The Zombie Effect

By Theresa Jacobs

The Zombie Effect ***Warning course language and violence*****
The game they never should have played. Caleb adores his friends even though he spends most of his time as a mediator to their bickering. The one thing they all have in common is their love of zombies. The choice to begin a zombie boy's club is unanimous.However, his friends take a simple game of scaring people too far. When the fun changes to hurting innocent people, Caleb wants it to stop. But they won't listen, and the games grow darker still.Caleb is afraid to tell anyone, and afraid to continue down the same path. Will he be able to get out of the club and stop his friends before they go too far?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Theresa Jacobs
• Release date: Nov 28, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463169599

Theresa Jacobs

Theresa Jacobs believes in magic, fairies, dragons, and ghosts. Yet she trusts science and thinks that aliens know way too much. When she is not at work she spends her time, reading, writing, exercising her dog, and binge-watching TV shows, with her longtime partner and fiancé.She is also a big movie buff and a sci-fi nerd at heart.

Book preview

The Zombie Effect

© Theresa Jacobs 2018

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

without the express written permission of the publisher

except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Special thanks to the horror fans from Horror Everything on Facebook,

for helping me with creative club names.

Dan Everson, Jesse Ashford, Josh Davis, Jim Jimmy Sheeran, Juan Ruelas,

Jr Chris Indianisation  Grubb, Paula Mcintyre, Whyte Dee Jay, Justin Hensley, Javier Garza, Jarred Cunningham, Kari Estes, Laura Elizabeth Glynn, Sean Hamilton, John Marasigan,

Tomi Lynn, Cody Rivers, Warcelo Wendes, Phil Price -author, Chole Leahy, Jeff Mcneill,

Jason Wayde Linton, Travis Catron.

The club’s chosen name was provided by Author Laura Elizabeth Glynn

https://www.facebook.com/groups/1834975010069876/

Cover photo Credit: 3 boys in tunnel Photo by Krisztian Matyas on Unsplash

Art effects app: Photolab

Lettering from: https://diybookcovers.com/help/

Editing by Gari Strawn.

Any errors are my own.

This book is dedicated to my best beta readers (and amazing writers in their own right) Lacey Lane and David Kummer.

And to all of you; the readers who take a chance and return anyway.

Bibliography

Novels:

Cataclysm

Kept

The Used

Novellas:

Sudden Death

The Cimmerians

Wife ‘n’ Death

The Zombie Effect

Anthologies:

Shrouded Voices

Things only the darkness knows

My other friends & more stories

100 Word Horrors 1, 2 & 3

A world unimagined

Earth Elements

Kids Books:

The lonely leaf

Puddle jumping

Jeremy and the dream factory

Poetry:

Spewed thoughts

Table of Contents

Boys

Club

News

Playtime

Caleb

Mason

Ethan

School

The Bum

Changes

Decisions

The Police

Unmasked

The End

The Future

Boys

Hiding between two parked SUVs, Caleb scanned the field ahead. A small group of kids milled near the back doors of the school, and no teachers were in sight. He took the moment. Shooting diagonally across the field, he faked left before aiming right, darting under the bleachers, only to skid to a halt seconds later.

God damn, what took you so long? Mason lifted a fist in threat.

Ethan muttered something that neither of the other boys heard, which was for the best or he’d be facing the wrath of Mason.

Caleb slowed his breathing and bent with his hands on his knees. Mrs. Delweger wouldn’t let us out at the bell ‘cause Harold and…

Mason scowled. Alright, jeezus, we don’t have time for a blow-by-blow. Bringing out his iPhone, he woke it up and hit play on the already preset YouTube channel.

One minute into the program and Mason complained, This show has gotten boring as shit.

Kay, fast forward to the zombie killing, Ethan suggested.

Ya, on it, butt-wad, Mason growled.

Caleb plopped down onto the hard-packed dirt, back against a support beam. I agree guys. The Walking Dead has been a snooze fest these past few seasons. Let’s find something better to watch.

Oh, ya look at that in slo-mo! Mason turned the screen to show a zombie’s putrefied black brain come bursting out of its eye along with the stick forced through its skull. They never really watched the TV program all the way through, only scanning for the gory zombie kills—the gorier, the better. 

How about we screw the shows and movies? They’re all fake anyway. Let’s hunt and kill our own zombies, Ethan said, dropping beside Caleb and crossing his legs.

Mason kicked Ethan hard in the thigh, eliciting a yelp from the boy and an ineffectual swat back. Too cool to sit, Mason leaned against the cross support, hooking one foot behind his ankle. What are you? Two! Zombies aren’t real, ya tool.

I know that. I’m not two, or a tool! I was only suggesting we create a game or something. Ethan shrugged, trying to hide the hurt by seeking out a stick to poke the ground with.

Caleb hated it when Mason got mean, which was happening more as they sprinted into puberty. He could only hope it would pass. The three of them met five years ago in first grade, and he’d be torn if their relationship busted now. He was not as tough as Mason, not as weak as Ethan, and so became the self-appointed mediator of the trio. Nudging Ethan, he said, That’s a good idea. We can start a zombie survival club. You know, we can gather supplies, and come up with a strategy if the apocalypse ever comes true. Whaddya think, Mace?

I think we need a cool club name, Mason replied as a way of agreeing without having to admit defeat. 

Ethan perked up again. Boys versus zombies.

Lame-o! I don’t know about you, but I ain’t no boy. Zombie hunters, maybe.

I think that’s been used in a movie? Caleb said. The Saviours.

They flew through ideas, each shouting them out no matter how outrageous, hoping the one they said would stick.

Zombie killers.

The Hero Club.

The Rotter Bashers.

Zombifried.

Z-wackers.

Mason kicked Ethan’s foot. "That’s from Z Nation, be smarter."

Caleb ignored the banter, but the current situation brought the name forth. Peace Keepers.

Z-Seekers.

 The Brain Pounders, Ethan tried again.

Mason’s eyes narrowed, he dropped down into a squat and said in a whisper, Nah I’ve got it. We’ll be The Flesh-Eaters Club.

Well, that makes no sense. Ethan looked to Caleb for backup. Does it?

Shut it, Ethan. Mason’s eyes flashed dark in the boy’s direction. He resumed with a grin, We’re not going to hunt zombies. He paused, rubbing his hands together, a shit-eating grin on his face. We are the zombies.

What the… Caleb didn’t have time to finish the thought when the after-lunch bell rang. 

Later, losers! Mason called, racing off towards the school.

Ethan dusted himself off. That was weird. Even for Mason. Don’t you think?

Together, the two boys ambled back to their respective classes.

Hey, I have to go home and help my stupid sister with supper tonight, so I can’t hang after school. I’ll text ya later, kay?

Ethan turned for the opposite hall and his own class. Whatevs, later.

♣

Caleb didn’t see Mason for the remainder of the afternoon, and he couldn’t get what was said off his mind. He walked the three short blocks home from school hearing the phrase We are the zombies in various auto-tune tracks. Letting himself into the house using the code on the security handle, the door beeped him in and auto-locked behind him. His sister's voice greeted from the living room. That you, butt-face? 

Don’t call me butt-face, stupid. 

Her disembodied voice continued, I set out the veggies, get‘em peeled. Let me know when it’s done. And chop to it! She laughed, snorting. Get it, chop to it? 

Caleb mumbled, Yeah, yeah.

 Dumping his coat and shoes at the hall tree, he shuffled into the kitchen. Just as Jen told him, potatoes, carrots, onions, and garlic were unceremoniously piled on the counter, still in their wrappings. He hated it when his mom worked nights and they had to make supper. Why can’t we order in like normal people? he whined, grasping a sharp knife, slamming the drawer. Screams echoed from the too-loud television, on a show his sister most likely wasn’t allowed to watch, taunting him.   

Half an hour later, all fingers intact, his dignity not quite with onion tears staining his cheeks, Caleb shouted, "Done!"

Though thirteen and a mere seventy-five pounds, Jennifer stomped like a herd of elephants into the kitchen. Inspecting his sloppy peeling and cutting job she sneered, Well, I ain't making it pretty. Here. Bringing out the roasting pan, she tore open the bag containing a pre-thawed whole chicken, and proceeded to show her little brother how to dump it all into the pan. There now we put it in the oven till five-thirty and voilà, dinner is served. 

Seriously? I did all the work, and you get to stick it in the oven? That’s it?

Jennifer rubbed the top of his head with her unwashed, raw chicken fingers. Uh, ya, who’s stupid now?

Caleb pushed her away. Bitch, he called out, and ran as