Sirens of the Zombie Apocalypse (Book 1): Since the Sirens Read Free

gave up on
a good tool.
    At that moment the emergency tornado sirens began to howl. The
deep and unmistakable wail of the sirens informed all within earshot
something important was happening. It couldn't be weather—it
was a clear day. They were supposed to warn of a tornado, but mostly
the trumpets sounded only during their monthly readiness tests.
Unfortunately for her, one of these siren towers was located just
around the corner—reminding her that though she wasn't quite
deaf, she could still be made to feel deaf by eardrum-splitting
decibels. She wondered how long they would last... Finishing her scan
of the garage, her eye came across something that gave her hope.
    A lifetime ago she had her picture taken with her future husband
on the back of a tall black horse. She couldn't remember the exact
year. Maybe 1927? She would have been sixteen or seventeen. Upon
seeing the picture years later her daughter asked when she took up
horseback riding. Marty laughed and said she and her beau were just
posing on the back of that horse; she was tossed up there for just
that one picture. She wasn't a horse person, and hadn't touched one
since.
    She allowed herself one unguarded moment to savor that pleasant
memory.
    She was fond of cowboy culture however, and she shared that love
with her husband—a man who spent many of his retirement years
painting scenes from the American West. At some point early in their
marriage they spent time at a dude ranch of sorts in Arizona. While
they weren't out rustling cattle, they did stay at the ranch, watched
the cattle being brought in, and were close enough to all the action
to appreciate the lifestyle. It was kind of a lite version of the
full dude ranch experience. It was for those who chose to stay under
a real roof, have access to real running water, and get up at hours
of their choosing.
    One of the many things they enjoyed was the roping class, designed
to show guests how the cowboys prepared their ropes to snag a steer
or do their fancy rope tricks for the tourists. Both took to roping
so much they practiced quite a bit that week, and were able by the
end to throw rope, spin loops, and earn a “good job city
slickers” from one of the hands walking by. It was a proud
moment for the pair. They were so enamored they bought a couple ropes
from the place, intending to keep up the training just for fun.
    However, when they got back to civilization, they got distracted
starting a family, and had many children and grandchildren before
they even noticed the ropes hanging on their garage wall. They
brought the ropes down once more and tried to recall how to spin
them, but were only modestly successful at the most basic loop spin.
They had a few laughs together thinking of that wonderful vacation,
but the ropes were quickly packed away and forgotten once again.
    Thirty feet of her past was coiled innocently on the floor of the
garage. What thief would know what the thick rope was for, loop
already tied with the famous Honda Knot, especially here in the big
city? She used a rake to hook it, so she didn't have to bend down to
pick it up. It felt good in her hands, and she savored the memories
of its origin and of the last time she'd seen it. She drew strength
in the thought her husband was helping her from above. She leaned
against the wall of the garage considering how to advance her cause.
    “I'll only have one chance. I'm already pooped,” she
said to herself. Below her snow-white hair, sweat was beading
profusely.
    She looked around for the one other tool she thought she might
need—the long handle of a broom, without the brush attached.
Easily done. Definitely going to need that.
    And she was off, slowly making her way to the back porch again.
The infernal siren was still blaring, adding anxiety to her already
desperate plan. At the halfway point she paused for a rest and
considered whether she shouldn't just go out the front gate, down the
narrow path between her flat and the neighboring