The Rising Dead Read Free Page A

teacher—ballet, hip-hop, Latin—he wasn’t surprised. Her dream was to open a dance studio in San Bernardino and teach kids. Jeff, who was driving the truck with a contented look on his face, didn’t seem to be listening. If Cheryl noticed that he had tuned out, she didn’t care. With her left hand resting on her husband’s thigh, she focusedthe rest of her attention on Matt, twisting so she could see Matt’s face. “You’ll probably think this is funny, but I used to coach cheerleading.”
    Matt imagined her bouncing around in shorts teaching silly rhymes and shaking pom-poms.
Funny
was not the word he would have used. Sometimes her voice got high and squeaky when she was excited, but Matt figured Jeff had no trouble putting up with that. He knew because he’d been like them once. At first Matt thought his second life was chaotic and random. Now he had a strong sense that he was building toward something. Although, when things went sideways, like they just had in Denver, he had doubts.
    However, for the moment, he was watching Cheryl demonstrating her moves in the truck cab. Matt could think of worse ways to pass the time. Usually he caught rides from truckers who were either lonely and talkative or silent. Matt wasn’t picky if the ride was free. Cheryl continued, telling him how she and Jeff met at a friend’s barbecue in Yellow Springs, Ohio. Then Jeff proposed and suggested they move to San Bernardino, where his uncle lived. Cheryl was thrilled about getting married and leaving snowy Columbus for California, even if it was just San Bernardino.

CHAPTER TWO
    Eventually the flow of words from Cheryl began to slow because she had told her short life’s story all the way up to her wedding, which had occurred last month. Now Matt was trying to dodge her questions. After Matt explained that his wife had died of cancer, Cheryl’s big, blue eyes turned sad. Then she flushed, seeming embarrassed that she had brought up something she assumed was painful. She told Matt about the year and a half during Jeff’s last deployment when she and Jeff wrote back and forth and used Skype, as if their separation could compare to Janey’s death. “I was so afraid he wouldn’t come home.”
    “I’m sure he doesn’t care.” Jeff smiled at her.
    It didn’t work. Cheryl seemed to think ceaseless talking could undo any damage caused by opening up an old wound. What she didn’t realize was that Matt actually liked talking about Janey. After all the chaos and death of the last couple of years, he wanted to remember her. Her memory kept him going. If Cheryl had given him a chance, he would have told her about Janey. But listening was fine, too. The simple story of a young couple falling in love was, well, normal. He fell asleep to the sound of her voice like it was a lullaby.
    He woke up to Cheryl’s voice, too, but it was louder and high-pitched now. Matt didn’t know how long he’d slept or exactly where they were, but the terrain had changed to desert and rocks. Off to the east he could see a giant wall of brown clouds traveling across the horizon like a wave. The clouds swirled and boiled as the storm rushed towardthem. Dried, dead plants and gravel were flying across the road. The wind around the truck was so strong that the vehicle swayed, so Jeff slowed down. Matt wondered if it was some creation of Mr. Dark’s.
    “It’s like something out of a movie.” Jeff pulled off the road.
    “I’ve read about these. They’re called haboobs.” Cheryl pronounced
haboobs
slowly, with an emphasis on the last syllable,
boobs
.
    Jeff immediately began to laugh, and after a second of hesitation, so did Matt.
    Cheryl looked hurt, as if she had heard too many dumb blonde jokes. “No, really. It’s an Arab word for a really bad sandstorm. Sometimes there’s a rainstorm afterwards and sometimes it’s just nature blowing dirt all over everything.”
    “Well, why don’t they call it a really bad sandstorm instead of a