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

top whenever she moved too fast. Finally, she was out and considering her options. Walking was out of the question. She needed a car.
Her eyes fell on the vehicle in which she’d spent the night. It was the only one of the three that didn’t look too badly damaged. Maybe, she was lucky, and it still ran. Wrinkling her nose with disgust, she opened the door and undid the dead zombie’s seatbelt before pulling it out onto the asphalt.
It looked as bad as it smelled, and she vomited twice more during the procedure. After sending up a quick prayer, Dylan attempted to start the engine. It took on the third try, and she almost cried with relief. “Thank, God!”
She carefully reversed out of the pile-up and checked the fuel. There was half a tank left, enough to keep her going for a while. A quick search of the trunk delivered an old rag that she used to wipe the wheel and cover the seat, soaked as it was in bodily fluids.
The truck had nothing of use inside it, but the smashed car held a suitcase in the back, and she loaded it into her vehicle without wasting a second. The original owner no longer needed it. Though she was dying to check out the contents, she had to get out of there first. “No telling how many more zombies are hanging around here.”
As she drove away, Dylan checked the timer on her wrist once more. The news wasn’t good. Forty-eight hours and twelve minutes remaining. “Perfect. Just fucking perfect!”

Chapter 14 - Amy
The next morning, Amy dug another hole. This one she placed in a distant corner of the yard, as far away from the house as she could manage. It took hours, but she finally managed to make the grave deep enough. Luckily, the ground was soft due to a bout of recent rain.
After wrapping the corpse in an old blanket, she dragged it toward the hole and dumped it inside. Once the grave was covered with fresh dirt, she uttered a quick prayer for the poor man’s soul. Whatever he might have been in death, he was still a person before that: someone’s dad, husband, son, or brother. A proper burial was the least she could do for him. “I’m sorry I killed you, but I had no choice, mister. I hope you rest in peace.”
With most of the day already gone, she knew she had to hurry. Armed with the pistol, shotgun, a roll of wire and clippers, she set off to patrol the fence. It was a long walk, but she enjoyed the activity. With the changing of the seasons, everything had turned to gold with undertones of brown and accents of russet.
Along the way, she inspected the fence with care, knowing her life depended on it. She replaced a couple of rusted wires and found a ditch formed by rainwater. It was deep enough to allow a person to crawl through, so she filled it in with loose rocks and sand before continuing with her circuit.
She’d walked about three-quarters of the way around the property when she found the hole. It was only a few feet from the gate, a gap big enough for a zombie to wriggle through if it wanted. It was hidden from view by a thick bush, the reason nobody had spotted it until now.
The wire was rusted through where it connected to the post. She had to replace each strand by hand and clip off the old. It was a big job, and she resigned herself to spending the rest of the afternoon on the task.
Barely an hour had passed, however, when the rumble of an approaching vehicle put Amy on high alert. Grabbing her shotgun, she hunkered down behind the bush and waited. She didn’t have to wait long.
Within seconds, a faded blue truck appeared around the bend, its tires kicking up a cloud of dust. It stopped before the gate, and the passenger door opened with a loud creak. Footsteps approached, crunching on the loose gravel.
Amy’s heart was banging in her chest like a drum, and the sour tang of fear coated her tongue. She clutched the gun with sweaty palms, trying to remain calm. To her immense relief, a familiar figure appeared before her eyes.
It was Mrs. Robinson, the next-door-neighbor. Next-door meaning they lived several miles away on a working farm with crops, and horses. They also had a pumpkin patch, and every year, Amy’s mom would buy a couple for Halloween. They’d spend the day carving scary faces into the hollowed-out gourds while eating pumpkin pie, Amy’s favorite. It was a fond memory that brought a smile to Amy’s face.
She straightened up and waved. “Mrs. Robinson. It’s me, Amy.”
Mrs. Robinson turned to her with a relieved smile. “Amy! I’m so glad to see you. How are you, dear?”
Amy walked over, cradling the shotgun. “I’m okay, Mrs. Robinson.”
“I’ve been so worried. I tried calling your mom a bunch of times, but there’s no reception. Ted and I wanted to make a turn before now, but with all the crazy things happening, we haven’t had a chance until now.”
Mr. Robinson stepped out of the truck and tipped his hat. “Good day, Amy. Is your father here?”
A knot formed in Amy’s throat, and she shook her head. “He’s not here. He’s gone.”
“Gone?” Mr. Robinson asked. “What do you mean?”
“He went to town a week ago, and he never came back,” Amy said, hot tears burning her eyelids. “I think something happened to him.”
Mrs. Robinson gasped. “Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that. What about your mother? Is she home?”
Amy shook her head, the tears spilling over. “She got bitten a few days ago. I buried her in the backyard underneath the lemon tree.”
Mrs. Robinson paled, one hand fluttering at the base of her throat. “You’re all alone? Oh, my dear. We can’t have that, can we Ted?”
Mr. Robinson regarded Amy with a sympathetic look. “Certainly not. It’s not safe.”
Mrs.