Fort Dead

by Camille Picott

  No one answers.

  Never taking her eyes off her people, Rosario tips the open bottle sideways. Dark brown liquor sluices out onto the ground.

  Everything inside me compresses as I watch the earth drink our one and only plan of escape.

  Rosario flings the bottle to the ground. It hits a large rock and shatters. I stare a the shards of glass, feeling like I’m in a million pieces just like that bottle.

  “Pour them out,” Rosario orders. “Every last one of them. The only reason the slaves left them out is because they wanted us to find them. They’re probably laced with poison.”

  Muttering in malcontent, Rosario’s people comply.

  I force myself to watch until the last bottle is emptied. I force myself to watch hope disappear. Despair fortifies me.

  Maybe it’s better this way. No hope is better than false hope.

  “Jessie ...” Shaun’s voice carries to my ears. I hate the sorrow I hear.

  I flip him off. The act edges out my dread, making it easier to hold onto the fury.

  I’m going to need every ounce of it to survive.

  14

  Smoke

  ERIC

  Not even the thunder and lightning raging outside of the pink house can keep me awake. I’m asleep within seconds of closing my eyes.

  I dream of Lila.

  The dream is always the same. It plays over and over like a subroutine.

  I see the zombie clamp around her leg. I see the bloody gash in her shin. I see her put the gun to her head and pull the trigger. I see the way the side of her face caves in like a crushed flower.

  And every time in the dream, my body is stuck. Paralyzed. No matter how much I want to move, I can’t. I’m forced to stand by and watch Lila do the unthinkable to herself. I relive that moment over and over and over again.

  It had been like that in real life. When Lila had been bitten, I’d frozen with shock and sorrow. I’d stood there like a spectator while she’d ended her own life.

  I hadn’t been there for her when it really counted.

  She wasn’t wrong when she called me a loser.

  My eyes fly open. My heart pounds. My eyes are wet. I sit up and scrub them dry. I take in my surroundings, momentarily forgetting where I am and who’s with me.

  Reed sleeps on the floor of the tiny bedroom, wrapped in thick blankets.

  A faint smell tickles my nose. I sit up, trying to figure out what it is. My abdominal muscles groan at the movement, aching and sore from the long run down the Lost Coast.

  The pink house is musty and moldy from being shut up for months, but this is a new smell. It takes me a minute to figure out what it is. When it registers, a jolt of unease goes through me.

  Smoke.

  It trickles through the bedroom, caught in the motes of light that filter through the mini blinds.

  I get out of bed, stepping around Reed. The sore muscles of my legs protest every step of the way. I have chafe marks all around my waist from the running shorts. More around the area where my leg meets my groin. I’m so sore, it feels like my body has been pounded with a hammer.

  As perverse as it sounds, I kind of like the soreness. It’s a reminder of the crazy shit I’ve survived in the last twenty-four hours. It’s a reminder that I’m a survivor.

  Out in the living room, I find Kate and Ben on the sofa. Kate is asleep with her head on Ben’s lap. Ben’s head is tipped back, his jaw hanging loose. A soft snore escapes his mouth. Why they chose a sofa over a functional bed is beyond me, but they look happy together.

  Around the room is a distinct gray haze. More smoke. It’s thicker in here that it had been in the bedrooms.

  Something is burning. I do a quick check through the house to determine nothing inside is on fire. That’s good, but with this much smoke in the house, something nearby is definitely burning.

  “Hey.” I give Ben’s shoulder a shake.

  He bolts upright, hand flying automatically to his side. The knife flashes out. I leap back, holding up my arms.

  “Woah, dude. It’s just me.”

  Ben inhales, the sleep clearing from his eyes. Then he glances down at Kate.

  “I fell asleep,” he says, looking astounded. “I never fall asleep on watch.”

  “Something is on fire. See the smoke?” I wave my hand around to take in the smoky haze.

  “Shit.” Ben gently dislodges Kate from his lap.

  “What’s going on?” She sits up, rubbing at her eyes.

  “Smoke,” I explain. “Something outside is burning.”

  That wakes her up. The three of us file onto the porch. It’s late afternoon, a few hours before dusk. The smoke outside is thick, clogging the air with a gray haze. The rain has stopped.

  I scan the road, the nearby houses, and the open land across from us, searching for the source of the fire. I don’t see any flames, but there’s enough smoke to indicate there’s a huge fucking fire somewhere.

  “The lightning probably caught something on fire,” Ben says.

  “Where’s a fireman when you need them?” I mean it as a joke to lighten the mood, but my companions ignore me.

  Kate’s lips are set in a hard line. “Wake everyone up. We’re moving out.”

  Even though the land around us is wet from the storm, the idea of an unchecked wildfire sends a chill through me. We had our fair share of those in California before the apocalypse. I don’t want to think about the damage a wildfire could do without anyone to fight it.

  It takes less than fifteen minutes to assemble everyone in the living room. I snag the windbreaker I found in one of the closets, zipping it up under my chin. I’m sick of being cold and wet. I’m not sure how much this jacket will prevent either from happening, but it’s worth a try. I also grab a baseball cap to keep water off my glasses if it rains again.

  Outside, Kate leads us down the road at a brisk jog. My muscles scream in protest. If possible, I’m even more sore now than I was before going to bed last night.

  No wonder ultrarunners don’t usually stop to sleep during long races. It’s too hard to get going again once your body stiffens up.

  A survey of my companions tells me everyone is as stiff and sore as I am. Except for Kate, of course. She looks rested and refreshed.

  We follow a small frontage road that follows the profile of the ocean. The smoke continues to thicken as we run. A cough spills from my throat. Somewhere nearby, a zombie moans.

  “Try not to cough,” Kate whispers. “Don’t make any sound that will draw attention to us.”

  She’s right, but that’s easier said than done. Smoke forces its way down my throat and lungs. I wish I’d thought to ransack the pink house for a handkerchief. I pull the collar of my shirt up to cover my nose.

  Ahead of us, the road curves away from the ocean and heads into town. Kate peels off the road, heading into the knee-high grass that grows along the coastline. We set across the open land, continuing south. As we pass the bend in the road, I look east into town.

  A mile away is a strip mall with a Starbucks coffee shop and Denny’s. My mouth waters at the sight of the Denny’s sign. I wasted many hours of my youth in a Denny’s restaurant near my home, hanging out with friends and consuming late-night snacks. What I wouldn’t give for a plate of onion rings.

  Unfortunately, I see staggering forms in the strip mall parking lot. Zombies. Lots of them.

  And that’s not all. The zombies are illuminated by a distinct yellow light that doesn’t come from the sun.

  Fear lurches to life in my chest.

  “Fuck me.” Ben halts, staring in the direction of Denny’s. “That grocery store is on fire.”

  Sure enough, in the same strip mall parking lot is a Safeway. Large flames gout from the back of the store.

  “Keep moving,” Kate says.

  She picks up the pace, leading us southward at a run. My legs swish through the grass, each step triggering every ache and pain in my body. My right foot, which had a blister the size
of a large spider on the bottom, hurts more than anything else.

  The grasses, wet from the rain, soon have my legs and shoes soaked. Water sloshes in the bottom of my shoes. My lungs work overtime, coping with the strain of running and the increasing smoke in the air.

  It’s impossible not to cough. Everyone is coughing. At least we’re far enough away from buildings that we don’t have to worry about zombies. Or at least, I hope there are no zombies out here lurking in the grass.

  Fifteen minutes later, Kate throws up her hand and stops us. “Dammit,” she growls.

  This might be the understatement of the year. In front of us, the land drops off in a sheer cliff. Another river separates us from the land to the south of us. It’s at least twice as wide as Pudding Creek. And deeper, from the looks of things. This one doesn’t have zombies standing waist deep in its waters.

  “Think we can swim across?” Caleb is the best swimmer in our group. “Doesn’t look like there are any zombies in that water.”

  Kate shakes her head. “You may be able to swim it, but not the rest of us. Those waters are frigid and the tide is strong. We’re going that way.” She points east.

  I follow the line of her finger and spot a bridge spanning the water.

  “I hate to be a negative Nancy,” I say, “but that bridge is missing half its middle.” There’s a distinct gap between one side of the bridge and the other. Someone must have blown it in an attempt to keep the zombies inside Braggs.

  “The gap isn’t that big,” Kate says. “Maybe four feet. Five at the most.”

  I’m pretty sure I’ve never jumped a five-foot gap in my life. I keep my mouth shut only because I don’t have a better idea.

  We shift back into a run, hugging the coastline and heading toward the bridge.

  “Um, guys?” I say. “That fire is getting bigger.” The flames are now the size of a large house.

  “The strip wall is probably made from old redwood,” Ben says. “Couldn’t ask for a better accelerant.”

  Kate picks up her pace, pushing us harder.

  Every muscle protests. There’s so much pain I can’t even pinpoint its origin. I force myself to keep up.

  The bridge looms near. A road sign names the water Noyo River.

  Unfortunately, the route to the bridge forces us to pass between two hotels. They flank both sides of the road, ready to catch all the tourists that venture into town. The parking lots are jam packed with cars.

  They’re packed with even more zombies.

  The monsters are restless. They moan, many of them walking in tight circles as smoke fills the town of Braggs. A cluster of five get into a shoving match. They don’t use their hands so much as ram their chests and shoulders against each other.

  The good news is that they’re so distracted by the smoke and each other that none notice as we steal past them, all of us running hard up the bridge.

  The last bridge we went over was built to hold a train. This bridge was built to hold cars. Lots of them. It’s four lanes wide with a margin in the middle.

  Cars litter the roadway. Some were abandoned, the doors left open as their owners made a run for it. There are two pileups, each lumps of three to four cars. I squint into the smoke, keeping an eye out for zombies. I grip both of my knives, palms sweaty on the grips.

  A loud whoomp goes up behind us. I spin around, using my wrist to wipe at the soot on my glasses. A gout of flame shoots into the sky, embers glinting like fireworks.

  “That was probably a propane tank,” Ben says. “We gotta move. This town could go up like a tinderbox, especially with gas still in the pipelines.”

  The explosion sends a ripple through the zombies. Moans and keens rise from their midst.

  We have to get the hell out of this town. I don’t even feel pain anymore. As I race across the bridge spanning the Noya River, all I feel is panic.

  Two zombies lurch into sight around an abandoned car. It’s a mom and her teenage daughter. Kate takes the smaller of the two in the face with her knife. Ben, by her side, takes out the larger.

  The bodies slump to the ground. I vault over the body of the mother and keep running, pinning my sights on the gap in the bridge.

  Who builds a town between two rivers? What happened to building a town on a nice flat piece of land with no large bodies of water to cross? If I were a king, I would definitely pick a piece of land not surrounded on two sides by water. Some people might say this is defensible, but that’s not what I call it. I call it boxing yourself in. Fuck that.

  I glance over my shoulders at the zombies in the hotel parking lots. They’ve split into two groups. A large mass of them moves north toward the fire. The other mass peels off, moving away from the flames—coming up the bridge straight toward us. Leading them is a clicking, keening alpha.

  “Fuck.” Caleb huffs, running beside me with Ash on his other side. “We are so fucked.”

  “We just have to get over the bridge,” I huff back. Once we get over the bridge, we’ll be safe. The river will protect us from the zombies and the flames.

  The gap in the road looms before us. Caleb picks up speed, charging toward the gap like a Spartan soldier. I swear I’d hate that guy for his good looks and natural athleticism if I didn’t like him.

  He barrels past Kate and Ben in a sprint that I’m pretty sure would make an Olympian jealous. The rest of us pant and pump our arms like elementary kids in a game of tag, but none of us can touch Caleb.

  He pulls ahead, all his focus honed on the break in the freeway. He hits the edge and vaults into the air, flying through the dusky light like a rock fired from the slingshot.

  He hits the pavement on the other side and rolls, body blurring across the ground from the force of momentum.

  Seconds later, Kate flies over the edge. She gives a wild shout, her leap nowhere as controlled and focused as Caleb’s.

  As she arcs over the river, I realize she’s in jeopardy. Her jump is short.

  “Kate!” Ben bellows.

  Her torso hits the edge of the concrete with an audible thud. Her hands scrabble at the blacktop. Her legs kick wildly over open air.

  Two things happen at the same time.

  Caleb rolls to a stop and springs to his feet. At the sight of Kate, he sprints back toward her.

  At the same time, Ben picks up speed. He charges the gap with the wild determination of an animal. He leaps from the edge, arms windmilling as he flies over the river.

  Ben hits the pavement on the other side of the gap. He trips, flying forward to roll across the blacktop. Caleb sprints past him in the opposite direction, hands reaching for Kate.

  Kate manages to get one leg slung over the side of the broken bridge. Caleb grabs her arms and hauls her up the rest of the way.

  Ben is there a heartbeat later, his shirt and pants torn from the rough landing. Caleb’s shirt is torn, too. Ben grabs Kate in a hug while he simultaneously shakes Caleb’s hand.

  Less than fifty miles ago, those two hated each other. Now here they are, shaking hands and congratulating each other on a successful jump over the Noya River.

  I skid to a halt on the edge of the overpass, staring down at the frothing river. It’s a good two-hundred-foot plummet to the water below. My feet feel like concrete. Fear makes my tongue stick to the roof of my mouth.

  “Fuck me.” Reed backs away from the gap, shaking his head. “What the fuck? I can’t jump over that.”

  “That’s not four feet.” I stare at the jagged abyss that yawns before us. It’s not even five feet. “That’s got to be six or seven feet.”

  “Kate made it,” Ash argues. “If she can make it, we can make it.”

  She makes it sound like Kate is the limping gazelle at the back of the herd. In truth, Kate is the toughest in our group. The only one who might be tougher is Ben, but that’s only because he spent the last thirty years of his life in active military service.

  Ash backs up from the gap, halting when she’s twenty feet away. Gritting her teet
h, she charges forward.

  My palms sweat as she sprints past me, running like a bat out of hell. She lets up a shriek and leaps. Black hair streaks out behind her. Her long legs eat up the empty space. Her arms fling out on either side of her like she’s a giant bird of prey.

  She hits the other side with both feet. The impact sends her tumbling forward, right into Caleb’s arms.

  It’s like a scene from a bad romance movie. The handsome guy catches the hot girl after her death-defying leap over the chasm of death.

  “Don’t worry, bro.” Reed pats my arm. “You can jump into my arms. I’ll catch you.”

  Without another word, he charges the gap like a kamikaze pilot.

  Reed is the fastest of us. When he sprints past me, he runs so fast his body blurs. The wind of his passage ripples the hairs on my arm.

  His body catapults through the smoky air. He sails through it like a bird. The fucker looks like he was born to do this shit.

  To top it all off, he lands lightly on the other side like a ballet dancer. He throws all his momentum into his feet as he races across the blacktop on his tiptoes.

  I’m the only one left.

  The alpha and its horde of two dozen zombies have made their halfway up the bridge. They’re fifty yards away and closing.

  Another whoosh goes up behind them, followed by a boom. This time, the flames claw a hundred feet into the air. I hear a building collapse. The rumble of falling timber and concrete echoes through the streets.

  The zombies on the bridge split up, some of them turning to hustle back into the city. Reed told me about the time Kate set fire to downtown Arcata; he said many zombies walked right into the flames, drawn to the heat and sound of the fire.

  In Braggs, I’m not so lucky to have all of them turn around. At least half follow the alpha and continue on their trajectory toward me, moaning and scratching at the air.

  I stare at the yawning chasm in the bridge, a lump of fear in my stomach. There is no one to make this jump for me, no bargain to be struck to get me out of the terrifying task. Magnificent pot brownies can’t get me through this. I don’t even have a flask of booze for a quick shot of liquid courage.