Ghosts: Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse Read Online Free

terror-filled weeks as Robert
Christian’s concubine left her reluctant to leave the perceived safety of the subterranean
compound. That she had watched a video clip of the man’s execution by hanging made
no difference. She claimed she could still smell his aftershave weeks after
being dragged from his bed and dumped and left for dead beside the Teton Pass
road. And though she never spoke of the horrors she’d endured at the ‘House’ on
the hill in Jackson Hole, their effects on her fragile psyche were glaringly evident.
Since she was constantly battling one anxiety or another, she didn’t eat regularly
and it showed. By her own account her weight had dropped to the fudged number
she’d declared on her first driver’s license fifteen years ago. Sleep was
something that only came for her in the early morning, and though there was a
total absence of natural light inside the compound she only got three to four
restless hours and spent the rest of her time trying to connect with the
outside world via the high-powered ham radio.
    So she took a big gulp of tepid coffee, adjusted the
headphones down to their smallest setting, and placed them over her head,
leaving one ear uncovered. Before powering up the ham radio she glanced at the
trio of wall-mounted flat panels recently installed by a middle-aged man named
Jimmy Foley, the Eden compound’s newest arrival. On the center screen both
lanes and a hundred feet of the nearby east-west running state route were
rendered in full color. Though the surveillance equipment taken from the quarry
compound was state-of-the-art and beamed the video wirelessly from the cameras
mounted in various locations about the property, the cameras themselves had a
couple of weaknesses. The first being how the lens lent a gentle funhouse-mirror-like
bend to the curving road near the gate. The second glitch was less annoying but
still troublesome. Even though the feed was in HD it was virtually impossible
even with optimum lighting to see who was driving the Police Tahoe straddling
the centerline, let alone, to any degree of certainty, discern how many
occupants were inside the vehicle. However, Heidi could tell who the two men
standing near the vehicle were. On the left was Phillip, achingly thin and a hair
under six feet. He held an AR-15 comfortably at low ready and was shifting his
weight gently, foot to foot. Though she could hear nothing but the low rumble
of the idling engine it was apparent that Phillip was talking to former Jackson
Hole Chief of Police, Charlie Jenkins. So she picked up the Motorola two-way
radio, checked the channel, and thumbed the talk button. “You hear me, Charlie?”
After a moment of dead air she saw a flurry of movement in the gloom inside the
police cruiser. Then her radio hissed and Charlie’s voice came through loud and
clear.
    “Charlie here. What’s up, darlin’?”
    Heidi choked up momentarily. She imagined herself in the
former police chief’s shoes. Just the thought of traveling the roads east to
the Woodruff junction, which based on eyewitness accounts was clogged with
vehicles and teeming with dead, made her chest go tight. Venturing there in a
group amounted to a huge risk. Going there solo, by her estimation, was little
more than a death sentence. But Charlie was through feeling useless, he’d told
her as much. And the last time she’d tried to talk him out of the foolish odyssey
of his, he insisted he wasn’t just chasing ghosts. He was hell bent on finding
his daughter—or dying, whichever came first.
    On the monitor she saw Phillip’s head swivel around and his
eyes seemed to lock with hers. Then a shiver wracked her body and she was back
in the security pod, physically and mentally. Feeling the anxiety attack ebbing
slightly, she took a deep breath, exhaled slowly and again keyed the talk button.
“You sure you won’t reconsider, Charlie? Just stay through fall and winter?
Maybe those things—”
    Cutting her off, Charlie craned out