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    Z Walkers: Collin - Episode 1: Z Walkers, #1
    Z Walkers: Collin - Episode 1: Z Walkers, #1
    Z Walkers: Collin - Episode 1: Z Walkers, #1
    Ebook115 pages1 hour

    Z Walkers: Collin - Episode 1: Z Walkers, #1

    By Luke Shephard

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    About this ebook

    The first episode of the Z Walkers series! 

    Collin thought this would be an in and out operation: break in to a poorly locked house while the family is on vacation, then slip out with their cash and jewelry. It should take him a few hours, tops, and he can't wait to take out the girl who caught his eye in style with his new score. 

    Little does he know that getting in will be a whole hell of a lot easier than getting out. 

    Midway through his heist, the screaming starts. A quick look out the window confirms it: zombies have hit idyllic suburbia. Years of playing post-apocalyptic video games should have prepared him for this, but nothing could have ever taught him how to react when the cannibalistic hordes descend. 

    Barricaded inside, he faces two options: starve in the house he tried to rob, or make a run for it on streets crawling with zombies. 

    Can he make it to safety before it's too late? Or will he end up just like the other zombies beginning to fill the streets only one thing on their mind... 

    NOTE: This is the first episode of Z Walkers, a serial novel. There will be cliffhangers, and Zombies, from one installment to the next. Read at your own risk...or delight.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherOur Pack Press
    Release dateJul 18, 2015
    ISBN9781513016481
    Z Walkers: Collin - Episode 1: Z Walkers, #1

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      Book preview

      Z Walkers - Luke Shephard

      Z Walkers: Collin – Episode 1

      Collin thought this would be an in and out operation: break in to a poorly locked house while the family is on vacation, then slip out with their cash and jewelry. It should take him a few hours, tops, and he can't wait to take out the girl who caught his eye in style with his new score.

      Little does he know that getting in will be a whole hell of a lot easier than getting out.

      Midway through his heist, the screaming starts. A quick look out the window confirms it: zombies have hit idyllic suburbia. Years of playing post-apocalyptic video games should have prepared him for this, but nothing could have ever taught him how to react when the cannibalistic hordes descend.

      Barricaded inside, he faces two options: starve in the house he tried to rob, or make a run for it on streets crawling with zombies.

      Can he make it to safety before it's too late? Or will he end up just like the other mindless zombies beginning to fill the streets only one thing on their mind...

      Collin– Episode 1

      Why is it that people in the suburbs feel confident enough to leave their fucking windows open? Was there something in the air that made them inherently stupid, or had all the open spaces and kids parks and ice cream trucks lulled them into a false sense of security?

      Whatever the case may be, Collin wasn’t complaining. If idiots, like the ones who lived at 11 Maplewood Drive, didn’t leave their windows open, his job would have been a lot harder. He’d have to bust a window or break the lock on the back door instead, thus leaving an incriminating trail behind as he cleaned out their secret cash jars and gaudy jewelry boxes. He didn’t want to do any of those things. He’d already been to juvie, and he wasn’t about to face the big leagues now that—as of his last birthday—he was old enough for a real prison sentence.

      Gripping his bike’s handlebars, he inhaled the warm spring air as he whizzed down the quiet suburban lane. A backpack sat squarely on his shoulders—empty. A Knicks cap hid his face from curious onlookers. He wanted to look ordinary, like he belonged in any one of these cookie cutter houses. Most people remembered a strange car cruising their block, but no one paid attention to some kid on a bike. He looked young enough to be mistaken for a high school kid. Anyone who saw would probably think he was a local senior cutting class on his few final days.

      High school was a distant, unpleasant memory. Collin had been decent at shop and math, but nothing ever held his interest. College was out of the question—like he or his parents could afford to put him through a couple extra years of education. The job market was tough. Everyone was looking and nobody was hiring. Flipping burgers was degrading.

      Robbing houses was quick cash. Easy money. He never took stuff that looked sentimental. Old jewelry wasn’t a big hit in pawnshops anyway: people would rather have new, expensive-looking pieces on his end of town. Cash and gold, those were his targets. The cash he kept, the gold he sold, and he hadn’t had to flip a single burger all year.

      There was this girl, Claire, who worked at the pharmacy up the road from his apartment. She was pure class, a real lady, on two long beautiful legs.

      Or so he assumed. He usually only saw her on the other side of the counter. But she had a killer smile and always laughed at his jokes, and he was this close to getting her to agree to go out with him. He’d spent most of the last haul on a new gaming console, and when Claire finally agreed to let him take her out, he wanted to spoil her.

      11 Maplewood Drive looked the same as three other houses on alternating streets. Most of these places were replicas of one another, just scattered at intervals to give some semblance of variety. This one, his target for the afternoon, was a two-story home with a single garage and a fenced-in backyard. He’d biked passed it dozens of times in the last week. Lots of windows. A flimsy screen door. A gate into the backyard that was both hidden from the street view and on the verge of falling apart.

      It’d be a breeze. Leaning to the right, he eased his bike off the road and up the driveway, slowing his pedaling and fingering the brakes to cut his speed. He’d leave his bike by the back gate, and his entryway would be the propped open kitchen window overlooking the backyard.

      He listened the axels and wheels clack as the bike finally slowed to a stop, and he climbed off gracefully, purposefully. He’d learned a long time ago to move like he belonged somewhere, even if he didn’t, and he always had a story.

      The family that lived here, with the parents and two kids, were on vacation. He’d figured that out when the mail started to pile up on the front stoop, and, on the few runs he’d made by the place over the last week, Collin had brought it inside. If anyone asked, he’d been hired to bring in the mail and tend to the plants. You know, like a real job.

      Why these people would take a vacation in the middle of the school year, around a time with no holidays or special events, was beyond him. But if they had the money to bounce out of the suburbs for a week, they could probably spare the few hundred bucks Collin anticipated finding inside.

      Although the fence was high, he was more than able to reach the lock on top. A few wiggles later, Collin had flipped the thing open and could push the gate open like he owned the place. His bike found a home against the light, glossy wood, and he left the gate slightly ajar on the off-chance that he’d need to make a hasty retreat.

      There it was, the kitchen window. Must have been a nice view to do the dishes in front of. He’d never had a backyard, but if he ever did, he’d want it to look like this. Manicured lawn. Garden greens in the far corner. A covered patio made a grey slate, each stone fit perfectly to form some intricate design. Patio furniture that wasn’t plastic.

      A frown crept across his lips. Cheeks sucked in, Collin cleared his throat and spat on the beautiful green lawn.

      Fuck you.

      He drew in a deep breath, cracked his neck, and then pushed the window open as wide as it would go. Once he was sure there were no eyes on him—the backyard ended where the ravine began, so he didn’t have to worry about neighbors from that direction—he hoisted himself up and through the opening. As usual, he climbed over a spotless sink and into an equally spotless kitchen. All the mail he’d collected sat next to the toaster. He’d only ever poked his head through that open window, getting rid of the mail to keep his story up, but never lingering.

      The adrenaline boost he got when he had both feet squarely on the ground of a house was better than any drug out there. When he was first starting, sometimes he thought the only reason he robbed uppity places like this was for the thrill of it. These people might be better than him in the eyes of society, but right now, right here, he had the advantage.

      Hanging baskets of fruit and stainless steel appliances greeted him, like most places in well-off suburbs. A decent kitchen table, one with a removable middle section to make it bigger, and a fridge littered with childish art and A+ reports stared back at him as he waited for his hands to stop trembling. His stomach rumbled. No one would notice if he grabbed a quick bite to each, but he knew better than to smear his fingerprints all over the place. Before he started, Collin pulled a pair of cheap plastic gloves out of his pockets, and then helped himself to the softly rumbling fridge.

      Humph. Basically empty. He briefly examined a hunk of cheese that looked like it was molding, then swiped a chocolate pudding cup for later.

      When he was through, he went for the jewelry first: it was always the easiest to find. The house had a pretty basic layout. Easy to navigate. Living room, dining room, kitchen, and half-bath on the first floor. Four bedrooms upstairs, one of which functioned as both an office and, given the look of the couch, a guest bedroom. Another two bathrooms up here, one as an en-suite off the master bedroom. It was there he found the jewelry box, which he carefully opened and picked through in silence.

      Not a great haul, all things considering. He’d managed to take a few gold rings, a couple of necklaces, and some tucked away broaches that may have diamonds in them, but he couldn’t be sure. When he was finished, he closed the small brown box, which sat in its conspicuous location on top of the waist-high dresser. The husband had

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