Zombie Chaos | Book 4 | Scout's Horror

muttered curse on the other, it was too late to ready myself for the inevitable fight.
“Good evening, folks,” a male voice said, his Mississippi twang evident. “May I see your park pass?”
I froze, my hand halfway to my holster. Clare and George stiffened beside me, their own weapons hanging limply at their sides, and Casey made no sound at all. If I snatched a glimpse toward his tree, I’d likely spot him crouching on a limb high above us.
Reluctant to alert the officious interloper of Casey’s hiding place, I didn’t move a muscle. Just stared at Ranger Bob “I-shit-you-not” Roberts as he stepped toward me, his name etched across a golden plate affixed to the left pocket of his khaki shirt.
Behind him, I could see an SUV parked on the gravel road leading down into the campsite. How had I missed spotting his headlights? Or hearing his approaching footsteps? For that matter, how had his unexpected arrival evaded my companions’ notice as well? Had we all been so fixated on the shortwave radio—on the possibility of human contact—that we’d ignored the imminent intrusion? Or had pure exhaustion simply dulled our senses?
Not that it mattered now.
When no one responded to his question, Ranger Bob aimed the brightest damn flashlight I’d ever seen directly at my face. “Sir, where’s your park pass?”
I shut my eyes, wincing from the glare. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Your pass,” he repeated, his exasperation evident. “Even though backcountry camping in Homochitto is free, you need a pass to stay here. An Interagency Annual Pass will do.” Mercifully, he pivoted the blazing flashlight beam toward my van. “Course, since there are two vehicles, you’ll need two passes.” He nodded over his shoulder, his eyes full of suspicion. “And what’s up with the tripwire? Somebody after you?”
I squinted, surveying the short, rotund man who stood before me. Perhaps in his late forties, he wore the customary hat, uniform, and hiking boots of a forest ranger. The only thing out of place? The 1970s-style pornstache he was rocking. I might’ve chuckled at his dubious choice of facial hair if his presence hadn’t irked me so much.
“Uh, Ranger Roberts, do you know what’s going on out there?”
His brow furrowed in confusion. “Out where?” Then, he shook his head, dispelling the momentary distraction. “Sir, I’m simply checking to make sure you have the required permits to camp here.” He extended his hand, twitching his fingers impatiently. “Show them to me, and I’ll be on my way.”
Clearly, the dude was a lifer, a rule-abiding ranger to the core, and zombie apocalypse or not, I had unfortunately decided to camp in his forest without a proper pass. His enormous, 192,000-acre forest.
Seriously, what are the fucking odds he’d stumble into our campsite?
I sighed, both exasperated and befuddled by the moron’s one-track mind. “No, I mean, you do realize that the world as you know it… just came to an end?”
He huffed, evidently miffed by my lack of cooperation, and once again waggled the fingers of his waiting hand.
“Do you even know about the zombies?” I asked, suspecting the answer was an unequivocal no.
He lowered his hand, then shined the flashlight in my face again. “Look, I don’t know what kind of stupid prank y’all are trying to play on me, but if I don’t see a permit, I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to leave.” He nodded behind him. “And take your tripwire with you. It’s just begging for a lawsuit.”
Could this jackass really be that clueless? How could anyone have survived three full days of an undead invasion without realizing the world had turned to utter shit?
I shielded my eyes from the penetrating light, my impatience teetering toward the danger zone. “Um, I have some bad news for you, Ranger Bob… most likely, everyone you know is dead. A fatal virus hit this country three days ago. I don’t know how you missed the news, but let’s just say the world is fucked up beyond belief. Like, a permanent undead shithole.”
“No need for that kind of language, sir.” He clenched his clean-shaven jaw. “I don’t know what’s going on here, but I don’t like it. I suggest you and your friends pack up your stuff and go back where you came from.”
“Yeah, no, that ain’t gonna happen,” George muttered, her grip tightening on the tire iron Ol’ Bob had yet to notice.
The infuriated ranger shifted the flashlight beam toward my companion. “Excuse me, ma’am? Are you refusing to obey the law?”
I groaned. How much worse could the situation get?
While Bob fixated on George, I considered yanking out my gun and shooting him, but somehow, it felt wrong to kill a living, breathing human whose only obvious crime was being a complete idiot. True, a dude like that could get someone killed, but since no zombies had yet appeared, I was still willing to negotiate, if possible. Better to try the diplomatic route than to turn an annoying situation into a dangerous one.
Ever since my angst-filled teenage years, I had longed for less stress in my life. Just one smooth day that unfolded as planned. But since I’d never experienced such unadulterated bliss prior to the apocalypse, I couldn’t really expect an evening following the world-ending epidemic to go well either.
Can’t hurt to dream, I guess.
Sadly, good timing had never been one of my major assets. In fact, if anything, I’d always had rather horrendous timing.
I recalled one particularly eventful night back when I was seventeen and had found myself behind the wheel of a car full of buddies and beer. Four friends and I had been cruising for chicks in a suburb outside Detroit—a common activity for teenagers at the time. Everything had seemed copacetic until my notoriously unlucky timing struck, resulting in my pal Anthony going into insulin shock.
Truth be told, Anthony had resembled one of the zombies I’d seen over the past few days. Ashen face, vacant eyes, an inability to communicate—all the telltale signs of undeadness. I was