Summer Of 68: A Zombie Novel Read Online Free Page A

otherwise.
    “Let it be a hoax,” he whispered as the police station appeared at the end of the street.

 
    Chapter Two
     
    A powdered grey light radiated hauntingly through the drawn curtains, casting Joann’s bedroom in a bitter warmth, as the sun’s presence fought to be known. She rolled over, sliding across the center of the bed, stretched and yawned, rubbing the remaining trace of sleep from her eyes.
    Her alarm clock said that it was only 6:23 am; a quick glance outside the window verified it as true. Though it was early, the morning was already shaping up to be comfortable and warm—just what was needed to chase away the monsters from under her boy’s beds, at least until their father’s tour of Viet Nam was over and life could uphold some sense of normalcy once more.
    Joann stared at the ceiling, willing herself to rise. She hated waking up alone, but was forced to do it daily. It was true that the boys needed their father just as bad as she needed her husband.
    Slipping out of bed, she tiptoed down the hall and stopped to peak in on her boys, Jake and Russell. They remained sound asleep. Watching for a moment, Joann couldn’t help but smile. Her joy was short-lived and laden with guilt, and she recalled singlehandedly crushing their plans for the day. Originally, they planned a jumpstart on the morning, setting out on foot to the fishing hole outside of town. For them, it was a special place. A magical place—a place where their father had taken them on the long hot summer days the previous year. For Joann, however, the roads were inhospitable and she refused to trek eight miles on foot.
    Heading down stairs, she cut to the kitchen. The house was chilly from the night before, she tugged on the lapels of her bathrobe, drawing them tight together. Moving against the slight freeze, she quickened her pace, her bare feet slapping atop the hardwood floor. In her mind, the house was haunted, not by ghosts’ unseen, but rather that of her own memories, of a time when Frank was with her daily, and when her boys could see their father in the morning and just before bed every night. She felt it the hardest in the morning, and like a fog, her dull funk would gradually burn away as the minutes progressed and the sun steadily rose.
    She set about fixing a pot of coffee, and as it brewed, she leaned back against the countertop, waiting for the last tendril of sleep to vacate her mind. Before long, the hearty aroma of coffee drifted her way, billowing up in a cloud of steam and released her from her fit of morning despair. Joann took a deep breath and smiled.
    “Perfect,” she said, grabbing a cup and filling it to the brim.
    She paused, setting the porcelain down. Might as well, she thought, rummaging through one of the neighboring drawers, and pushing her fingers past the random odds and ends that only a family could accumulate. Her fingers came to rest atop an old pack of cigarettes, one she had bought months ago. Frank would always give her a hard time for smoking, said he did it for him and the boys, and because of that, she gave it up for many years. She picked up the habit shortly after Frank was deployed into Asia. Overtime, her addiction to the nicotine slowly began to fester. It was horrible, but nowhere near as horrible as the loneliness building inside.
    The morning light hinted at an idyllic summer’s day, and nothing set the tone better than a cup of coffee and cigarette, first thing in the morning. The backdoor stood a couple of feet away and through it, the patio. She popped the latch and pulled up on the handle, gently lifting the solid wood a few short inches from the floor—one wrong tug and the base would drag, creating a dull squeak as it skidded across the wood planks. The wood floor bore the scars of countless scrapes, an ailment Frank promised to fix, but never did.  
    She left the door open and slipped outside. The breeze was warm with a cool hint of spring. With her coffee in hand, she