Undead Ultra (A Zombie Novel) Read Free Page A

This morning, it’s thronging with tourists. I polish off my omelet and start in on the first of the apple fritters, watching the droves of wine lovers walk by outside.
    A pack of metrosexual males staggers by in loafers, slacks, and pastel shirts. God, they are even more fucked up than the Barbie brigade we saw earlier. One of them has red wine smeared all over his button-down shirt. Another has red wine splashed over his face. All of them move with a shuffling gait. Maybe they started Barrel Tasting weekend with mimosas, Bloody Marys, and tequila shots. Maybe they’re just hungover from a full night of partying. Whatever the case, they look like hell.
    “This is better than reality TV,” Frederico says around a mouthful of biscuit.
    I nod, shoving a chunk of apple fritter into my mouth.
    The metro with red wine all over his lavender shirt lunges at a pretty girl in tight pants. The neckline of her shirt practically plunges to her navel. The metro paws at her breasts, a loud moan passing between his lips.
    “This is more like a bad porno,” I reply, picking up the second apple fritter.
    “Get away from me, you pervert,” the girl shouts.
    She tries to shove the man away. He’s nearly twice her size and doesn’t flinch under her pathetic force. He moans again, still pawing at her breast.
    “A really bad porno,” Frederico agrees, anger seeping into his voice. He shifts, and I know he’s considering going out to help the girl.
    The metro suddenly seizes the girl and buries his face in her neck. She screams. It’s not a cry of disgust or violation; it’s a piercing shriek of pain that jars me to the core.
    Frederico jumps up, knees hitting the table. The plates and silverware bounce and rattle.
    The girl twists in the man’s grasp, her eyes wide like a desperate animal’s. The man in lavender leans back, blood staining his mouth and raw flesh hanging from his lips. Blood gushes down the girl’s throat, a river of it running between her breasts.
    “What the fuck?” Frederico cries.
    We both stare, paralyzed with shock and horror.
    The girl is screaming, screaming, screaming. The metro in lavender leans back in, sinking his teeth into her jugular. Blood sprays, splattering all over the window—right by my face.
     

Chapter 3
    Red Hats
     
     
    “Fuck!” I jump to my feet, knocking over my water glass. “Fuck!”
    I gape, transfixed, as the pastel shirt club swarms the girl. They bear her to the ground, sinking their teeth into her flesh and eating her alive. I stumble back, bumping into Frederico.
    “What the—” He stares as the metro horde devours the girl, mouth hanging open.
    Behind us, our waitress screams. I turn in time to see her drop two orders of biscuits and gravy to the floor. The few other patrons in the diner are on their feet, all of us stupidly watching the horror movie unfolding in front of the restaurant.
    A group of gray-haired men dressed in sensible sneakers—all with Barrel Tasting bracelets—stumble into the metro gore. One man sees the girl on the ground and tries to intervene. Seconds later, two members of the metro club pounce on him. One claws into the man’s enormous gut, tearing through his shirt in a spurt of blood.
    Two other men—restaurant patrons—race past us, bursting through the front door. They grab onto the closest of the metros, attempting to drag him off the girl. At the table next to us, a woman is on her cell phone, eyes wide.
    “I need to report an attack,” she says breathlessly into her phone. “There are drunk men mauling people in downtown Healdsburg!” Her voice goes up an octave as the body of the girl is abruptly hurled against the window.
    Blood smears the glass in thick, gloppy rivulets as the body slides to the ground. Through the red gore, I see one of the restaurant patrons go down under a rush of pastel shirts. The mass smashes against the front door of the restaurant. One metro in pastel green-and-yellow stripes nearly tumbles inside,