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Chapter 1
MEG
The huge white farmhouse was in near-pristine condition. A welcome sight and a rare find during the End of Days. Someone lived here and took care of the property, including the flourishing garden out back. My stomach rumbled as I surveyed the tall corn stalks, rows of tomato vines, cucumbers, lettuce, peppers, and the tops of what I thought were carrots and radishes. The garden was protected by a tall fence, no doubt intended to keep zombie hordes from trampling the vegetation. While deer, rabbits, and other hungry woodland creatures could do plenty of damage to a garden, rampaging zombie hordes were the worst. As I crept around the perimeter of the house, I also spotted two small greenhouses. Whoa.
Longing resonated in my chest. Not just the desire to call a place like this home, but the intense yearning to be part of a family. As prosperous and well-maintained as this property was, surely a huge extended family lived here. A mother and father. Brothers and sisters. Maybe aunts, uncles, cousins, even grandparents.
Dammit. I blinked rapidly against the burn of tears. I’d been on my own since the age of eight, abandoned by my parents during the beginning of the zombie outbreak. Why they’d boarded a train headed west and left me behind, I would never know. Perhaps they didn’t have enough money for my ticket. Or maybe they’d believed I would slow them down.
And so, I’d spent the last twelve years drifting up and down the East Coast. Sometimes I joined ragtag groups of survivors, but the companionship was always temporary. I’d never found a place I truly belonged, and most large settlements had complicated politics or unfavorable conditions of citizenship.
In the last town I’d visited, I would’ve had to marry a man of the mayor’s choosing if I opted to stay. Marry a stranger sight-unseen? No, thanks.
I sighed and wiped at a fallen tear. Maybe leaving that town was a mistake. Maybe if I’d married a stranger, my life wouldn’t be so lonely.
Of course, I reminded myself, there was no guarantee that stranger would’ve been a decent person.
No, I was smart to flee that town. Smart to remain on my own.
As I ventured near the front of the farmhouse, I noticed a sizable wooden sign at the end of the driveway. Curious, I headed that way, wanting to see what the notice said. It was probably a warning to trespassers, but I wanted to be certain. Sometimes people advertised important information, such as items needed for trade or services required or offered. I thought about the meager items in my backpack and wondered if perhaps I could negotiate an honest trade with the residents of this homestead.
When the sign came into sight, my eyes widened at the notice that was painted neatly on the wood.
SINGLE 42 Y.O. MAN (DISEASE-FREE) SEEKS ADULT FEMALE FOR COMPANIONSHIP AND MORE.
INTERESTED?
KNOCK FOR INTERVIEW.
Companionship and more? Knock for interview? I swallowed hard and glanced around, checking to make sure I wasn’t being watched. Though I didn’t spy anyone, the hairs on the back of my neck prickled, nonetheless.
Part of me wondered if the sign was a trap. As affluent as this homestead appeared, it could entice lots of desperate women to come knocking.
Maybe whoever lived here was a filthy psycho pervert who kept a harem of captive women in a cold, damp basement. I shivered at the thought.
My unease amplified as I considered how many men might live here. The so-called single forty-two-year-old man might have friends. Degenerate, violent friends.
Maybe I should flee before I was discovered sizing up the place. I started to back away from the homestead, only to freeze in place.
The garden was calling my name. Especially the carrots.
After a few minutes of deliberation, I decided I would swipe some carrots and a few other items, then be on my way. I just needed to pay for the vegetables first. I always tried to avoid stealing because I knew from personal experience how horrible it was to be violated in that way. Plus, if karma was an actual thing, I wanted to stay on the good side of it.
After taking a deep breath, I withdrew a bag of flour from my backpack and darted for the mailbox. I hastily shoved the bag inside, then hurried back to the relative safety of the trees. Once I caught my breath, I would make a mad dash for the garden, hopefully without incident.
A homestead this prosperous must possess a security system of some kind, and nerves wracked my senses as I worried about what would happen when I left the sanctuary of the trees to venture all the way to the garden.
The constant rumbling of my stomach propelled me to take the first step back into the open. That and the knowledge that the largest zombie horde in North America would migrate soon, a biannual occurrence, which meant gathering food and stopping long enough to cook a decent meal over a campfire would become a challenge in the very near future. At least until the undead finished passing through the area.
Was that a camera? I glanced at the scarecrow that stood in the garden, half-convinced the left eyeball had just moved. But there was no retreating now. I’d already come this far, and I was determined to complete the trade.
Keeping low, I made haste for the gate, only to find it locked. Dammit. With a deep sigh, I removed my backpack and tossed it over the fence. Then I climbed nimbly over the tall barrier and landed in a low crouch.
I grabbed my backpack and hurried to the carrot patch, an area that contained five square rows of my favorite vegetable. With a practiced hand, I pulled several carrots from the ground and shoved them into my backpack. Add a rabbit and some roots, and this would make an excellent stew. My mouth watered as I imagined the scrumptious dinner I would prepare over a campfire tonight.
Suddenly, a shadow appeared over me.
A big one.
