Red Hill by Jamie McGuire

Watching zombies outside your window was another. The movies didn’t talk about that. Well . . . maybe they did, but they didn’t drive home how terrifying each moment truly was. I tried not to think about tomorrow, or that we would still be fighting for our lives every day from now on. I glanced back at Zoe, and choked back the sadness welling up in my throat. I didn’t want her to grow up in a world like this.
    A combination of fear, anger, and utter depression fully engulfed me.
    Skeeter squeezed my shoulder. I sat still, letting his fingers sink into my tense muscle. “It’s going to be okay.”
    â€œIs it?” I asked, looking back out the window. “Is Jill?”
    Skeeter sighed. “I don’t know. I’m hoping the movies got it all wrong, and a bite is just a bite.”
    â€œWhat if it’s not?”
    â€œI don’t know. I don’t really wanna think about it.”
    I nodded, catching a glimpse of an elderly man shuffling by the window. His neck was half eaten away, and his dress shirt was saturated in blood. “We can’t stay here. We’re going to have to keep moving. Get into the country.”
    â€œDamn, brother, I thought I was in the country.”
    â€œI mean away from any town.”
    Skeeter took a moment to respond. “I know, but I can’t move Jill. And we can’t risk putting her in a car with Zoe until we know if she’s going to get better.”
    I closed my eyes tight, trying to squint away the visual. Another one of those things ambled by. She was wearing a ­nametag and a long skirt. I couldn’t read the nametag even if it was closer. It was covered in blood and what might be torn muscle lying over the top.
    â€œJesus Christ, that’s Birdie,” Skeeter said, disgusted. “She works at the bank.”
    A dog was barking at her, keeping just enough distance that it wasn’t grabbed and eaten. Looking out at what could be seen through the boards, I watched whoever lumbered by, studying them, trying to notice whatever I could.
    They were slow. Not as slow as I thought they might be, but they were slow enough that if we had to head out on foot, as long as we didn’t let one get too close, or get surrounded, we could make it. Some of them that had more extensive injuries moved slower than others. One guy’s foot was completely gone, but he continued walking on a bloody stub. They weren’t distracted by pain.
    â€œI wonder if you can really only kill them by obliterating the brain,” I thought aloud.
    Skeeter raised his hunting rifle, situated it between the boards, and aimed. “I don’t know. Let’s find out.” He picked out a target, and then breathed. “Sorry, Mr. Madison.” Skeeter squeezed the trigger, and the fabric of Mr. Madison’s shirt, in the spot where his heart would be, popped and sprayed open. Dark blood oozed from the wound, but Mr. Madison didn’t seem to notice. “Okay. So that doesn’t work.” Skeeter squeezed the trigger again. This time a red dot immediately formed in the middle of Mr. Madison’s temple and simultaneously seemed to burst, leaving a perfectly imperfect round wound. The man stopped midstep as his head jerked to the side, and then he fell onto his side.
    I waited for a moment, watching for any signs of movement. Nothing. “You think we have to burn them, too?” I asked.
    Skeeter frowned, his eyes darted over at me from over the sights of his rifle. “Now that’s just silly.”
    â€œSkeeter, honey, I think Jill’s not feeling well,” Doris said. She was wringing her hands, clearly unnerved.
    Skeeter hopped up and rushed into the kitchen. I followed behind, seeing Zoe sitting in the corner, watching her aunt Jill as she sat in her chair, crumpled over and heaving into a bucket.
    â€œZoe? Zoe, come here. Come sit in here for a bit.” I motioned for Zoe to join me in the