Time of Zombies (Book 2): The Zombie Hunter's Wife Read Free Page A

zombie
apocalypse. Zombie hunters don’t cry,” she said, hoping to turn the unusual mood
around.
    Emily started laughing and crying at the same time
and Michelle let out her held breath. “Maybe you’ll have the first triplets or
quads of the apocalypse.”
    “Bite your tongue,” her friend said. “No fucking
way.”
    “Yeah, no fucking way,” Dylan parroted.
    At first she’d been appalled by the boys’ behavior
and language but she’d learned quickly if she ‘mothered’ too much she’d lose
them. They were the first generation of AZ, after the Z virus. Somehow,
worrying about cussing and minor scuffles seemed ridiculous when you had bigger
problems to worry about, like being some zombie’s lunch or how to have enough
food for dinner.
    Laughing, they all got their meals and moved to a
picnic table. Dylan stayed by her side and Emily sat across from them. The rest
of the boys scattered to eat with friends. She looked around and sighed.
    “I never would have thought I’d miss The Streets
of Brentwood mall so much.”
    Emily stuffed food in her mouth, swallowed, and
looked around. “Pretty bad, when eating at a burger place with folding chairs
and tables, seems like eating at Top of the Mark in comparison.”
    She wouldn’t know anything about Top of the Mark, San
Francisco’s premier restaurant. It would have been beyond Mitch’s paycheck to
go there without some serious dollar stretching ... for months. Michelle stared
at the gray cinderblocks making up the walls of their haven and sighed. “I just
miss being able to see for miles around. All I see all day long is motor homes
and gray walls.”
    “You could go outside, you know,” Emily threw out
there with an evil twinkle in her eye.
    “Not me. No way. You zombie hunters can go risk
your lives. The ride here was scary enough after we blew up the old compound. Maybe
I’ll paint some hills and trees on the walls. That’s as close to ‘outside’ as
I’m getting.”
    “Chicken,” Emily said.
    “Bawk, bawk,” Dylan added.
    “Traitor,” she murmured, pulling him in close to
her with an arm wrapped around his shoulders.
    “Need I remind you, you jumped off that fence and
ran outside fast enough when I got here,” Emily said.
    She shuddered. “I thought you were dead. That’s
different. If I had been thinking clearly, I wouldn’t have done it at all.”
    “Maybe you were thinking clearly for once,” Emily
mumbled.
    “Mr. Teddy. Mr. Teddy,” several young voices
called out.
    She turned in her seat to see Teddy Ridgewood and
several other men returning from zombie hunting and killing for the morning
shift. As usual, the enormous, African-American man was covered from shaved
head to boots in blood and gore. Sighing, she got up from the table. As if
blood and gore could disguise broad shoulders, flat abs, and a face that got
her libido going in seconds flat. She swallowed and looked away. She wasn’t
going there—ever again. Even if Teddy was a dark chocolate mountain of
yumminess. Sex appeal and lust meant nothing when a man put duty before you. For
him, it wasn’t even duty. The man acted like hunting zombies was a video game
with infinite lives. She shook her head. Nope, one and dead. Or undead, and
then dead. A knot grew in her throat. Never again, she vowed silently.
    “Laundry duty sucks sometimes,” she mumbled to
Emily.
    “You could wait until they’re all undressed,” her
friend said.
    She stared at the other woman. “No way. Do you
know how hard blood and guts is to get out if I wait for them to finally change
clothes, and to remember to bring the dirty ones to me? Impossible, that’s what.”
She turned to walk away.
    “By all means, go strip Teddy out of his clothes,”
Emily said, with what sounded suspiciously like a laugh covered by a fake
cough.
    Her face heated up to flame temperature. “I have
to get all the clothes.”
    “Of course you do. I see you rushing to get Morales’
too,” Emily yelled in a sarcastic