Love & the Zombie Apocalypse (Book 1, Zombie Apocalypse Trilogy) by Chelsea Bellingeri Page B

call and shoved the phone in his pocket.  He couldn’t think about it or he’d lose his mind.  He couldn’t think about how defenseless and old his parents were.
    “Cage?”  Rac hel propped her injured arm on top of the police car.  She was about to slide inside, but she saw his face.  A slow hiss escaped her lips.  “Maybe the phones aren’t working.  Or they’re hiding somewhere and can’t get to the phone.”
    He ran his hand over his face.  “You’re right.”  He exhaled.  “Rachel?”
    “Hmm?”  She stared down the empty street.  Lost in her own thoughts and problems. 
    “When we get that truck -”
    “ - I’ll drive you home.” 
    “Thanks,” he said.
    “Don’t thank me yet,” Rachel said quietly.  “We still have to get the truck.”
    The flicker of police lights gave the illusion that shadows moved in the darkness.  Still, he didn’t see anything dead or alive.
    “Did you f ind another gun?”  He asked.
    Rachel searched the glove compartment.  “No, only more ammunition.  You don’t happen to know how to hot wire a car, do you?”
    “That would be a no.”
    She frowned.  “Me neither.  If only they taught useful skills in school.  That cop doesn’t have the car keys on him.  Maybe his partner was the driver – wherever he is.”
    “What about the radio?”
    “Only static.  No one is picking up at dispatch.  We should get moving.  If we cut through those houses over there, we should come upon the Wooden Barrel from the baseball field in the back.” 
    “I t’s too quiet.  I don’t like it.”
    She held up the gun by its handle.  “Do you want this?  I have the bat and all you have is that mop stick.”
    “Don’t knock the stick.” 
    Rachel’s eyes flashed.  She rotated her wrist and the gun’s handle swung into her palm with the barrel aimed over his shoulder.  “Cage, get out of the way.”
    Instead, he whirled around.  A shadow, only a few feet away, ran directly at him.  The blue and red police lights flashed, but it was hard to see a face.  Cage thought he saw dark shaggy hair. 
    Rachel grabbed Cage’s shirt and dragged him back, sliding herself in front of him.  She held the handgun in both hands and aimed the barrel at the oncoming figure.
    “Don’t shoot!”  A man’s voice cracked. 
    Rachel’s arms relaxed, but she didn’t lower the gun.  “Stop where you are.”
    “Don’t shoot!  I’m not a dead guy or whatever those things are – zombies.”
    “ I know.  Zombies don’t talk,” Rachel said.  “But I’ll shoot you if you don’t stop running toward us.”
    The man slowed ; out of breath from running.  He was in his early twenties – tall and wiry.  Black shaggy hair fell over his dark eyes.  He put his hands in the air in a show of surrender.  His eyes skipped over Rachel and landed on Cage. “Dude, tell her to calm down.” 
    “Ah, ah, ah.” Rachel lowered the gun to the man’s shoes.  “It’ll be hard to run away from zombies with only one foot.”
    The man made a face.  “Are you serious?”
    “As serious as a heart attack.”  
    “Rachel,” Cage said.  “I think he’s okay.”
    “He’s a criminal,” Rachel said.
    “How d o you know that?  Do you know him?”  Cage regretted the words the moment they left his mouth.
    “Of course I don’t know him .  Do you think I hang out with criminals because I don’t live on your side of town?  Look at the tattoo on his hand.”
    The ma n’s hands were in the air.  A star enclosed in a triangle was tattooed in the space between his thumb and finger.  It was the symbol of a small-time gang in the area.  How did Cage miss that?
    The man swallowed.  “Okay, calm down.  That’s an old tattoo.  I was in the slammer once for a breaking and entering, but I don’t do that anymore.  Okay?  I’m squeaky clean now and I hardly think my juvenile record matters.  My house was overrun by zombies.  Dude, zombies.”
    “W e were