Xombies: Apocalypso by Walter Greatshell Read Free Book Online Page A

even know.
    You must be kidding. You know what’ll happen if they find out?
    How could they find out? They’re in Sacramento. Sensing my mother waver, I crooned, Mummy, you promised—pleeeeze?
    It was a thrillingly short drive: Halfway down the mountain, the Caddy ran out of gas.
    We were forced to abandon the car, flagging down a passing motorist for a ride to town and paying a service station to deliver fuel. By the time we got back to the car, it had been towed. The police thought it was a stolen vehicle because the Baxters had left word they would be out of town, and the car had been vandalized. Then there was the hefty impound fee. My mother tried first to charm, then to bluster her way out, and I cranked up the waterworks, but it was no use. We had no money; we were stuck. The only way to get the car back was to call the Baxters and explain the whole situation. It was not fun. The look on Mummy’s face as she hung up the phone made it utterly clear that our life in Lake Tahoe was soon to be over. So much for the joyride. But already I was adjusting to the new reality, walling off the humiliating dismissal— fuckit, I thought. My attention shifted to the golden arches across the street—Mummy still had a few bucks left.
    My blue lips parted, mouthing the words of that long-ago child: Mummy? I’m still hungry.
    I heard a noise. Somewhere down the block, an unmuffled two-stroke engine sputtered to life. Then another, and another, all working their way up the street. It was an unpleasant and deeply familiar sound—one I had not heard since I was alive.
    Lawn mowers.
    Opening the kitchen window, I leaned out to see all the crew from the boat pushing lawn mowers across their new lawns. It was still quite dark out, and the landscape was shaded deep blue under a paler sky pricked with stars. I could smell exhaust and cut grass. The stars were the only lights—there was no electricity yet.
    As the mowers completed their work, and the sun cleared the rooftops, I heard a different sound, like gunshots in the distance—it was the backfiring of an old car. A moment later, the vehicle chugged into view, turning up my street.
    It was an antique car, a red jalopy with the top down, squeaking and rattling as if its engine were shaking it to pieces. The spoked wheels were visibly out of alignment, and the exhaust pipe spewed a contrail of noxious fumes.
    The car stopped in front of my house. I could see Jake Bartholomew in the driver’s seat; he set the brake and gave the horn a toot. Jake’s passengers jumped out and came up the walk—they were Sal DeLuca and Lemuel Sanchez.
    Sal was wearing a peculiar hat, its felt brim turned up and cut to resemble a king’s crown, with colorful buttons pinned around it like jewels. Lemuel’s hair had been cropped short and bleached blond, and he was dressed in a football jersey that said QUARTERBACK. They knocked on the door.
    This was unusual. The door was unlocked; nobody announced themselves anymore. Human courtesies such as respect for privacy were meaningless, especially after the forced intimacies of living together on the sub. I turned to see Alice Langhorne gliding down the stairs like a ghost. The usually austere woman was wearing a pleated pink dress and a frilly apron, but the most alarming change was her head of curlers.
    “I’ll get it,” Langhorne said. Opening the front door, she said, “Good morning, boys.”
    “Good morning, Mrs. Langhorne. Is Lulu around?”
    “That’s Ms. Langhorne. And she certainly is. Lulu!”
    “What?”
    “Lemuel and Sal are here to pick you up.”
    “Pick me up? For what?”
    “Boys?”
    As if reciting from a script, Sal said, “Miz Langhorne asked us to ask you if you would do us the honor of letting you drive us—I mean, letting us drive you , heh heh—to school.”
    “ School? Are you demented? What do you—” Langhorne jabbed me in the back. Hard. “Oh. Right. School, really?”
    Alice Langhorne nodded grimly.
    “All