Life After The Undead (Book 2): Death to the Undead (19 page)

I
didn’t
want to
remind
him
about
the
last time
we
were
here
and
how
hundreds
of
undead
converged
on the
place.
They
probably
damaged
the old
boards
trying
to
claw
their
way
in.
But
I
did see
his point.
If
they
left,
there
would be
no need
to
replace
them. They
could just
let the
creatures
overrun
the
building.
That
didn’t
make
me
feel
better.
The
leader guy
wasn’t
very
happy
the
last
time
we were there.
In
fact,
he was downr
ight
angry.
He
wanted
to
keep
his people
safe,
and
who
could
blame
him?
How
would he
react
when
we
told him he
might
be
gunned
down
by
soldiers
from
Florida?
Would he
let us
leave alive?

“They’re
probably
in
another
store
in the
mall. We
should
check
it out.”
He
wandered
through
the clothes
racks.

Taking
a
deep
breath,
I
followed
behind
him.

We
were
about
half way
through
Sears
when
we
heard
the
shuffling.
I
immediately
froze.
I
wasn’t
worried
it
was
a
zombie, it didn’t sound like
one,
but
I
didn’t
want
to be
attacked
again.
They
almost
killed
me
the
first
time,
and
I
had
full
use
of
both
my
arms.
I
doubted they
would take it easy
on me just because
I
was injured.
I
was
still a
little
bitter
about
our
last
meeting
in
the
mall.
I
didn’t realize
how
much
it
affected
me
until
I
stood in the
dark
once
again. I
shone
my
light
around
the
room,
trying
to find the
person.
Even
with
my
injury,
if
they
decided to jump me,
I
was
going
to put up one
hell of a fight.
Skulking
around
in the
dark.
How
fair
was
that?
If
I
could
see
them
coming,
they
wouldn’t
get
the
upper
hand.
I
thought
their
actions
were
cowardly.

“Who’s there?”
Quinn
called.
“We
don’t
mean
you
any
harm.
We’re
here
to
warn
you.”

“About
what?”
the
rough
voice
called
through
the
darkness.

It
was
hard
to pinpoint, but it
sounded
like
it
came
from
my
right.
I
shone
my
light in that
direction.

“Show
yourself
and
we’ll
tell
you,”
I
called.

A
light
clicked
on in the
distance,
and
Quinn
and
I
were
illuminated
in
white.
We
turned
to
see
the
source,
squinting
against
the brightness.

“Oh,
it’s
you
again,”
the
voice
said. “Wait
here.”

Frozen
in the
light,
we
heard the
person
walk
off. I
glanced
at
Quinn, who
shielded
his
eyes,
trying
to
see
past
the
light. That
didn’t sound
reassuring.
He
remembered
us, which
meant
they
might
be
mad
at
us. I
hoped they
would let us
deliver
our
warning
before
threatening
to kill
us. Or
actually
murdering
us.

More
footsteps
approached,
and
the
overhead
lights
clicked
on. The
spotlight
clicked
off.
With a
white
blob
dancing
in
front
of
my
eyes,
I
tried
to
focus
on the
group
standing
in
front
of
us. Their
features
were a
little
hard
to
discern,
but
I
could
tell
there
were
about
ten
of them. The
leader,
the guy
with the
graying
hair,
stepped
forward,
his
hands
clasped
behind his
back.
He
sighed.

“I
thought
I
told
you
two
never
to return.”

Quinn
held
his
hands
out to his
sides.
“I
know, but
we
needed
to warn
you.”

The
man
cleared
his throat and
tried
to hide the
agitation
in his
voice.
“About what?”

“Florida
has
helicopters.”

The
room
was
silent
for
a
long
time.
The
man
stared
at
us. I
couldn’t
tell if he
was
angry
or
didn’t
believe
us
or
what.
His
face
showed no
emotion.
My
discomfort
grew
with
each
passing
second that he
didn’t speak.
If
there was
a
clock
in the
room,
I’m
sure
I
would have
heard
it
ticking. Finally,
he
sighed
and
jerked his
head
to
the
right.

“Follow
me. Let’s
talk
somewhere
more
comfortable.”

We
followed
the
man
through
the store
to the
opening
that led to the
rest of the
mall.
The
chain
gate
had
been
opened,
and
as
we
passed
through,
it was pulled
shut.
It
clambered
closed with a
rattle
and
the
squeak
of
metal
on
metal.
I
cringed.
Every
zombie
within a
one
-
mile
radius
probably
heard
that.
Not
that
it
mattered;
they
could
take
care
of
them
very
easily
from the
roof.

We
were
led to the old food
court.
The
tables
and
chairs
were
still in
place,
but
couches
and
recliners
also lined
the
area.
The
survivors
made
use
of
the
several
kitchens
in the
area,
too. I
don’t know
how they
did it,
but they
had
the
cook
tops
working,
and
I
could
smell
their
dinner.
The
scent
of
bacon
and
potatoes drifted into
my
nostrils,
followed
by
the
unmistakable
scent
of cookies. I
couldn’t
remember
the
last time
I
smelled
fresh-baked
cookies.
It
brought
back
a
flood of
emotions
and
memories
of
my
mom. I
thought
about
cold
Saturdays
mixing
the
dough
while snow
fell
gently
outside
the window. I
would
sneak
bites
of
the
uncooked
goodness.
I
didn’t
care what
Mom said,
something
that tasted
that
good
couldn’t
have
salmonella
in it. I
was
convinced
she
just told me
that
because
she
wanted
to
hoard
the
dough
for
herself.
When
we
baked
cookies,
the
oven
made
the
kitchen
so warm
and
comfortable,
like
my
favorite
blanket.
The
world
outside
didn’t
matter. The
only
worry
was making sure
the
cookies
didn’t burn. The
smell
reminded
me of
happiness
and
safety.