Dove: A Zombie Tale (Byron: A Zombie Tale Book 2) by Scott Wieczorek

behind us. “Hmm?”
    “Never mind. I thought you said something.”
    I turned my attention back to the road ahead. We passed a hospital and some early nineteenth century row houses situated in a strange juxtaposition of old and new age. A little further down we passed the pinnacle of 1960s to 1970s architecture, and 1990s interpretations of nineteenth century style. The amalgam of buildings seemed out of place, like a hodge-podge jumbled together.
    We passed another hospital a few blocks down, and a ball field still further. We stayed on 9th Street for what seemed like an eternity, passing block after block and not bothering to stop at any intersections.
    “That’s Oregon Ave up ahead,” Dove said, pointing. “We need to cross toward the left. We’re almost there.”
    I nodded as I goosed the throttle across the wide thoroughfare. We passed a school on the right. Another school backed up to it. Images of little zombie children attacking unsuspecting teachers came to mind as we rocketed across the next narrow cross street.
    “Slow down!” Dove shouted.
    I slammed on the brakes and the Land Rover slid diagonally across the road screeching like a tortured beast and rocking to a halt against the curb on the left side of the road. She had the door open before I could say anything.
    “Dove! Wait.” I whipped from the car, closed both doors, and caught up to her. “Which one is it?”
    She pointed to the purple door rising two steps up before her.
    “Is her car here?”
    She shook her head. “I own the only car between us.”
    I sighed deep, not wanting to ask the question. “Are you sure you want to do this? There’s a chance that—” I didn’t want to finish the thought, so I let it trail off.
    She swallowed hard, hung her head, and studied her shoes. She nodded. “I have to do this, Byron. I have to. She’s the only family I have left.”
    “Okay, but let me go first.” I slipped the swords from their sheaths and scanned up and down the street. I stepped toward the door and lifted my leg in front of me, ready to kick the door in.
    “Wait! You can go first,” she said pulling a key ring from her pocket. “Just let me unlock the door. We may need to close it behind us in case of emergency.”
    I gave her a sheepish grin. “Yeah. Good thinking.”
    She turned the handle, leaving the keys in the door lock and the purple portal swung open.
    ~ ~ ~
    He crossed the threshold before me, swords held in defensive positions. I gasped and he spun toward me, the swords raised to strike. “What’s wrong?”
    “I left my baseball bat at Jake’s house.”
    He frowned, relaxing his posture. “Is there anything here you can use?”
    “Yeah. There are some weapons upstairs. My aunt’s a big Uma Thurman fan and got into Samurai swords after that movie she did. They’re upstairs in her bedroom.”
    “Your aunt doesn’t own a gun, does she?”
    “Not that I know of.”
    He grimaced at my response. I ignored the expression and pushed past him into the living room. Nothing seemed out of place. The leather couches, cluttered coffee table, rat’s nest of television wires. Even the scuff marks on the carpet were typical. A thick layer of dust coated the television stand. With both of us working odd schedules, neither of us had much time for vacuuming or cleaning.
    “Looks like there hasn’t been anybody here in a while,” Byron whispered, stalking toward the hallway leading toward the back.
    “No. This is normal. We’re just pigs.” My face felt warm as I said it. The urge to straighten up washed over me and I reached for the magazines and cups sitting on the table.
    He studied me. “What are you doing?”
    I stared at him, unblinking. “Cleaning up. What’s it look like? This place is a sty!”
    He grinned. “It doesn’t really matter. We’re just here to find your aunt and bring her to the prison, remember?”
    My face felt flushed. “Oh yeah. Old habit.” I put the cups down. He chuckled and turned