Apocalypse Cowboy: Futuristic Romance with Zombies by Eve Langlais Read Free Book Online Page B

the place he’d called home for over twenty years. And he intended to do it alone.
    What surprised him was Hannah’s desire to go with him. While a part of him rejoiced she didn’t want him to face this alone, another part of him didn’t want her to come. Who knew how he’d react? He sure as hell didn’t. A man never wanted a woman he loved to see him as anything less than strong. And he should certainly never let her see him cry.
    There wasn’t enough ball scratching in the world to make up for that kind of weakness. And yeah, there was a strong chance he’d shed a few tears.
    The guilt he felt about abandoning his parents still hung heavy over him. When the illness struck, Brody had fought an inner battle, wanting to return home, but at the same time, he knew he’d return in time only to see them die.
    He’d spent long months regretting that choice. He spent months regretting a lot of things, such as the fact he never should have left and hurt the people who loved him most, his parents and Hannah
    With this thought in mind, while Hannah popped into the house to ditch the remains of their lunch, he hopped onto his motorcycle and took off, the route to his parent’s place so familiar he could have probably done it with his eyes closed.
    I can still feel the wind on my face as I peddled my bike on my way to meet Hannah by the big apple tree. They’d spent a lot of time there, first as kids then as lovers. Everywhere he looked, memories haunted him. Good ones for the most part, but sad at the same time too. Everything had changed. The kids they once were no longer innocent.
    Signs of nature taking over abounded everywhere, from the overgrown fields where crops pushed through the soil, reborn from the seeds left behind. Domestic animals roamed, cows wandering at will, gorging themselves on the lush vegetation, horses sprinted by, their manes flowing behind and feral gangs of dogs banded together, a danger for the unwary. Even pigs had gone wild, their squeals and snorts enough to make a mouth water with thoughts of pork chops and bacon.
    A person could live off the land here. If they could handle the loneliness. But I wouldn’t be alone. I’d have Hannah. Enough for him, but what of the others? Beth especially would need the comfort and companionship of others eventually. Forget eventually, she needed it now. He’d not missed her overeager reaction at his arrival.
    Something to ponder for the future, once he convinced Hannah to let him be a part of her future.
    As he turned onto the side street where he’d grown up, the signs of abandonment became clearer. No children roamed the streets chasing soccer balls. Not a single dog barked. Windows devoid of curious eyes gaped at him. At least he hoped they were empty. While armed, he was in no mood to tangle with zombies.
    Then again, perhaps killing a few would help ease his frustration.
    Downshifting the gears on his bike, he coasted the weed-choked driveway to the house with the puke-green vinyl siding. Brody’s gut clenched as he braced himself for the memories already assailing him, like the one of his dad playing catch with him on the front lawn. There was the crooked mailbox he’d crashed into while learning to ride his bike, a feat accomplished with both his father and mother cheering him on.
    His steps echoed loudly on the wooden risers that led up to the wide porch where, a lifetime ago, his mother had served lemonade to him and a more carefree Hannah. It seems like an impossible dream now.
    The screen door sagged and creaked when he pulled it open. He half expected the thick, forest-green door to resist, but the knob turned easily in his hand. Sucking in a deep breath, he took a step into the musty interior and fell into the past.
    Pictures of his family lined the wall. Smiling. Happy. He trailed his fingers along the faded wallpaper, moving deeper into his childhood home. With slow steps, he clomped up stairs, the wood treads creaking under his weight. He