More than Survival (A Zombie Apocalypse Love Story Book 1) Read online

  If that had been all of it, maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad. But it wasn’t. Soon the people who had died came back, only they weren’t the same. They were monsters. Zombies with only one thing on their decaying minds: killing.

  The next several years were lost in almost total anarchy. Thanks to his years of prepping, Seamus and I were set on supplies, so we were fairly safe. The mountains served as good protection against the dead, and Seamus had spent all his free time over that first year creating barriers that made it harder for any of them to get up. The obstacles and pits he created must have worked to dissuade people from coming up here as well, because we didn’t get visitors. We were the definition of the word secluded, which had kept us alive, but made me feel like I would go mad at times.

  In the beginning Seamus left me alone twice a year to check things out. It had been scary at first, but we both knew it was a necessary part of life. We needed to know if the world had gotten any less dangerous, and my uncle also used the trips to look for extra supplies. He always came back disappointed and upset, though.

  It wasn’t until the fourth year that things in our part of the country began to change—although we now know it got better in other places a lot faster. By the middle of year two, people had gathered together. They’d built a wall and established a town and started trading supplies. Things were more primitive than they’d once been, and the people didn’t yet have electricity, running water, or even money. But they were trying to rebuild, and it gave us hope that one day we’d be able to move forward as well.

  The dead were still around. Time had decayed them, but not enough for them to disappear the way we’d been hoping. It was easier during the long winter months because they froze, and during that time the towns were able to work on expanding walls and building better defenses. But every spring when the snow melted away and the dead thawed out, they would peel themselves off the ground and start over again. They weren’t weaker or slower or even more decayed.

  Seamus went out every month to trade these days. Some of the supplies he’d had from his years of prepping were still around, and we did a good job of growing food in the summer, but there were things we could get from town that we’d had to do without before. Milk that wasn’t powdered and real butter, for example, as well as clothes, books, and eggs.

  The world was still struggling to make something of itself, but it was moving forward while I got left behind. Uncle Seamus never let me go to town with him, and it drove me mad to sit in the cabin alone year after year while I waited for him to decide things were safe.

  I loved my uncle, but I was lonely.

  I was still picking at my eggs when Seamus came back inside after getting Max ready for the trip. In front of me the fire crackled, and I was lost in thought. Wishing life could be different. I was twenty now, and I was well aware of the fact that I was a woman, but in some ways I still felt very much like a child. True, I was independent and confident about taking care of myself. I could hunt an animal, skin it, and cook it for dinner. If any of the dead did manage to find their way up here, I could take them out with no problem—all it took was a knife to the head. But when it came to other people or the outside world, I felt like a toddler. Or like I was living in a cave. Sometimes, I wondered why Seamus bothered to keep me safe at all if he wasn’t going to let me have a real life.

  My uncle’s footsteps echoed through the house, so loud they broke through my daydreams. Even though the interruption wasn’t necessarily welcome, I found myself smiling at the way he clunked from room to room. It was a familiar sound. A comforting sound.

  By the time Seamus was loaded up and ready to head out, I’d polished off the last of my eggs. They were gross, but I knew better than to waste food.

  He stopped in front of me, taking up most of the doorway that led from the living room into the kitchen, and in his arms he held the large box of homemade soap he was taking with him to trade. It was my specialty. I’d used the recipe from one of my uncle’s prized survival books, adding my own touch over the years. Lavender and scents from other flowers that grew in the nearby forest, as well as pine. Having anything that smelled nice in this world went for a high price, and I knew that with all the soap I’d made, we should be able to get a good amount of eggs and some milk. Maybe even butter.

  Uncle Seamus’s gaze swept across the room, stopping on me. “I’ll be back before it gets dark or shortly after. Be sure you keep wood on the fire. And don’t forget the laundry.”

  When I rolled my eyes, my uncle’s boyish smile lit up his gray eyes.

  “When have I ever forgotten to do my chores?” I stuck my bottom lip out like I was still a child, and it was only partly because I was upset that he was leaving me behind. Again.

  Just like I knew he would, Seamus let out a deep chuckle and his long gray hair bounced with the force of his laugh. “I know how you get when you have your nose stuck in a new book, and you’ve been eyeing that one I brought you last month for days. You’re just dying to start it, aren’t ya?”

  A wave of excitement shot through me at the thought of spending the whole day curled up in front of the fire reading. In my opinion there was nothing better on a cold, winter day than sitting in front of the crackling fire with a book. My uncle knew me too well. Still, I knew that if I put things off I’d regret it. With as cold as it was, it would take a good day or two for clothes to dry completely, which would mean we’d have to wear dirty ones tomorrow. Not something I wanted to do when just a couple hours could take care of the problem.

  “I promise to get the laundry done first.” I sat up straight and tossed my hair over my shoulder. “Maybe I’ll even bake some bread.”

  Uncle Seamus let out another chuckle as he headed into the kitchen. “I know you will,” he called over his shoulder.

  He was out of sight, but I heard it when he pulled the back door open. A bitterly harsh burst of wind swept through the house, making me shiver, and I pulled the blanket around me tighter. Maybe one more hour in front of the fire would be okay.

  The door was halfway shut when I yelled, “Be careful!”

  It clicked shut without a response from my uncle.

  Even though the idea of staying in the chair longer was appealing, Uncle Seamus was right: the book was calling my name. The sooner I got moving on my chores, the sooner I could settle right back into this chair and curl up in front of the fire.

  I headed to my room and stripped off my pajamas. By the time I had my favorite wool sweater over my head—it was worn but comfortable and warm—I was covered in goose bumps. A thick pair of socks and lined pants helped, but not completely.

  The mirror over my dresser shook when I pushed the drawer shut, and my reflection caught my eye. For a moment, I found myself studying my face as I tried to see what my uncle saw. A beautiful young woman. It was a hard concept for me to wrap my brain around, though. I didn’t know any other women and my memories from before were fuzzy. Occasionally, one of the books my uncle brought back had pictures on the cover, but the women on them were done up with makeup and wearing beautiful clothes and jewels. None of which I had ever had. Still, the dark brown of my eyes contrasted with my porcelain skin, and my cheeks were especially rosy thanks to the cold morning. My pink lips were full and my skin clear and smooth, and my wavy, auburn hair thick and shiny. If I was being objective, I guess I could see the beauty in my appearance, but I still didn’t think being stuck here by myself all the time was fair.

  As promised, I set about the task of doing my chores. In the kitchen I got a small fire going in the wood burning stove, which helped keep the cabin cozy and warm. Then I rolled my sleeves up and mixed the dough, working my hands through the ingredients until they were properly combined. My fingers sank into the gooey mixture as I kneaded it, little bits getting stuck under my nails as I worked. My arms ached, but I knew it would be worth it later today when I was able to slice off a piece of freshly baked bread. Once the dough was sufficiently mixed, I set the small loaf in a
bowl and covered it with a cloth so it could rise.

  My muscles ached even more when I cranked the water pump up and down, getting a good flow of water going so I could wash the flour and dough from my hands. The water was icy, making goose bumps pop up on my skin all over again. Thanks to the stove and the hard work of kneading the dough, I’d just gotten to the point where I was feeling nice and cozy. Not that I was under any delusion that it would last forever. In a few minutes I was going to be scrubbing our clothes in the washtub, which would be filled nearly to the brim with the icy water. I was going to get a lot colder before I got warmer.

  The scrubbing and wringing and hanging of the clothes took me a couple hours, and by the time I was hanging the last pair of my uncle’s pants up in front of the fire, my arms ached from the effort.

  The fire had dwindled just a bit, so I tossed a few more logs on. The pile was low and I knew I needed to bring more in so it had time to dry, but I wasn’t looking forward to going outside. All morning I’d listened to the howling wind from inside the cabin. Had heard the windows rattle in their frames. It was bound to be cold and windy outside.

  Not that I could do anything about it. If I didn’t have wood for the fire it would get cold in here, not to mention the fact that Uncle Seamus wouldn’t be very happy with me when he got home later tonight. I had promises to keep, both to him and to my mom.

  Before heading outside I popped the dough, now properly risen, into the oven to cook. My stomach rumbled just thinking about the fresh bread we’d have for dinner this evening. There was nothing like warm bread on a cold day.

  I didn’t bother with more than a jacket and boots before heading outside. The early afternoon air was chilly, and the bite to the wind left no doubt in my mind that snow would begin to fall soon. I looked up as I crossed the yard, studying the gray clouds and wondering if somewhere not too far from here the storm had already started. I hoped not. If Seamus hit bad weather it would make his journey tough. Even though he’d never been held up all night before, it was always a possibility, and I hated thinking I might have to spend a night alone in the cabin.

  At the back of the property, just inside the high fence Seamus had built during the first year, sat the small storage shed. At the side, stacked so high I had to raise myself up on the tips of my toes to reach the top of the pile, was the firewood. My uncle had chopped it two days ago, and what we had here would probably last us one month. We had a system set up, knowing exactly how much we needed to get through the winter. Seamus was diligent when it came to keeping the wood stacked up next to the shed because without it, we would freeze to death, and despite my complaints that the house was cold in the winter, I was grateful that he worked so hard to care for me.

  I carried armful after armful of wood through the yard and into the kitchen, stacking it by the back door so it would have plenty of time to dry out before I needed to use it. We had three piles: one outside, this one by the door, and one on the big, stone hearth. Being sure the wood had a chance to dry before we used it in the fireplace would prevent smoke from filling the house.

  Despite the cold air, my forehead was beaded with sweat by the time I brought the last armful into the house. I was ready for a break, but before I rested I wanted to check on the animals. Seamus had only left a few hours earlier and I had no doubt that he’d had made sure the pens were closed tight, but I needed to be sure or I’d never be able to relax. With the way the wind was howling, I was concerned the doors would blow open. If my rabbits got away Seamus would have to go out more often to hunt, and being alone as little as possible was my ultimate goal in life.

  It was early afternoon by the time I finally dragged myself back inside, which left me more than enough time to lose myself in my book.

  The cabin was small. Two bedrooms, a living room, and the kitchen with a table made for two. We had a toilet that was barely more than an outhouse off the kitchen, and a large basement for storing supplies—a rug and the kitchen table covered the door. The living room was by far my favorite place in the house, though. The fireplace was big for the small space and heated the room well. Along one wall Seamus had built me a massive bookcase, and all the books he’d brought me over the years were lined up neatly in the order I’d received them. The chapter books from when I was young on top, including my precious Junie B. Jones collection, but the books getting more mature as time went on.

  I found the most recent novel on the bottom shelf and curled up in front of the fire, pulling a blanket over me to help chase away the chill. There I sat, losing myself in a world that seemed too far away to be real. A world that featured people so rich others worshipped them, and devices that fit in your pocket and could give you the answer to any question in the blink of an eye. I was young when the virus had broken out, so I only remembered that world a little, but it still didn’t feel real to me. Even when I concentrated and tried to search the fuzzy memories in my mind, mostly what I remembered were the first few days of my new life. Adjusting. Learning everything new. Trying to forget the almost crushing grief of losing my parents while getting to know the uncle who had always scared me.

  I stayed in the chair reading as the afternoon moved into evening, and it wasn’t until the light had gotten so low that I could barely read the words on the page in front of me that I realized the day was almost gone. I moved closer to the fire as it grew darker in the cabin, squinting to see the words much in the same way that I had the day my uncle popped into my life. The closer I got, the hotter the fire felt, and when I had moved so close that I’d started to sweat, I finally looked up. The sun had set completely, but Uncle Seamus wasn’t back.

  It wasn’t unusual for him to get back after dark, but a tingling had still started in the pit of my stomach that I couldn’t ignore. I’d never been much of a worrier, and my uncle was strong and dependable, so I couldn’t figure out why his lateness bothered me. I just knew it did.

  The more time that passed, the more uneasy I became, and I soon found it impossible to concentrate on the novel in my hands. Seamus and I had discussed what I was to do if he didn’t come home one day, but I’d never really taken him seriously. He didn’t go into town unarmed. Guns were a part of everyday life, and he’d spent hours teaching me everything he knew about self-defense. He was a friendly man who seemed to get along with everyone though, and I had never really thought he was in danger from other people. Plus, it was winter, and the dead had to be frozen to the ground by now, or at the very least so slow that even my aging uncle could outrun them. Wild animals were always a concern, and a run-in with a bear or wild cat wasn’t very far-fetched. Seamus had happened upon and killed a bear only last winter—the meat had kept us going for months. Still, I knew that no matter how skilled a hunter my uncle was, accidents happened.

  Time passed and Seamus didn’t show up.

  Despite my uneasy stomach, I found myself growing groggy. I changed into my pajamas and sat in front of the fire with the blanket wrapped around me, staring at the doorway that lead into the kitchen. Praying harder with each passing second that my uncle would come pounding into the house. My eyelids fluttered, but I stayed upright, unwilling to allow myself to fall asleep. The crackle of the fire broke through the silence surrounding me. It was soothing. Familiar. My head bobbed, but I shook the exhaustion off. The thought of falling asleep when I was all alone terrified me. I was certain that if I did fall asleep, someone out there would sense my vulnerability and break in. But despite my best efforts, I eventually found it impossible to keep my eyes open.

  Chapter 2

  LUCY

  I woke with a start, bolting upright so fast that I almost fell out of the chair. The fire had dwindled to practically nothing and I knew it needed my attention, but I couldn’t make myself move. The room was empty and the cabin silent other than the howl of the wind as it slammed against the walls. Uncle Seamus hadn’t returned. If he had I would be in my bed, not curled up in the chair.

  I was alone, and the thought had me froze
n in place.

  What would I do if he never returned? How would I survive? Yes, I could hunt and defend myself against any dead that might wander this way, and when summer came I’d be able to grow vegetables and can them. I knew all the basics, but going to town to trade would mean risking my life. More than once Uncle Seamus had told me what was at risk from men. Not in detail, of course, but enough for me to understand that there were men out there who preyed on lone women.

  Suddenly, sitting in the living room by myself, I saw my future stretched out in front of me. Alone. Hiding. Never seeing or speaking to another living person again. It made me shiver more than the cold air in the cabin had.

  No. I refuse to live that way. I’ll go to town and risk my life if I have to, but I will not spend my days alone and hiding from the world.

  After several minutes I managed to push the panic away and force myself to my feet. It wasn’t time to focus on worst case scenarios just yet. Seamus could have gotten held up. Maybe the storm I’d worried about had hit and he’d had to take cover for the night. He could still come back, and when he did, I didn’t want him to think I’d spent the whole day cowering in fear. I needed to keep it together.

  The first thing I did was build the fire back up, then I got dressed. After that I busied myself by moving the laundry around, making sure to put the pieces that were still wet closer to the fire while the ones that had dried got folded and put away. My stomach was growling, so I grabbed some jars of vegetables and started making stew. It’d be a nice surprise for my uncle when he got home, especially if the weather had been bad. He’d be cold and probably hungry, and having a pot of stew ready would be the perfect way to welcome him home.