Chapter 1

Stefan Roland stepped out of his van onto an unblemished sidewalk beneath a bright sunny afternoon blue sky. No weeds or trash littered the sidewalk. The adjoining lawn was a perfectly mowed swath of green between the McMansion and the sidewalk. And next to it was another perfect house with popup sprinklers spraying water over another perfect lawn. The whole neighborhood looked flawless, except for the police cars parked across the street with flashing lights just ahead.

The van’s side door slid open and his camera man, Craig Marshal, jumped out with his new camera already on his shoulder. Tall and muscular, Marshal had the build of a long distance runner. He wore a black t-shirt and jeans. Even his sneakers were black. Right behind him Noah Crane climbed out of the van carrying the sound gear. Crane was the most colorful of the three with his tie-dyed shirt, beads and a wild head of ginger curls. The three of them had already made history filming dead things with the Glenda Barker incident, now maybe they’d get a chance to repeat that earlier success.

Stefan smoothed his suit, brushed lint off the dark navy fabric and straightened his tie. He resisted the urge to touch his hair, knowing he’d mess it up more. As the on screen personality of the team appearance mattered. “Let’s do a quick setup. On three. Two. One.”

“I am Stefan Roland, reporting from the once peaceful neighborhood of Westfield Spring, now disrupted by reports of the dead coming back to life. We’re here to see if there are any truths to these rumors.” Stefan paused and then looked at Crane. “How do I sound?”

Crane said, “Good boss.”

Marshal shut the sliding door.

“Let’s go.” Stefan headed down the sidewalk toward the police barricade and the crowd already growing near the car.

As Stefan got closer to the scene he started picking it apart. The cops moved with quick professionalism. They had barricades up, crime scene tape across the road behind the two police cars. Their seriousness told him that this was something real. His pulse picked up. The call on his tip line didn’t say much. Only that there was a dead thing at loose in the neighborhood, but so many of those tips ended up being someone in make-up shambling down the street as a joke. Maybe this time was different.

The crowd also looked serious. The people wore mostly designer clothes. Parents held their kids close and the crowd spoke in hushed whispers. No one tried to challenge the police barricade. That told him something too. What was on the other side of the barricade that had everyone so scared?

Stefan led the way over to the right side of the police barricade. A young officer, her hair pulled tightly back into a sandy blond bun, sunglasses hiding her eyes, stepped in front of him. Marshal and Crane positioned themselves to film the encounter.

“Please stay back, sir.”

“Can you tell us what is happening?”

He saw her look at his team, then back to him. “There’s a domestic disturbance, we have the situation under control.”

“A domestic disturbance? I was told that there was a dead thing on the loose.”

Her lips tightened. He noticed the sweat beading on her brow. Finally, with a glance at the camera, she smiled slightly. “As I said, sir, we have the situation under control. Please stay back.”

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”

Stefan backed away from the barricade and headed over to the crowd. If this panned out he’d want to do some interviews, but not right now. He needed something more than interviews with bystanders and cops manning the barricades. He needed footage of the dead things. The guys followed him over past the crowd.

A tall, gawky sort of guy in a blue polo shirt stepped away from the crowd into his path. Out the corner of his eye Stefan saw the guys move to film and record the discussion. “You’re Stefan Roland, you made that movie about the dead things. Do you know what’s going on here?”

Stefan said, “That’s right, sir, what’s your name?”

“Conner Grant. My wife and I live just over here.” Grant pointed at a light blue McMansion just this side of the police barricades. “Are there dead things loose in the neighborhood?”

“We don’t know, Mr. Grant. What have you been told?”

“Nothing. We saw the cars and the crowd and came out to see what was going on, but people are talking about a zombie.”

“Just one?”

Mr. Grant turned and pointed to a sixtyish woman with her hair in short gray curls standing to one side of the crowd. “Mrs. Tremblay said that she heard there was a zombie a few houses down. At Mrs. Donahue’s house, but the police haven’t said anything.”

“Thanks,” Stefan said. “We’ll try to find out what is going on.”

He led the others away from Mr. Grant, up across the street, and onto the Grant’s lawn. From this angle they had a good view of the crowd. Stefan gestured at the crowd. “Grab some footage of the crowd, try to get some statements. I’m going to want to look at it later, see if there’s anyone we might want to interview.”

“Sure boss.”

Marshal and Crane moved off together until they were right up against the crime scene tape as Marshal filmed the crowd’s faces. Stefan edged backward toward the Grants’ front door. He moved slowly, not wanting to draw any attention to himself. There wasn’t much to see at the moment but most of the crowd was focused on each other and the police. A few noticed the guys filming and crowded around for the off-chance that they might get on TV. Casually Stefan turned and walked right up to the Grants’ door. He didn’t look back, just went to the door, opened it and went inside.

The Grants’ house looked like something out of a catalog of fine home furnishings completely with a darkly stained side table against the entry wall, a chandelier hanging above the foyer and a staircase that curved up to the second floor. He didn’t waste time but went straight on through, down the hallway and through a door at the end into the kitchen. The kitchen was big with lots of polished marble counter tops and gleaming wood cabinets. Modern appliances all caught the light. It really could be a catalog house. He didn’t see anything out of place, but he did see French doors that opened out onto a deck, and that’s what he wanted. Stefan hurried over and went on out onto the Grants’ deck.

From that vantage he could see into the neighbor’s backyards. Two houses down he saw the cause of all the disturbance. The house was more or less a mirror of the Grants’ house, except done in a pale yellow color. That house also had a deck, painted a deep green color, and beyond that a picture perfect if dull lawn graced only by a plain bird bath at the center. More interesting than that was the zombie that stood in the yard. It was an old woman in a pale blue bathrobe, pink bunny slippers on her feet and spatters of blood down the front. She wasn’t doing much at the moment, just shuffling slowly around the bird bath.

He needed Marshal to get it on film. Stefan hurried back inside, through the Grants’ house, to the front door. He eased it open just an inch and peeked out. Everyone was turning away, looking down the road at the approaching black sedan.

The Inquisition. He was out of time.