Read Online Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse (Book 9): Frayed by Shawn Chesser - Free Book Online
Authors: Shawn Chesser
Tags: Zombie Apocalypse
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their mattresses. Finding nothing of use save for a
couple of fleece blankets, which went into the bag, he made his way to the
kitchen and started emptying everything from the cupboards into a second
garbage bag. The big woman had a huge appetite in life. That was for sure.
Especially for candy. But not Snickers. Strike three .
Somewhat crestfallen, Cade dumped a sealed bag of hardened
marshmallows (added to the list in Raven’s handwriting) into the second bulging
black bag, tied the drawstring, and then promptly peeled a fresh one from the
thick Costco-sized roll.
Empty bag in hand, he approached the door leading into the
garage. Performed nearly the same routine as he did on the front. Bang. Call
out. Listen hard. Max wasn’t growling at this point and the door was unlocked
so kicking it wasn’t necessary, which was good, because now there was a sharp
pain stabbing his left leg a few inches below his knee. The beginnings of a
shin splint, no doubt. Getting old sucks , crossed his mind as he opened
the door, leveled the Glock, and took a quick step back.
Chapter 8
Nothing undead or living rushed him, so Cade holstered the
Glock and entered the garage, which he found utilized in a vastly different
manner than the other. There were a couple of grease stains on the concrete
pad, but no cars, because they were both parked outside, one speared through
with a twice-dead corpse, and the other atop what had presumably been the dead
woman-of-the-house’s husband.
Against the rear wall, he spotted a pair of multi-speed road
bikes, both gently used. Next to the bikes was a pair of modular shelves, the
plastic stacking type, brimming with automotive products. It appeared from the
diverse selection assembled on them like soldiers at parade rest, that the man
liked his car as much as the woman liked her food. And with the weather over
the coming months forecast to be worse than normal—at least according to the
pre-recorded opinions of some long dead farmers—that was a good thing, because
the Black Hawk and other vehicles needed to be winterized. So everything went
into the bag. There were bottles of lubricant, spark plugs, air cleaners, two
cans of Fix-a-Flat, and cans both of starting fluid and windshield deicer.
On the way out with the newly filled bag, Cade spied a spare
car battery still hooked to a deep cycle battery charger. After depositing the
stretched and misshapen Hefty Sack near the door with the others, he returned
for the battery and charger.
He stacked the final two items by the other stuff, padded to
the picture window behind the sofa in the living room, parted the horizontal
slats and peered out. Due to the blowing snow and the hulking F-650 in his line
of sight, he couldn’t see anything beyond the end of the driveway.
He made a bigger portal in the blinds, pressed his face to
the glass and looked left. He saw Jack still trapped under the car and
still swiping at the snow with his gruesome bite-riddled arms. As if it sensed
Cade’s scrutiny, the corpse suddenly ignored the falling flakes, lay back,
stretched out on the snow as far as possible and fixed its glassed-over eyes on
the house.
What a way to go , thought Cade. He pulled his head
away and let the slats snap shut. Moved the clock aside and hustled the
scavenged supplies out to the truck, heaving everything into the load bed. Then
he whistled and opened the driver’s door. Once Max was inside the cab, Cade
shut the door. With snow collecting in his beard and every exhaled breath
creating big white plumes that slowly rose and roiled away, he stood there
shivering and thinking. To anyone with a shred of imagination, concluding that
he looked like a Viking or Mongol raider contemplating which city to sack next
would not have been much of a stretch.
After a few seconds, apparently having made up his mind
about something, he hurried back to the house. Crabbed past the broken door and
stepped over the clock and twice-dead woman and went
couple of fleece blankets, which went into the bag, he made his way to the
kitchen and started emptying everything from the cupboards into a second
garbage bag. The big woman had a huge appetite in life. That was for sure.
Especially for candy. But not Snickers. Strike three .
Somewhat crestfallen, Cade dumped a sealed bag of hardened
marshmallows (added to the list in Raven’s handwriting) into the second bulging
black bag, tied the drawstring, and then promptly peeled a fresh one from the
thick Costco-sized roll.
Empty bag in hand, he approached the door leading into the
garage. Performed nearly the same routine as he did on the front. Bang. Call
out. Listen hard. Max wasn’t growling at this point and the door was unlocked
so kicking it wasn’t necessary, which was good, because now there was a sharp
pain stabbing his left leg a few inches below his knee. The beginnings of a
shin splint, no doubt. Getting old sucks , crossed his mind as he opened
the door, leveled the Glock, and took a quick step back.
Chapter 8
Nothing undead or living rushed him, so Cade holstered the
Glock and entered the garage, which he found utilized in a vastly different
manner than the other. There were a couple of grease stains on the concrete
pad, but no cars, because they were both parked outside, one speared through
with a twice-dead corpse, and the other atop what had presumably been the dead
woman-of-the-house’s husband.
Against the rear wall, he spotted a pair of multi-speed road
bikes, both gently used. Next to the bikes was a pair of modular shelves, the
plastic stacking type, brimming with automotive products. It appeared from the
diverse selection assembled on them like soldiers at parade rest, that the man
liked his car as much as the woman liked her food. And with the weather over
the coming months forecast to be worse than normal—at least according to the
pre-recorded opinions of some long dead farmers—that was a good thing, because
the Black Hawk and other vehicles needed to be winterized. So everything went
into the bag. There were bottles of lubricant, spark plugs, air cleaners, two
cans of Fix-a-Flat, and cans both of starting fluid and windshield deicer.
On the way out with the newly filled bag, Cade spied a spare
car battery still hooked to a deep cycle battery charger. After depositing the
stretched and misshapen Hefty Sack near the door with the others, he returned
for the battery and charger.
He stacked the final two items by the other stuff, padded to
the picture window behind the sofa in the living room, parted the horizontal
slats and peered out. Due to the blowing snow and the hulking F-650 in his line
of sight, he couldn’t see anything beyond the end of the driveway.
He made a bigger portal in the blinds, pressed his face to
the glass and looked left. He saw Jack still trapped under the car and
still swiping at the snow with his gruesome bite-riddled arms. As if it sensed
Cade’s scrutiny, the corpse suddenly ignored the falling flakes, lay back,
stretched out on the snow as far as possible and fixed its glassed-over eyes on
the house.
What a way to go , thought Cade. He pulled his head
away and let the slats snap shut. Moved the clock aside and hustled the
scavenged supplies out to the truck, heaving everything into the load bed. Then
he whistled and opened the driver’s door. Once Max was inside the cab, Cade
shut the door. With snow collecting in his beard and every exhaled breath
creating big white plumes that slowly rose and roiled away, he stood there
shivering and thinking. To anyone with a shred of imagination, concluding that
he looked like a Viking or Mongol raider contemplating which city to sack next
would not have been much of a stretch.
After a few seconds, apparently having made up his mind
about something, he hurried back to the house. Crabbed past the broken door and
stepped over the clock and twice-dead woman and went
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