Dreaming True in the Apocalypse (Romance in the Kingdom of the Undead #1)

Chapter 1

The Horde

Allie

Allie heard the low groaning of the zombies before she could see them, a kind of visceral rumble that seemed to come from far away and nearby all at once.

If she didn’t know better, if it weren’t impossible, she might have mistaken the sound for the faint hum of a crowd of living people enjoying some kind of outdoor recreation from the pre-Z days.

Before. A picnic or concert, maybe. Somehow, the destruction of most of the living population on the earth had resulted in an apocalypse that contained far more noise than she would have expected.

She shivered. The fear had crept up on her, bringing with it a prickling sensation all over her body.

Her skin was tightening, squeezing her, even though her head felt oddly light.

She stopped and looked around the little valley.

Realizing how open the space really was despite being bordered by hills and trees, she lowered her rifle and closed her eyes against a sudden wave of something she couldn’t define.

Dizziness? Nausea?

Fuck.

She took in a slow breath then let it out. Maybe she’d just been underground for too long.

Or maybe I’m agoraphobic now on top of everything else.

The landscape in all directions contained nothing but leafy trees, underbrush, and weeds.

There were no signs of any human efforts to tame the flora or fauna or keep it at bay, no signs that any humans had ever been there, other than the crumbling, partially obscured road where she’d parked her pickup truck after a drive that had felt a lot like emerging from hibernation.

Allie had chosen a spot at the bottom of a steep hill to set up shop. Well, she’d seen it, thanks to her gift, but her goddess had chosen it and shown it to her in a dream the night before.

“He’ll be there. You’ll be waiting,” She’d told Allie.

Him. The man. Cameron Hale.

Allie had a name, a face, and a vague feeling that there was something Morrigan wasn’t telling her. Goddesses tended to keep their secrets, and Allie knew better than to ask questions. Morrigan hadn’t steered her wrong yet.

If She’d seen fit to send Allie out of the bunker for the first time in months to go on a mission to find this one specific person... well, that was that.

Another human. Another alive human. After all this time.

Nerves twisted in her stomach, but anticipation hummed in her brain. Excitement that bordered on hope. She only wished she didn’t feel so fucking exposed out here.

Allie sighed, gave herself a mental shake, and leaned back into the truck through the open door. It was time to get this party started and let Cameron Hale know another living person was in the area.

She slung her rifle over her shoulder and slammed one fist against the truck’s horn twice, causing a blaring double-blast that spooked birds and a small herd of deer from the trees.

The deer, unfortunately, wouldn’t provide any distraction for the Zs.

Zombies had no interest in eating anything but people.

Ears still ringing, Allie clambered into the truck bed then up onto the top of the cab, far more clumsily than she would have preferred.

It was hard to feel overly embarrassed when the only witnesses to her klutziness were fleeing animals, buzzing insects, and the zombies that began to stumble from the tree line.

She went down on one knee, pulling her rifle up to her shoulder and putting her eye to the scope.

She didn’t quite understand why zombies could hear so well, but nothing about them made sense to begin with.

Dead, rotting bodies shouldn’t be able to do the things they did, and walking around was the least of it.

They could hear, they could see through those hazy pale eyeballs, and they could smell things, like campfires.

Allie had seen evidence of that with her own eyes, and she’d also been witness to the inevitable results, what always happened when Zs found living humans.

She wondered if zombies could taste anything with those gray leathery-looking tongues that sometimes lolled from their open mouths. And why did they need to eat? If what they did was indeed “eating” in the traditional sense, not just... consuming. Infecting.

Stomach churning, Allie forced her attention back to the world around her, chiding herself for thinking too much about the why. That way lay madness. The only thing she needed to focus on was the here and now.

She scanned the perimeter, counting only about a dozen Zs, but she knew more would be coming. Because they were chasing the man she’d been sent here to find.

As the Zs drew closer, converging from both sides like metal shavings drawn toward a magnet, the hair on her neck and arms rose, and her stomach twisted into a cold knot of terror.

Steady, Allie.

Belatedly, she looked back down at the tall grass on either side of the road. Damn it. She should have swept for crawlers first, but even if some were lurking, they probably wouldn’t be able to climb up the sides of the truck. Probably.

No ankle-biters today, please, she silently prayed to Morrigan.

Allie returned her focus to the handful of zombies that were between her and her first chance in a year to reconnect with another person.

She willed her body to loosen and her hands to stay steady, then she lined up her first shot with care, hoping the only zombies close to her were the ones at the end of her scope.

She squeezed the trigger. Resighted. Squeezed the trigger. Resighted.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

She hadn’t had to use a gun for anything but practice for a while, but she hadn’t lost her skills. The way was now clear, and as yet, there was no movement in the grass to signal the presence of ankle-biters.

Even so, Allie set her teeth and reloaded. She’d only made it through the easy part, the slow-movers already haunting the area.

Within seconds, she heard what was coming, and she closed her eyes briefly against the chill in her bones and sent another quick prayer to Morrigan.

Inside of a minute, a person—Cameron, it has to be him—crested the hill to the south, running full-out. Through her scope, she could make out his panic-widened eyes and grim expression.

Only a few heartbeats behind him, seven zombies fanned out almost as if in formation.

They weren’t, of course, at least not on purpose.

Zombies were stupid, even the newly turned ones that made up for their lack of intelligence with ferocity and speed.

Goddess, they were fast. Having no pain receptors would do that, Allie supposed, since they didn’t seem to react to injuries in any way.

If she blasted an arm off a Z, it kept coming.

If she broke its leg, it kept crawling. Only a skull-penetrating blow or shot to the head would truly stop it.

Despite that, Cameron seemed to be holding his lead, scant as it was. But that lead wouldn’t last forever.

Allie aimed carefully. Moving targets were harder, and the Zs were really hustling. Her first shot went wide.

Damn it, Allie.

She’d been worried about hitting the man and had aimed too far to the left. The chaos of the moment, the adrenaline and terror, threatened to overwhelm her. If she was off even by a little, this wouldn’t be a rescue mission but an execution.

No. Trust yourself. Trust the practice. Trust in Morrigan.

“Right,” she muttered. She let out a breath and sighted again. Relaxed her shoulders. Readjusted her shot. Pulled the trigger.

The zombie right behind Cameron, reaching for him, went down. The next one did too. Allie blew out a breath and mentally thanked her goddess for a windless day.

Cameron and his pursuers were getting closer, near enough that she could hear the growls and whines from the running zombies—fuck, those animal noises felt worse than the unnatural moans of the decaying ones—but also near enough that Cameron seemed to understand that she was there to help.

His path had stabilized into a beeline to the truck.

And he’d maintained, if not improved, his pace. He’d seemed to get a second wind with the first crack of the rifle, and that repeated as she took down two more. Each shot induced an almost superhuman burst of speed.

Allie got it. Sometimes, all a person needed was a little bit of hope to get more out of the gas tank. Maybe if she kept shooting, he’d end up running faster than her truck.

How fast would you be on your fiftieth wind, Cameron? She stifled a wild urge to laugh. She always laughed when she was nervous. Or scared. What a truly stupid habit.

Speaking of stupid, she really hoped Cameron didn’t do anything to try to help her, like duck or zigzag. Just keep running to me. Let me get them, and don’t let me get you.

She aimed, let out a breath, and squeezed the trigger.

Another zombie went down as its head exploded.

Only two more left, and Cameron was closing ground quickly on his way toward her.

She held off for a second, thinking he would make it to the truck before them, and she didn’t want to risk hitting him any more than she had to.

He stumbled, and her heart stopped. No, no, no. She squeezed off a round before she could tell herself not to and lucked out by winging the zombie to Cameron’s left, catching it in the thigh and sending it spinning to the ground.

Before she could dwell on that fucking miracle, Cameron shouted, “One more!”

No shit. She sighted, heart pounding. She blew out some breath, paused, and pulled the trigger. The kick of the rifle expelled the rest of the air from her lungs. Last one down.

Allie raised the rifle, wincing a little, and got to her feet, swaying with the unaccustomed feeling of height, of being tall in all that open air.

A fierce joy rushed through her. If she’d been on the ground, she might have done a little dance of victory in relief that Cameron Hale was still alive.

Instead, she carefully slid down to the hood of the truck and then to the ground. Clumsy again, sure, but who gave a shit? She’d done her job and fulfilled her mission.

That mission was still running full tilt only a few feet away from the truck.

The immediate threat was gone—or incapacitated, since she was pretty sure she’d made an ankle-biter out of the one she’d gotten in the leg—but gunshots were loud.

It was only a matter of time before more zombies came questing for the source of the noise, and the fast ones—the really scary ones, yes, those fuckers—would get there first.

That thought frayed her already worn nerves even more, and she jumped into the truck. Slipping the rifle into its case behind the seat, she slid over to throw open the opposite door.

She started the engine and had the truck in gear when Cameron Hale launched himself into the passenger seat, steaming with sweat and fear and suddenly filling the cab of the truck with such life that Allie could only stare at him, slack-jawed, for a moment.

His breathing sawed in and out, wet and harsh, but he managed to get out one word. “Horde.”

She stomped on the gas as he slammed the door, and they peeled away from that overgrown valley of impending death.

Cameron panted and cursed under labored gasps.

She tried to keep her eyes on the road, but they kept shifting to the rearview mirror.

Finally, she turned to look out her open window and scan the horizon.

The shapes were packed so tightly together that she almost couldn’t tell that the horizon was moving. Even though it was impossible—totally fucking impossible—she could hear the groans and growls of the horde.

Trembling, she rolled up the window and focused on the steering wheel in her clenched fists. She began to hum a jingle from some long-ago potato chip commercial, which had become her comfort song. She needed to listen to anything but those unearthly noises.

Let’s get snacking. Let’s grab a bag. Now we’re crunching on Let’s Chips. Grab a ba-ag of Let’s.

When her breathing evened a bit and her fingers relaxed, she looked over at Cameron. He wasn’t looking at her. But he was not looking at her in a way that made it clear he had been looking at her.

Then he turned his head. His face was flushed.

His eyes were a shade between blue and gray, flared wide and a little wild.

His jaw was covered with patchy scruff, and short dark hair was matted to his head with sweat.

He still breathed hard, chest heaving, and looked a little cramped in the space.

He was dressed in a nondescript pair of jeans, a T-shirt, and a pair of beat-up Nikes.

His hands were filthy, one clutching the oh-shit handle above the window and the other clamped onto the seat beside him.

He was quite possibly the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen in her life.

She gave him a weak smile. “Hi.”