Fort Dead

by Camille Picott

  “That bodes well for us if they stocked up on food,” Reed replies.

  “I hope they have Kraft mac n’ cheese,” I say. That particular dish always makes me think of Lila. “I—” Something scurries over my foot. I jump, my knife clattering to the ground.

  “Raccoon.” Ash raises her brow at me as the animal disappears under a tarp at the far end of the carport. “Good thing that wasn’t a zombie or you’d be dead.”

  Shit. I need to focus and make sure this carport is clear.

  I let out a shaky breath and retrieve my knife. At least now we know what I saw moving around in here. “Any of you guys ever eat raccoon before?”

  “Don’t even think about it,” Ash replies. “You’d have to shoot it to catch it, and that would just bring zombies.”

  Reed stares at the tarp concealing the raccoon. “Fresh meat sounds good though, doesn’t it?”

  “No way, dude.” I give his shoulder a shove. “Be content with the bear meat in your pack.”

  Hunting was yet another thing Tom excelled at. I went along on the trips with our dad because I didn’t have a choice, but I never had a lot of interest in creeping around in the forest before dawn. I preferred being in the tent with a thermos of hot chocolate.

  What would Tom do, if he were here? Would he try to catch the raccoon? I can just see him sauntering into the pink house with a brace of dead raccoons over one shoulder. Everyone would fawn over him and thank him for the fresh meat.

  That was Tom. Always the star without even trying. He never knew how to be anything else.

  “Come on.” Ash slaps me on the arm. “It’s clear in here. There’s nothing in the backyard but dead plants and a rusted swing set. And that raccoon. Let’s get the hell out of this storm.”

  As we head back to the pink house, another peel of thunder rolls through the sky. The concussive boom vibrates the hair on my arms. Lightning forks the sky.

  And just for a second, I swear I see Tom’s silhouette in the gloom.

  I blink, staring through the rain, realizing just how wiped out and exhausted I am. My brother isn’t here. I’m seeing things. I need to get out of the cold and warm up.

  Hunching my shoulder against the downpour, I hurry after Ash and Reed.

  10

  Pink House

  KATE

  The pink house is abandoned.

  There are no corpses inside, dead or undead. It smells like a regular abandoned house, rank with rotting food and musty from being closed up.

  Dirty breakfast dishes are piled in the sink, mold growing on the old food—hence the stink—but there are no signs of a family that left in a panic. All the clothes are neatly folded in the drawers and hanging in the closets. A neat row of shoes sits in a rack by the front door. Based on the various sizes, I can see a family once lived here.

  “There’s a boys room and a girls room,” Reed calls from down the hall.

  Ash hustles around Reed, an armload of towels in her arms. She passes them out.

  “The water heater is full,” she says. “The water won’t be hot, but we can at least get clean.”

  I take the towel she hands me, grateful for a chance to clean up. I kick off my shoes and peel off my wet socks.

  The first order of business is to get dry and find a new set of clothes. My salt-encrusted pants, shirt, and sports bra have to go.

  The bedroom shared by the parents is only slightly larger than the kid’s rooms. I find stretch pants that mostly fit. They’re too long, as is the long sleeve shirt, but they’ll do. The sports bra I find is a little big, but a safety pin is enough to cinch it smaller.

  Once changed, I head to the kitchen. Ben is already there, dressed in jeans and a long-sleeve shirt. The sight stops me in my tracks.

  He looks good. The shirt is snug, showing off the contours of his chest and biceps. The jeans hug his hips and ... I jerk up my eyes, feeling my face heat as I realize where I was looking. At least Ben is too busy piling canned food on the kitchen table to notice.

  He glances up at me, pausing to run a hand over the stubble at his chin. When he sees the look on my face, he grimaces. “It’s sort of like seeing the clown without his make-up on.” He gestures to the jeans and plain green shirt.

  He doesn’t remotely resemble a clown, but I decide to go with it instead of confessing to what I really think. “I’ve never seen you out of your fatigues.”

  His nose wrinkles. “I don’t usually admit it when I’m wrong, but I’m going to. Just this once. I am chafed to high hell from the fatigue pants.”

  It takes all my effort not to laugh at the expression on his face. The situation really isn’t funny. “Jeans are the last thing you should be wearing. Your skin needs oxygen flow to heal. I saw a few pairs of men’s sweat pants in a drawer.” I pluck at the ones that hang from my hips. “They’ll probably fit you.”

  “I’ll look for them after we eat.” He buries his head in one of the cupboards to look for food.

  I test the stove, letting out a yelp of glee when a blue flame licks to life. “We have gas! We can make hot water.”

  “Gas?” Ben lifts an eyebrow. “That’s interesting. Guess no one had a chance to shut it down,”

  “Yay for us and hot food,” I reply.

  We spend the next fifteen minutes bustling around the tiny kitchen, attempting not to bump into one another. The entire scene feels freakishly domestic. If we weren’t in the apocalypse, the two of us could be together in a kitchen somewhere, preparing a meal. Cooking real food, not heating up canned stuff.

  I can almost see a life like that with Ben. Almost. It’s hard to imagine a normal life ever again, but if I could, Ben would be in it.

  I bury these thoughts and sort through a box of tea bags. I opt for chamomile. We could all use something to help us relax, plus it will warm us up.

  By the time the others are dry and changed, we have a glorious meal of tea and hot food. There’s a mixture of canned peas and carrots in one pot. Another holds ten packages of Top Ramen. Ben found a whole case of chili in the cupboard, which we also heated up.

  Everyone grabs cups and bowls and digs in. We eat like the pack of half-starved ultrarunners that we are. We plow through the food in less time than it took to heat it up. After that, everyone falls to rummaging in the cupboards and pantry. Potato chips, boxes of crackers, and jars of peanut butter find their way onto the table.

  Thunder rolls overhead, loud and fierce. It’s a bona fide summer thunderstorm out there. Just great. I hope for a dry patch to finish our journey to Braggs. The last thing I want is get everyone dry only to shove them all back out into the rain.

  “Time for showers and first aid,” I say. I have no doubt we all have a fair shares of blisters, chafe marks, and other physical ailments among us. “Then we sleep for two hours and get back on the road.” We’re four hours past Fort Ross’s deadline. If we’re going to have any chance of saving Alvarez and his people, we can’t afford to rest longer.

  I collect needles, bandaids, and all other first aid supplies I can find, then set up a make-shift infirmary in the living room. I lance blisters and wrap the tender spots with bandages. I clean cuts and scrapes gathered out on the trail. I even pick off a few ticks from people. Considering what my people have been through, the wounds aren’t that bad.

  There’s not much to be done for chafe marks beside a hydrogen peroxide wash and a smear of petroleum jelly. Ben refuses to let me see how bad things are when it’s his turn, but he does change into sweats when I suggest it a second time. The angry red marks under Ash’s sport’s bra make me wince, though she never complains.

  After I finish treating everyone, I wash and change into clean clothes. By then, most of the others have settled down for our short respite. I look for a place to sleep.

  I peer into the girl’s room. Ash is on the twin bed under a pink flowered bedspread. Caleb is on the floor wrapped in a thick quilt. Eric has the twin bed in the little boy’s room, while Reed lays on the floor wrapped i
n blankets.

  “There’s another room with a bed,” I tell him. “You don’t have to sleep on the floor.”

  Reed cocks an eyebrow at me. “The big bed is for you, Mama Bear.”

  “You and the old man,” Caleb says from the girl’s room.

  “You guys are boyfriend and girlfriend now, remember?” Eric snickers.

  “That definitely comes with perks.” Reed gives me a thumbs up and a big grin.

  Oh. Consternation sweeps through me, making my face hot. I feel like I’m on display in the worst way.

  I turn on my heel, planning to head to the couch—and run smack into Ben. I hadn’t realized he’d been standing behind me.

  I stare up at him. There is no doubt in my mind he heard everything that was just said. Even if he wasn’t standing two feet behind me, this is a very, very tiny house.

  I want him. I want his touch and his kisses as much as I’ve ever wanted anything.

  But something inside holds me back. I might be forty, but I was pregnant and married by the time I was nineteen. I’ve only been with one man in my life. As much as I want Ben, I’m nervous about it. Especially with four other people in a house with paper-thin walls.

  I swallow, hoping I don’t make a mess of things. “Ben—”

  He rests his hands on my shoulders, silencing me with a look that is surprisingly tender. “I had to kill a bear to get a decent kiss out of you,” he says. “I never assumed it would be any easier to get you in bed. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

  I stare at his retreating back, mouth sagging open. His words are gruff. From anyone else, they would have been crass. But I know Ben well enough to understand he’s making a genuine effort to be a gentleman.

  “Come on, old man,” Caleb says from the bedroom. “How much easier do we have to make it for you?”

  “Fuck you.”

  “You could at least try,” Reed calls from the other room. “I mean, there’s a big bed for you guys. When do you think you’re going to get a big bed again? All we have back at Creekside are bunk beds.”

  This brings hoots and laughter from both rooms.

  If I stand here any longer, I might die of embarrassment.

  I follow Ben into the living room. I hoover in the doorway, looking across the room at him.

  He looks back at me from his seat on the oversized couch. “I’ll keep first watch. I don’t sleep much anyway.” He raises his voice. “I’ll wake one of the little shitheads when it’s their turn to keep watch.”

  “We heard that,” Eric says.

  “That was the point, shithead.”

  “Do you guys need an instructional video?” Reed asks. “I bet we could find a porno somewhere around here. We could try the master—”

  “No!” Ben and I say in unison.

  “Suficiente!” Ash says. “Shut your mouth, Reed.”

  I lean against the wall and gather myself. There’s no way I can sleep after all this.

  Ben is watching me to see what I will do. I don’t want things to be weird between us. We’re finally at a point where things aren’t awkward. Making up my mind to keep it that way, I cross the room and sit beside him on the couch.

  He looks at the six inches of space that separates us. “I gave you the bed, Kate. The least you can do is give me this.” He gestures to the gap.

  He’s right. I owe it to him. Besides that, I don’t want space between us.

  I scoot over, closing the gap. Even through the fabric of our clothing, I feel the heat from his body. It sends a shiver through me.

  “Ignore the little shitheads.” He puts an arm around me and pulls me close.

  Tension leaches out of me. My muscles relax. I slide my arms around his waist and rest my head on his shoulder.

  “For once, I’m in agreement on the nickname.”

  “We heard that,” Eric calls. “We are not shitheads.”

  “Mind your own goddamn business!” Ben’s voice is almost a shout. He manages to choke back the volume just as another round of thunder crashes overhead.

  The entire situation is ludicrous. Laughter shakes my shoulders. After a moment, Ben’s chest rattles with a silent chuckle.

  We sit in comfortable silence. I soak in the warmth of his body, listening to the rain drum on the roof and windows.

  “What if it’s still raining in two hours?” he asks.

  I hold up my watch for him to see. The time reads twenty-eight hours and thirty-six minutes. “That’s how long it’s been since we last spoke to Alvarez. I’m hoping we can get to Fort Ross in another twenty-four hours. Thirty-six at most.”

  “So you really are going to march us back out into the rain in a few hours if it doesn’t let up?”

  “I hope it doesn’t come to that, but yes. Lives depend on us. I don’t like running in the rain any more than you, but it’s manageable.”

  “Ash almost died of hypothermia.” He covers my hand with his. “You’re still cold.”

  “Did I ever tell you about the time I ran the Bear?”

  He shakes his head. “Is that one of your crazy ultra races?”

  “Yeah. It was a hundred miler that started in Utah and ended in Idaho. I got caught in a snowstorm. My legs had frostbite when I crossed the finish line, but I finished.”

  He snorts. “No wonder you have such a warped perspective on what the human body can endure.”

  “I think it’s everyone else who has the warped perspective,” I reply. “We all had easy lives before the zombies. Most people don’t understand how much they’re capable of. That’s what I’m trying to teach these kids.”

  He shifts. I sense him looking down at me. I tilt my chin up to meet his gaze.

  “I love how crazy you are.” His murmur washes over me. I close my eyes as he leans down to kiss me.

  Our first kiss was a disaster, a drunken impulse on my part that surprised Ben and ended awkwardly. Our second kiss had been fueled by terror and adrenaline after Ben killed the black bear that attacked our camp on the Lost Coast. Our third kiss under the Candelabra Grove had been pure magic.

  This kiss is long, deep, and lingering. I allow the world and all my worries to melt away, if only for a few perfect moments. His arms feel safe. His arms feel good.

  Ben is the first to break away. He pulls back to look at me. “Sleep here with me on the couch. I’ll watch over you.”

  I like the idea of staying close to him. After kissing him one last time, I curl up on my side with my head on his thigh. He drapes a blanket over me and settles a strong hand on the curve of my waist.

  I fall asleep in seconds, feeling warm and safe.

  11

  New Regime

  JESSICA

  Shortly after Rosario’s takeover, our entire group is locked inside one of the original Fort Ross structures. It’s a single-story home known as the Rotchev House. We’ve been in here for hours.

  The Rotchev House isn’t large by any stretch of the imagination. It was never designed for fifty-five people. The rooms of the house bleed into each other without any modern sense of organization.

  I’ve taken up position beside one of the windows at the back of the house. The glass is old, the world beyond wavering and uneven when seen through it.

  Around me are whispers and murmurs. People have broken up into clumps. Some huddle together on the floor, consoling one another. Others pace, talking in low voices. Planning.

  Alvarez has a plan. Apparently, he had people stash weapons all over the fort. There are even a few screwdrivers under loose planks in the kids’ room of this house. He left out a big box of booze for Rosario’s people to find. When they celebrate their takeover of the fort, we’ll strike back.

  It’s a shaky plan at best. Rosario’s people have firepower. A lot of firepower. And it’s not just fuckheads with guns we have to worry about. They’ve brought a dozen zombies into the fort, all of them leashed like the one that bit Shaun. What sort of deranged idiot brings zombies inside her home? No matter what, we’re going t
o lose people.

  I watch Rosario’s people scuttle through the grounds, ransacking the buildings, tents, and motorhomes. Two women enter an RV, shrieking with triumph as they deck themselves out in new clothes. They toss things out onto the scrub grass that grows in patches around the fort. An old shoe box spills a dozen books across the ground.

  I shift my gaze past the desecration of our home. It cuts to the bleeding figure tied to the laundry pole near the well. The worst part is that Shaun is still alive, suffering and dying slowly. My eyes ache as though I’ve spent hours sobbing, though in truth I haven’t cried since the day my daughters died.

  “I’m sorry about Shaun.” A teenage girl leans up against the other side of the window across from me, watching the pillaging. She sniffles, scrubbing at the tears that leak down her cheek. “I know you guys aren’t married anymore, but still—I’m sorry.” She swallows, throat convulsing as she suppresses a sob.

  Sometimes it’s hard to look at the teenager with dirty blond hair. Stephany is her name. Steph.

  She looks nothing like either of my girls. I don’t see an older version of Claire and May when I look at her.

  It doesn’t matter. I still see a girl who survived. It’s impossible not to think of Claire and May when I’m around her.

  I should respond to Steph, but I don’t know how. Bitter words curl on the end of my tongue. I refrain from dumping them on an innocent teenager. I’m not that messed up. Yet.

  Steph was in the original group who’d come here with Alvarez in the beginning. I’d heard snippets of the story, of how Alvarez rescued her family from a van stuck on a freeway and surrounded by zombies. It wasn’t so different from the story of how Alvarez rescued me and Shaun from an abandoned station wagon north of Fort Ross.

  Except both my girls were already dead when he found us. Alvarez never had a chance to save them.

  “Hey, guys.”

  My eyes flick to Bella, who joins me and Steph at the window. She’s the only other teenage girl in Fort Ross.

  Bella and Steph are bound through age and gender, though as far as I can tell that’s the most they have in common. Bella was one of those popular kids when there were still high schools. She reeks of confidence. It’s no stretch of the imagination to see her dating the high school quarterback, getting straight As, and running for student body president.