Rotten by Victoria S. Hardy Read Free Book Online Page A

pulled forward slowly, thumping over what used to be Mr. Keppler, and stopped when the tennis ball hanging from above tapped the window and marked the parking spot. 
     
    “Flashlight!”  Highland snapped.
     
    Rotten fumbled on the space between the seats and grabbed one of four.  He hit the switch and scanned his side of the garage.  Highland grabbed another and slowly panned it around his side.  “It’s clear here.”
     
    “Looks good here, too,” Rotten said.
     
    “All right.”  He hit the button on the control and the engine engaged, shutting the daylight out.  Highland sighed.  “Okay,” he whispered, “we go slow.”  He handed a couple flashlights to us.  “Moonshine, you check on the other side of Mom’s Jeep and Princess and Dove, crawl over Sully and check out that side.  We’ll all go out together.”
     
    Princess and I crawled over Sully and pushed him to the middle of the seat.
     
    “Ready,” I said and Princess turned on the flashlight.
     
    “Go,” Highland said and we fell out of the SUV. 
     
    I grabbed Princess’s shoulder and Moonshine screamed as he ran behind the Jeep, his two-by-four raised high.
     
    “Well, it’s about time you got home.” Mrs. Williams stood in the doorway with a shotgun in her hands and wearing an apron over jeans. 
     
    I’d never seen Mrs. Williams in jeans.  She always wore dresses, skirts, skorts, or pedal pushers, and truth be told, some great vintage fifties garb that she found down at Princess’s gallery, but never jeans.  And a shotgun? 
     
    “Come in, come in,” she opened the door and smiled.  I noticed that even though her hair was not in its perfect style, she still wore lipstick.  And then the scent of bacon hit me.
     
    Moonshine caught it next and laughed.  “I love you, Mrs. Williams!”
     
    “Love you too, Michael.”  She smiled.  “Come on kids, we have a lot to do.”
     
    Highland smiled and grabbed his backpack from the seat of the car. 
     
    As we piled into the back door and introduced Sully, Mrs. Williams pulled out plates of sausage and potatoes from the oven and then set a platter of sliced tomatoes, mushrooms, cucumbers, and chucks of cheddar on the table.  “Sit down,” she said, sliding a pan of biscuits in the oven. 
     
    As we took our old familiar places around the table she set down three different juices and a gallon of milk.  “You guys need your energy, help yourself, and the coffee is brewing.”  She glanced at Sully as he settled at the head of the table, a place we’d never seen anyone sit.  “No alcohol at my kitchen table, young man.” 
     
    I had to give Sully credit; he nodded his head, stood up, and set the bottle on the counter.  “I lost the lid, ma’am,” he said and I nearly laughed.  Ma’am?  They were about the same age, but there is something about Mrs. Williams that just demands respect.
     
    Mrs. Williams nodded and poured him a glass of orange juice.  “Sit down and drink your juice.”  She patted him on the shoulder.
     
    She went to the stove and poured a huge bowl of eggs into a giant black skillet and began stirring.  “Help yourselves, kids, the eggs will be done in a minute.” 
     
    I grabbed a slice of tomato and Princess a slice of cucumber. 
     
    “Protein, girls,” Mrs. Williams said, her back to us.  “You’re actually in the zombie apocalypse now, you need protein.  Plus, we have to bury some bodies.”  She stirred harder and checked the biscuits.
     
    “What?” Highland jumped from his chair.  “What bodies?”
     
    “Well, Midget for one.  I didn’t know dogs could get infected, Wayne, I’m sorry.”  She set the spoon on the side of the stove, gave him a hug, and then returned to the eggs.  “And Lydia Cane and her mom, Eden.”  She stirred harder.  “I didn’t know it was happening.  I mean how many times have you kids sat around this table plotting and planning?  Hundreds?  I always thought I should