My insides twist as I see the horde of zombies stumbling toward us. There’s no fighting our way through it. There’s no darting around it, either. I could lead my people into one of the side streets and hope for the best, but the undead drift out of every side street in sight.
“Dammit.” I pound a fist on my thigh, desperate for a way out. I didn’t bring my people all this way to die now. There has to be a way.
Fifty yards away, I spot a Toyota Tacoma. It lists to one side, half on the sidewalk, half on the road.
Before the apocalypse, the Tacoma was shiny yellow with chrome rims and over-sized tires. Now, the front grill is covered with undead gore. Blood streaks the sides. One tire is flat.
“Truck,” I hiss. “We can hide in the back.” I tear toward the truck in a blind run.
A swirling of the undead stand between us and the truck. I count twelve.
We can take them. We have to take them.
Ben, who still hasn’t budged from my side, seems to understand my plan. He charges the first of the zoms, taking it out with a knife through the eye.
Reed is hard on his heels, the tall young man swinging his zom bat with ruthless efficiency. He bludgeons one zombie on the head, then leaps forward another two steps and takes out another.
Eric sprints past me. I glimpse a profile set in determination. His knives reflect the orange flames that paint the sky.
He cuts around Caleb, stabbing the zombie that stumbles up behind his friend. The monster hasn’t even hit the ground before Eric springs away.
He’s the first one to reach the truck. He spins around, planting himself in front of the truck like a defender of the Alamo.
Ash is the next person to reach the truck. Eric darts forward, cutting off the zombie that closes in behind her. He kills it, buying Ash a few precious seconds to vault into the bed of the Tacoma.
I cut down a zombie and rush to Eric’s side, planting myself beside him. We fight without words as the zombies pour down the street, keeping one side of the Tacoma clear for our friends.
Caleb and Reed vault into the truck. Ben looms out of the chaos with blood spattered all across his face and the front of his clothes.
“In.” His word snaps at me like the end of a whip.
There isn’t time to argue. The big hoard is drawing near, led at a shambling run by the alpha. I hurl myself over the edge.
Ben is about to rush one of the biggest zombies I’ve ever seen, a man easily six-foot-five and three hundred pounds. It barrels toward the truck with a keening cry.
Ben recoils, bunching his muscles to spring into action.
Eric beats him to it. He barrels into the zombie, mouth open in a silent scream. He jams both hands hard against the creature’s chest.
It stumbles back, snarling in surprise. Eric doesn’t let it recover. His knife hand flashes down in rapid succession, breaking through the flesh and bone of the undead monster’s face.
Ben doesn’t wait. He turns to the truck, flinging himself inside.
I rush to the far edge, holding out a hand as Eric hauls ass back to the Tacoma. Three zombies pursue him, letting up a fresh set of wails.
Eric jumps through the air like a spider, arms extended.
I latch onto one forearm. Caleb grabs the other. We pull Eric inside, cushioning his fall as the three of us stumble backward onto the hard metal of the truck bed.
The three zombies chasing Eric slam into the tailgate. They hiss and moan, claws digging at the metal and swiping at open air.
Reed advances, jaw set. Ben grabs his arm and shakes his head, motioning for all of us to huddle near the center of the truck.
Sandwiched between Caleb and Eric, I crouch in a sitting position. The rest of my people squish in around me. We are a silent, huddled mass in the center of the Tacoma.
The three zombies at the tailgate continue to scratch and keen. Another dozen zombies surround the truck, led there by their alpha. The alpha—a teenage girl with half her hair torn away from her scalp—keens and clicks, calling more zombies to surround us. The Tacoma rocks back and forth as they moan and claw.
I barely dare to breathe. My hands are sweaty around my knives. Adrenaline courses through my veins, sending tremors through my sweaty hands.
South of us, the fire is gaining momentum. Big flames lick at the sky, belching up black plumes of smoke. If we don’t get out of here soon, we might suffocate and burn to death.
If we leave the truck bed, we risk being overrun.
A zombie swipes at the open air above the truck, nails only inches from my face. It takes every shred of willpower not to swipe back, not to bury my knife in its face.
But this is just one of many zoms surrounding the Tacoma. There’s no way for us to fight our way free. The truck continues to rock. The zombies continue to hiss and moan.
Eric’s nostrils are flared, his muscles tense and ready to spring. Ben looks as fierce as ever, eyes flicking between the zombies and me. Ash and Caleb sit back to back, equal parts scared and determined. Reed crouches on the balls of his feet, looking ready to fling himself over the side of the truck and into the surrounding horde.
The alpha shoulders through the pack. When it bumps up against the truck, it pounds its fists against the metal with a shriek of frustration. The cry is echoed up the road by other zombies.
The alpha hisses, peeling itself away from the truck. The teenage undead pushes through its fellows and lets up a keen, cocking one ear to listen.
Answering keens sound. More zombies turn in the direction of the Tacoma.
Chills inch their way down my back and a dozen more zombies plow into the side of the truck, causing one of the wheels to lift off the ground. I latch onto Reed and dig the soles of my shoes into the floor, struggling to maintain my position.
Reed returns my grasp, the two of us clinging to each other as the zombies plow into the truck a second time. It’s shoved several inches across the sidewalk.
Holy shit. My mind races. If they do that another few times, they just might manage to flip the truck onto its side. Should I risk using the recording in my pack before that happens?
A shoe repair shop stands no more than five feet away from the truck. The glass window is shattered. Inside are two corpses, desiccated and rotted from many months left exposed to the elements.
At least fifteen zombies fill the narrow space between the truck and the shop. Could I use the alpha recording to cut a path from the truck to the shop? How we’ll hold them off once we’re inside the shop is beyond me, but at best we wouldn’t be surrounded on all sides.
The Tacoma bucks and slides again. Nails grind against paint. Our little group clings to one another, all of us smashed into the center of the bed.
I study the front of the shoe repair shop, weighing our odds. Another push from the zombies will put us another few inches closer. That, combined with the alpha might—
The truck rocks again, this time struck from the other side. It’s pushed back in the other direction, sending several of the street-side zombies sprawling.
Smoke gathers around us, growing thicker by the second. I tip my chin forward and suck from the drinking straw, willing myself not to cough. Sound will rile up the zoms even more.
Eric rubs at his throat, working his jaw. I push the straw toward him, angling my body so he can drink.
The others see what we’re doing. They all take drinks from their packs.
A boom echoes across the landscape, followed by a blinding flash of light. A rumble rolls through the ground. All around us, zombies are thrown to the ground.
I turn my head just in time to see a mushroom cloud of smoke and fire bloom from the north, coming from the heart of Braggs. Seconds later, fireworks start to explode.
They whine into the sky and burst open, letting loose a show of colorful sparks against the smoky backdrop. Dozens and dozens of fireworks, all of them showering us with a beauty that contrasts the horror around us. The ground trembles with each detonation.
Something happens. A handful of zombies break away from the truck, stumbling away into the smoke. They make their way toward the fireworks that shred the air with sound.
I hold my breath, not daring to hope.
The alpha hisses, lips peeling back from teeth. It stalks away from the truck, moving in the direction of the fireworks. It clicks as it goes, calling to its horde.
The truck vibrates as the zombies pound and scratch at it in frustration. Then, one after another, the monsters lumber away in clumps. They follow their alpha while showers of light explode in the sky above us.
Finally, the way is clear. The last of the zombies breaks away like an iceberg sloughing off a glacier.
As a unit, we surge to our feet. We leap out of the truck, each of us landing lightly on the ground. The edge of the city is still littered with the undead, but the bulk of them have moved on to the firework show. It’s early evening now and the sky is darkening. It makes the flames and fireworks look even brighter.
I lead my people out, heading south. Once again, we zigzag down the highway. The little noise we make is masked by the fireworks. Another boom rakes the air, followed by another burst of fire light. Another gas line, no doubt, or something equally flammable.
As I dodge around a cluster of bodies heaped on the side of the road, it occurs to me that I’m exhausted. Physically and mentally exhausted. My body aches. All I want to do is curl up and go to sleep somewhere safe.
Frederico’s voice patters in my brain, his words from so long ago rising to the surface.
Don’t think about the pain. Think about the finish.
That had been spoken to me at a one-hundred miler in the Arizona desert on a day when temps blistered well above one-hundred degrees. I was tired. I was hot. I was sunburned. Crystals of salt covered my clothes, having leached out of my body during the long hot, toiling day.
How about I just lay down on a cactus? I had asked. It’s a legitimate DNF if I’m covered with cactus quills.
What did I say about pain? Frederico replied. Quit thinking about it. Focus on the finish.
I can practically feel Frederico running by my side. My friend might be dead, but he isn’t gone.
I set my jaw and will myself to see the end of this zombie-infested town. The safety of the open road lies ahead. Just one more mile. One more mile, and we’ll be free.
We head into a narrow tunnel of cars. Stray zombies bump around, struggling to find a way toward the fireworks. We cut them down as we run.
Three-quarters of a mile.
We hit a patch of dead bodies. There must be at least three dozen of them. We jump over and around them. When one latches onto Reed’s ankle, Eric is there. His knife crunches through the skull, spraying blood across his face.
Half a mile.
I see the pinch point of Highway 1, the four-lane road narrowing to two. Dusk looms large and welcoming, open coastal land rolling out beyond the town.
Quarter mile.
Ash and Caleb cut through three zombies that wander too close to our group. They make no sound as they attack. All I hear is the crunch of bone and the thud of bodies.
The sign reads: Thanks for Visiting Braggs. Come Back Again Soon!
And just like that, Braggs ejects us from its depths.
We run into the cool evening, smoke from the fire boiling after us and clinging to our clothes.
We don’t speak. In silent consent, we keep running, putting distance between us and the town.
Finish line. We made it. I send a silent thank you to Frederico.
Wherever he is, I know he hears me.
18
Why
JESSICA
I have a perfect view of Shaun through the open window. It’s nearing dusk. The fence surrounding the fort sends long shadows across the ground.
The team of fishermen and gardeners are just returning to the compound, herded at gunpoint by Rosario’s minions. The smell of beans permeates the air, a sign that dinner is being cooked. The idea of Rosario and her pack of leeches eating our food makes my blood boil.
Chill, salty air pebbles my skin with gooseflesh. I don’t close the window. I like the cold air. Makes it easier to forget the heat of the skin of the men who have been in here.
And Shaun. The asshole. I know he heard everything. He’s the real reason I opened the windows in the first place. No reason for me to suffer alone. I know my fate hurts him every bit as much as it hurts me. Just like his fate is like an open wound in my chest.
We might not be married anymore, but we still love each other. It’s not the same kind of love that existed when we first met, when we were two dumb college kids getting wasted at frat and sorority parties on the weekend. It’s evolved into something darker and infinitely more complicated. But I still love that man more than I love life itself.
It’s too bad the loathing and resentment outweigh the love.
I run through the list of STDs I remember studying in high school. Syphilis. Chlamydia. Hepatitas. Gonorrhea. Herpes. Crabs. I don’t even remember what most of that stuff is.
AIDS.
I push that thought away as soon as it creeps into my brain. There’s nothing I can do about it.
At least I can’t get pregnant. I hang onto this knowledge. I had an IUD put in after Shaun left me. I had vague ideas about trying to meet someone on a dating website. I never got around to creating a profile for myself.
The thought of Bella and Steph getting impregnated by the monsters who have enslaved us makes me want to burn shit down. That’s another thing I’ve saved them from. At least for the moment. I have the men entertained for now, but I’m not stupid enough to think it will last. Sooner or later, they’ll turn their eyes to other women in the fort.
They’ll turn back to Steph and Bella.
We can’t exist in this new state as slaves. It’s no way to live. I, for one, would rather die than endure another hour inside this awful motorhome. Alvarez is going to have to make the hard call, and soon. He’s going to have to accept that he can’t save all of us. We’re going to have to fight even if Rosario’s minions are stone-cold sober.
“Jessie.”
The voice, cracked with thirst and infused with pain, carries to me through the window.
I turn, looking out at Shaun.
“Jessie,” he croaks.
I stare at him without responding. His wrecked body is a perfect mirror to my wrecked soul. Combined, we would be the perfect embodiment of ruin and waste. It’s the first time in a long time we’ve been on an even playing field.
“Jessie, I’m—”
“What did you say to him?”
Shaun hangs his head. I didn’t think it was possible for his shoulders to sag any lower, but they do. He doesn’t ask me what I’m talking about. He understands my question perfectly.
Silence stretches. Somewhere in the distance, I hear crying. Even more distant is the pounding of the ocean waves.
“Fort Ross was going to fall no matter what I did,” Shaun says.
“Don’t bullshit me. You know what I mean.”
Shaun says nothing. When he looks across the ten yards of hard-packed dirt that separates us, I see the truth in his eyes.
Seeing it isn’t enough. I want to hear him say it. “What did you say to get him to let you pretend to be the leader?”
Shaun raises his head. The waning light glistens off his open wound. Much of the blood has scabbed over, but parts of the bite wound still seep fresh red.
“I told him to take care of you.”
It’s the confession I wanted, but the words don’t make any sense. I try to grasp them, to study them for better understanding, but the meaning eludes me.
“What are you talking about?”
“You’re too angry these days to notice how he looks at you.”
I rec
oil from the screen.
Surely Shaun doesn’t mean what I think he means. I must be at least ten years older than Alvarez. Besides, there are plenty of women in the fort who fawn over him and flirt because he’s ... well, he’s Alvarez. Our leader. Strong. Capable. Caring. Good looking. A perfectly eligible bachelor in every sense of the word. Hell, he would have been a catch before the apocalypse. Now that the world’s ended, he’s the gold standard.
“Jessie, you deserve to have someone. I want you to be happy.”
“I would have been happy if you’d let me die!” My words stab across the distance like a striking snake.
Shaun flinches at the force of them but doesn’t back down. “You two would be good together. You both like taking care of other people. It’s what you do best.”
I snort. “I don’t take care of anyone anymore.”
“Bullshit. You’re taking care of Steph and Bella right now. Don’t deny it. It’s what you do, Jessica. You nurture. You love. You protect.”
His words ignite a fire inside me, and not in a good way. I’m so angry I feel like hellfire might blast from every pore in my body and raze Fort Ross to the ground. My hands tremble with the force of it.
I slam shut the window and yank the curtain in place. I can’t look at Shaun.
I flop onto the bed and cover my head with a pillow, grinding my teeth as my heart races in my chest. My hands shake.
I’m almost relieved when the door to the RV opens and another stinky, rotting man climbs inside. I rise up to face him, refusing to let him see fear or submission.
There’s so much fire inside me that I half expect him to burst into flame when we make contact.
He doesn’t, of course. Science doesn’t work that way.
But he will. All these fuckers are going to pay. Somehow, someway, if I have to burn Fort Ross down myself to make it happen.
19
Rest
Fort Dead Page 12
