Read Online DEAD RAIN: A Tale of the Zombie Apocalypse by Joe Augustyn - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Joe Augustyn
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control. But just as she felt herself drifting off to sleep, her anxiety reared up like a cobra. She gave up trying to sleep and went into the living room. Sinking onto the sofa she turned on the television. She needed a distraction and the more mundane, the better.
The local late night news was on. The weather lady turned her plastic smile toward a digital map of the Mid-Atlantic. “By morning the freaky fog will finally be gone, but that’s only because the rain will arrive.” She pointed to a swirling graphic over the Atlantic Ocean off the Mid-Atlantic coast. “This mass here is the nor’easter we’ve been tracking and you can see how large it is. Our storm tracker system shows it making landfall in the early morning hours, so commuters can expect wet traffic conditions for the morning rush. Unfortunately that will just be the start of it. The slow-moving storm is expected to hang around for at least three days, which means heavy flooding is expected. Coastal residents were advised to evacuate, but authorities say many ignored the warning rather than risk driving in the fog of the past few days. Wildwood officials put out a reverse 911 call urging citizens to move their cars out of the area or they’ll be ruined by floodwater. They also issued a warning that a minimal number of emergency workers will remain on duty, so anyone who has chosen to ignore the evacuation order will be responsible for their own safety. The storm should pass by—”
Emma changed the channel. It wasn’t the kind of innocuous drivel she needed to distract her. She finally dozed off on the couch, as the host of a late night talk show made jokes about some urgent political problem that would never intelligently be resolved.
In her dreams the bosomy weather girl pointed out danger zones on her weather map, warning that any residents who hadn’t evacuated were doomed to a horrible death in the impending zombie storm. Her deadpan report segued to the host of the late night talk show, trying to interview a rotting corpse that was more interested in eating him. As he struggled to hold it at bay he cracked jokes, while the zombified drummer of his band hit rim shots.
14
Ryan found the deputy’s cruiser a block and a half from his home. There was no sign of the driver, just a disconcerting puddle of fresh wet blood on the road. He aimed his keychain LED at the glistening mess, looking for clues. There were flecks of shiny gristle and a torn strip of fabric that looked like it had been chewed and spit out.
Stepping to the side of the cruiser, Ryan aimed his LED flashlight through the driver’s side window, searching for more pieces of the puzzle. He saw the deputy’s shotgun in its bracket, but nothing to tell him what had happened. With the driver gone and his vehicle seemingly abandoned, the evidence painted a comfortless picture.
He tried the car door, but it had been locked by the EMTs. He was tempted to break the window to get the shotgun, but from what he could see, it looked like it was locked in its bracket. And although he suspected as much, he didn’t know for sure that the deputy wouldn’t be back. Don’t do anything rash, he told himself. You don’t know what’s going on. Don’t jump to any conclusions.
He thought about returning home, but decided it would be pointless, and unbearable, not to mention dangerous. The last thing he wanted to deal with right now was whatever had happened to his mother and his brother. He shuddered as he remembered the inhuman look on his mother’s face, and fought back tears, knowing if he let his emotions out now he would simply collapse.
His mind felt like jelly but his survival instinct was aroused, forcing him to take a deep breath, calmly and logically assess his situation, and act decisively. He had his mother’s Colt revolver for self-protection, and calling 911 obviously hadn’t worked. It made more sense to go find help, or at least get to someplace
The local late night news was on. The weather lady turned her plastic smile toward a digital map of the Mid-Atlantic. “By morning the freaky fog will finally be gone, but that’s only because the rain will arrive.” She pointed to a swirling graphic over the Atlantic Ocean off the Mid-Atlantic coast. “This mass here is the nor’easter we’ve been tracking and you can see how large it is. Our storm tracker system shows it making landfall in the early morning hours, so commuters can expect wet traffic conditions for the morning rush. Unfortunately that will just be the start of it. The slow-moving storm is expected to hang around for at least three days, which means heavy flooding is expected. Coastal residents were advised to evacuate, but authorities say many ignored the warning rather than risk driving in the fog of the past few days. Wildwood officials put out a reverse 911 call urging citizens to move their cars out of the area or they’ll be ruined by floodwater. They also issued a warning that a minimal number of emergency workers will remain on duty, so anyone who has chosen to ignore the evacuation order will be responsible for their own safety. The storm should pass by—”
Emma changed the channel. It wasn’t the kind of innocuous drivel she needed to distract her. She finally dozed off on the couch, as the host of a late night talk show made jokes about some urgent political problem that would never intelligently be resolved.
In her dreams the bosomy weather girl pointed out danger zones on her weather map, warning that any residents who hadn’t evacuated were doomed to a horrible death in the impending zombie storm. Her deadpan report segued to the host of the late night talk show, trying to interview a rotting corpse that was more interested in eating him. As he struggled to hold it at bay he cracked jokes, while the zombified drummer of his band hit rim shots.
14
Ryan found the deputy’s cruiser a block and a half from his home. There was no sign of the driver, just a disconcerting puddle of fresh wet blood on the road. He aimed his keychain LED at the glistening mess, looking for clues. There were flecks of shiny gristle and a torn strip of fabric that looked like it had been chewed and spit out.
Stepping to the side of the cruiser, Ryan aimed his LED flashlight through the driver’s side window, searching for more pieces of the puzzle. He saw the deputy’s shotgun in its bracket, but nothing to tell him what had happened. With the driver gone and his vehicle seemingly abandoned, the evidence painted a comfortless picture.
He tried the car door, but it had been locked by the EMTs. He was tempted to break the window to get the shotgun, but from what he could see, it looked like it was locked in its bracket. And although he suspected as much, he didn’t know for sure that the deputy wouldn’t be back. Don’t do anything rash, he told himself. You don’t know what’s going on. Don’t jump to any conclusions.
He thought about returning home, but decided it would be pointless, and unbearable, not to mention dangerous. The last thing he wanted to deal with right now was whatever had happened to his mother and his brother. He shuddered as he remembered the inhuman look on his mother’s face, and fought back tears, knowing if he let his emotions out now he would simply collapse.
His mind felt like jelly but his survival instinct was aroused, forcing him to take a deep breath, calmly and logically assess his situation, and act decisively. He had his mother’s Colt revolver for self-protection, and calling 911 obviously hadn’t worked. It made more sense to go find help, or at least get to someplace
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