DEAD RAIN: A Tale of the Zombie Apocalypse

D
EAD
R
AIN

-A Tale of the Zombie Apocalypse-

Joe Augustyn

A Note to the Reader:

This is a work of fiction. Although the general setting consists of real places, I have taken liberties with the logistics of some locations for dramatic purposes. So if you’re a resident or visitor to the areas depicted, don’t drive yourself crazy trying to pinpoint certain locations.

Please do not copy or share this book in any shape, manner or form for any reason, other than as permitted under the standard policies of the seller. Publishing is a very competitive business and the vast majority of writers are struggling to survive. And if you enjoy it, please support the author by posting a positive review on Amazon or elsewhere.

Thank you for your support.

Cover design: Wildcat Press

Typeface: Ghastly Panic by Chad Savage

Entire contents © 2014 Joe Augustyn

Prologue

Icy rain pummeled
Emma London as she ran through the woods, her path lit only by sporadic bursts of lightning. Her mind whirled with terror, imagining ravenous corpses lurking behind every tree, ready to reach out and grab her with their filthy fingers. Her fear-addled senses turned rumbles of thunder into the growling of hungry ghouls, rain-drenched saplings into swaying cadavers.

The terrified teen flung her coltish legs over rotted logs, slipping on piles of mucky leaves. Needle-tipped
thorns snagged the legs of her jeans. The twiggy fingers of shrubs clawed her as she passed. A low-hanging branch caught the hood of her raincoat and tangled itself in her hair, jerking her clumsily backwards. Her heart skipped a beat. For a hellish moment she was sure she’d been grabbed by a putrid gray hand.

Ribbons of cold rain rolled down her neck as she struggled to untangle herself. With a forceful lunge she threw herself forward, stifling a cry
of pain as strands of her hair tore out at the roots.

Stumbling forward she didn’t stop running until she
emerged at the side of a road.

Flickers of lightning revealed a smattering of scraggly silhouettes in the distance, plodding clumsily through the sheeting rain.
Pulling up her hood, Emma ran in the other direction, hugging the edge of the woods in the hope that the cold dead eyes of the wandering corpses wouldn’t perceive her fleeing figure in the darkness.

Her knees felt weak as she splashed through puddles and trudged through squishy mud. Her lungs burned despite the chilling dampness; her warm breath misted the frosty night air. Tears blurred her vision, mingling with the
cold rain on her cheeks.

Reaching a clearing in the woods she spotted an old deserted bungalow set back from the road. Eager to be out of the rain she made a dash for it.
Bypassing the front door she ran to the back of the house, tripping over tangles of weeds that had overgrown the yard.

She paused at the back door
, listening and looking for signs of the walking dead. The coast seemed clear. The only sound was the muddy splashing of rain and the occasional crack of thunder on the bleak horizon.

Taking a deep breath she reached for the
rusty doorknob.

The old door groaned on its hinges...

1

Three hours earlier…

Emma
pushed the vent open with her finger, impressed by the cool flow of air drawn in by the tiny glass panel.
Old cars rock,
she thought, stroking the vent’s chrome lever. Would she even be dating Russell if he didn’t have such a rockin’ ride? She honestly couldn't say yes.

At eighteen
Russell was one year older than Emma, tough and good-looking, sexy in a sneering anti-social way. But his hands were a little rough and he was a sloppy kisser. Overall, she had to admit that he wasn’t quite as hot as his cherried out ‘58 Ford.

She peered through the steamy windshield. The vintage car’s headlights carved a hazy white ball in the thickening mist. She gazed uneasily at the impenetrable walls of trees lining the sides of the road, ghostly pale in the glare of the headlights.

Emma hated the Pine Barrens. They were pretty enough to drive through during the day, especially in autumn when their fiery colors shone like jewels. But at night they looked downright haunted, a mournful jumble of sagging branches and scrawny firs capped by a slate black sky.

To venture into those woods during daylight hours meant a brush with disease-bearing ticks, coils of thorny vines and poison ivy. To venture in at night risked an encounter with the legendary Jersey Devil.
Emma didn’t believe in such nonsense, of course, but you couldn’t get her into those woods at night for all the dollar bills in the world.

She glanced over at Russell, his ruggedly handsome features aglow in the dashboard lights as he leaned down to fiddle with the radio. Reception was elusive in the Barrens, even here at the
very southern edge of the vast sprawling woods, particularly when the atmosphere was saturated with humidity.

Slowly twirling the knob, Russell smiled proudly when the clean simple beat of a ‘50s rock’n’roll tune suddenly blared from an oldies station.

How obvious,
Emma thought, slumping in her seat with her head against the window
. I’m dating a theme.
She gazed through the cloudy window, dreaming up plans to save money for a car of her own.
Why not?
Then I can cruise as I please. With some hot dude on the seat beside me. Listening to something other than golden moldies.
But even as that happy thought entered her mind she knew there was a catch to her dream—her mother would have to co-sign her car loan, and ever since she started dating Russell their relationship had been strained.

“Smoke?” Buddy leaned forward from the back seat, offering a pack of Marlboros.

“No,” Emma sighed, wishing she were home, soaking in a nice hot tub. “And thanks for not smoking.”

“You’re not welcome,” replied Buddy with his typical deadpan flippancy as he lit up a cigarette. “Russ?
Cancer stick?”

“You know I gave it up.”

“Yeah, right.” Buddy grinned.
Gave it up whenever your bitch is around.

Emma
cracked her window open. The crisp night air was preferable to second hand smoke. Especially when that smoke came from Buddy’s cootie-infested lungs.

Buddy was a major debit in Russell’s boyfriend account, a childhood friend from the South Jersey sticks. Greasy-haired and prone to wearing moth-eaten hoodies, he might have been a nice enough guy, as Russell insisted, despite his crude sense of humor and macho rudeness. But he looked like an amateur burglar and often smelled like the self-loathing misfit he seemed to be, and
Emma couldn’t understand why Russell found him so amusing.

Russell’s recent assertion that
Emma was jealous of his longtime pal was the moment their romance started fading. In her eyes, Buddy was the jealous one, and his insights into Russell’s personality gave him an unfair advantage as they jostled for Russell’s attention. And so here he was, tagging along on what otherwise might have been a snuggly romantic adventure. As snuggly and romantic as she’d let it be—which as yet wasn’t enough for Russell.

Emma
thought of her mother, waiting at home for her daughter to return, and no doubt waiting impatiently. She had generously approved the day trip to Philly for an afternoon concert, despite her disdain for Russell. Now she would be livid. Her temper would be fired up and there’d be drama before bedtime.

“Five-oh!” Buddy yelped in alarm, the first to see the metallic red flames of the road flares and the shadowy lawman waving lightsticks that glowed like giant green fireflies in the thick white fog. “Slow down.”

“Shit,” Russell muttered, quickly tapping the brakes to slow the car down without being obvious. He could easily speed past the cop but if the man caught his license plate numbers it would mean trouble. The Ford was currently uninsured and Russell’s license was suspended.

As the Ford drew close to the stiff-armed patrolman
Emma gazed through the windshield. But all she could make out under the cop's wide-brimmed Stetson were his hollow cheeks and gaunt black eye-sockets.

“Hey, it’s the Jeepers Creepers dude,” quipped Russell.

Jeepers creepers is right,
Emma thought, stifling a shiver.
He’s a certified grade A creepazoid in that droopy raincoat, standing alone, out here in the middle of no man’s land.

***

Russell breathed easy as they drove past. Cops made him jittery, as did authority of any kind. As far as he was concerned, America was one giant cesspool of greed and corruption and idiocy. He hated cops. He hated his boss at the boatyard. He hated the government and rich people and the talking heads who regurgitated what passed for news on TV these days. Russell was a card-carrying hater.

“What the—? Blow me!” he exclaimed loudly as he jerked the steering wheel to the right. The Ford swerved hard but didn’t slow down, following yet another line of blazing red flares that curved off onto an even narrower side road.

“Jesus, calm down,” Emma said.

Russell slapped the steering wheel angrily. “A mother-effing detour. Just what we don’t need right now.”

“That explains what the oinker was doing back there,” said Buddy. “Main road must be washed out. It must have rained while we were in the city.”

“Goddammit,” Russell grumbled. “The storm wasn’t supposed to hit ‘til tomorrow. Never trust the friggin’ weathergirl.”

“All tits no brains,” said Buddy smugly. “But this wasn’t the big storm they’ve been talking about. When that nor’easter hits this place will be one ginormous swamp. I told you we should’ve stayed in Philly. My brother would’ve let us crash at his place.”

“Oh yeah,” said
Emma, “My mom would’ve loved that.”

“Your mom hates me anyway,” Russell mumbled.

Emma glanced over and saw his cheeks tighten. A sight she was growing used to.
Hypertension at his age. He’ll be lucky if he lives to see fifty.
“Relax,” she chirped, fully aware of what was really bothering him. The Eagles were playing a night game and he didn’t want to miss a precious moment of football. “We can’t be more than five miles from Cape May Courthouse. You’ll drop me off and be home in time for the kick-off.”

“You think so?” Russell asked snippily. “Have you spent a lot of time driving through the Barrens?”

“I grew up off Route Nine, remember?”

“Route Nine’s not the Pine Barrens,” Russell said, in an annoyingly pompous tone. “Not by a long stretch.”

“Russell’s right,” said Buddy. “Jersey roads are whack. You think you’re driving north but you’re really going east or west. Then you hit some T-section and you don’t know whether to go left or right. It’s like some cockamamie maze drawn up by an evil genius. Especially at night. One wrong turn and you end up driving in circles. For hours.”

Great
, Emma thought.
By then you’ll be smelling like a wet dog.

“Hey!” Russell barked. “
Emma. What’s that sign say?” He pointed through the windshield to a county road marker on the side of the road.

“Six someth…” said
Emma, trying to make out the numbers on the small green sign through her steamed up window. She started cranking it open for a better look, but Russell had already sped past the sign. “Jesus, Russell. You could have slowed down so I could read it.”

“Forget it. I think I know where we are.”

***

Cold air streamed through
Emma’s open window. She laid her head on the windowsill and let the air rush through her hair, savoring its salty vibrancy as she gazed at the passing scenery. The Pine Barrens were behind them now. They were getting close to the shore points but were still in the middle of nowhere, cutting through a broad expanse of open marshland on a tiny access road.

Tall stands of marsh grass lined both sides of the road, like shado
wy phantoms swaying in the fog. Vast pools of shimmering black water lay beyond, ringed by distant patches of droopy primeval forest. A thousand invisible crickets chirped a sonorous chant. Bullfrogs croaked a basso counterpoint. Bats zigged and zagged past the face of the moon, dive-bombing hapless insects.

Russell wiped the windshield with his sleeve. It didn’t help. The fog had congealed into a milky cloud, hang
ing over the road like a ghostly blanket. The Ford’s headlights barely made a dent in it. But determined to get home in time for the game, he refused to slow down. Driving on instinct alone. Feeling the road through his tires.

“Dude, are you sure you know where you’re going?” Buddy asked doubtfully, as the Ford swooshed recklessly down the mist-shrouded road. Despite his doggedly casual facade of male bravado he was a nervous passenger.

“Don’t skid your panties, bro,” Russell replied. “Emma’s right. Route Nine is right around here somewhere. We’re in the wetlands near Lenape Creek. Just a few more twists and turns and we’ll pop out near Cape May Courthouse. Right on her mama’s doorstep.”

He seemed sure of his bearings, and even surer of his vintage ride. With a heavy foot on the gas he whipped around snaky curves, over damp weatherworn blacktop, staying centered on the road by watching the feathery tops of the marsh grass waving through the fog on either side of them.

He zoomed past a narrow turn-off—but a quarter mile later he hit the brakes. The old car slid to a stop on the crumbling asphalt.

“Yo. What’s up, dude? Don’t tell me we’re lost?” Buddy’s voice held a perverse sliver of told-you-so.

“Russell, are we lost?” Emma was starting to worry now. She glanced at the lighted dashboard console. The gas gauge hovered near empty, and this was an old school guzzler.

“No, we’re not lost,” growled Russell. “The goddamned road is flooded.” He flashed his high beams, illuminating a huge puddle that stretched across the road in front of them.

“It can’t be that deep,” Buddy opined, leaning over the front seat for a better look through the windshield. “Half a foot. At most.”

“Screw that, I ain’t chancing it. Tommy Shay’s cousin tried to drive through one of these swamp puddles and wound up in a goddamned sinkhole. He was lucky to get out with his life.”

“Bull-feathers,” Buddy replied. “You can’t believe anything Tommy Shithead Shay—”

“I saw his friggin’ car at the goddamned salvage yard!”

Russell’s angry response silenced all protest. It was a cheap lie, but a convincingly delivered one. The road behind them was dark and foggy and backing up would be a challenge. But there was no way Russell was going to risk getting rusty brake pads or corroded wheels by driving his beloved Ford through a foot of brackish water. That would be sheer insanity.

“Jesus Christmas,”
Emma muttered under her breath. “All because of some stupid detour.”

“Just friggin’ relax, will you?” Russell snapped. “I have a pretty good idea where we are.”

Throwing the car into reverse, he backed down the desolate road. He drove as fast as the circumstances allowed, trying to reassert his coolness. But his tires slid on the loose, damp asphalt and he constantly had to adjust to keep the wheels on the road.

He shot a sidelong glance at
Emma, who was pouting like a ten-year-old.
Pain in the ass bitch. It’s always something when I date this effing ho. She must be some kind of Jonah.

“Hey, there’s a turn-off,”
Emma announced, pointing to the tiny offshoot they’d passed a few minutes before. “If we’re going back to the highway, at least turn the car around so we can see where the heck we’re going.”

“Don’t be retarded. I’m not going all the way back to the highway. It’s flooded, remember?” Russell cut the wheel and hit the gas, speeding forward down the pencil thin turn-off. “One road’s as good as another ‘round here. Sooner or later we’re bound to reach civilization.”

“If we don’t run out of gas first,” Emma said bitterly. She eyed the road ahead, so narrow that the marsh grass caressed the Ford on either side.

“Don’t worry,” Buddy chortled, “We have a twelve-pack of beer in the trunk. That’ll hold me and Russ until you come back with help. You don’t mind walking to the nearest gas station, do you,
Emmy Pie?”