BOOK ONE
She had her whole life planned.
What she didn't plan for was the zombie apocalypse.
Eighteen-year-old Arryn Lycaster just graduated high school. With aspirations of becoming a veterinarian, she's ready to take the next step forward in lif...
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"Trinity, run!" Arryn screamed, placing herself in between the young girl and her father. His bare feet slapped against the slick, tar-stained tile. Every step forward sent more of the black blood oozing from his chest onto the floor in spurts like a nicked artery.
"Daddy!" Trinity tried snaking her way around Arryn's outstretched arms. "Let me go!"
Trinity's pleas struck Arryn like a knife in the heart. An hour ago, she had been in a similar mindset with Lincoln and her mother turning. It still felt like a bad dream. And the more she thought about it, the more she wanted to curl up in a ball and give up.
But she had a responsibility at the moment-- a distraction from the overwhelming flood of emotions waiting to break through the feeble dam she erected. She needed to protect this small child.
Trinity stopped fighting after a moment, letting out a shriek as her father grew closer.
"Someone stole Daddy's nose!"
Arryn followed Trinity's gaze and saw that his nose had been bitten off. The dangling bits of flesh hung around the cartilage underneath, reminding Arryn of a pig's snout-- only more gruesome and nauseating.
Ripping her gaze from the zombie, she scoured the room, looking for a sharp object. At the speed he traveled down the lengthy hallway, she would not make it far with a kid. She needed something to slow him down. The only weapon she had currently lay lodged in Josie's skull.
Along the marble counter, various pens and papers sat scattered. The point of a pen could work, but she'd have to get close. Closer than she wanted. A stapler sat next to the keyboard, and a pair of scissors sat in the pencil holder.
Bingo.
Arryn reached across the countertop and snatched the scissors out of the wire holder, hoping that the dull, worn-down edges of the blade would be enough to stop Trinity's father.
The second he passed the countertop, Arryn drove the scissors forward.
The blunt edges pierced the center of his chest, only going a few inches deep before meeting resistance. He stumbled back, lowering his head down at the object lodged between his ribcage.
Arryn took this moment and snatched Trinity up. Her muscles ached under the weight of the child as every bruise she accumulated over the past few days made themselves known. Each one served as a reminder of what she'd lost.
"No! Daddy!" Trinity kicked and screamed, but Arryn held strong.
She ran down the hallway, trying her best not to slip on the slick floor. Her socks weighed heavy in her shoes, soggy from the blood soaking through the thin material of her sneakers. The thought of someone else's blood sloshing around her socks made Arryn shudder.
Trinity's fists pounded against Arryn's back. The small kid's punches held no power behind them with each blow feeling as if it were cushioned by some sort of padded material, like a boxing glove. "Daddy! Help!"
