ZOMB-POCALYPSE

Chapter Three

We drive in silence for a while, passing the occasional vehicle and a few zombies that have wandered onto the road. There's a group of them in the ditch, hunkered down around something that's still moving... and I avert my eyes.

"We need a plan," Megan interrupts my dismal thoughts.

I glance up and see that she's is looking at me, probably to distract herself from the thing in the ditch. "I thought we had a plan?" I ask dumbly, and Megan shakes her head.

"We know where we want to go, and we know the roads we have to take. But we don't have a plan, not really. We're at half a tank of gas, we can't just pull into town and stop at the gas station."

Her words make my already sick stomach feel worse. She's right. Like idiots, neither Abby nor I had even thought to think that far ahead.

I look around at the quiet country road ahead of us, farms dot the landscape here and there, but it's mostly just open fields. "We should stop at one of these farms and try to find some gas and supplies," I suggest hesitantly.

Megan beams like I'm her star pupil. "I was thinking the same thing," she agrees.

My stomach flops at the idea of exiting the rolling safety of the car. "Abby." I turn back to see if she's heard the latest development. She doesn't answer me. I take off my seat belt so I can reach over and shake her gently. She turns to face me; her face is swollen and puffy from crying.

"Did you hear the plan?" I ask. She slowly nods her head like she's a zombie too.

"Yeah, do whatever you guys want. I don't care," She murmurs before turning to face the back of the seat.

Megan is frowning when I turn back around.

"Alright, I guess she can wait in the car," Megan agrees, but I can tell that she isn't thrilled with Abby's lack of participation.

"What about this one?" Megan asks as a small farmyard appears on our left. She is already slowing down, and I am trying to fight the terror that I'm feeling. Stupidly, I didn't realize this foraging expedition would be happening so soon.

"It's as good as any," I agree, even though my voice is shaking.

"I heard on the radio before this whole thing started that you have to aim for the head—just like in the movies, destroying the brain is the only thing that takes them down," Megan tries to prep me.

At the mention of the radio, I reach over and turn the knob on the stereo. Only static comes through the speakers. I click through every station, but there's nothing, just like my phone, the radio is dead.

"Wow," Megan mutters when I finally give up and click the static off.

I feel sick. Is the rest of the world really gone? What about the President and the Armed Forces? Is this just happening in the United States, or is the entire world being overrun?

Megan pulls up as close to the house as we dare and puts the suburban in park. "We need gasoline, weapons, and food," Megan checks them off on her fingers as she speaks.

"Do you think anyone's home?" I ask, worry gnawing my stomach at the thought of getting out of this car with all the undead freaks running around and, also, a little bit because I don't want to break and enter.

There's an old, rusted-out pickup truck parked near the house, but it doesn't really look like it runs. We decide that it might have been left behind.

I grip the golf club that hasn't left my side since this morning, and Megan pulls a tire iron out from beside the door. They are both pretty tough weapons, but, in the face of zombies, they feel like toys.