Ghosts: Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse Read Online Free Page B

skin.
    “Hell, Freda,” she said to herself. “I think it’s five
o’clock somewhere. Prime time to self-medicate.” A little liquid pain killer,
she reasoned, wasn’t far from whatever tranquilizer her own doctor would have prescribed—had
he not perished along with the thousands upon thousands of other Colorado
Springs residents. She rose and retrieved the tequila bottle from its hiding
place. Closing the filing cabinet, she cast her gaze on the photo of her and
her daughter Nadia. It was the first day of college and the USC freshman was on
the receiving end of a kiss from her doting mom. Nash closed her eyes and
relived the moment. There had been a breeze from the east, possibly the stirrings
of a Santa Ana. It had been spring, but since it was dry and eighty degrees
Freda had been uncomfortable in her uniform. It didn’t show in the picture on
the wall. Both women wore smiles. Nash’s a little tight, like her smartly
ironed and rarely worn dress blues. And Nadia’s was toothy and wide, the
prospect of autonomy and boys no doubt the culprit.
    Nash placed the bottle, a squat rocks glass and a pair of shot
glasses on her desk blotter.
    She retrieved a tripod from next to the filing cabinet,
extended the legs, and powered on the attached video camera. Placed it a few
feet from her desk and checked that the autofocus was engaged.
    “Fuck it.” She twisted the cap and crinkled her nose. If
this tequila was made from agave somebody had wiped their ass with it first. It
definitely was not Patron. And it certainly smelled like ass.
    Three fingers went neat into the rocks glass. She didn’t
bother lining shots up for the fallen. Since Z-Day there were just too many for
her to acknowledge. So she poured another two count into her glass in honor of
Mike “Cowboy” Desantos.
    She engaged in a staring contest with the golden-hued
liquid. Just as she was about to nod off the AC unit grumbled to life and the
unexpected blast of cooled air had her wide awake and the tasks awaiting
completion were once again front and center in her mind.
    On her desk, sitting amid stacks of unfiled paperwork inches
high, was her Panasonic laptop. Frozen on the screen was the compilation of satellite
video footage she’d been watching on and off over the last six hours.
    She looked at her watch. It was nearing noon and she realized
she hadn’t eaten since yesterday—whatever day that had been.
    “Fuck it,” she said again. “Use ‘em or lose ‘em.” Simultaneously
she set the video to moving on the laptop and downed half of the triple shot.

Chapter 4
    Brook spread the white sheet out on the ground before her.
Conveniently, the grass had been crushed down days before by Daymon, Lev, and
Duncan. There were several spokes running off perpendicular from the landing-pad-sized
circle and capped off, like antenna on a cartoon alien, by smaller car-sized
circles of their own. Seven hours spent on a failed practical joke. She shook
her head remembering the look on Cade’s face when he first saw the manufactured
crop circles. The first words from his mouth would stick with her forever. He
gazed at the trio of survivors responsible, locked eyes with Duncan and said: Why
in the hell didn’t they take you with them? To which the funk they’d all
been in from having to exhume and move Jordan’s corpse to the makeshift cemetery
on the hill was immediately lifted as laughter filled the clearing and the tears
of joy flowed.
    Still smiling from the memory, Brook cast a cursory glance
over the two-foot wall of grass, located Raven on her bike in the distance, and
only then did she proceed to break down her stubby Colt carbine.
    She arranged the parts carefully, trying her best not to
lose any of the small pieces as she’d done in the past.
    But slow movements and due diligence weren’t enough, and
once again a small spring, integral to the operation of the bolt carrier group,
squirted from her grasp and skittered a couple of feet before normal