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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Molly: The Beginning

  Zombie Instinct, book 1

  Copyright © 2018 by J.B. Havens

  All rights reserved. Published by Muddy Boots Press.

  www.MuddyBootsPress.com

  Edited by Aurora Dewater

  Cover art designed by DesignBetiBup

  This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited without the express written permission of the author.

  Works available from Muddy Boots Press

  Green Sunday by Ryk Brink ~ www.amazon.com/dp/B06ZYTG4HK

  The Easytown Novels by Brian Parker

  The Immorality Clause ~ www.amazon.com/dp/B01HWOH1VC

  Tears of a Clone ~ www.amazon.com/dp/B01NBDUZSH

  West End Droids & East End Dames ~ www.amazon.com/dp/B07436C21L

  High Tech/Low Life: An Easytown Anthology ~ www.amazon.com/dp/B0787D6ZY6

  La Miseria di Bianco by Steve Woods ~ www.amazon.com/dp/B00YQCR2OA

  The Path of Ashes by Brian Parker

  A Path of Ashes ~ www.amazon.com/dp/B00XATPU9E

  Fireside ~ www.amazon.com/dp/B015ONZOU8

  Dark Embers ~ www.amazon.com/dp/B01CPSAI1A

  A Note from the Author

  This novella has been a long time coming. I’ve worked on it longer than I ever thought possible. Molly Everett is a special character, one who has been stuck in my head for almost two years now. Molly: The Beginning is just the start of what I hope will be a gripping series, one which will take you to the end of the world and back again. Thank you for taking a chance on her, and me, by reading this.

  I’d also like to thank Brian Parker at Muddy Boots Press, for believing in Molly. Signing that contract was literally a dream come true for me as an author. Thanks for your help, advice, and the answering endless messages and questions.

  Sam, Kelle, Jules, and Jess, thanks for reading all the little snippets I send and being there for me. Zombies may not be your guys’ normal genre but you’ve read it anyway. Thanks!

  Casey Fry, thanks for being my friend and being even more excited for this book than I am.

  To my mother and Aunt Linda. You’ve both been my cheering squad since I first decided to give this writing thing a try. Love you both.

  Lastly, a special thanks to my husband and children. Thanks for putting up with my own unique brand of crazy and still loving me anyway.

  Chapter One

  Red and black globs of rotting flesh slowly dripped off the length of my weapon, falling to the snow where seven corpses lay at my feet. The blood soaked wooden bat was slick beneath my palms, my fingers and knuckles ached from clutching it so tightly. My chest ached from exertion and my arms felt unnaturally heavy, twitching from the strain and stress I’d put them through. I was panting, my breath drying and cracking my lips in the frigid, winter air.

  Another one was coming, shambling toward me, still four blocks away. Its gait was strange. Missing an arm and having a broken ankle would do that to you. Shoulders sagging, I looked down at my boots and the blood and gore staining them. I knew I was too exhausted to go another round with even just one more meat sack. Stepping over the bodies and attempting to ignore the squish of brains under my feet, I took a left out of the intersection and jogged as fast as my spent body could move. Stumbling and struggling for every step.

  Burned-out cars lined both sides of the street, snow covering them in a sticky film. The melting flakes mingled with soot and ash to make a stinking black mess. The world after zombies smelled like ash, blood, and rotting flesh. Some days I wondered if it would have been better to die quickly, back in the beginning.

  Each step was slower than the last as I forced myself forward. The business district of the town I found myself in was just big enough to make a stop worth my while. Snow began to fall in earnest, cutting visibility down to less than twenty feet. I heard the slow, shuffling steps of the walking corpse following me. Soon, the noise would draw others. Forcing a burst of speed from my aching legs, I outdistanced it and took a left, out of its line of sight. Down an alley lined with overflowing dumpsters; even the cold was unable to temper the extreme smell of the rotting garbage.

  I stumbled over something half buried in the snow, my boots slid and skidded wildly on the icy pavement of the alleyway. My shoulder slammed painfully into the brick wall of the building, stopping my helter-skelter slide. Heart hammering in my chest from the instinctual fear of falling, I caught a quick glimpse of what had fouled up my running escape.

  Bones.

  The ends were shiny from where the owner’s joints had rubbed them smooth, reflecting grotesquely in the moonlight. A macabre freak show of death. Only this was no circus, this was real life. Where the blood congeals into a sticky, brown-black mess and screams half heard in your mind tell the all too familiar story.

  I looked around frantically, desperate to find shelter. The cold seeped through my clothes and the wind began to howl and blow icy snow into my exposed face. A grocery store lay just ahead, not the best idea, but I was out of options. If the zombies didn’t kill me, this weather would.

  Hobbling now, I skidded past vehicles of all shapes and sizes in the parking lot. I’d tried a grocery store about a month ago and luck was the only thing that’d gotten me out of there alive. A band of survivors had taken up residency and were willing to defend their turf with screaming hot lead. Their poor marksmanship was all that saved me.

  The front doors were intact and appeared locked. From experience, I knew the heavy glass was difficult to break and pointless to do so. If I made that much noise, I might as well just pop open the can of food and yell dinner! The storm was intensifying by the minute, I couldn’t afford the time it would require to check the building out first. If anyone was in there, I’d have to deal with it then. First, I needed to get inside.

  Past the overflowing dumpsters was a small loading dock and garage style, bay door. To the left of it was an emergency exit door. Slipping on the icy steps onto the dock, I was shocked to find a door with no knob.

  “Of course, it’s for emergencies only, they have bars on the inside, not knobs.”

  “Dammit!” I bitched aloud to myself and moved back to the bay door. Gripping the frigid handle, I squatted and lifted. My aching back and arms screamed with pain, but my efforts were rewarded—the door opened with a crack of breaking ice and a squeal of metal. It was loud and even though I wasn’t sure how far the sound would carry in the storm, I only opened it far enough to slide underneath. Shoving my pack in first, I peeked under and saw darkness. I could be walking directly into a trap. My imagination ran away with me, conjuring images of dead fingers grasping at my hair and teeth tearing my exposed and vulnerable throat open.

  “Nothing to do for it, just get in,” I muttered under my breath. Laying on my back I slid inside, being sure to keep my bat ready. I’d pounded ten-inch nails through the end of it at opposite angles. It was messy, but got the job done.

  The room was pitch black around me. My breaths echoed back to me with each gasping drag of air I forced through my lungs. I quickly slid the door shut behind me and grabbed my flashlight from my pack by feel. The narrow beam did little to illuminate the large room. Shining the light onto the bottom of the door, I found the bolts I knew had to be there. Sliding them into place, I secured the door behind me before continuing ahead. It wouldn’t hold for too long, but breaking it open would be loud as fuck.

  Metal shelves full
of cases of canned goods and stacked boxes were everywhere. It was controlled chaos. I couldn’t believe this place hadn’t been raided yet; there was a huge stock of food in here.

  “Security first, comfort later.” I really need to stop talking to myself…

  I followed the narrow hallway past a walk-in cooler toward double doors leading out into the store itself. I crouched down, hidden behind the black swinging doors. The howling of the wind outside was loud enough to cover any sounds from inside. I could hear the metal beams of the roof creaking and swaying under the force of the storm. Clicking off my flashlight, I gave my eyes a few moments to adjust. There was light coming from inside the store, not enough to see by back here, but enough to shine under the stockroom door.

  Carefully pushing the door open, I crept out on silent feet. I found myself in the produce aisle, bombarded with the thick stench of rotting vegetables. Blue and black mold grew over each pile of food. I put the back of my relatively clean sleeve against my mouth and nose, though it did little to mask the smell. I could see now that the yellow light was flickering and shifting long shadows on the ceiling above it.

  Candles.

  I passed aisle after aisle, each one well stocked with enough supplies to last for years. Beside me were the long, white meat cases, where I’d expected to find putrid meat rotting in its own blood. Instead, they were empty and clean. I double-checked that the straps of my pack were tight and I held my bat in front of me with both hands. Inhaling deeply, I peeked around the corner of the shelf. I lowered my weapon when I saw that a small girl, not much more than sixteen, was huddled in a pile of ragged blankets. Candles lined the shelves near her, their empty packaging strewn around her. Dirty, unkempt red hair covered her face, and she hugged herself tight with pale skinny arms.

  Ignoring her for the moment, I kept walking down the main aisle, checking down each row of shelves, straining my ears for any sound. I didn’t think the girl would be sleeping if there were any zombies in here, but I had to make sure someone else wasn’t going to try and brain me. People are more dangerous than the dead ones—at least they are predictable.

  What the fuck do I do now? I thought. I couldn’t kill her, but I also didn’t want to wake her up and scare her into attacking. I spotted a few more blankets neatly folded off to the side. Carefully setting aside my pack, I propped my bat against the shelf and grabbed a handful of blankets. Spreading them out into a pile, I sat down. The simple act of sitting when I’d been on my feet since dawn was such a relief it was all I could do not to sigh aloud. You know you’re tired when even cold tile floors are looking good. Next time, I need to break into a mattress store.

  Using my pack as a pillow I laid back and tucked the remaining blanket over my shoulders. As comfortable as I figured I’d get, I shut my eyes.

  Chapter Two

  The storm battered the store for what felt like hours. The candles hissed and a few burned down until they put themselves out. I could hear the girl’s rhythmic breathing as she slept. She cried out and mumbled in her sleep. Glancing over at her, I saw she was tangled in the blankets, thrashing against them in her nightmare. Limbs flailing, she screamed and I jumped into action. She had to shut up or they would hear her. Being eaten alive was not on my do-to list for the day.

  Catching her thin wrists, I shook her awake. Blue-grey eyes met mine, imagined fear was replaced by genuine panic.

  “Get off me! Who are you?” she screeched, loud enough to hurt my ears.

  “Shut the fuck up!” I shook her sharply. “I’m not going to hurt you unless you don’t stop that fucking screaming. I can help you, but not if you bring deaders down on our heads.”

  The shrill wails stopped abruptly. Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she panted. “Let me go, please.” Her voice was small and scared, showing the child she still was.

  “If I let you go, you can’t attack me with that knife you have under your pillow.” Her eyes flicked to the weapon in question, the blade dislodged from its hiding place in our struggle. “Seriously, I’m not going to hurt you. Just relax.” I loosened my grip on her wrists as I spoke. “I’m going back over there where I was. Just chill.”

  I kept my hands where she could see them and backed up slowly. Settling back on my makeshift bed, I gathered my knees up to my chest and rested my arms on them. “What’s your name?”

  “K-Kelle. I’m Kelle,” she stuttered, but appeared to be calming.

  “Hi, Kelle. I’m Molly Everett.”

  Chapter Three

  “How did you get in here?” Her voice had lost its trembling. The strength I knew she had to possess was beginning to show. You couldn’t survive in this world without it.

  “The bay door was open.” Seeing her panic, I hurried to reassure her. “It’s locked now.”

  I didn’t see either of us sleeping for a while so I helped myself to two cans of food from the shelf behind me. Blindly searching my pack, I found the can opener easily and was greeted by the syrupy sweetness of baked beans. “How long have you been here?” I mumbled around a mouthful of the beans. They were gross as fuck when cold, but high in protein and sugar.

  “I’m not sure… a while. What do you want?” Anger was overriding her fear. Good girl.

  “Some food and a place to wait out the storm. I’m beyond exhausted.” Scraping the bottom of one can, I switched to the second. Green beans, sweet. All I need is some fruit and I could pretend it was Thanksgiving.

  “What else?” She’d pulled the knife from under her pillow and was twirling it around. It was a wicked looking Bowie knife, gleaming steel and razor edged sharpness. I wonder if she knows how to use it?

  “Nothing,” I shrugged.

  “Nothing comes free or easy anymore. I may be young, but I’m not stupid. I haven’t met any survivors that didn’t want to either steal from me or rape me. Or worse.” Pointing the blade at me, she patiently waited for my answer. Gone was the girl scared of her nightmare, in her place was a survivor.

  “I don’t have the necessary equipment to rape you, even if I wanted to. Which I don’t. Like I said, kid, I need some food and a few days’ rest. Nothing else. You don’t even have to talk or look at me. I’ll go into my own aisle.”

  “I could charge you for the food. I was here first. Finders keepers and all that.”

  Savoring the flavor of the last of the green beans, I didn’t bother to answer her. Instead, I simply set the can to the shelf behind me, stowed my opener, and grabbed a couple bottles of water from the nearby case.

  “Answer me,” she growled like a dog defending its yard.

  “No.” I turned to the side, gathering my pack and dismissing her. “I already did. Go to sleep or whatever. I’m finding my own place to crash on the other side of the store. Keep your nightmares to yourself, kid. I’m not here to babysit.”

  Gathering my pile of blankets and gear to my chest, I went two aisles over. Picking the far end, I set up camp of sorts. As I did, thoughts of the first days after the infection and how it began to spread invaded my mind, back when the zombies first appeared. When the slow, trembling death of the world as we knew it began.

  No one was quite sure how it started, just that it came from Africa and spread across the globe in less than a week. In six days, the news reported infections on every continent. By day eight, Europe was dark and silent. The last news broadcasts from the BBC warned people to lock themselves inside their homes and prepare to defend it and their families. The infected were dying, but they weren’t staying dead. They rose and fed.

  Next came scattered reports from New York, Boston, LA, Houston— every major city in the United States. The National Guard was overwhelmed and the police were overrun. Run, they said. Run and hide. There was no stopping the hordes of infected.

  The few remaining radio stations broadcast lore from ancient times and pointed to evidence of the creatures’ existence in most cultures across the globe. They were called ‘draugrs’ in Norse mythology, ‘zombies’ from Haitian lore and Amer
ican pop culture, and the Greeks called them ‘revenants’. There was no mention of how to prevent infection, how to stop the plague from spreading, or how to kill them.

  Churches, mosques, and buildings dedicated to every religion filled to capacity with those ready to meet their maker. The End of Days had arrived in all its vicious glory. No majestically deadly horseman led the rampage, just scores of the infected. Mothers ate their children, husbands feasted on their wives, and so on, until the streets ran with blood and screams filled the air. The infected faithful died and rose, feeding on their own congregations. I watched the television screen in horror as the National Guard, trying to eradicate as many zombies as possible, razed churches. I kept watching as the stumbling, burning dead broke out of the barricades and fed even as they burned. Their screams played in my mind sometimes, over and over like a broken record of pain and terror. I couldn’t decide which was worse, burning alive or becoming a meal for one of those damn things.

  The last scientist I’d seen on CNN said that the infection rate was over ninety percent. If you were going to catch the disease, you would have by now. The few survivors left were naturally immune to the initial outbreak, but the virus quickly mutated, as viruses tend to do. Ensuring its survival, those who died from the original disease were able to transmit it through exchanges of fluid, like bites.

  I sat in my tiny studio apartment watching until the television turned to nothing but static. The buzzing noise barely covered the near constant gunfire and screams outside. My drapes were shut and the lights stayed off. I was frozen in place and consumed by absolute terror.

  Like most people, I only had about a week’s worth of food in my home. Even by cutting my food intake by half I couldn’t make it last. The power stayed on for a while, until finally, everything went dark.