Rise of the Undead Box Set | Books 1-3 | Apocalypse Z

skull exploded, and he fell to the ground with barely a whimper.
There was no time to waste, however. More were coming. Dylan pivoted to the left like a dancer and wielded the bat overhead. She slammed it down onto the nearest head like a hammer. The infected, a young woman, fell to the ground with twitching limbs as her eyes rolled back in her skull.
A quick glance around determined that she had a brief second before the next zombie reached her, and she took her chance. Dumping the bat, Dylan grabbed her bag and jumped into the seat behind her. She grasped the handle of the door and pulled.
Just in time.
A zombie thudded into her door and slammed his fists on the window, quickly followed by another and another. Within seconds, she was surrounded, her vision filled with the faces of the undead. Hungry. So, so hungry.
Terror caused her pulse to jump, and she had to concentrate on her movements. Her fingers shook as she started the engine, and she prayed nothing would go wrong. Jamming the car into reverse, she pushed through the crowd and bowled them aside. They howled their frustration as she raced away, putting as much distance between them and herself as she could.
As she left the town behind, Dylan uttered a final farewell. It didn’t relieve the hollow pit in her chest, but it needed to be said if she was going to push ahead. “I guess this is it, Frankie. I hope you’re with your parents now, and that you’re happy. And who knows? Maybe I’ll get to see you soon. It all depends on what lies ahead. Goodbye, my friend.”

Chapter 8 - Amy
Amy rose before dawn, too restless to sleep any longer. Not that she’d gotten much rest anyway. It was impossible, no matter how tired she was. Ever since she’d buried her mom, things had changed. The house was empty now — a morgue.
Over the past few days, fear had become her constant companion. It grew and grew until it became a thick blanket of paranoia that threatened to smother her. Every night, she’d climb into bed after checking and double-checking all the locks in the house.
She’d clutch the blankets to her chest and stare wide-eyed into the darkness, every little sound a cause for alarm. Her brain would go into overdrive, imagining awful things, until at last, she jumped out of bed more tired than when she got in.
It was a vicious cycle.
Amy yawned as she crossed the hallway to the bathroom, dying to empty her full bladder. The floor was cold beneath her socked feet, and she shivered. “Winter is here, that’s for sure.”
After using the toilet, she washed up and got dressed before padding downstairs for a quick breakfast. Today, it was cereal and the last bit of milk. The bread was gone already, used for toast the previous morning. She supposed she could try to make more, but she’d never done it before. Her mom had been the baker in the house, spending countless hours producing prize-winning cakes and pies for the local farmers market.
After eating, she poured herself a cup of coffee and sat at the counter, staring into the distance. Her phone lay nearby, but it was useless to her now. There was no signal. No way for her to contact Alex. Three days. It’s been three days.
Amy shook her head. She didn’t want to think about it. It was bad enough losing both of her parents in the space of a week. Not her brother too. She needed him. Needed to believe that he was on his way.
Alex was the perfect older sibling. Strong, kind, and dependable. The sort of brother who protected you from schoolyard bullies and shady boyfriends, but also taught you how to throw a punch. The type who picked you up when you fell, but told you that crying was for sissies.
She missed him more than she could say. Older than her by six years, he’d enlisted in the army right after school. It was his dream, but to her, it meant she rarely got to see him anymore. Don’t worry. He’s coming back. He has to be.
Amy took another sip of her coffee and grimaced. It was cold. After tossing it down the drain, she picked up the shotgun, unlocked the front door, and stepped out onto the porch. The farm stretched out before her, barely visible in the pre-dawn light.
It wasn’t much. Just a small patch of fenced land out in the Kentucky countryside. It was nothing like the celebrated horse farms that abounded in the area, but to her parents, it had been heaven. Her father had been an accountant for a firm in Louisville, but he loved nothing more than coming home to the quiet of the farm. Her mother enjoyed being a stay-at-home mom. She raised chickens, grew her own vegetables, baked delicious pastries, and made her own marmalade. It was a simple life, but they’d been happy, and so had Amy.
Amy loved the lush green fields and the patches of forest where wildlife abounded. Though she often went out hunting, she rarely killed anything, preferring to observe the animals instead. She was a good shot, however. Almost as good as Alex.
Now that her parents were gone, and it was up to her to keep the place running. With that in mind, Amy set about completing her chores for the day. It might be the apocalypse, but the chickens still needed feeding, and the vegetable patch wouldn’t weed itself.
Ham, the rooster, strutted past when she approached. He was getting ready to wake the dead with his morning song. Amy snorted and tossed him a handful of seed before turning to the hens.
They clucked around her feet while she gathered their eggs, a bounty she was thankful for now more than ever. That, and the vegetable plot. At least, she’d have fresh produce to relieve the monotony of canned goods.
After feeding them and topping up