Page 6 of Creepy (The Zombiepidemic #1)

T he next day started like all others, with my fruitless walk to the mailbox.

Of course, first I brushed my teeth and armed myself.

No matter how lonesome it seemed, I was no longer alone in Creepy.

When I made it to the Dead-End sign, I tried hard not to check our mailbox.

For fuck’s sake, there wouldn’t be anything there, I told myself.

Just as I was about to turn around and walk back, I gave in and yanked down the lid.

I stared inside the metal box, letting the empty deep mock me as usual.

Nothing. Obviously, I knew there wouldn’t be.

It’s not like the post office was running.

There’d be no junk fliers or bills. Nothing, even if I’d technically gotten mail from my stalker yesterday.

Walking back, I wondered if I’d have any more surprises from him this week.

Or her. Or they. At least I knew whoever had been leaving me gifts was not a zombie.

A zombie would never figure out how to seal an envelope.

What was the point? My stalker would leave mementos on my front porch, mostly.

Leave them when I wasn’t here. Maybe they knew my routine. I was predictable.

Predictably, I had my coffee black, out of a mug from my youth, flipping through a magazine.

Oprah, this time, speculating if she and other celebrities survived.

I thought of Dillon’s mom in Switzerland.

Did the rich and well-off spread the virus all over the world when they headed for all corners of it?

Or were they alive, waiting for the right time to return?

I thought of Dillon saying people were returning.

With zombies still lurking? Nah. I dressed in my usual leggings and tank.

There was no reason not to be casual. Besides, my complete day would be like one long workout as I went to collect what I needed to survive.

When I climbed into the truck, I decided not to be predictable. I climbed back out and got the keys for Papa’s Buick. Instead of heading to the Piggly Wiggly first thing and an entirely new street afterward, I headed back to Mallard Avenue.

I was in the market for a new set of wheels.

Well, a vintage, new to me set of wheels.

You only live once and all. Dreaming of the Camaro the entire drive, I tried not to regret the fact I’d be ditching Papa’s wheels.

He’d taken such good care of the Buick Park Avenue.

Sure, it was old, but brand new, back when I was in high school, it’d been the nicest car we ever owned.

I always called it my Papa’s car, but I’d always been the one to drive it.

I parked in front of the house of the Camaro’s previous owners.

Grabbing my backpack and the gas can, I said goodbye to the Buick.

Remembering advice from Marie Kondo, a decluttering philosopher, I thanked it for its service and let go of it.

In the dark garage, I turned on my flashlight, found a ladder, and got to work on disconnecting the garage door opener so I could get the beauty home.

Finished, I climbed down and raised the garage door with ease.

The sunlight folded into the garage, revealing precisely how nice the Camaro was in the light.

Geezus. Someone had taken great care of this car.

After all this time, it wasn’t even dusty.

I couldn’t wait to take it out on the road, let the wind flip through my hair.

Maybe I had been doing this whole apocalypse thing wrong?

I’d clung to routine and a mundane existence for safety’s sake.

It was time to throw caution to the wind.

It was time to gas up the SUVs blocking it in and get this car on the road.

I stepped back into the garage to grab the gas can filled with the fuel I’d removed from the very same vehicles.

Stepping back into the light, there were two black SUVs in the driveway and behind them another identical one.

“What? Another one? A third one?” That wasn’t there before... Before the thought fully clicked, I ran for the Buick.

“Hey, wait...” A man yelled, stepping out of the third black SUV.

Fuck. He was a giant. I started the car and pulled out onto the road.

He jumped in front of my car, his hands up.

I screeched to a stop. I wouldn’t hit him.

For fuck’s sake, he’d break my car in two, as big as he was.

The behemoth had to be pushing seven foot tall.

I undid the snap on my gun’s holster as he walked to the window.

My hand on my weapon, I rolled it down a bit.

His hand landed on my roof, probably covered a good chunk of it. He squatted to face me. “I’m not infected,” he said right off.

Oh, I hadn’t even thought of that. Since I’d gotten over the virus and didn’t die and change, being infected again wasn’t on my list of worries. I figured I couldn’t become reinfected. I ignored any doubt that crept in now. “Me... either.”

“You live around these parts?”

I wasn’t about to tell him where I lived. “Guess so...” I remembered my manners and asked, “You?”

“Just got back. Someone cleaned me out.”

“Really?” I feigned innocence to being the one who cleaned him out yesterday.

“Yeah, you wouldn’t know anything about that would you?”

I assumed I wasn’t off the hook. He’d seen me run from the garage, evidently. “This is your house?” It was a question.

“Yes, it is. It is now... It was my parent’s house.”

“So, the Camaro?”

“It’s mine.”

Fuck. I couldn’t believe it. The one time I decided to get a new car, it’s taken.

“Just drove it up from Florida. Someone stole the keys.”

“I’ve lived in Creepy my whole life. What’s your name?”

“Troy Broussard.”

That sounded like a Louisianan last name if there ever was one. “So, you’ve lived here before?”

“Yeah, back in middle school.”

There was only one of those. “Creepy Middle?”

“Um... yeah, with that funny principle... can’t remember his name,” he began. “Old man, gray hair, white suit... handlebar mustache.”

Fuck. Yeah, Mr. Rhodes passed for Colonel Sanders. Troy was telling the truth. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-eight, just turned.”

“Well, you must’ve known my brother Joey Landry then.”

He thought for a moment, then snapped his fingers. “Red-headed kid, real wild child. Oh, yes. That would make you Innocent. Little Innocent Landry.”

I rolled my eyes. “Everyone calls me Sissy.”

“I remember you. You were going into sixth grade when I was going into the eighth. But there’s something else. You look so familiar. Are you on television?”

Ugh. I had been during my last breakup. I changed the subject. “Why’d you move if your parents still lived here?”

“I moved over to Alexandria to go to the Christian Academy. They offered me a basketball scholarship I couldn’t refuse. I stayed with my aunt who lived there most nights. Then another high school in Tennessee recruited me... Wait, were you the one who took my keys, my beer?”

Reaching in my pocket, I fished out the key on the Camaro keychain and handed it through the crack. Without a word, I did the same with the Suburbans’ keys.

Now wise to my plans, he acknowledged, “You were going to take the car today.”

“Yeah, I planned to,” I admitted, a little of my aggravation coming through.

“Sorry about that.” He laughed, pocketing the keys. “You all alone? You okay?”

“No,” I answered, automatically.

His kind eyes filled with worry, and his body stiffened.

“I mean. I’m not alone.” I never liked to lie.

I’d never had it in me, so the word had been self-defense, a reflex that was smarter than I was.

Besides, I didn’t know him from Adam. Suddenly, I felt like a woman alone with a man three times her size.

“There are loads of people in this town,” I added for good measure.

“Oh, great.” He smiled, his eyes glistening with hope.

That was adorable. And I wasn’t being sarcastic. Under his dark beard, there was a gentleness I found instantly charming.

“Where did you come from again, Florida?”

“Yeah, luckily, I was in a bubble.”

“A bubble?”

“I guess you definitely don’t know me.”

“I’m sorry. I barely remember anyone from school who was older than me.”

“No, I mean from the NBA.”

That explained the height. “I don’t follow sports,” I said, carefully so as to not hurt his feelings.

He laughed in disbelief as I found people always reacted to the fact. I didn’t like sports, but you’d think I told them I ate puppies for dinner. “You’re serious?”

I nodded. “Guilty.”

“Are you sure? I played for the Miami Heat for five years.”

“Positive. Puppy eater here.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Did you just get out of Florida?” The last thing I knew, Florida was a wasteland.

Being the state with the first and biggest outbreak, they weren’t even on the evacuation list. Residents who hadn’t left Florida right away were to quarantine in place.

That was a death sentence to everyone in the state.

Borders, airfields, and ports were closed and guarded by the military.

“Yeah, we were in a bubble, meaning the team quarantined together at Disney World.”

“Sounds like fun.”

“Yeah, until they all got sick, and I had to decapitate my friends.”

Taken back by his bluntness, an awful scene played before me, one of me taking an ax to my father’s neck. I changed the subject fast. I plastered on my best southern smile. “What made you leave Florida?”

“Survivors are coming back east so I was looking for my parents. Last I knew before the phones stopped working, they planned to evacuate to New York or Maine.”

Made sense. A lot of the older folk went there instead of out west. The trip was shorter.

“If folks really think it’s safe to come back, I thought they’d be coming back.”