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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The katana grasped tightly in Arryn's clammy hand became heavier as the dogs grew closer at a rapid speed.
"What do we do," Arryn said in a meek voice. She knew the answer as soon as she spoke, but without hearing a confirmation, denial would continue to take hold. A shudder shook her body. Dante's training felt useless against a pack of hungry Rabids.
"Either you grow a pair and fight, or you tuck your tail and run like the coward I think you are. Prove me wrong," Savannah said, whipping out the gun. "I think this is considered an emergency." She waved the gun at Dante, earning a nod in reply.
Savannah aimed the gun, squeezing the trigger without hesitation. A loud crack sounded beside her, followed by a yelp.
Arryn's ears rang like bells in her church choir on a Sunday morning. The once melodious bells now represented something sinister. She unsheathed her blade, throwing the sleek metal onto the ground with a clamor. The gun went off again, followed by another yelp.
Another one down. Three remained.
The grey wolf broke away from the pack, charging straight for her. Bright red blood stained its snout, indicating the beast recently found a fresh source of food. On top of the creature's head, black stumps sat where ears once lay. The rest of the Rabid's body resembled that of a decaying corpse. Withered skin hung off the wolf, exposing the skeleton underneath.
The wolf pounced, giving her only seconds to react.
She raised the sharp blade up to defend herself, however the strength of the beast sent her toppling backwards. Her back hit the pavement hard with the impact knocking the wind out of her lungs. The weight of the Rabid against her abdomen threatened to turn her insides to pulp. Black blood trickled onto her chest as the silver blade cut into the beast's neck. The blade became the only thing keeping her from becoming the next meal stained on its grey snout.
Her arms trembled as the wolf snapped viciously at her. Foamy saliva flew from the Rabids mouth, landing on her cheek in droplets. She sent up a silent prayer that the saliva didn't find its way into an open wound.
Snarls and grunts sounded beside her. No one was going to save her this time. She had to do this on her own.
Her muscles screamed as she took the little strength that lingered in her core and pushed harder against the wolf's fur. Tar oozed from the wound, permeating the air with a foul odor of fish and rust. The blade snagged on a hard object—the spinal cord most likely—and prevented her from finishing the job.
The wolf kept snapping, seeming to feel no pain. She kept pressing, hoping her muscles could last.
A sickening snap sounded above her. The pressure against the blade relaxed, becoming dead weight on top of her. A grey blur caught the corner of her eye as a thump sounded beside her. Looking to her left, the head of the wolf lay on the ground. The jaws moved slowly up and down before coming to a stop after a few seconds. Her chest was drenched in the black liquid. The fur and skeletal remains of the wolf lay limp on her stomach.
