My Zombie Summer (Book 1): The Undead Road Read Free Page A

pleaded. “There’s nothing out there. Hey! I can cover you guys from the sunroof.” She held up her new rifle and gently patted its side.
    “Stick with the twenty-two until I show you how to use that thing.” Dad sighed as he glanced at me. “Alright. I’m coming with you, but we’re not keeping it. We leave at the first sign of trouble. Understand?”
    I nodded as I eagerly whipped out my .45 Beretta. The doors unlocked. I opened mine and breathed. The air was fresh outside—that’s always a good sign.
    Dad and I stepped out together. He checked the west. And me, the east. It was clear. We closed our doors and pointed our weapons at the ground. Dad used his famous kill-shot pose in case something decided to jump at us from under an SUV. Compact cars are harder for Vectors to squeeze under. “Looks good,” Dad said, focused and steady. “You take point.”
    I dropped protocol and turned to him. “What?”
    “Remember what I said: keep your eyes open and check everything twice.” He put a full magazine into his AR-15. “This is your recon, Jeremy. I’ll cover you.”
    Excited, I stepped over the pavement and pointed my .45 wherever I looked. We checked the window of every car on our way to the RV. The sun and the humid weather had bleached its broad siding, fading the large brown W in the middle to a dull tan. I pulled on both door handles. Both locked. I joined Dad on the other side, hoping the side door would be a different story. My instinct told me to check for movement in the field of grass before us, and down both ends of the road.
    There wasn’t a threat in sight. No wonder Dad let me take point. This was practice—because it was safe. Or was it? I had a feeling that we were being watched.
    In scary movies, when someone walks around and the camera follows them in a creepy way—those are Stalker Shots . My obsessed-with-slasher-movies friend pointed that out to me once, never suspecting that he would lose his finger to his big sister. Mom had warned us about pointing at people. It’s not polite. Apparently, pointing at the undead is like holding out a carrot.
    Dad waited for me. “I’ll open the door. Ready?”
    I nodded. I was born with all kinds of ready.
    Dad raised the handle and, with force, he yanked the door open. Aside from the sunlight in the windows, it was pretty dark inside. I listened first. If I could call for the dog, maybe I wouldn’t have to go inside.
    “Hey, boy?”
    I paused, and I heard nothing.
    “Come on out, boy. You’re safe.”
    A whimper that time.
    “What if it’s not a boy?” Dad asked.
    I stepped closer. “Are you a girl?”
    Bark!
    Bingo.
    “Come on out, girl. We’re alive.”
    More whimpers. Sad and glum.
    What was wrong with her?
    She was obviously too terrified to come out, but one thing I knew for sure: if a Vector had been in the RV with the retriever, she would’ve been zombie chow by now. I carefully stepped in. The dog was sitting on a bed in the back of the RV, wagging her yellow tail.
    “Hi,” I said. “You’re just a pup, aren’t you?”
    The dog yapped in short bursts, but she stayed put. Whoever had left the dog must’ve trained her to stay unless called for. I stepped over a pair of jeans. The RV smelled of canned meat and beans. Sure enough, empty cans littered the dinette, and a stack of dishes in the sink. I peeked in the toilet. Empty. It was just us two.
    “It’s okay,” I said. “You can come with me.”
    The dog barked again, but it wasn’t directed at me. My throat clenched as I turned around and looked up. A pale face poked through the overhead sleeper curtain.
    Without thinking, I aimed and pulled the trigger.

 
     
     
     

     
    Click.
    Nothing happened.
    Click. Click. Click.
    I’d forgotten to load it.
    Crap! Crap! Crap!
    I pulled the slide back, and the face screamed.
    “Wait!”
    I looked up. It wasn’t a mindless Vector. It was a girl—a human girl, and she was barely awake. Long black hair with a single purple