Love in an Undead Age by A.M. Geever (good non fiction books to read .TXT) đź“•
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The dasher was upon her as she twisted onto her knees. Miranda swung the crowbar hard. It connected with the dasher’s ankles, knocking its feet out from under it. Miranda scrambled up, but the dasher rolled toward her and grabbed her ankle. She began to lose her footing as the crowbar arced down. She smacked against the ground as the crowbar crushed the zombie’s skull. Yanking her ankle free, she scooted away from the pool of gooey black blood that had splattered her. The girl from the downed car was dragging her injured friend to the Rover.
“Put him in the front!” she shouted. She looked past the girl, expecting to see the third passenger, but he wasn’t there. She snapped her head back to the Honda. Through the deepening twilight, she saw the boy crouched down in the passenger seat. The shamblers were making their way to the driver’s side. The kid did not even have the presence of mind to pull the door shut.
Miranda bolted toward the car, wielding the crowbar like a bat. She hit the closest shambler on the side of the head. It dropped like a sack of stones. She reached in the car and grabbed the glassy-eyed passenger by the collar. She thought it was a trick of the fading light, but no. He couldn’t be more than ten. She shoved the boy toward the Rover. He stumbled, but once in motion did not stop. Another shambler rounded the back of the car, lurching toward her as she sprinted to the Rover. The injured passenger slumped in the front seat, bleeding from what Miranda could now see was definitely a bite. Sensing undead infection, Delilah snarled and snapped at him from the back seat.
Miranda grabbed the dog’s collar and pushed her over the back seat into the cargo area so the children could scramble inside. She slammed her door shut and flipped the flamethrower “FUEL” switch. Bright yellow-white flames licked up the doors as they raced down the overpass. Miranda wrenched the wheel so abruptly at the intersection that the Rover went up on two wheels for an endless, harrowing moment before slamming back down to the pavement.
Buildings on both sides of the road streaked by in a fiery blur. The girl leaned forward, toward the moaning, semiconscious boy. The kid wasn’t more than fifteen, tops. The girl reached out to inspect his wound and Miranda backhanded her, connecting with her nose. A startled yelp escaped the girl’s lips
“What the fuck were you thinking? Don’t touch him unless you want to get infected!”
“We have to get him to a hospital,” the girl wailed. Blood from her nose dripped onto her ragged t-shirt. “They have the vaccine here. We have to get him to a hospital!”
“You can’t afford it and you don’t want one.”
Miranda fumbled for her phone and punched a speed-dial number. “This is Miranda Tucci! I’m coming in hot at the Accolti Gate with three civilians. One is injured.”
“But he’ll turn, he’ll turn! We have to go to a hospital,” the girl cried, hysterical.
The Rover’s tires screeched as Miranda turned onto Accolti Way. She saw movement in the elevated watchtower, then the gate opened. She finally flipped off the flamethrower switches, belatedly realizing that she was literally coming in hot. They streaked through the gate and into the nearest parking lot. Miranda slammed the brakes so hard she felt the children in the back seat thump against her own. Medical personnel streamed from the brightly lit Cowell Health Center. She breathed a sigh of relief and sat, unmoving, still clutching the steering wheel. Delilah barked and growled from the cargo area of the Rover, making an enthusiastic contribution to the chaos.
Miranda heard a voice, as if from a very far distance. She turned her head to see Doc Owen next to the injured boy. She roused herself with an effort.
“Took a bite on the neck. He might have some burns. I didn’t get a look at the others.”
Doc nodded, barking orders as he eased the boy from the front seat onto a waiting stretcher. His gloved hand applied pressure to the boy’s bleeding wound while the other children were coaxed from the back seat. Delilah hopped to the back seat and stuck her snout in Miranda’s ear, whimpering and licking.
“Are you getting out, Miranda? We need to check you out.”
Ellen, a nurse practitioner at the health center, peered into the Rover as Miranda began to shake from head to toe. She looked at her hands, clutching the steering wheel.
“I can’t let go,” she whispered.
Ellen walked around to Miranda’s side of the Rover. She reached through the open window, avoiding the still hot exterior handle, and opened the door. She cooed nothing in particular as she tucked some stray strands of hair behind Miranda’s ear and stroked her head, ignoring the gore stuck in it. Miranda began to relax. Ellen leaned in and unlaced her fingers.
“Look at me,” she murmured, coaxing Miranda to turn in her seat and put her feet on the ground. Her calm brown eyes regarded Miranda’s wild blue eyes. “That wasn’t so hard, was it? Take a few deep breaths.”
Miranda obeyed, halting at first, but soon breathing deep and smooth. She felt grateful, embarrassed, relieved that no one else had witnessed her meltdown. She looked down at her spattered clothes and her gore-specked hands.
“I’m okay now. Thanks.”
“Ready to go in?”
“As long as there’s a Valium with my name on it.”
Miranda struggled to open her eyes. She lay on her stomach, on a mat on the floor. She tried to sit up but quickly realized that was a mistake, so she lay back down. Her shoulder throbbed. Delilah, snuggled up along her other side, raised her head and began licking Miranda’s face. Miranda could not have said where she was if her life depended on it.
Ellen popped her head into the room. “I thought I heard you, Miri. How are you feeling?”
“Like a truck hit me.”
It all came rushing back: the kids, the zombies, spending the night at Ellen’s apartment in Swig Hall. She rolled onto her uninjured side, crowding her trusty pit bull, and pushed herself up. When the room stopped spinning, she asked, “How badly did I burn my shoulder?”
“Bad, but not third degree. You were lucky, but it’s going to hurt.” Ellen disappeared, then returned with two small pill bottles and a glass of water. “This is Percocet,” she said, handing Miranda a pill from one bottle. “Take one every four to six hours, two if you’re really hurting.”
Miranda took the proffered water glass and pill. Her mouth felt like a desert.
“This is an antibiotic,” Ellen continued. “One pill three times a day. Take it all and with food since you’re a puker.”
Ellen set both bottles on the coffee table and headed to the small kitchenette. Sensing action in the kitchen, Delilah trotted after her. Ellen’s kitchen reminded Miranda of the kind she had used in rented apartments in Europe: half-sized fridge, undersized stove, and a small sink with an even smaller counter. Ellen peered into the fridge.
“I’ve got some eggs and tomatoes. Are you up to eating something?”
Miranda nodded, which made her dizzy. When she stood up to go to the dining table, the dizziness got worse. She stopped and took a moment to look out the window.
Swig Hall had been the freshman dorm once upon a time and as such had no character whatsoever. Its eleven stories of ugly rectangle were a sizable exception to the elegant tan stucco and terra cotta tile roofs that characterized the rest of SCU’s campus. Swig did have one thing going for it in the aesthetics department, however: its view. The north side view was of campus, which was pretty even now. The southern side of the building looked out over the residential neighborhoods that were now part of SCU’s settlements.
The dorm had been remodeled from one-room dorms into one- and two-bedroom apartments. The apartments were small and the bathrooms communal. Swig was considered a nice, very safe place to live and as a consequence, getting an apartment in the building was difficult. Miranda had lived here once, even after the terrible experience of being trapped inside with Sam. She shuffled over to the small table and sat down.
“How long was I out?”
“We gave you something to help you sleep last night. It’s almost noon.”
“How are the kids?”
“The girl and younger boy are fine.” Ellen tumbled the eggs one final time around the frying pan while reaching for two plates from the dish rack. “The boy with the bite didn’t make it. Lost too much blood. We didn’t have time to get him to the city hospital.”
Miranda felt her spirits sag. “Dammit. I thought it would be better for him to get treated here.”
“Don’t beat yourself up. He would have been better off getting post-bite from us, but we don’t have enough to start anyone new.”
She turned from the stove, steaming plates in hand, and set one in front of Miranda as she sat down. Miranda looked at the food. Her appetite had vanished.
“Eat,” Ellen ordered.
Miranda took a bite of egg and tomato. Her appetite came roaring back.
“So the other two are staying here?”
“Yeah,” Ellen said with a nod. “You should have seen their faces when we explained how things work. Even with losing their friend, they think they’ve landed in Wonderland.”
The “wonderland” aspect of SCU for its newest residents was its vaccination program. SCU received preventative
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