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

the water trough, Amy eyed the hens with a shrewd gaze. Come Thanksgiving their fat, and feathered bodies would yield a juicy meal. A sudden thought occurred to her, and she frowned. “Will I still be here then? And what about Christmas? What if Alex doesn’t come back?”
A fit of panic overcame Amy, and she sank to her knees. Her heart fluttered like a frightened rabbit, and black spots danced in front of her eyes. She pressed her trembling hands to the earth and tried to ground herself.
Oblivious to her fears, the chickens carried on with the business of eating. They pecked at the earth with laser precision, never missing a seed or a worm. She found their gentle clucking strangely comforting and couldn’t help but smile at their antics. One pecked at her fingers, and she shooed it away as she got back to her feet. “Scram.”
In the background, Ham began his warbling cry to welcome the dawn, and the first rays of the sun peeked over the top of the barn roof. She tilted her face upward to catch its soothing warmth on her skin. It eased away the panic, and Amy faced a simple truth. She was alone, at least until Alex arrived, and there was no guarantee that he ever would. It was up to her whether she lived or died. The time for crying was over.
With a sigh, she got to her feet, cradling the shotgun with one arm. “Well, there’s a lot of work to be done. Better get started.”
Throughout the morning, Amy busied herself with various chores. She boarded up the ground floor windows, reinforced the doors, and chopped a load of firewood for the fireplace. Cold weather was coming, and she’d best be prepared for it. “Right. What’s next? The barn.”
With a pen and clipboard, she took stock of the interior. There was a full tank of fuel, a generator hooked up to the house, her mother’s car, gardening equipment, as well as a large bin of chicken feed. After jotting it all down, she locked the doors with a thick chain and padlock, securing the supplies against possible marauders.
With her hands on her hips, Amy surveyed the yard. Her eyes fell on the chicken coop, and she noted the sagging wire that barely clung to the frame. “Mm. That won’t do. What if a predator comes along? Or a zombie?”
Throughout the rest of the afternoon, she worked on the coop, replacing the old rusted wire and fixing the gate. She tackled the veggie patch as well. With a basket on one arm, she harvested the last of the summer crop and rooted out any weeds that threatened the winter vegetables.
It was back-breaking labor, but the constant activity kept her mind off her loneliness. It also allowed her to have renewed faith in Alex. He was both strong and resourceful, plus he never broke a promise. “He’ll come home. I know it.”
Finally, the sun began to dip toward the horizon, and she was ready to call it a day. Her back hurt, and her hands were blistered and bleeding. Still, she felt a deep sense of satisfaction that triumphed over any discomfort she suffered.
Amy headed toward the house. It welcomed her back with familiar arms, warm and cozy after the chill wind outside. Her stomach rumbled, and she whipped up a quick supper of canned spaghetti and meatballs with a green salad. She even prepared a batch of dough using one of her mom’s recipes. Come morning, she’d pop it in the oven and hopefully have freshly baked bread for breakfast. The mere thought had her salivating.
Clipboard in hand, she made a list of all the food in the house. There was enough to last her three months or more if she was careful. Her mom had believed in buying bulk, and there were several jars of jams, pickles, and preserves too. The freezer was full of meat and frozen vegetables, a bonus assuming the power lasted. It was still on for the moment, and she hoped it stayed that way.
The real problem she faced was with everyday stuff like milk and butter, but she could probably make do without it. The toilet paper would run out soon, however. She also couldn’t count on the water to keep running. On a whim, she grabbed every empty container in the house and filled it with water, just in case. “That’s better.”
The entire time she worked, she made sure to keep quiet. All the curtains were drawn, and she didn’t use the lights, preferring a candle instead. The farm might be fenced, but she wasn’t about to announce her presence to the entire world. Zombies weren’t the only things that went bump in the night.
Once she’d eaten, she washed the dishes, took a bath, and curled up in front of the tv with an old movie. She didn’t try any of the channels. They’d stopped broadcasting a few days ago. Tucked underneath a blanket, she felt secure in the knowledge that the windows were boarded up and the doors locked.
She was halfway through the movie, however, when the chickens began to kick up a fuss. Even Ham carried on, something he never did except at dawn. Something was bothering them, and she hoped it was just a wild critter.
With a frown, Amy got off the couch and reached for the shotgun. It was never far from her side these days. She peered through a gap in the boards that covered the windows overlooking the yard. It was dark outside. Too dark to see anything.
The chickens were going crazy, though, and Amy knew she had to do something besides cower inside the house. With her heart in her throat, she flicked on the porch light. The bright light flooded the yard, and she spotted the figure of a man clawing at the wire of the chicken coop. He growled like a dog and didn’t seem to know how to open the door to the coop,