The new alpha is one-hundred yards away and closing. It continues to keen and click.
A hand closes around my right biceps. It’s Ben. The look in his eyes is urgent.
I shake my head, determined to get rid of as many of these zombies as I can. The last thing I want to do is leave them for the new alpha to scoop up. I drag him forward with me, watching another two zombies plummet over the side. Another three zombies stagger off in the direction of the new alpha. The new horde is closing in, no more than seventy-five yards away.
There are only six zombies remaining. I give Ben a look. He nods.
We charge forward just as the tape recorder once again goes silent, the track running out for a second time. Dammit. I slam one foot into a zombie, sending it stumbling backward over the cliff.
I swing upward, my zom bat taking a second zombie in the nose. Its face crumples beneath the impact.
Beside me, Ben straightens, yanking his knife free from the zombie at his feet. The last three from my pack have staggered off in the direction of the new alpha.
We turn and run in the direction of our companions. They stand in a tight cluster a hundred yards up the coastline, waving frantically at us.
Rain pelts down. It’s not the persistent drizzle that followed us for almost the entire length of the Lost Coast trail. This is a pounding, relentless torrent that soaks through our clothes in seconds and turns the ground to mud. I hunch over as I run, trying to shield the tape recorder with my body.
“You are so god-damn fucking crazy,” Ben huffs. “You’re going to make me lose my mind. I’d say you’d better not ever do anything like that again, but you wouldn’t listen.”
He’s right. I’d risk myself all over again to save him and the others. Instead of replying, I grab his free hand and hang onto it as we run.
8
Sand
KATE
I fumble the Ziploc with cold fingers, sliding the tape recorder back inside. What I wouldn’t give for a dry bag and a towel. The black shiny plastic is damp, and I have no way to dry it. I can only hope the little droplets won’t damage it.
A look over my shoulder shows the alpha zom closing in on the zombies we killed near the bridge.
“We have to move.”
No one argues, though I know they’re all feeling the pain of having run over thirty miles in such a short time frame. We’re exhausted and aching.
We run anyway.
I lead them through the storm, putting distance between us and the horde. We run through the blond coastal grasses that bow under the force of the wind. To our right is the Pacific Ocean. To our left, past the open grass and the line of gnarled cypress trees, is a row of homes lining the frontage road. Zombies wander the open area between the two. We give them a wide berth.
A half mile ahead of us looms a parking lot. A banner hangs limp in the rain, one side having been ripped from the pole that held it up. It ripples in the storm, sporting the image of a whale printed in black ink.
I’d forgotten about the whale festival. I slow, scanning the parking lot through the gray mist. The others cluster around me, studying the obstacle course in front of us.
“Of course, there are zombies,” Ash mutters. “We can’t catch a break.”
Yep. Throughout the hard-packed dirt parking lot are zombies. Lots of them. They wander aimlessly in the rain. If the lot had been any closer to Pudding Creek, no doubt they would have been drawn there by the frenzy.
I see what I suspect is an alpha. A tall zombie woman stands off to one side. It makes no sound, but at least a dozen other zoms make small circles around her.
I make a decision. We’re too tired to fight and too tired to manage a prolonged sprint. And my alpha recording will just attract the attention of the alpha.
“We’re going around.”
Ash lets her shoulders sag, some of the tension and worry sliding away. “Thank God. I wasn’t up for another fight.” Everyone else exhales in relief.
Except for Ben. He is the only one who doesn’t one hundred percent approve of my plan. I can tell by the wrinkle on his brow as he takes in the scene.
“Going around will put us closer to those houses.” He jerks a thumb at the row of little cottages that dot the east side of the frontage road. “I’m not sure that’s a better option. Lots of zoms wandering around.”
“We’re not going around on the east side. We’re going down there.” I point out toward the ocean.
Soft moans pepper the air, and they’re not from zombies. I ignore them. There are no good choices in front of us. All I can do is pick the least dangerous of them.
If possible, my people look even more defeated. It’s possible none of them will ever think of the beach in a positive light ever again.
“I don’t suppose you’d agree to trying our luck in one of those pretty houses?” Ash asks.
I shake my head. “That alpha and the pack from the river are too close. I don’t want to get boxed between them and those zoms ahead in the parking lot. I promise we’ll stop for food and clothing before we leave Braggs, just as soon as we get past these hordes.”
I turn, heading toward the tall cliff that overlooks the ocean. Reaching the edge, I pause to look down.
There is no official trail leading down to the water, but the locals have carved their own path. My eyes pick out a haphazard trail in the side of the cliff. It’s partially overgrown with coastal succulents. Other parts are covered with slides of earth from heavy rains. Despite that, it’s still discernible.
“You want us to go down that?” Eric stares at me. “There’s no trail.”
“There’s a trail,” I assure him. “We’re going to follow the coastline and bypass the town and the festival. Come on.”
At that exact moment, the rain decides to double its efforts. Gritting my teeth, I step onto the trail.
I lead them through the slippery ice plant, a succulent that grows all over the Californian coastline. In the summer, large pink and yellow blooms adorn the plants. Today, the rain makes their rubbery leaves slippery.
The ground is saturated. Water pools on the flatter areas of the man-made trail. I don’t even try to circumvent them; what would be the point, when my feet are already soaked? I step right through them, pushing ever closer to the beach below.
The wind whips across our bodies, carrying the rain with it. The ocean drums against the shore, an incessant pounding.
I slip on the ice plant, landing hard on my hip. Caleb grabs my elbow and helps me up. His face is set into a determined mask. I give him a nod of thanks before pushing onward.
As we near the bottom of the cliff, the trail disappears into a tangle of boulders heaped along the shoreline. We’re forced to scramble over them. Eric slips and skins his knee, but never complains.
At last, finally, we reach the beach. The sand is a mottled blend of light brown and tawny grains interspersed with dark boulders.
Ahead, through the shifting mist are wandering zombies. I can’t get a count at this distance, but there can’t be more than a dozen. And they’re spread out. As long as we stay quiet, we can pick them off.
I draw my knife and club. “Weapons out. Teams of two.”
Caleb and Ash fall in together, as do Reed and Eric. Ben joins me at the front of the line. We snake forward with our weapons ready.
Even before the apocalypse, I never liked running in sand. We’ve had our fair share of it on this trip. Hell, I still have sand in my shoes and clothes from the Lost Coast.
I move at a hard walk, not wanting to burn through precious energy trying to run on a surface that isn’t conducive to running. The first zombie comes into view. It’s a lone man in a faded T-shirt with Teva sandals. I signal to Ash and Caleb. They peel away to dispatch it.
Another fifty yards in front of us is a cluster of three zoms and a decomposing body. They look like they’d been in the middle of a picnic when all hell broke loose. Their blanket is nothing more than a dirty mound on the ground. The pi
cnic basket is on its side, contents strewn across the beach. It’s only because they’re close to the cliff face that the ocean hasn’t managed to pull all the contents out to sea.
I gesture to Ben. This group is ours.
As we approach, we find the remains of two couples. The women had once been nicely outfitted in cute maxi dresses. They’re now ripped and stained with blood. Near the picnic basket is a decomposing body of a man in khaki shorts. His head and torso are gone, only his legs remaining. The final man, this one undead, wears loafers and his own pair of khaki shorts. He wanders in small circles with the two women. They stay near the half-eaten body of the person who had once been their friend.
Between the pounding of the rain and the constant hum of the surf, the three never hear us coming. I take out the first of the women with a kill strike to the temple. Ben takes down the second woman before pivoting to kill the man.
We continue this way down the long stretch of coast, breaking apart and killing the zombies we come across. It feels like we hike for hours through the rain and sand. In truth, my watch shows no more than an hour has passed.
A chill wracks my body. I realize how cold I am. My hands, feet, lips, and nose are frozen. Hypothermia. We’re all at risk. Again. Ash almost died from it yesterday. The rain shows no sign of letting up. I need to get everyone into a shelter.
We near a curve in the coastline that juts out to sea. I study the line of water, noting the beach ends in less than a quarter mile.
“We’ve traveled as far as we can,” I call. “It’s time to climb back up.” I can only hope we’ve covered enough ground to have bypassed the zombie whale watchers.
Dull, tired eyes look at me. My heart squeezes. I have to get them out of the rain. Soon.
I study the cliff, looking for a way out. Through the mist and rain, a set of wooden stairs materializes. I blink and wipe water out of my eyes, wondering if I’m hallucinating. But no, the set of stairs remains.
I hesitate, fear of what might lie at the top of the stairs making me search for another way up. Then I take in the shivering forms of my people. Everyone, including myself, is cold to the bone. We need the fastest way out of here.
“Stay alert,” I tell them. “Keep your weapons out. We’re taking the stairs.”
With any luck, we won’t find a seething mass of zombies at the top.
9
Shelter
ERIC
Thunder rolls through the clouds, vibrating the air around me. Lightning splits the sky. Rain hammers the top of my head.
I’m cold. Not normal cold, where you just need to throw on a jacket or a thicker pair of socks. This is bone cold, a chill that has seeped through my skin and lodged in my body like a parasite. This is what Ash must have felt like when she got hypothermia.
When Kate leads us up the wooden steps embedded into the face of the cliff, I don’t argue. There might be zombies at the top, but all I can think about is getting warm.
I try to focus on my surroundings, but I keep hearing my brother’s voice. Tom.
Why are you wasting time with those toasters?
Two years older than me, Tom was every parent’s dream child. Varsity athlete. Salutatorian of his graduating class. He was accepted into the competitive engineering department of Cal Poly right out of high school.
He was everything I wasn’t. Hard working. Goal orientated. Good looking.
Despite our differences, we got along. Having Tom as an older brother kept things easy for me. Mom and Dad were always so swept up in his accomplishments they never paid much attention to my lackluster grades. If I wanted to spend the afternoon taking apart toasters from the Salvation Army to see how they worked, they’d been too busy heading off to one of Tom’s baseball games to care.
Tom noticed, though.
Why are you wasting time with those toasters? You should sign up for a robotics class.
That was Tom. He had the long view nailed. He had drive.
I wasn’t a fan of hard work. It didn’t take long for me to locate the smartest kids in my high school. After that, it was only a matter of figuring out what motivated them.
Amy liked shopping at Macy’s. I introduced her to one of Tom’s friends who worked there. Her name had been Darcy. Darcy had a crush on my big brother. She agreed to pass along her employee discount to Amy. For the next two years, Amy wrote all my term papers.
Jim was consumed with Gods of War, but pretty much sucked at video games. He had some sort of disorder that limited his hand-eye coordination. I’d go over to his house and play the game while he watched. In return, he did my math homework.
Stop wasting your time getting everyone to do your work for you, Tom used to say. Spend that time improving yourself instead.
I always figured Tom would grow up to be one of those multi-million dollar motivational speakers.
A shiver travels through my body. I swing my arms, trying to work warmth into the limbs. My fingers are numb. My lips are numb.
I watched hypothermia take Ash down yesterday. I have no doubt this is what’s happening to me now.
Things are going to get worse before they get better. That was Tom’s last text message to me before we lost electricity and my phone died. You can’t rely on someone else to do the work for you this time. If you don’t take care of yourself, you’re going to die.
He’d been right, of course. It had taken Kate to help me see that.
I wish I could talk to Tom. I want him to know I’ve grown up over the last six months. I want him to know I’m not a freeloader anymore.
“Hey.” Ash pokes me in the back. “Keep moving, slow poke.”
I lurch, realizing I’ve been standing in place the last twenty seconds. I force myself to move.
I’m less successful at banishing Tom’s voice.
You need to work hard at your own shit instead of manipulating everyone to do it for you. You’ll get a lot farther in life, Eric.
Overlaying his voice is Lila’s. You’re a fucking con, Eric.
Tom would have liked Lila. He would have told me to listen to her.
I climb the last step as more thunder and lightning rip the sky. We’re in another parking lot. I rub a wet sleeve across my glasses trying to get a better look at our surroundings. There are cars in this lot, but it’s not packed like the one where the Whale Festival had been.
There are zombies. No more than a dozen, but right now that’s way more than I’m comfortable with. But between the thrum of the rain on the metal cars and the roar of the ocean, none detect our entrance into the lot.
“We go around them,” Kate murmurs. “Kill any that get too close.”
Her face is bleached white, fatigue pinching the edges of her eyes while her teeth chatter. I have no doubt she’s twice as exhausted as the rest of us. We only have to worry about ourselves. Kate worries about all of us.
She holds one hand above her eyes, shielding it from the rain. “We’re heading toward that row of houses.” She points to the line of one-story bungalows on the far side of the road. “We’ll find a place to wait out the storm and resupply.”
Kate cuts a wide swath around the parking lot, keeping us away from the zombies that moan and sway in the rainstorm. The wild grass that grows all along the coast is bent low from the deluge. We tromp through it in a long line, wending our way to the road.
Warm blankets. Dry clothes. I don’t even care about food, even though I feel hungry enough to clean out a Las Vegas buffet.
We reach the road unmolested. Nearby are two abandoned cars, both empty.
“That one.” Ben points to a pink house with a sagging porch and weeds that grow up to the windows. “That one looks deserted.”
They all look deserted to me, but I don’t argue with Ben. The guy’s sixth sense is freaky good. We hurry toward the house, dashing across the street in a tight huddle.
Something moves in my periphery. I freeze, turning to look. Water sheets across my glasses, making it difficult to see.
/> “What is it?” Reed slows next to me.
“I saw something move.” I squint into the carport of the pink house. There are piles of crap everywhere. “I can’t see very well, but I saw something move.”
Ben shoulders up beside me. “Zom?” He squints into the gloom.
“It didn’t move like a zom.” Besides, if it had been a zombie, it would still be bumping around.
“You three check it out,” Kate tells us. “Make sure the yard is clear. The rest of us will clear the inside of the house.”
Ben scowls, clearly not wanting to be separated from Kate. Ash, catching the look, steps forward.
“You go with Kate,” she says. “I’ll go with the niños.”
“Who you calling niño?” Reed asks.
“You, pequito niño. Come on.”
She pushes past us with her weapons drawn, moving into the carport in a crouch.
Ash is hot. Like, Lara Croft hot. The hotness is only accentuated with the rain plastering clothing to her body. Will Caleb will ever make a move on her? I can’t tell if they’re into each other or just good friends.
Tom would like Ash. He liked tough girls. In high school, he dated a voluptuous hot chick who got it into her head that she wanted to play varsity football. She’d been meaner and tougher than all the guys combined. Tom said it was her way of asserting gender equality.
Maybe I should run to Cal Poly and find Tom. The idea flits through my mind.
“Dude.” Reed elbows me. “Stop zoning out. Pay attention, man.”
I shake myself. Why can’t I get Tom out of my head?
“Sorry,” I mutter. “I keep thinking about my brother.”
“I get it. I think about my family a lot, too. But we need your A-game, brother.”
The three of us sweep through the carport, picking our way around piles of crap. A rotting sofa. A rusty treadmill. Several plastic tubs stacked high with faded plastic flower pots. An old tricycle with a missing wheel. It’s easy for me to take it all in without rain sheeting across my glasses.
“These people were hoarders,” Ash says.
Fort Dead Page 7
