Page 1

Chapter 1

        I hate Tuesdays; they're always the worst.  Tuesday was the day my wife left me.  Tuesday was the day I got my ass kicked her new bou.  Tuesday was the day the world almost came to an end forty years ago.  Tuesdays were by far the worst day of the week.  On Fridays most people leave work and hurry home for a cold beer and a weekend with the family.  But there's always that one smartass who gets his drinks to go and heads out for the "dead zones", the old cities still abandoned where the dead congregate.  Whether to prove themselves to some one or just to have an adventure some moron will head into the heart of danger and go fishing for ghouls.  Inevitably said moron will be bitten, die, and be resurrected as a mindless kill machine.  It generally takes them until Tuesday to wander back home and wind up as a coroner's report on my desk.

      This Tuesday was no different.  I was the first one into the office, about seven in the morning and I had to say I wasn't thrilled.  On my desk were piles of coroner's reports and receipts I had to fill out and return before the city could pay me and my people for our services, not to mention the myriad clutter that accumulates on any desk when it is rarely used.  There was yet another letter from the offices of Carver and Caldwell, the deader's rights attorneys.  I tossed it in the trash where every other letter from the pair had gone.  I looked for my coffee cup, found it buried beneath some files from the last week and I gave it a hard eye.  Something green was floating on the top and I decided it was best to let it lie for now.  I sat down, picked up a pen and was just about to start in on the papers burying me when the phone rang.

      "Charles Stone Undertaking," I answered, my voice still gruff and hoarse as it always is before my first cup of coffee.  "What can I do for you this morning?"

      There was silence on the other line, either from panic, shock or the virus taking hold in yet another unsuspecting person.  I waited, knowing that if they were still alive they would answer soon.

      "Y-yes," a little girl's voice very shakily responded from the other end.  "I need help."  I could hear a low, guttural moaning in the background now, something clawing at the door.

      "What's going on?" I asked, scrambling to find a piece of paper to take her address with.

      "It's mama," she said, sniffling a bit as she talked.  "I have the flu and mama stayed home to watch me.  Uncle Fred came by and then mama fell asleep on the couch and when she got up she tried to bite me."

      I swallowed hard.  How old was this kid?  Obviously old enough to know a ghoul when she saw one.  And smart enough to call an undertaker.  "Have you been bitten, sweet heart?" I asked next, unsure if I wanted to know the answer.

      She was quiet again, leaving me to listen as mommy dearest began banging on the door.  "N-no," she finally answered.  "I don't think so.  Please hurry."

      She was frantic.  What child wouldn't be when they're trapped in a house with a ravenous corpse?  "Where do you live?" I asked next, hoping she knew her address.

      "I don't know," she said as she began to sob.  "I can't read the street sign because of the glare from the building next door.  Mama said if this ever happened to call the number on the side of the building.  Please hurry!"

      I jumped out of my seat, dragging the phone and half a dozen papers with me as I ran to the window.  I was on the corner of Vine Street and Thompson Lane.  Thompson Lane was all business but Vine was an old subdivision.  My window looked out on the intersection of the two roads.  All our windows faced the sun as it rose in the mornings, making it difficult to see anything but the phone number written on the outside wall.  I could see an old white house directly across the street, not to mention a little girl standing by the window looking back at me.

      "Go hide in your closet," I told her as I waved out the window.  "I'll be there in a few minutes to get you."

      The line went dead and I didn't bother to put the phone back on its cradle.  I ran to the large vault door in the back of the office, the one that had been an embalming room back in the day and put in the combination.  The lock popped and I opened the door to the armory and quickly found what I needed.  An AR-fifteen police special, two magazines and an extra clip for my Berretta nine-mil.  I shut the vault door and raced out of the office.  I crossed Vine and Thompson like a man insane; it's amazing how quickly people manage to slow down when they see a man with an assault rifle running past them.  I ran up the steps and onto the porch.  I tried the door knob with no luck.  Like everyone else in this city they thought they could keep the bad things out if they just turn the key and forget about it.  I stepped back and raised the rifle up in the air.  I struck the old knob as hard as I could with the butt of the gun and watched it break away.  I leaned back and threw my foot into the side where the knob had been.  The frame splintered and the door swung in.

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