Zombie Blood (A Zombie Apocalypse Novel)

ZOMBIE BLOOD

By

Douglas Scott

Published by Douglas Scott at Smashwords

This book and parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by the United States of America copyright law.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual persons, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.

Copyright 2011 by Douglas Scott

CHAPTER 1

Dad, Harley won’t help with the tent.

Bud Houghton looked over to his son. The twelve-year-old was struggling with his tent as he tried to force it back into its carry bag. The tent seemed to be winning. It wasn’t helping that Larky, Zach’s little beagle, was trying to bite his son’s shoelaces at the same time.

Harley! Quit flirting with Jeff and help your brother! It’s getting dark.

Zach’s twin sister turned, her face red with embarrassment. I was not flirting, she hissed. We were just talking.

Just help your brother so we can get home, would you? And tie up Larky. I want to get home and take a shower and sleep in a real bed. Bud looked at the tall, gawky thirteen-year-old with whom she had been flirting. Jeff, hurry up and help East get his stuff packed. Bud looked beyond the redheaded teen and called to the two boys throwing pinecones at each other. Dale! West! Quit screwing around and help me with this pack. West, the short, slender boy, took the time to throw one last pinecone at Dale, his taller, heavyset camping partner. West! You throw one more pinecone and I’ll cram it somewhere very uncomfortable. The kids all giggled at the threat, and at West’s waddling around as if he had a pinecone up his butt, but at least they resumed their packing.

The group had been camping for the last 7 days at the former site of the Seneca Army Depot in Romulus, New York. 7 days and 6 nights, and there was no way he was going to spend another night with these rowdy kids and hyperactive dog—not if he could help it. It had been a week of cold, rainy October days, and there was frost on the ground when they woke up each morning. For the thousandth time, Bud told himself that at 52, he was getting too old for this sort of thing. A full week sleeping on the ground, no showers, and camping over a camp fire, all while cut off from any contact with civilization, was starting to get to be a little more than he wanted to tackle. The annual ‘survival camp’ was a wonderful way to spend time with his son and daughter, but it was getting more tiring each year. No, this year would probably be the last of their annual ‘survival camp’.

Mr. Houghton, West is throwing stuff at me, Brandon Easton complained.

West, please. Knock it off.

I don’t know what he’s talking about. I’m just packing my stuff.

No he’s not, Easton said. Whenever I’m not looking he throws stuff.

Then how do you know it’s me? West grinned. It could be anybody. He looked into the shadows of the trees around their campsite. "Or anything."

West, cut it out. Please, finish up. I want to get you kids home sometime tonight.

Okay, Mr. Houghton. West looked over at Easton, with a sly smile. You do realize these woods are haunted, right?

Are not. You’re an idiot.

Yes they are. The trees come alive at night and kill anyone who dares enter their realm. Have you seen the white deer? They aren’t real deer. They’re the ghosts of deer that have been strangled by the trees. Their spirits roam the woods, looking for people so they can suck the souls from their bodies. Mu-u-u-ah-ah.

You’re lyin’! Easton looked around at the trees. Isn’t he, Mr. Houghton?

West is full of stories, East. Don’t listen to him. West, finish packing, please.

Really, Mr. Houghton. The deer are gho— West was hit in the face by a wadded up pair of underwear.

Dale! Don’t start! Bud shouted.

I’m just trying to get him to shut up.

Bud was getting angry. No more screwing around! If this keeps up, I’m going to start kicking butts, you understand? After some unintelligible mumbling, the kids resumed their packing.

Finally, they were done packing up the SUV. They all climbed aboard, Zach and Dale calling shotgun and Harley happy to sit in the back seat next to Jeff. Cramming into the back seat next to the two lovebirds were the two Brandons, Brandon West and Brandon Easton, called East and West by everyone in the group. Zach struggled to hold Larky on his lap as the dog nipped and licked the boy’s face. As they pulled out onto the highway, Bud looked at his watch. 8:30. Dale, I hope your parents don’t go to bed too early. My phone’s battery is dead, so I’m gonna have to just drop you off at home without calling.

Dale yawned, It doesn’t matter. I’ll be quiet when I get home. Anyway, they’ll probably be awake.

Bud looked into the rear mirror, trying to make eye contact with West. "And we’ll be even later because I don’t want to drive on the main roads with a tail light that someone broke."

I said I’m sorry, Mr. Houghton, West said, not sounding sorry in the least.

Yeah, well, we’re all going to be pretty late getting home, so don’t go making a bunch of noise when you get home, and explain to your parents about my phone battery.

West whispered, Look, East. There’s one of the ghost-deer, looking to suck your blood.

Shut up, East responded. You’re an idiot. I thought that they wanted to suck my soul, not my blood.

Soul. Blood. They’ll take anything they can get.

Oh, God, Bud groaned. Will this night never end? No more talking. Especially you, West.

But—

No more.

The kids and the dog were all dozing except Harley and Jeff, who were whispering quietly to each other as Bud drove down the back roads, watching carefully for deer. It was already 9:00 as the SUV pulled into Dale’s long, gravel driveway, but the lights were still on in the house, so his parents were probably still awake.

Dale and Bud climbed out of the vehicle and retrieved Dale’s backpack and duffle bag from the back of the truck. Just as Bud shut the rear door of his SUV, Larky started growling and barking. Zach, Bud whispered, keep Larky quiet. Bud looked up to see that Dale’s parents were walking toward the vehicle, wide grins on their faces as they blinked their eyes against the glare from the truck’s headlights. Melinda, walking a few paces behind her husband, was carrying something—Bud couldn’t tell exactly what it was, but it looked like some sort of garden tool.

Bud! You’re back! This is great! Dale’s dad called. He held his hand up to block the light. Ack! You’re blinding me. Can’t you turn off those headlights?

Hey, Troy, Melinda, I’m sorry I—Zach! Keep that dog quiet!—sorry I didn’t call, the battery in my phone is dead. We didn’t wake you up, did we?

Troy stopped, both hands shielding his eyes from the light. Melinda was standing behind him, staying in his shadow. Crap, Bud! Turn off the freakin’ lights, will ya? He stepped to his right to get out of the light, and Bud saw that Melinda was carrying one of those brush cutters with the flat, double-edged blade.

When the light hit her, she put her hand up to shade her eyes from the glare. Bud, turn off the light, please!

Oh, sorry. Bud turned to shut off the headlights, calling over his shoulder, What’re you guys up to, doing yard work in the dark?

No, just, uh, cleaning up the garage a little, Melinda answered.

Bud turned off his headlights, casting the yard into darkness. The moon, hidden behind the clouds, did little to help Bud see. He turned around, and could see Melinda and Troy as faint shadows against the white of their house as they walked toward Bud. There was not a single light on in the house or garage. Man, it’s dark. Sorry. Watch your step. Zach! Shut that dog up! Will you? What is his problem? Bud reached back into the SUV to turn the parking lights of the truck on. I’m sorry, guys. I didn’t realize it was so dark. Let me turn the lights back on.

Bud turned his parking lights on and turned around in time to see Melinda break into a trot, passing her husband as they approached Bud. What’s--? Bud broke off when Troy grabbed Melinda by the hair and yanked her back so he could get back in front of her.

They’re mine! He snarled at Melinda.

Troy, what are you doing? Bud stepped forward to see if Melinda was okay when the woman swung the brush cutter she was carrying high in the air and brought it down on Troy’s head. The impact caused Troy’s head to split right down the middle, and he collapsed to the ground, blood spraying around his limp body.

They’re mine! I get them! she screamed. I need a drink!

Bud and the kids screamed, Larky was snarling, and Bud felt sick when Melinda worked her weapon back and forth a little in order to pull it loose from Troy’s skull. Bud took a step forward, but when Melinda started toward him with the cutter, he decided to retreat to the truck. Dale! Get back in the truck! Now!

Dale was on his knees, screaming, staring at his father’s crumpled corpse.

Quick! Dale! In the truck! Bud ran back to the truck, and jumped in as Melinda started walking quickly toward him. He slammed the door shut just as Melinda swung the cutter. Her swing missed hitting anything and she was swung around by the momentum of the heavy garden tool. She tried to open the door, but Bud locked the door half a second before she tried the latch. Kids! Lock your doors!

Open the door! Melinda shouted in frustration, and raised her weapon, ready to smash Bud’s side window. Bud flinched when the cutter struck the window, the glancing blow cracking it slightly. Get out here, Bud! She hefted her weapon readying it for another swing.

What’s going on? Bud shouted through the window as he started the SUV’s engine, causing the engine to roar as he held down the accelerator in his panic. What are you doing? Melinda! Stop it!

Before Melinda could swing her weapon again, she staggered as Dale bowled into her screaming. What did you do to Dad? Why, Mom, why? The young boy started kicking and punching her, crying. You killed Dad!

Melinda savagely elbowed Dale in the side of the head, knocking him to the ground, and raised the cutter above her head to strike him. She stopped. Dale? I’m sorry, I just need a drink. I gotta have a drink! She turned back to the SUV, shouting, Give me a DRINK! She started toward the truck, readying her weapon for another swing at the window.

Bud started backing the truck down the driveway, spitting gravel at the crazed woman chasing them. The dog was barking, the kids were screaming, and Bud was shouting, Dale! Run to the woods! If Dale could hear him, he didn’t listen. The boy ran after his mother, tackling her. No, Dale! Stay away!

Dale was crying and screaming at his mother, clinging to her. Why, Mom, why? His mother tried to extricate her limbs from his clinging hands, finally roaring in frustration and hitting the sobbing boy in the face with handle of the cutter. He rolled away, allowing Melinda to get back up. Dale crawled toward her, trying to grab her legs, and she skipped a step back from him. She swung the cutter like someone chopping wood and chopped in the back, the force of the blow knocking him flat on his belly. Dale screamed, but Bud could not hear it over the screams of everyone in the SUV. Melinda swung the cutter over and over again, chopping into the boy’s back and sides as he rolled, trying to avoid the blows. His screams stopped when she brought the blade down on his throat, slicing Dale’s neck halfway through.

Melinda dropped her weapon and dropped to her boy, trying to give him mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Bud stopped the truck, turning his headlights back on and rolling down the window.

Dad, no! Let’s get outta here! shouted Zach.

Quiet. We have to help Dale. Bud responded.

Bud drove slowly back down the driveway, ready to back away if Melinda should resume her aggressive behavior. As he approached Melinda, who was busily giving Dale mouth-to-mouth, Bud rolled down his window and called, Melinda. We have to get him to a hospital. Then Bud noticed that Melinda didn’t have her mouth to the boy’s mouth. Rather, she had her mouth to his throat, hungrily sucking and licking at the gaping wound. She turned to the truck, shielding her eyes from the glare of the headlights, blood covering her face and the front of her blouse.

See what you made me do? she cried. I just wanted a little drink. Why’d you make me do this? You killed my boy! She stood up and tried to pull the boy out of the glare of the headlights. Turn off those lights! she snarled.

Melinda, what is going on?

Melinda walked back over to the dropped garden tool and picked it back up. I just wanted a drink, all right? Get out of the truck! She started toward the truck again, stepping to the side to avoid the light from the headlights.

Harley screamed, Dad, she’s gonna get us! This started the other kids screaming, adding to the non-stop snarling and barking of the dog. Bud had had enough. He slammed the truck into reverse and punched the gas, spewing gravel all over Dale’s bleeding body. Melinda broke into a run, the cutter held to her side, ready to slash. Bud was backing down the