The Undead World (Book 12): The Body [An Undead World Expansion]

by Meredith, Peter

  It wasn’t good enough by a long shot. A normal person would have needed stitches from such a gouging. The zombie didn’t so much as blink, however it did chomp down on the wood, its jagged teeth chewing splinters.

  The gun! Ipes wailed again.

  She went to grab it just as the creature’s left hand closed over both the .25 and her ankle. Its grip was iron and its strength was beyond imagination. Knowing that fighting the zombie’s might was altogether useless, she lashed out with her other foot, slamming the heel of her Keds into its face. Her aim was for the blunt end of the paddle and her second kick struck it square and drove it half a foot down its throat.

  This still had little effect on the creature other than to garble its hungry moan. It was only when the zombie went to bite Jillybean’s foot off that it really became aware of the paddle. It let go of her and reached for the paddle.

  Now, now, now! cried Ipes.

  She was in a crumpled ball at the end of the skiff with her hand inches from the gun. It made complete sense to grab it and shoot the creature. Any normal person would have. Of course, any normal person would have screamed or cried out during the battle. She hadn’t. Even with the very great possibility of being eaten, she’d been keenly aware of the tower.

  It was still on her mind as she debated going for the gun. A .25 caliber gun was not a zombie killer. It had been made with humans in mind and even then, it wasn’t an offensive weapon. It was a weapon of last resort.

  And Jillybean still had at least one trick up her sleeve. She simply reached out a hand towards the creature’s face, holding it just out of biting reach, but not grabbing reach. It let go of the boat with its “free” hand and as it did, the front of the boat dropped and scooted a few feet from the zombie.

  Jillybean paddled backwards with her hands as fast as she could as the creature began to churn the water, creating waves around it, further pushing her away.

  Hmmm, I would have used the gun, Ipes remarked, calmer now that the boat was drifting out of sight of the creature. He sat in the very middle of the boat, keeping his floppy, cotton-filled hooves in tight. There were things almost as bad as zombies in the Sound: sharks, seals, ill-tempered halibut.

  “Zombies swim about as good as zebras,” Jillybean whispered to her old friend.

  Maybe in a sprint, but wait until we get our stride. We can go for miles. He made a little gesture with his front legs, reminiscent of a doggy-paddle.

  “You might have to. Look.”

  The wind and current were taking them further out into the Sound; already they were sixty yards away. She was looking over her shoulder at the island just as a section of it, which had been dark, lit up.

  “That was the five-minute marker. We have fifteen left to get back.”

  How? We don’t have a paddle, a sail, or a motor.

  “Or a rudder. A sail is not much good without one.” She looked around at what she did have to work with: four plastic bags and one dismembered body. Her mind immediately started constructing the plastic bag sail: flesh, cut into long strips and braided would act as rope. Two femurs lashed together using the tibias as braces would give her a mast of about six feet. Because the long bones of the arm were so short and the shoulder blades oddly shaped, she would use a double rudder. If the plastic proved unreliable, she would use tendons and the flesh of the torso and thighs to piece together…

  What are you doing? Ipes asked.

  “Nothing.” She pulled her eyes from the bag just as the second set of lights kicked back on. It had been ten minutes since she had left the shelter of the culvert, but that no longer mattered. What mattered was where she’d end up. The current and wind flows of the Sound wasn’t something she had ever studied.

  Wait. Hold on, Ipes said in a mild-panic. We could be stuck out here forever?

  Jillybean put the thermal scope to her eye and gazed across at Seattle. “No. We’ll wash up somewhere. It’s the…” She sucked in her breath. There was a glow of reds and purples not far off, and now she heard the splash of paddles. There was a small boat heading in her direction. She didn’t know if the two people on the boat would see her, but she couldn’t take the chance of getting caught with a chopped apart body.

  Even if they were Corsairs, she didn’t think she could take the shame.

  She grabbed the closest bag and eased it into the water. The next contained the head and was lighter. In her haste, she misjudged getting it over the edge and it hit with a carrying thunk. Jillybean froze.

  “You hear that?” a man whispered as the paddling stopped. “It came from over there.”

  In the gloom, a shadow slipped towards her. It was shapeless and could’ve been anything. Her mind formed its own image of two leering men. They were generically evil with dark, stubbly beards and greasy full lips. She could imagine the damning looks and the hatred in their eyes. It paralyzed her until Ipes screamed, Hurry!

  With clutching hands, she grabbed the closest bag and threw an arm overboard. “Right there!” one of the men hissed. She tossed the torso in and black water splashed her.

  “It’s prolly anudder zeke,” a drawling voice whispered.

  This was Jillybean’s only chance and she froze again, a bag in hand. Ipes unhelpfully advised, Don’t move a muscle. She would’ve glared at him if she could.

  The two men eased their paddling, and yet the two boats came closer as the wind pushed Jillybean in their direction. They were going to miss each other by twenty feet. Maybe it would be enough for them not to see her. Maybe. She should’ve ducked down and hoped they confused her for a log. She should’ve attempted a low moan so they would think she was a zombie.

  Either would’ve been a good idea. Instead she sat there, panting, her eyes growing larger and larger, her heart racing faster. Back when everything had first started, she had frequently evaded zombies by going “bunny.” She would hold in place, knowing that zombies had terrible eyesight. It was a sound strategy based on a full understanding of their liabilities.

  Right there on the Sound, she froze out of sheer panic. The reputation of the Corsairs was dreadful, even by the standards of the time. They were savage and viciously brutal. Jillybean had faced bandits and petty dictators, false prophets and jumped-up warlords, all of whom could be reasoned with. All of whom still lived within what could be called a society, where there were still rules and expectations, even if they were far lower than in the old days.

  The Corsairs were different.

  Their leader, the Black Captain, didn’t just allow barbaric ferocities to occur, he encouraged them. He wanted his men to instill exactly the fear that was consuming Jillybean. This horrible cruelty made the Corsairs unthinking beasts and it turned their victims into quivering sheep.

  “Hey, that’s a boat or sumptin,” exclaimed the drawling Corsair. His name was Burt. He’d been named after Burt Reynolds, the actor, who had been a swaggering, handsome man in his time. This Burt was a hairy beast who looked like he’d been found under a log in some swamp.

  The other man in the boat, Carl Maynard, was smaller with a strangely flat face with his features spreading sideways rather than outward. He had mean, piggy eyes that squinted at the vague outlines of the skiff. “A boat? You think so?”

  “It ain’t no zombie. It ain’t movin’ at all.” Burt stroked towards the boat, while Carl eased a shotgun to his shoulder.

  Do something! Ipes cried. The little zebra was now shivering in a ball at the front of the boat.

  Jillybean really couldn’t do anything. She couldn’t flee, she couldn’t hide and she couldn’t risk going for her little gun. Her last option was to throw herself into the water and try to swim to safety. Unfortunately, her swimming skills had not progressed very far.

  Months before, she had graduated from pollywog to tadpole, however the level of guppy was not yet in reach. She could tread water for a while and do an ungainly version of the freestyle for twenty yards or so.

  Though her form was technically wrong in every facet, h
er best swimming style was the breast stroke, but even it was slow and obvious. Lastly, she could swim under water like a frog, but she lacked the lung capacity to swim for more than ten yards at a time.

  With swimming out of the question, the only thing she could do was to heave the rest of the bags over the side. The moment the first splashed into the water, Burt paddled faster. He was on her in seconds, which was long enough for Jillybean to get the bags over the side. She watched the last disappear with sadness and relief. The body…no, Kevin was finally gone. He’d been murdered, chopped up and made to vanish as if he had never existed in the first place.

  As the Corsair canoe knocked up next to the skiff, Jillybean began to think that would be her fate as well.

  “Get your hands up!” Carl hissed. “Don’t move a…holy crap, it’s a kid. What the hell?” He eased up and stared into the darkness as if expecting to see an entire squadron of kids. “What’re you doing out here?”

  It wasn’t an easy question to answer. The truth certainly wouldn’t work. Who would believe an eight-year-old was out in the dead of night, disposing of a body when there were Corsairs about? That she was on a spying mission was equally unlikely. Night fishing? Stupid. Out for a quick bit of exercise? Moronic.

  There was only one reason a kid would be out like this under these conditions: “I-I was running away and a z-zombie took my paddle.”

  “Serves you right,” Carl snorted. “It’s stupid to run away.” A grin slowly spread over his face. “But it’s our gain. I claim her.”

  “You can’t do that!”

  “I just did and she’s my witness.”

  Burt sat back with a pissy look on his face. “Yeah, let’s just see wut Bald Jerry says. I bet he won’t have none of that.” He grinned, thinking he’d won something off his smaller, more annoying companion. The grin vanished as he caught sight of the thermal scope lying at the bottom of the shallow skiff. “Wut’s that?”

  Jillybean had forgotten all about it. They were rare and fantastically useful items. In the hands of the Corsairs, they could be exceedingly dangerous. Jillybean glanced at Carl and saw that he’d lowered his shotgun slightly.

  “It’s nothing,” she said casually as she could and picked it up.

  Carl was fast with the shotgun. He had it at his shoulder in a blink. “Drop it.”

  “Okay. It’s not a gun, I swear. I’ll throw it overboard.”

  “No wait,” Burt said. Too late. Innocently, she dropped one of the most valuable pieces of military hardware into three-hundred feet of water. Burt banged her skiff with his fist. “I told you to wait. You better start listenin’ or else.”

  He grabbed her by the back of her blue denim jacket and lifted her bodily out of the skiff with one hand. He set her roughly down in the middle of the wide canoe. Carl spun around and looked her over, greedily, wondering if there was any chance he could sneak her on board.

  No, he thought. Burt’ll spill the beans and Baldy will take her. “I say we go back,” he said. “But do we go to Baldy or straight to Van Mire? We give him another hostage, I bet there’ll be some sort of juicy reward in it.”

  “Which Baldy will go an’ take,” Burt countered. “An’ you just know he’ll stick us on every crap detail there is for goin’ behind his back an’ all.” He paused, looking unsettled at Jillybean. “But ya know, he might do some stuff. Ya know how he is.”

  Carl squinted down at her, a curl to his lip. “Maybe not. She’s awful small.”

  “I don’t think that’ll matter to him.”

  “So what? We just take her back home?” He scoffed, “That ain’t happening.” Carl stuck a finger in his ear, gave it a wiggle and then tried to see what he’d excavated, all the while facing Jillybean with that same curl to his lip. “Maybe Baldy’s gonna be the least of her worries. Besides, we don’t have a choice.” Turning around, he took up his paddle. Sighing, Burt did as well. They pulled away, leaving the little skiff behind.

  Jillybean watched it drift away before glancing back at Burt’s hulking form. He topped six feet and in the little canoe, his knees were crammed up around his chest. Jillybean had his huge size fifteens under her little bench on either side of her. He was very close.

  What are you thinking? Ipes asked. He had slipped from the skiff and had stolen up into her jacket. He peeked out with narrowed eyes.

  She was planning on killing the two men and getting back home as fast as she could. Once they got to the Corsair squadron, escaping would be nearly impossible. She still had her gun. It was barely a foot from her hand.

  Oh God, don’t do it, Ipes whispered. They’re too close. You’ll never get Burt. He’ll smack you with his paddle before you can turn around.

  This was a valid point, except Jillybean planned on shooting Burt first. He was only three feet away. She would turn and shoot him three times at point blank range. Then she would kill Carl. He would be easier. He’d be twisting around, unable to comprehend what was happening. She would go for the spine with him.

  Cold as these thoughts were, she didn’t feel shame. These were bad guys, and the worst sorts of bad guys at that. Slowly, she inched up her left pant leg, exposing the gun. Its silver winked in the darkness. Taking a deep breath, she started to reach for it when the last section of lights turned on. Her twenty minutes were up. The surprise caused her to pause, her hand reaching for the gun.

  The timing couldn’t have been worse. Carl was just glancing back at the island when the bright nickel caught his eye. She made a grab at the gun and even had her fingers on the grip when his quick hand came down on hers.

  12

  “What the hell?” Carl snarled, his hard fingers crushing down on her delicate ones. “She’s got a gun. Why didn’t you search her? She could’ve killed me.” As he ranted, he tore the gun from its holster and sneered at it.

  “She’s a kid,” Burt said. “Why would I think she had a gun? Come here.” He set his paddle down and pulled Jillybean to him in something of a bearhug. His big hand roved over her without any nod to modesty. “Nothing,” he said, dropping her back onto her bench.

  “Just keep an eye on her,” Carl groused, raising his paddle once more. For the next ten minutes, as the black squadron came into sight, he was twitchy and frequently stared back.

  She barely looked up. Her best chance at escape was gone. Once on a ship, she would be confined to a wooden prison with who knew how many sailors. And even if she could break free from any bonds, they might put her in, how was she to slip away when she could hardly swim?

  Maybe use one of the canoes? Ipes suggested.

  It wasn’t a bad idea except they would see her for sure. They’d be tied on deck or…a new scream broke in on her thoughts. It was a high, blood curdling sound that sent shivers down Jillybean’s back. That would be her very soon. They would cut her and stick terrible things in her. She would scream until her throat bled—all for nothing.

  The people of Bainbridge wouldn’t trade a rowboat for her. She was the weird little girl with the evil reputation. She was only tolerated because she had a way with medicine. Neil and Deanna would make a big fuss, as well as some of the people from Estes, but not all of them. It wouldn’t be enough to sway the governor and so Jillybean would be shredded and torn up in the most terrible way.

  And then she would be killed.

  It was a matter of course that they’d kill her. After everything they’d do to her, she’d be useless as a sex-slave, which would be all the Corsairs would want out of a girl her size. She couldn’t cut wood like a man slave or dig holes for bodies. Nor could she clean very well like a woman slave and her cooking skills lagged miles behind all her other abilities.

  Yes, they would kill her. In all probability, they would hang her in the bright light of day, in full view to instill as much fear into the islanders as possible.

  A new scream sent a new shiver down her back. It made Burt grunt, “Yup. Prolly shoulda stayed home. It ain’t seemin’ so bad now, is it?”

  Th
ey were coming up on the squadron. In front was a big ship, tall and long, and black as death. From the bow was a chain that ran down into the depths. At the stern trailed a heavy length of rope that ran to the next ship in line. Each of the ships were anchored, but also connected in this way, bow to stern, none more than twenty feet from the next.

  Burt and Carl eased away from the lead ship where the screams ripped the air, and paddled along the line to the very last and smallest ship. It was thirty-two feet of peeling black paint, weather-rotted wood and sagging deck. The smell of sewage and gasoline coming from it was so pungent it made her head spin. At the stern was a rusty ladder. Carl went up first, nimble as a cat.

  He dropped down a rope, saying to someone on deck, “Get Baldy. We got him something good.” Then someone grumbled and a second later his thudding feet could be heard descending down into the galley.

  Jillybean hadn’t moved. She was too afraid. Burt gave her a shove. “Go on.”

  Her hands were little claws that she feared would be too weak to mount the rungs. Slowly, she went up to find the curving narrow triangle of the deck strewn with trash and gas cans. Just in front of her was a step down into a little pit partially ringed by benches topped with moldy cushions. Carl grabbed her as soon as she stepped down and pushed her in front of him, holding her by the shoulders. He was grinning.

  Five feet away was a set of stairs that led to the galley. At the bottom hung a thick black curtain. When it opened, a brief flash of light made Jillybean turn away. Squinting, she looked back as a barrel-chested man with a red face, stumped onto deck. He had a bulbous nose to go along with his round, hairless head.

  “Look what we got for you, Baldy,” Carl said.

  Having come from his lit cabin, Baldy was momentarily confused at what he was seeing. Stepping closer, he found himself staring down at a girl, perhaps the most unlikely thing to be found on the Sound that night.

  “She was on this little boat thing and at first Burt and I thought it was a water-zeke. I said we should check it out just in case it was something else…”