The Living Dead (Book 1): Contagion by L.I. Albemont Page A
Authors: L.I. Albemont
Tags: Zombies
Ads: Link
rooms and layout in a way that she never had before. Here on the first floor, most of the windows were at ground level and all the rooms flowed into one another. The windows were almost floor to ceiling, letting in lots of light throughout the day. French windows off the family room gave access to a flagstone terrace in the back. As she had thought from the first day they found it, it was an inviting, happy place. It was also, she realized now, completely indefensible.
Her eyes fell on the crate of ammunition on the floor and she remembered something. When they first moved in, the area under the staircase was unfinished. They wound up getting a contractor to finish it for them but he left an unfinished area all the way in the back accessible by moving an unsecured panel. She went into the kitchen and got a flashlight. Opening the closet door, she turned on the light and got down on her knees, scooting to the back of the closet. Using both hands, she pressed hard against the back wall until she felt the panel give a little and she lifted it to one side. She shined the flashlight back into the aperture and there they were, one shotgun and a handgun. She pulled them out and found 6 boxes of bullets behind them. Carrying everything out of the closet, she took stock of her newfound arsenal with satisfaction.
1 shotgun
4 150 boxes of shells
1 38 caliber handgun
6 boxes of rounds
She added the KA-BAR knife, a small first aid kit, a flashlight, and found the hand cranked emergency radio she had bought after 9/11. She then spent a couple of hours watching You Tube videos showing how to clean, load, and fire the weapons.
By nightfall both guns were cleaned and loaded. She still didn’t feel entirely comfortable with them and knew she was unlikely to hit any challenging targets. Both were under the bed and the knife under her pillow. She was on the phone trying once again to reach her in laws when the doorbell rang. Peering through the sidelight she saw Portia standing on the porch. She opened the door and pulled her inside, out of the cold.
“What happened? Did you hear from any of the children?”
Portia said, “Can you come over? The children? Oh, I still haven’t been able to get hold of them. They’re smart and resourceful and should be ok. Or that’s what I’m telling myself anyway. It has to be in God’s hands. No, this is something else.”
Virginia locked the door behind them and followed her across the street. It was freezing and the snowfall continued unabated, banking at least a foot high against the garage door. It would be hard to get her car out if it kept on like this. They reached the house.
The smell hit her like a wave as soon as they opened the door; a smell of rot and decay so strong she almost felt it as a tangible thing entering her nostrils. She gagged and took a quick look at Portia, hoping she hadn’t noticed but Portia was watching her and nodded as if in confirmation and suddenly Virginia knew.
“The woman at the gas station?”
Portia said, “Probably.”
“Where is he?”
“In the bedroom, the vomiting started this afternoon. It’s so bad I’ve given up trying to clean it all. I’ve been through three sets of sheets. I tried calling paramedics but the line won’t pick up. Neither will 911.”
They went up the polished oak staircase and down the hallway, past pictures of smiling babies. The smell grew stronger as they entered the bedroom. Bill, wrapped in blankets but shivering, had stopped vomiting for the moment. Portia went to the bed and put her hand on his forehead.
“He just keeps
Her eyes fell on the crate of ammunition on the floor and she remembered something. When they first moved in, the area under the staircase was unfinished. They wound up getting a contractor to finish it for them but he left an unfinished area all the way in the back accessible by moving an unsecured panel. She went into the kitchen and got a flashlight. Opening the closet door, she turned on the light and got down on her knees, scooting to the back of the closet. Using both hands, she pressed hard against the back wall until she felt the panel give a little and she lifted it to one side. She shined the flashlight back into the aperture and there they were, one shotgun and a handgun. She pulled them out and found 6 boxes of bullets behind them. Carrying everything out of the closet, she took stock of her newfound arsenal with satisfaction.
1 shotgun
4 150 boxes of shells
1 38 caliber handgun
6 boxes of rounds
She added the KA-BAR knife, a small first aid kit, a flashlight, and found the hand cranked emergency radio she had bought after 9/11. She then spent a couple of hours watching You Tube videos showing how to clean, load, and fire the weapons.
By nightfall both guns were cleaned and loaded. She still didn’t feel entirely comfortable with them and knew she was unlikely to hit any challenging targets. Both were under the bed and the knife under her pillow. She was on the phone trying once again to reach her in laws when the doorbell rang. Peering through the sidelight she saw Portia standing on the porch. She opened the door and pulled her inside, out of the cold.
“What happened? Did you hear from any of the children?”
Portia said, “Can you come over? The children? Oh, I still haven’t been able to get hold of them. They’re smart and resourceful and should be ok. Or that’s what I’m telling myself anyway. It has to be in God’s hands. No, this is something else.”
Virginia locked the door behind them and followed her across the street. It was freezing and the snowfall continued unabated, banking at least a foot high against the garage door. It would be hard to get her car out if it kept on like this. They reached the house.
The smell hit her like a wave as soon as they opened the door; a smell of rot and decay so strong she almost felt it as a tangible thing entering her nostrils. She gagged and took a quick look at Portia, hoping she hadn’t noticed but Portia was watching her and nodded as if in confirmation and suddenly Virginia knew.
“The woman at the gas station?”
Portia said, “Probably.”
“Where is he?”
“In the bedroom, the vomiting started this afternoon. It’s so bad I’ve given up trying to clean it all. I’ve been through three sets of sheets. I tried calling paramedics but the line won’t pick up. Neither will 911.”
They went up the polished oak staircase and down the hallway, past pictures of smiling babies. The smell grew stronger as they entered the bedroom. Bill, wrapped in blankets but shivering, had stopped vomiting for the moment. Portia went to the bed and put her hand on his forehead.
“He just keeps
Similar Books
