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

home, and just keep
walking until she found help. Forget about Angie for now and just
find assistance. Lots of risk either way.
    “Lord give me strength to make the right choice,” she
said to anyone listening. Marty seldom prayed for herself, but now
she allowed herself to ask for a little help. After a minute's pause
she decided her best chance to see this day to the end was to take
charge of her own problems, and recapture her home. Even if she
didn't live through the night, she wasn't about to spend her final
hours on Earth sitting on a deck chair listening to Angie claw away
her kitchen window.
    “Please Lord, turn off those trumpets!” It was, for
her, a near-scream.
    4
    She closed the distance to the back of her house, the rope heavy
across her shoulders, and the broom handle held tightly under the arm
not working the cane. She saw herself reflected on the glass of her
back window, walking up the path with those accoutrements. She
admitted she did not look very intimidating.
    Martinette was a survivor in the truest sense, and she plumbed her
memory for strength now. At 99 years of age she was walking happily
between a parked car and a local eatery where she'd gone dozens of
times before—and promptly tripped over a parking curb. She
reached out to catch herself as she fell forward, and unceremoniously
broke both arms. After the surgery to mend the breaks and assemble
the casts she was shipped off to the nursing home. Later, people who didn't know admitted they assumed she was going to fade away
and die after such a calamity. Needless to say she fought hard
against the odds and walked out of there six weeks later. That was
five years ago—a lifetime to someone celebrating turning each
and every calendar page after making it to 100. This was a minor
speed bump in comparison!
    So on she went, pulling up to the door and window. She tied off
her rope and then took a seat in the same chair she used a few
minutes before. She was winded now and her back was fast becoming a
major distraction. She almost never used pain meds, but using them
now would be justified.
    The plan was simple, as it had to be for a woman of her rapidly
declining abilities. She would tap the window with her broom handle
to get the attention of Angie who was now banging on the back door,
hopefully drawing her over to the window one more time. She hoped it
would give her an opportunity to open the screen door, then push open
the main door so it stood open wide, and finally re-shut the screen
door. From there things would get interesting.
    As with most major events in her life, this one began with a
prayer.
    “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of
death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy
staff they comfort me.”
    She tried to stand up and realized her back was nearing its
limits. With great effort she did manage to stand, but this would
likely be her last unassisted “up” of the day.
    “As if I don't have enough problems!” No one heard her
over the sirens.
    Standing and wobbling a bit, she quickly righted herself and made
for the small segment of brickwork between the door and the rear
window. She had the rope looped over her head, the broomstick in her
left hand, and the cane in her right. From there her best guess was
she could just reach the window with the stick and still be close
enough to the door to open it. She considered whether Angie would
even hear her banging on the window over the din of the emergency
klaxons.
    Trust in the Lord.
    She let go of her cane and stood unassisted as best she could.
With all her strength she swung the broom handle with both hands. She
had very little arm strength, and her whole body was already taxed to
its breaking point—but it did make a satisfying bang on the
window glass. Was it enough? No second chance to be had, as the stick
flew out of her hands and landed harmlessly in the grass just off the
concrete porch. It was now or never.
    She maneuvered herself to