looking for something else. I stopped on one song in particular. A pink bubblegum colored album cover with a doe eyed blonde pouting on the front of it. Candi Sweet – Sweet Like Candy.

  What the hell had I been thinking? Yes, I was young and naïve, but most of all I had been desperate. Desperate for stardom, desperate to make a name for myself. I didn’t care how I got it.

  I kept the song on my player as a reminder of how far I had come. Three years of cheesy pop crap before I finally dumped my manager and went out on my own. I ditched the blonde and went back to my natural dark hair and started writing my own music. Unsurprisingly most of the first songs had been angst ridden, but they say write what you know.

  As Candi, I received constant criticism. Everyday there were stories about me making the headline. Candi the drama queen. Candi the slut. Candi gets hitched in a Las Vegas casino. The last one was only a rumor.

  I thought making the change and becoming a more serious musician would change people’s opinions about me. Instead they complained that they missed the old music and that this was a phase or a mental breakdown.

  Last month at the airport had been the final straw.

  I sat in the departure lounge, notebook in hand, trying to write a new song. It had been five months and so far everything I had come up with had been crap.

  I glanced up to find a girl watching me. She was about thirteen years old with brown hair in pigtails and a mouth full of metal.

  I tried to ignore her. I usually attracted some kind of attention wherever I went. When I looked up again she had moved closer. She was chewing a big wad of bubblegum with her mouth open, like a cow chewing its cud.

  I closed my notebook and stood to move to another seat.

  “You’re Candi Sweet,” the girl said.

  She stepped in front of me to block my way.

  “Sing Sweet Like Candy. It’s my birthday and I want to hear it.”

  “Then get yourself an mp3 player kid,” I replied.

  I stepped around her, but she grabbed the back of my fur coat yanking me back. I pulled free and turned to face her. I dreaded to think where her sticky little hands had been. And this coat was dry clean only.

  “Why you little…”

  I didn’t get to finish as a man appeared, tall and thin, wearing an expensive looking suit. He had a cell phone pressed to one ear. He tipped it away and said, “Is there some sort of problem?”

  “Daddy, she’s Candi Sweet. I want her to sing my favorite song. Make her sing it, Daddy.”

  Her voice had a whiny, nasally quality to it now.

  He gave his daughter a tight smile, “I’m sure you can do that. Make a little girl happy on her birthday.”

  I was guessing he was a lawyer or a politician from his attitude.

  “I only sing on stage,” I replied.

  “I want to hear Sweet Like Candy!” she screeched, stomping her Mary Jane clad foot.

  “Hold on,” the man said into his phone.

  He stepped closer to me. Too close.

  “Look, young lady. Your fans are the ones that helped pay for that coat and your designer shoes. You can spare a few minutes to make my daughter happy, because I am not going to listen to her whine the whole flight home.”

  “That’s Candi Sweet,” someone exclaimed. I glanced around, a crowd was gathering now.

  The little brat looked triumphant, certain that Daddy had granted her wish. I wasn’t giving her the satisfaction.

  “I’m not singing for her,” I said.

  The man took hold of my arm, in a placating kind of way, “Okay, how much is it going to cost me? You’re career has been taking a dive lately, how about fifty bucks?”

  I head butted him. It was a knee jerk reaction. I don’t like feeling trapped.

  As I told the cops, the split lip he got was his own fault. They disagreed. Being dragged through the airport by two cops while I screamed obscenities at them probably didn’t do much for my reputation either.

  Two months of anger management followed and a six-month ban on flying. I had proved all the haters right.

  My anger management guy had encouraged me to keep a diary of how I was feeling. As if. Who kept a diary anymore? Everything was digital nowadays so instead I decided to keep a vlog instead. One day it would be my legacy. When I was living in my mansion, filthy rich, people would talk about how I had risen out of the ashes of my failed pop career and become a sensation. And it all started here.

  I pressed record on my phone, “Candi Sweet is dead. Candace Sweet is alive and well and I am going to prove them all wrong.”

  *

  Jack

  Hesitating outside the police station, I considered what I would say.

  Hi, I got left top secret files on a deadly virus that might just be the same virus currently on the subway.

  That was going to end in one of three ways. They would laugh in my face, lock me up or maybe believe me. If I was placing bets I would say option 1 was the most likely outcome.

  When I stepped inside, I found a packed house. At least two dozen people were gathered. I couldn’t make out half of what they were saying, they were all talking at once, but I got the gist of it. They were here looking for answers about the train.

  I was never going to get to the front. I spied a rookie, sneaking away with an armload of files. I quickly cornered him.

  “Excuse me; I need to speak to s
omeone. I may have information about the virus on the train.”

  He fumbled with the files, “Yes, ma’am, if you join the queue, someone will be with you shortly.”

  “No, you don’t understand. I may know exactly what the virus is,” I said.

  The rookie looked exasperated, “Please, ma’am…”

  “That’s okay, Ashford. I’ll speak to the young lady,” a balding middle-aged man in a suit, said. He was sipping coffee from a white mug.

  He opened the partition to let me through and led me into an office.

  “I’m Detective Patterson. Tell me what you know,” he said, lowering himself into his chair.

  I took a seat opposite him, “This is going to sound kind of nuts.”

  “Try me, Miss..?”

  I hesitated. I didn’t like giving out my name to cops, “Reese. Jacqueline Reese, but most people call me Jack.”

  “Jack, tell me.”

  “I received an email this morning from a guy I used to go to college with.”

  “Used to? You look like you’re still in college.”

  “I’m 22. I graduated early.” I was hacking files since I was fifteen, school didn’t teach me much more than I already knew, but most jobs wanted a degree.

  He nodded, making notes on the jotter in front of him. So far, so good.

  “Anyway, he sent files about a virus and then the outbreak on the train happened…”

  “Jack, the outbreak on the train was anthrax. It hasn’t been released to the media yet, but I assure you it is under control. I’m sure whatever this information is about has nothing to do with it. If you just pass the files to me, you can forget all about it.”

  I reached into my bag, my hand closing around the flash drive, and then stopped. I didn’t like the way he was looking at me. And why would he need the information anyway if it was anthrax. My gut told me something was wrong. Or maybe it was just my suspicion of cops.

  “Oh, I forgot to grab my flash drive. It’s back at work.”

  “Oh, well why don’t I have one of my officers’ escort you back to work and you can give it to them?” he smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.