Earth's Survivors: Zombie Fall

Earth's Survivors

Book 10
Wendell Sweet
Free sample

 She was moving town to town. It was so easy with more help. The boy was far stronger than any human man, and the twins more than capable of taking down a full grown man. They seemed so fragile. So defenseless, innocent. She sent them forward and they easily took breathers with nearly no fight.

They were thirty now, and there were a half dozen laying on the ground who would be coming up out of twilight any minute. Killers. Or they had been in the old world. Being dead took the killer out of you, at least at first it did. But then it came back. You forgot all the little things of the old life. You nearly forgot your name. Where you had lived, what you had done. And then it changed. Every day you got a little more back. It wasn't exactly a memory, like a memory would be in the old days, like a breather would have. It was more like found knowledge. Not there one second, and then there the next. But it was clearer than the old memories she had had.

Donita didn't question whether that found knowledge was true or not. It didn't matter. Just like it wouldn't matter to these. What would matter to these was getting through the first bit of time. That time where heat still seemed like the only possible source of life and you struggled to find it only to realize it did nothing at all for you any longer. In fact it could kill you.

Then the cold came upon you, found you, along with its understanding and you were fine. You began to understand that life was just a short stop on the way to dead and that dead was just a way station to dead. And dead could be forever. Death was not something as trifling as life. But all of that took time. And these killers would be nothing more than babies for a few nights.

There was a process. She had gone through it, and the others had gone through it. She supposed any of the dead had gone through it. Everything that had to do with life, heat, that world had to come out of you... Sick it up. Shit it out. It had to go. It had to go because it had nothing to do with death. Nothing at all.

The dead used what they took in. There was no waste. So there was no need for a system to dispose of that waste. The dead did not heal in the same way that a breather did. There was no need for time to heal. You couldn't predict it. You weren't even precisely injured. You could lose a finger, or a leg, while you were turning and that was that. It was lost. But you could lose one after and it was back in a short time. Or most of it. She had not lost a leg, but she had lost a few fingers. One of the twins had lost an ear a few nights before. It was back. Those things could be. But they did not depend on any kind of healing like the living. No.

These were killers. For a few days they would be babies. Then for a few days they would get used to the gift they had been given. Then they would be killers again. They would be because that is what they were, and you could not change the basic truths of what you were whether you were a breather or dead.

The turnings were coming faster. Where once seven would pass in to death and maybe one would rise, now seven passed into death and five came to be. Soon it would be seven for seven. She knew that. And soon after that the whole world would belong to the dead. The breathers would be done.

She let her silvered eyes pass along the bodies that lay stretched out on the ground.

She was not weak. There was a strength that came with this life. A strength that came to your whole body once you embraced the cold. They had moved silently into the woods and taken these without a sound. They had carried them here. It had been no expenditure of energy at all.

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About the author

 Dell Sweet was born in New York. He wrote his first fiction at age seventeen. He drove taxi and worked as a carpenter for most of his life. He was honorably discharged from the U.S. Navy in 1975. He has written more than twenty books and several dozen short stories.

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Additional Information

Publisher
Wendell Sweet
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Published on
Apr 22, 2018
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Pages
430
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ISBN
9781980907183
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Best For
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Language
English
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Genres
Fiction / Horror
Fiction / Science Fiction / Apocalyptic & Post-Apocalyptic
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Content Protection
This content is DRM protected.
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Eligible for Family Library

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 The smell of hot metal filled the air. Carl looked first to the car down the road, partway onto the cement pad: The trunk had popped open and all manner of stuff that had been inside now lay scattered across the ground. Hot oil and antifreeze dripped from under the hood onto the concrete. The front roof line was crushed flat to the top of the driver's seats. The backseat area seemed untouched.

He slipped around the end of the trailer and looked at the other car. A newer Ford: He could see the badge on the rear deck. The front end of the car was wrapped around the oak in the backyard just as he had thought and steam was rising up into the air. The Ford first, he decided. The car across the road would have to wait.

The Ford had hit the tree and climbed it a few feet before it came to a complete stop. Carl had to stand on tip toe to peer into it. The driver had no head left, that had been the huge stain on the windshield. There was no passenger. Looking out from the inside it was not just red but gray and black too: Bone, hair and brain matter. His stomach did a quick flip and he began to close his eyes as he turned away.

As he turned, his eyes caught on the floorboard and a blue duffel bag that was jammed into the space with the drivers legs. There was no way that the door was going to open, but the glass was gone from the window. He balanced over the edge of the door trying to stay as far away as he could from the dead man as he did, leaned in and tried to snag the duffel bag. His fingers brushed the two plastic handles, but he could not get a grip on them.

Carl levered himself further over the window sill and nearly came down into the dead man's lap as he lost his balance and his feet left the ground. His hand shot down quickly, bounced off the dead man's thigh and hit the seat, stopping him just a few inches above the man's lap and a small splattering of bone and blood that was there. His hand slipped, but he pressed down harder and held himself.

He could feel the slick blood and splinters of bone under his hand, but he pushed the knowledge out of his mind, took a deep breath, braced himself and then reached down with his free hand and snatched the handles pulling the heavy bag free.

He pulled back, but the bag was so heavy that he had to hold on tight and push off the seat with his other hand. For one alarming second it seemed he would fall forward into the dead man's lap. After a second of indecision his body dropped back down to the ground, the bag in his hand. He thought about the trunk as he started to turn away, reached back in, shut off the dead ignition, pulled the keys free and hurried around the car.

The trunk held nothing but a black suitcase. He debated briefly, then reached in and took it. He went back, put the keys back into the ignition, and turned it back to the ON position. What else! What else! His mind asked.

His heart felt like it was beating a mile a minute, skipping beats, and his breath was tearing in and out of his lungs so quickly that it was painful. He could think of nothing he had forgotten. He told himself there was nothing else and then immediately he thought of the glove compartment. He ran back around the passenger's side of the car, dropped the bags and pushed the button on the glove box. A small paper bag and a dull, black pistol rested inside.

He took a deep breath, thought for a moment and then took both, slammed the glove box shut, picked up the bags and ran for the trailer. He booted the door open and threw the bags inside... 
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