Page 1 of Newly Undead in Dark River

Chapter One

Iwoke to a rat scuttling across my chest, its tiny nose twitching as it paused to stare at me before scurrying off. Damn, I was hungry.

The fact that my initial reaction to a rat was hunger and not disgust was the first sign that something was very, very wrong. The second clue was that I was lying in a drain pipe in the middle of the night. Although it was hard to concentrate on anything but the hunger clawing at my stomach, I could hear the nocturnal animals shuffling around in the silence, smell the stale water that now soaked my clothes.

I tried to sit up and banged my head on the slimy concrete. Groaning, I rolled over and crawled my way out into the open. My body felt like I'd climbed Everest. Twice. I couldn’t see my backpack anywhere. Panic began to fill my chest. Everything was in that pack. But it was pitch black, the moon not even visible behind the clouds. I became acutely aware that I was standing in the middle of the wilderness, at night, alone. I was a serial killer’s wet dream right now.

I stared down the road, looking for the oncoming lights of a car or truck or something. Maybe I could hitch a ride into the nearest town. It was probably hitchhiking that put me in this predicament to start with. My mom was going to be pissed that I’d been so irresponsible.

I felt dazed like I'd been tranquilized, but I patted down my clothing with sluggish movements. Nothing was torn, and all my clothes were still on. I didn't feel violated in any way. My brain was cloudy, and I tried to sift through the fog to remember why I was lying in a ditch, outside of…

I looked up at the road sign.Welcome to Dark River.Where the hell was Dark River?

Hunger tore at my belly again, a burning ache so painful I moaned into the darkness like a wounded animal. First, I needed to eat something. Maybe then I'd be able to work out what the hell was going on.

I stumbled down the side of the road, and I could see the muted glow of the town lights once I was over the small rise.

Electricity surged up through my chest, and the edges of my vision dimmed. The last thing I felt when my body buckled was the rough gravel scraping my cheek.

I snappedback to consciousness all at once, like when you dream you’re falling. My head felt too full, and panic was beginning to mingle with the overwhelming hunger.

I was now in town, beneath the striped awning of Bert and Beatrice's Old Fashioned Diner. How the fuck did I get here? Everything was completely blank as if someone had plucked the memory from my brain like a bad apple. A clock tower sat in the middle of town, proclaiming it to be almost midnight.

I pushed through the glass door, and a little bell tinkled above my head. The place was filled to the brim, which was unusual seeing how it was basically the middle of the night.

Every set of eyes turned to look at me, and the old guy behind the counter dropped the soda glass he was drying, the smashing sound shooting pain into my skull. I must have really looked like hell. An elderly woman bustled out of the swinging doors, which probably led to the kitchen.

“What's goin' on out...” she trailed off when she saw me standing in the doorway. She nudged the old man out of the way.

“Lass, are you feelin' alright? Bertie, get the girl a drink. The house special,” she said slowly, her accent a thick Scottish brogue. “Tilda, call the Sheriff, please. Get him down here, quick smart.” She was rounding the counter now. “Here, Lass, take a seat.”

I took the stool she indicated obediently. She had a no-nonsense, matronly tone that soothed my panicked nerves.

“I lost my money and my passport.” My voice sounded so weak that I hardly recognized it as my own.

The elderly lady just patted my shoulder.

“Not to worry, Sweet. It's on the house.”

I could hear the sound of Tilda murmuring quietly into the phone down the other end of the diner.

“Yes Sheriff, just stumbled in the door. Looking like death, if you know what I mean.”

The old man, Bertie I guess, slid a cardboard milkshake cup in front of me, complete with red and white straw. It smelled so good that I fell on it like a half-starved animal. When I'd sucked down the last drop, I looked up, embarrassed.

“Sorry. I was really hungry.” Bertie just took away my empty cup and put a fresh one in front of me.

“Don't worry about it, Darlin’. Have another one.” I was struggling to concentrate on her words. I found it hard to concentrate on anything but the milkshake in front of me.

The bell over the door tinkled, and everyone’s eyes shifted in that direction again, even mine. A tall man in a chocolate brown uniform walked into the place, and everyone started talking at once. The cacophony after the complete absence of noise was hell on my eardrums. I pushed my palms over my ears to try and muffle some of the sounds.

“Quiet!” The guy was obviously the Sheriff, judging by the way that everyone’s flapping jaws snapped shut with almost perfect synchronization. Silence again. The man strode over, his every movement elegant, to where I was sitting and gaping in his direction.

The man was hot. Like, spontaneous combustion, three-alarm, call in the National Guard, hot. He had sandy brown hair and deep green eyes. The uniform hugged his muscular body. He was so attractive it made my teeth hurt. Literally.

“Ma'am, my name is Sheriff Walker Walton, do you need some help?” His deep voice was gentle, almost as if he didn't want to startle me.

“I don't know how I got here,” I whispered. It was all a blank.

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