This Would Be Paradise (Book 1)-A Zombie Novel

Chapter 1

Man can now fly in the air like a bird,

swim under the ocean like a fish,

he can burrow into the ground like a mole.

Now if only he could walk the earth like a man,

this would be paradise.

-Tommy Douglas

I groaned and rolled over on the well-used, sagging hotel bed. Thoughts about all the people who slept right where I was laying made my skin crawl like imaginary bed-bugs running amok. The sun had managed to peek through the ratty curtains of my once-clean hotel room, disturbing my alcohol induced stupor. I tried to swallow, but my mouth seemed drier than the Nevada desert. Cracking a tired eye open, I found the other twin bed empty.

Zoe, my dumbass friend must have stumbled home with a guy we met last night, while I managed to drag myself back to the room. What was his name again? Mark? Matt? I should probably learn to get that straight just in case I had to testify in court when she eventually disappeared after a nightly escapade gone wrong, and then turned up in a dumpster behind Denny's.

The clock read 12:35 PM and I knew Zoe would be staggering back soon, with yet another story to tell. Then in response I would give her the spiel again; the one that started with, "This is how you end up dead in a ditch, spread out in various plastic bags."

"'Let's go to Mardi Gras,' she said. 'It will be fun,' she said," I mocked aloud and then began coughing profusely.

My throat was on fire; the aftermath of a night of drinking, screaming, and taking part in the celebration. I got up in search of a water bottle, finding a sealed one on the messy dresser. In one gulp I downed half the bottle, and then finished it with the next. After throwing it into the garbage can already overflowing with empty bottles, I sauntered into the bathroom.

After splashing some water on my face, I realized I was going to need something stronger. I needed coffee. The hotel was overrun with fellow Mardi Gras partiers, which seemed to be an excuse for the cleaning staff to slack off. Which translated to no coffee. If I wanted a cup, I would have to venture all the way down to the breakfast area. This was not a pleasant prospect.

I glared at my reflection, the blue irises standing out against my red-rimmed eyes. I looked like I belonged in a Judd Apatow movie. I rummaged through my makeup bag looking for some eye drops and lucked out. After a few attempts, I finally managed to get some in my eyes, not just all over my face.

I walked over to the night stand, wiping at my moist cheeks and tried the front desk to see if they could bring me the coffee packet inserts that they were supposed to supply. Laziness had always been a problem for me and, as always, I was going to see if I could try the easy route first. It rang ten times with no answer before I hung up. The service here was awful. I tried again, but still no answer. Looks like I'd have to go down to the lobby after all.

I dug to the bottom of my suitcase for some clean clothes and tied my blond hair up. I wasn't winning any southern beauty pageants today, but no one was expected to look good with a hangover anyways. I shoved the key card into my pocket; patting it just to be sure it was in there. With the terrible service here I could only imagine what an ordeal it would be if I needed them to unlock my room.

The door latched shut as I stepped out into the hallway. Noises were coming from somewhere in the hotel, but oddly the hallway was empty of people. As I passed one of the off-white doors, a loud banging sound from behind it caused me to jump clear across the hallway. Apparently some people were still partying. I placed a hand over my heart, feeling the rapid staccato my heart was beating; that was one thing I really didn't need when hungover.