Death After Life: A Zombie Apocalypse Thriller

DEATH AFTER LIFE


John Evans


Copyright © 2014 John Evans


Bloody Shame Publishing


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All character appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or (un)dead, is purely coincidental. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.


DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to my family, who have always supported my foolish forays into the arts even though I clearly lack the eye of the tiger. Thanks also to Karen Craig, my indispensable cheerleader and Bill Massa, who blazed this trail and shared his secrets to success. And, of course, thank you to Stephen King, without whom my nightmares may never have become fun, let alone money-making.







CHAPTER ONE


“It’s a fearful thing to love what death can touch.” 

— 1752 epitaph in Wareham, Massachusetts


KING COUNTY GENERAL was 6.4 miles from the apartment building. This fact kept echoing in Tina’s mind as Jake eased her into the passenger seat of their faintly musty Chevy Impala and tried to make her as comfortable as possible. She found his rare display of tenderness powerfully endearing and smiled with a sudden urge to cry.

“Don’t forget your breathin’,” Jake instructed, rather sternly, to kill the moment. He paused however, to hold her hand and stare encouragement into her eyes. Tina knew the anxiety twisting her belly must be seeping into her eyes for him to take the time to do that. 

It only compounded her dread.

“Just get me there….”

Jake nodded and hustled around to the driver’s side. He jumped in to start the car. He had to rev the engine a few times before it caught. 

As they backed out of the packed-earth driveway, Tina’s gaze lingered in the throw of the headlights, which briefly illuminated familiar sights. She had the uncanny sensation that she’d never again see the squat concrete multi-unit they’d called home for the last seven years.

The day they moved in, the world had been a very different place.

The silhouettes of tall evergreen trees flashed by on either side of the windows. As her contractions quickened, it seemed to Tina that the trees formed a disconcerting tunnel that completely enclosed them.

Jake switched on the radio. A calmingly professional broadcaster’s voice filled the car.

“-preme Court decision upholding the constitutionality of the False Cure Act will make illegal any claim of remedy or treatment, however well-intentioned it may be.”

Another voice chimed in. “Essentially, Bruce, the Court equates this with bomb jokes at the airport or threats against the President—”

Jake changed the channel. Tina, clutching her swollen midsection, shot him a peeved look.

“I was listening to that.”

“We need a road advisory,” Jake said in that peremptory tone she knew so well. Christ. In labor with their first child and she still couldn’t listen to what she wanted to. What was going on in the country was still important to her, maybe more than ever. Tina never would have married this surly and controlling man if she lived in her parents’ America. But these days security, in every sense of the word, was tops on every priority list.

Jake grimaced, making his irritable face, as he scanned through several of the syrupy Christian channels that seemed ubiquitous now. 

It was in one of the moments when his eyes were on the luminous face of the satellite radio that the fallen tree appeared in the road.

“Jake!” Tina screamed, reaching for the wheel clumsily — her swollen belly got in the way. Jake looked back at the road, swerved too hard and the car was suddenly bouncing along the icy shoulder, rattling over tree branches and starting to slide.

Suddenly the shoulder dropped out from beneath their wheels and the Impala canted hard to the forest side, flipping into a glass-crunching roll that left the car upside down and wrapped around a tree. 

When Tina regained consciousness (she had no idea how long she was out), it was the sticky tickle of blood dripping into her eyelashes that got her blinking. She was still buckled into her seat, upside down, with her hair dangling to brush the roof that was now a floor. Of sorts.

She groaned — pain shot through her legs in a relentless bloom of white-hot wrongness. Blood and amniotic fluid dripped steadily from her waist and legs, which were invisible in the crumpled chassis. The entire front of the car seemed twisted to encase her legs, and much smaller than it should be. 

The world was a dizzying blur from her impact-distorted, upside-down vantage point. Everything was terribly wrong and possibly damaged beyond repair.

Her hands immediately shot to her stomach and she ran her fingers over the bulge she’d come to accept over the last eight and a half months. She knew her contractions had stopped, but she caressed her belly like a fortune-teller coaxing the future from a huge crystal ball. Nothing stirred within her womb.

Tears squeezed bitterly from her eyes and streaked into her hair. She turned her head (the most ambitious movement she could yet attempt) and it was then, as her vision cleared at last, that she saw what had happened to Jake.

He was sprawled halfway through the shattered windshield. Apparently he would have been propelled all the way out if it weren’t for the web of tree limbs to check his high-speed ejection from the car. 

His ratio with the seat-belt was about 50/50 in normal times; it came as no surprise to Tina that in their unexpected flight to the hospital, Jake had again forgotten to buckle up. 

This time, it had cost him.

Tina couldn’t see her husband’s face but it was clear from the wet-mop limpness of his body that bones were broken.