Zombies! Eighty-three-year-old Henrietta never thought there’d come a day…
Straight out of one of those apocalyptic horror movies her nephew made her watch with him a few times. Running wild in the streets. Attacking and eating her neighbors. Making some of them turn and tear into those still alive.
But all that aside, these zombies don’t really act like any of the ones she saw in the movies.
Well — no matter what — they won’t get her, no sirree. Not when she has a sturdy home to barricade herself inside. And, not when she still has family out there that hasn’t forgotten her.
But, between her frail health and the dead scrabbling to get in, Henrietta secretly despairs…Will she stay breathing long enough to see them again?
Targeted Age Group:: Mature
What Inspired You to Write Your Book?
Lord Love A Zombie: Dead Inside: Welcome is part of the Lord Love A Zombie 'verse. This 'verse centers around self-aware, sentient zombies…which I truly adore. I can't count how many times I've watched The Walking Dead and wished one of the dead people would intervene on behalf of one of the living. Well, this 'verse is my take on the zombies that choose to do so.
How Did You Come up With Your Characters?
Honestly, I made all of my characters up as I wrote. They aren't anyone I know in real life, because no one I know in real life (including myself) would survive a zombie apocalypse. This fact always makes me chuckle because personally, I want to be turned immediately. No sense in putting off the inevitable.
Henrietta inches them back excruciatingly slow. Those scary-looking things were still running around like crazy, jumping on people and biting them. Slamming her other hand over her mouth, the eighty three year old knew without a doubt the muscles in her forearm were going to complain viciously for that later. She'd deal with it then. Right now, Mr. Gail, her next door neighbor, was in his backyard struggling to his feet.
How he is doing that was beyond her.
Chest torn open, innards glistening and swinging lazily about, it's like he's an obscene flasher. She slides the curtain back into place. In an ideal world, she'd call the police…except, as it stands, there's no police to call. At dawn, Henrietta had seen the only police car to come down her street stop three houses away and both front doors fly open. The officer on the driver's side took off in a panicked run, shooting wildly behind him as his partner gave chase. Outpaced, the pursuing officer staggered back to the car, pawed opened the back door and began clawing at his passenger.
Though she could hardly believe it, Henrietta was under no illusion of what she was seeing. She'd seen enough horror movies in her long life. Her next door neighbor — just all the rest of the wild folks skulking around out there — were real life zombies.
Reaching out to steady her flustered self, her hand bangs up against something metal. Scrap!
Oh My God! The chair! Henrietta bumps into it as she unconsciously backs away from the window. Her heart bangs in her chest; surely her neighbor had heard the noise and was on his way over to chomp on her as their postman had on him. And if he were to try real hard, she was sure he could find a way in.
Hers was a tiny, old house that she'd inherited from her parents and it didn't have many places to hide. But afraid or not, she'd fight until her last breath. People her age didn't live this long by being complete cowards.
She waits a few minutes, listening to a warbling cry in the distance and doing her best not to put a name to who or what sent it out. For what seems like the millionth time that morning, she wishes her hearing wasn't so good for a "woman her age". Not wearing a hearing aid used to bring her so much pleasure in the past.
Blinking rapidly, she gave the back of her right hand a weak pinch. Focus, Henny!
Now her strong hearing was like a curse. I said FOCUS, girl! Straightening as best she could, Henrietta moves back to peer at her neighbor again. He was gone, leaving what was left of his right arm on the broken concrete in front of his garage.
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