Rise of the Undead (Book 2): Apocalypse Z Read online

  Baileigh Higgins

  Apocalypse Z Book 2

  Rise of the Undead

  Copyright © 2019 by Baileigh Higgins

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  Baileigh Higgins asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  Baileigh Higgins has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of URLs for external or third-party Internet Websites referred to in this publication and does not guarantee that any content on such Websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.

  Designations used by companies to distinguish their products are often claimed as trademarks. All brand names and product names used in this book and on its cover are trade names, service marks, trademarks and registered trademarks of their respective owners. The publishers and the book are not associated with any product or vendor mentioned in this book. None of the companies referenced within the book have endorsed the book.

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  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Dedication

  Chapter 1 - Dylan

  Chapter 2 - Tara

  Chapter 3 - Amy

  Chapter 4 - Alex

  Chapter 5 - Saul

  Chapter 6 - Dylan

  Chapter 7 - Tara

  Chapter 8 - Alex

  Chapter 9 - Dylan

  Chapter 10 - Tara

  Chapter 11 - Saul

  Chapter 12 - Amy

  Chapter 13 - Alex

  Chapter 14 - Dylan

  Chapter 15 - Tara

  Chapter 16 - Saul

  Chapter 17 - Amy

  Chapter 18 - Alex

  Chapter 19 - Tara

  Chapter 20 - Dylan

  Chapter 21 - Alex

  Epilogue - Saul

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  Author Bio

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to May Dawney for the lovely book cover design. You can check out her portfolio at https://covers.maydawney.com. She’s a truly talented artist. Plus a huge thank you to Graham Rintoul for his tireless support and dedication to my books. I appreciate you more than you know!

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to Mike Hansen, one of my biggest fans but also a good friend. A Texan with a heart of gold. This one is for you, Mike!

  Chapter 1 - Dylan

  It was quiet inside the room.

  Too quiet.

  Dylan stared at the ceiling above her head, counting the minutes until morning. She couldn’t sleep, despite the drugs that flowed through her veins. While under quarantine, the doctors took care to keep her calm and sedated. They were afraid of possible side-effects to the cure or even a relapse.

  She didn’t mind, at first. Not while her broken body knit itself back together. But now, it was becoming a bore, and she still had two whole days to go. There was little to occupy herself with, and visiting hours were restricted to two thirty-minute windows per day. Besides Amy and Alex, the only other people who dared enter her room was Doctor Tara Lee and Doctor Knowles. Tara was nice enough. A bit formal, but at least she could hold a conversation. Dr. Knowles, however…now there was a man born with a stick up his ass.

  She supposed it was a blessing that she had the place all to herself. No coughing, groaning, or snoring interrupted her sleep, and yet tonight, the silence felt threatening. Faint moonlight streamed through the blinds that covered the single window, casting the room in shades of silver and gray. But the light couldn’t reach everywhere, and there in the corners lay the darkness.

  She stared at one such a corner, her mouth dry with fear. The blackness pulsed and grew, reaching out with quivering tentacles to feed on her weakness. To her drug-soaked brain, it looked like a crouching beast ready to pounce on her shaking form.

  “Oh, come on,” Dylan muttered. She’d never been afraid of the dark. Ever.

  With a determined grunt, she tossed aside her blankets and walked toward the small cubicle that formed a bathroom. It boasted a washbasin and toilet — nothing else.

  After emptying her bladder, she washed her face and hands with soap. The cold water revived her senses, chasing away the fog caused by sleep and drugs. Dylan stared at her reflection in the mirror. She looked awful. Her hair desperately needed a wash, and deep shadows rimmed her eyes. During her trip and illness, she’d lost a lot of weight, and it wasn’t pretty. Her bones jutted outward from her ribs and hips, while the fat had been chiseled from her cheeks until she resembled the Grim Reaper himself.

  On a whim, she decided to take a shower. Grabbing a towel, soap, and toothbrush, she walked across the room and knocked on the door. “Nurse! Are you there?”

  After a few seconds, the sharp clicking of heels on the tiled floor announced the arrival of the night nurse accompanied by a security guard. The lock clicked, and the door swung open to reveal a middle-aged head nurse with a dour expression. “Yes? Can I help you?”

  “I’d like to take a shower, please,” Dylan said.

  The nurse frowned, and her disapproval was evident. “Can’t it wait until morning?”

  “I have physiotherapy in the morning,” Dylan said. “Besides, it’s after three already, and I could use a bath.”

  The nurse hesitated. “Fine, but don’t use too much water. We are on strict rations.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Dylan replied in a dry tone of voice.

  “And don’t get that arm wet. The last thing we need is for it to get infected again,” the nurse added. “George will keep watch outside and escort you back to your room when you’re done.”

  Dylan shrugged. “As long as he doesn’t spy on me, it’s cool.”

  The nurse and security guard stared at her with distinct displeasure. “I’m certain he would never do such a thing.”

  “I’m not a pervert,” George rumbled in a deep voice.

  “Jeez, I’m just joking, okay?” Dylan said, rolling her eyes.

  With a shake of her head, the nurse departed. George led the way to the communal bathroom equipped with baths and showers, and Dylan ducked inside. The room was empty, just the way she liked it. A soak in the tub was exactly what she needed to relax and forget about the creeping fear that wouldn’t let go.

  Inside an empty cubicle, Dylan undressed and placed her stuff on the small wooden bench provided. She opened the taps and waited for the basin to fill, adjusting the temperature until it was just right. Feet first, she stepped into the tub and eased back into the steaming water. Her eyes drifted shut, and a smile played on her lips. “This is the life.”

  After a few minutes, she sat upright to wash. It was difficult using only one hand, but she managed. Her fingers traced across the numerous injuries she’d accumulated on her journey to Fort Knox: The cut on her scalp thanks to crazy Maddie. That one still had stitches in it. Another one on her forehead and a jagged slash across her palm, both due to Frankie’s zombie boyfriend. At least, they’d closed up, forming thin scars she’d carry for life. She was healing, but slowly, and had yet to regain her former vitality.
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  Her bitten arm, wrapped tightly in bandages, dangled over the side. She didn’t have to see it to know what it looked like. Dr. Knowles had done the best he could, but the man was no plastic surgeon. It was a hack job, the damaged tissue brutally cut away, and the remnants stitched together until the arm looked like a Frankenstein special.

  Dylan shuddered. It was a constant reminder of how close she’d come to death and insanity. A memory she’d much rather forget. Even now, Ray and his buddies haunted her dreams, their horrific deaths at her hands forever branded on her soul.

  She shook her head. “Forget it. It’s done.”

  Dylan quickly rinsed her hair, mindful of George at the door. If she took too long, he’d come looking for her. They were all scared of her. Scared and wary. At first, she couldn’t understand why. She’d been cured, hadn’t she? She wasn’t going to become a zombie anymore.

  Then Tara explained. Even though she’d been cured, there remained a chance that she could relapse. That the virus could overcome the cure. Hence her enforced quarantine. This, Dylan already knew.

  But there was more.

  Two others, besides Dylan, had successfully received the cure. Saul, Tara’s companion and bodyguard, and a little girl. Both exhibited occasional side-effects that Tara was sure would present in Dylan as well. Fits of extreme aggression.

  “And that’s why they’re all shit scared of me,” Dylan said with a sharp frown. It felt strange to be the object of such intense fear and hatred. Nor did she look forward to going nuts again and ripping someone else’s throat out. “Wouldn’t that be awesome?”

  Dylan dried off and slipped the hospital gown over her head. The nurses had taken all her clothing when she arrived, so she had no option but to wear the flimsy cotton dress and panties. Even worse, it was open at the back, the two flaps tied together with string. She was forever holding it shut with one hand, not willing to grant anyone a free look at her ass.

  Not that there’s much of it left anymore, she grumbled in her head. And the hospital food isn’t helping either. I wouldn’t feed that slop to a dog.

  After brushing her teeth, she gathered up her stuff and prepared to leave when the lights went off. Plunged into darkness, Dylan froze on the spot. Her former fears came rushing back, and her heart rate sped up until it raced in her chest. Licking her dry lips, she called out, “George? What’s happening?”

  No answer.

  “George?”

  Dylan edged forward, one hand stretched out into the unknown until she encountered the wall. She pressed her back against it and shut her eyes in an attempt to calm down. In the distance, a siren began to wail. It grew louder and louder until the sound vibrated through the walls and floor beneath her naked feet. It could only mean one thing.

  A breach.

  “No. It can’t be. Not here. It’s supposed to be safe here,” Dylan whispered, her voice harsh in her ears. Terror flooded her veins. She’d been warned about the siren. It meant that the infected had breached the compound. They were inside.

  She crept sideways on trembling legs, arms stretched out until she felt the door beneath her fingertips. Her hand gripped the handle, and she cracked it open an inch. Inky darkness met her eyes. “George?”

  Still no answer.

  Her anxiety ratcheted up several knots.

  Where could he be?

  “George!”

  Still nothing but the echo of her voice up and down the passage. The hair on the back of her head rose, and goosebumps pebbled her skin.

  Then the back-up generators kicked in, and the lights in the hallway flickered on, much to her relief. She looked to either side. The place was deserted with no signs of George or the nurse. Where were they? What was happening?

  The siren continued its wailing cry, and Dylan knew she was in trouble. They all were. “Shit, what now? I’ve got no clothes, no weapons. And what about Alex and Amy?”

  Thinking about her friends calmed her galloping heart, and she was able to focus on the situation at hand. Her brain switched into survival mode, and she remembered something she’d seen a few days ago.

  On silent feet, she jogged to the spot until she reached it. Bolted to the wall was a red box with an ax inside. One of those “Break Glass in Case of Emergency” boxes. Ditching the soap and toothpaste, she wrapped the towel around her fist and smashed the glass with one solid blow. After clearing away any sharp bits, she plucked out the ax, hefting it with both hands. It wasn’t a gun, but it was better than nothing.

  Faint cries emitted from the occupied ward across the hall as other patients woke up from the noise. The door opened, and an older woman stuck her head through the opening. “What’s going on?”

  Dylan shrugged. “I’m not sure, Ma’am, but you’d better go inside and barricade the door from the inside.”

  “Is it an attack?” the woman asked.

  “I think so, ma’am, but I’m sure the soldiers will sort it out. In the meantime, stay inside and block the doors,” Dylan said with more confidence than she felt. “I’ll go have a look outside and find out what’s happening.”

  The woman eyed the ax in Dylan’s hands and nodded. “Alright, but be careful.”

  “I will, ma’am. Thanks.”

  The woman disappeared back into the ward, and the noise of dragging furniture sounded soon after. At least, they were following her instructions, and it should keep them safe for the time being.

  Dylan turned away and looked down the hall. Going back to her room served no purpose. There was nothing there that she could use. No clothes. No weapons. Nothing. Nor did she feel like cowering behind its door, waiting for the inevitable. That left the nursing station. “There’s got to be someone there. Or something I can use, at least.”

  With slow steps, Dylan walked down the hall with the ax held ready to strike. The lights dipped in and out, alternating between utter darkness and a feeble glow. Her pulse quickened as her brain imagined terrifying horrors lurking around every corner. Her tongue darted out to touch her dry lips, and goosebumps pebbled her arms.

  Finally, she reached the end of the passage. A set of double doors were propped wide open and led to a small waiting room. She peered into the murky space beyond the opening. Chairs lined the walls, and a coffee table sported a couple of dog-eared magazines. Her destination, the nursing station, lay to the far left. It was a simple counter bolted to the wall and topped with computer monitors.

  Dylan narrowed her gaze, studying the space with minute attention. Not a single person was in sight, and nothing seemed out of place, but instinct warned her that she wasn’t alone. Gripping the ax tightly, she walked toward the station, placing each foot with care. Thick carpet replaced the cold tiles, muffling her footsteps. As she drew closer, low grunts and snuffling met her ears. It sounded like a pig feeding at a trough.

  With supreme reluctance, Dylan edged around the corner of the counter. Her foot landed in a thick puddle of fluid, and she froze. Her eyes darted down, and bile rose up her throat as the lights flickered on again.

  Blood.

  She was standing in a pool of blood.

  She lifted her gaze, and they fixed on the crooked figure of a man hunched over the lifeless body of George. The former guard stared at her, mute in death, while the zombie tugged at his guts with curved fingers. Beyond them lay the head nurse, her uniform no longer white but crimson. Her throat gaped open, the bones of her spine shining through the tendrils of torn flesh and sinew.

  Dylan stared at the tableau of horror for several seconds, not daring to breathe. The zombie was right in front of her, so close she could reach out and touch him. With infinite care, she lifted the ax above her head. At the last second, the soaked carpet beneath her foot squelched when her weight shifted.

  The infected man whirled around and snarled. As quick as a striking snake, he leaped. Before she could blink, he was on her, and they tumbled to the ground in a whirl of arms and legs.

  Dylan hit the ground hard, and the air left her lu
ngs in a pained exhalation. She held onto the ax with both hands, desperate to keep the zombie at bay. He wriggled on top of her, his teeth snapping at her face, and his fingers clutched at her shoulders.

  Twisting to the side, she kneed him in the ribs, dislodging him for a brief second. As he lost his grip, she smashed the ax into his mouth. A couple of teeth broke from the impact, sending the infected into a frenzy of vicious snarls. Blood and spit sprayed across her face, but she couldn’t back down.

  With the ax head clamped between his jaws, she wrestled the zombie to the side and got one foot underneath her. She ducked when he swung at her head, and his fist narrowly missed her temple. Another hit landed on her shoulder, and she grunted from the force of the blow. Her arm went numb but dared not let up for even a millisecond.

  Dylan pulled back her weapon and struck again, using all of her strength. The zombie fell backward, his mouth a gaping hole filled with shattered fangs. The moment she was free, she brought the ax down on his head. At the same time, he lunged upward. The blade sunk into his forehead with a dull thunk, and his eyes rolled back in their sockets. For a single, breathless moment, they were suspended in the act of death. Then the ax slid free, and the infected collapsed to the floor, still at last.

  Dylan scrambled to her feet, breathing hard. The fight had taken its toll, and her limbs quivered with exhaustion. She choked back a sob of relief. “Holy shit, I did it. I’m still alive.”

  But movement caught the edge of her vision, and she turned, her heart jumping in her throat. Next to the counter stood George. His eyes were as black as night, and his hands curled into fists the size of dinner plates. Behind him, the head nurse was getting to her feet, her head swaying back and forth on her ravaged neck. Both honed in on her fragile form with predatory instinct. Their lips peeled back, and they roared with insane hunger.

  In that instant, Dylan knew she was as good as dead. Rage took the place of fear. If she was going to die, she might as well go down fighting. She raised the ax and screamed with defiance. “Come on, you fucking zombies! Show me what you’ve got!”