Z-Town

by Eden Darry

  Z-Town

  Synopsis

  Meg Daltry isn’t interested in falling in love and certainly doesn’t have time for a relationship, even though she can’t quite forget about Lane Boyd, a vacation fling she left behind in London.

  When Lane arrives in Provincetown hoping to win Meg back, she isn’t expecting a town in perpetual dusk. Or the hordes of zombies overrunning it. Now she’s not only fighting for Meg, she’s fighting for her life.

  An ancient Viking grave has been disturbed and its treasures stolen. Something wants back what was taken, and it won’t rest until everyone in Provincetown is destroyed. Forced to work together to stay alive, Meg and Lane must find the centuries-old treasure before the zombies find them first.

  Praise for Eden Darry

  The House

  “Eden Darry is on my to-watch list. I am eagerly anticipating her new release because I adored this one so much. The pacing was excellent; combining the thriller stalker with the haunted house was a stroke of genius causing threats from both sides and really putting the pressure on…If you have loved The Shining, The Haunting of Hill House (TV show), or The Amityville Horror then you should absolutely get this book. Eden Darry wrote a wonderful horror. It was exciting, captivating and had me on the edge of my seat with anticipation.”—Lesbian Review

  “For a debut novel, Eden Darry did really well. This book had everything a modern-day horror novel needed. A modern couple, a haunted house, and a talented author to combine the two. The atmosphere was eerie and the plot held a lot of suspense. The couple went between love and hate, and if only they had talked to one another! And the reader just kept turning those pages.”—Kat Loves Books

  “A solid debut that is creepy and intense.”—Lez Review Books

  Vanished

  “Vanished by Eden Darry is a postapocalyptic horror that I thoroughly enjoyed. If you love stories where people have to survive against huge odds, postapocalyptic, end of the world kind of stories, then this is a must-read. If you love stories where something bad is lurking in the background being just sinister enough to make your skin crawl, then this is an awesome read.”—Lesbian Review

  “I really do like Darry’s writing—she creates a great ominous atmosphere in her narrative. The initial chapters with the storm perfectly set the stage for what is to come. There’s also a suitably unnerving and creepy feel as Loveday begins to realize that there is no one else in the village and a nice bit of tension while she and Ellery are searching houses.”—C-Spot Reviews

  Z-Town

  Brought to you by

  eBooks from Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  http://www.boldstrokesbooks.com

  eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

  Please respect the rights of the author and do not file share.

  Z-Town

  © 2020 By Eden Darry. All Rights Reserved.

  ISBN 13: 978-1-63555-744-2

  This Electronic Original Is Published By

  Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  P.O. Box 249

  Valley Falls, NY 12185

  First Edition: October 2020

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

  Credits

  Editor: Ruth Sternglantz

  Production Design: Stacia Seaman

  Cover Design by Jeanine Henning

  eBook Design by Toni Whitaker

  By the Author

  The House

  Vanished

  Z-Town

  Acknowledgments

  I’d like to thank Radclyffe and Sandy for publishing me again and for being on board with the idea of zombies in Provincetown.

  Ruth for always being super patient and an amazing editor.

  And Catherine. For the hours you spent reading through the first drafts, gently encouraging, suggesting, and questioning. I love you.

  Lastly, I’ve tried to stay factual with the geography of Ptown. But those who know the place may spot a couple of inaccuracies. I hope you’ll forgive the minor liberties I’ve taken.

  For Catherine

  Prologue

  The insistent bleeping of the bulldozer almost drowned out the workmen’s cries. But Craig, the operator, a great big burly guy who barely fit in the cab, couldn’t find his headphones this morning, and they usually drowned out the growl of engines—and any other noise too. Not that Provincetown was a noisy place, at least not in the off season. Even so, without his headphones, Craig knew he would end up with a pounding headache by the end of the day if he was forced to listen to the sounds of the construction site.

  The foreman on-site, Steve, gave him shit about it all the time, said it was dangerous if he couldn’t hear what was going on around him. Craig told Steve he should try to listen to that noise every damn day instead of sitting in his cosy office. Then let him say it was dangerous. Asshole.

  As it was he didn’t have them on today, so he killed the engine and climbed out of the cab. He went over to where two other guys and Joanne, who sometimes worked with their crew, were gesturing excitedly and pointing. He looked down into the ditch he’d just been digging out. Well, shit. It really was something. A box. Not a big box—it was about three feet by three feet—and it looked old.

  Craig climbed down into the ditch.

  “Don’t you think we should call the boss? It might be a body or something,” one of the guys who’d found it said.

  Craig looked up. “Hell no. It ain’t a body. And even if it is, it’s been down here a long time. It’ll be bones by now. I’m going to look. Fuck the boss—I dug it up, I should be the one who sees what it is.”

  Craig flicked up the catches on the box. They opened easier than he thought they would considering how long it must have been buried. He pushed up the lid, half expecting a body like the guy said, but it wasn’t. What it was was going to make Craig fucking rich.

  There were a bunch of broken pots and some cloth that had rotted away until it was just scraps. But there was also jewellery. Gold and silver. And a couple knives that looked like weapons.

  “Hey, don’t touch that,” Craig said as Joanne reached into the box and picked up one of the pieces of jewellery.

  “Ouch—damn, Craig. You made me cut myself,” Joanne said and pulled her hand back.

  “It’s only a little cut—don’t be a baby. And don’t touch my stuff,” Craig said.

  Craig turned his attention back to the box and grinned.

  Finders keepers, which meant no more construction sites and no more bulldozers for him.

  Chapter One

  Lane Boyd took her seat. Her knees were pressed up against the chair in front, and once again she wished she’d flown business instead of economy—or cattle, as most people called it, and she could see why. This was the new her. Not relying on family money. Being more real, more like everyone else.

  Admittedly, her family money paid for this ticket too, but she didn’t have a job yet, to be able to buy one with her own money, and everyone had to start somewhere. This was the first step. She’d even written a list, which was currently stuffed somewhere in her carry-on luggage, but she knew it by heart. Step one was get Meg back.

  Lane could pinpoint the exact moment she decided she wanted more for her life, and it was the first time she laid eyes on Meg Daltry at a basement club in Soho. Lane had been coming upstairs to smoke a cigarette, thinking about leaving because the place was dead. She got halfway up the stairs when Meg appeared in the door
way.

  She’d moved to the side to let Meg pass and immediately knew she was going back down after her smoke. Meg was beautiful. Lane didn’t think Meg had even noticed her as she walked by with her eyes lowered, but she’d thanked Lane for moving.

  Lane quickly finished her smoke and hurried back downstairs. The club was small with no natural light. The DJ hadn’t arrived yet, so old pop tunes were being pumped through the speakers.

  She made her way to the empty bar and looked around. There she was. Sitting at a table by herself, sipping a glass of wine. Lane ordered a bottle of beer, gave herself a silent mini pep talk, and walked over.

  “Hi,” she said. “I’m Lane.”

  “Meg.” Meg smiled and held out her hand.

  Lane shook it. It was small and soft and an effort to let it go again.

  “Do you mind if I sit down?” she asked. “Or are you waiting for someone?”

  Meg shook her head. “I’m not waiting for anyone—you can sit down.”

  Lane sat and took a drink from her bottle. “You’re American—I mean, from the United States?”

  “I am.”

  “Okay, good, because some Canadians get really annoyed when you mistake them for USA-type Americans.” Lane gave Meg her hundred-watt smile. It was usually a winner with women.

  Meg laughed but it sounded polite rather than genuine. Tone the smile down. Lane didn’t want to look too cocky.

  “Are you from here?” Meg gestured with her glass. “London, I mean.”

  “I am indeed. Born and raised. If you’re after a tour guide, I’m available.” Lane smiled again but kept it to about seventy watts. That seemed to go down better.

  “I’m sure you are. I’ll bet you’re a well-known tour guide around here.”

  Lane’s smile faltered. Women usually found her pretty charming. This was new. Lane wasn’t so conceited she couldn’t tell Meg wasn’t interested in her.

  “Look, I saw you upstairs and I thought you were beautiful, so I wanted to come and talk to you. If you want me to go away, I will. No hard feelings,” Lane said.

  “You know, I’m being kind of rude. You’re full of yourself, but that’s no reason to be impolite,” Meg said. “I’m sorry.”

  “Full of myself?” Lane laughed. This woman was unusual.

  “Your lines seem well practised. Maybe it’s a Brit thing. I don’t know.” Meg shrugged.

  Lane took a deep breath. Ordinarily, if a woman clearly wasn’t interested, she’d walk away. It didn’t matter all that much to her. But there was something about Meg that made her want to keep trying.

  “How about we start again? I’ll refrain from giving you my usual lines, and you ease up on me. What do you say?” Lane smiled again, but to her surprise this one felt hopeful on her lips. And maybe a little unsure.

  Meg seemed to think for a moment. Then she smiled too. “Deal. You want another drink?”

  Lane’s heart hurt at the memory. Things could have turned out so differently. She sighed and rifled in the seat pouch in front. She pulled out a dog-eared flight magazine with a weird brown stain on the cover and flicked through it. Maybe she should get some perfume to give Meg. Or some jewellery—perhaps a watch. Meg was a stickler for timekeeping, so she might appreciate it. But perhaps not.

  When they first started dating, she’d bought Meg a Tiffany bracelet. Meg went all weird and refused to accept it. She’d told Lane it was too much. Lane tried to explain her family were loaded and the bracelet was a drop in the ocean. Meg still refused, and then they’d gotten in a big argument about money and value and other things to do with finances that Lane didn’t understand. What she did understand was that Meg had a chip on her shoulder about wealth.

  Lane stuffed the magazine back in the seat pouch. Maybe not a present, then. She drummed her fingers on the armrest. God, this was boring. She hated waiting for things, and take-off was usually painful. When she flew business or first, she didn’t have to get on the plane for ages. But she was flying cattle today, and apparently, they got on about eight hours before everyone else. It was ridiculous.

  Lane grabbed the attention of a passing flight attendant. “Excuse me, do you have any magazines or newspapers or something?”

  The flight attendant looked at her like she’d just scraped her off her shoe. “No. There’s a magazine in the seat pouch.”

  Before Lane could say anything else, the flight attendant walked off. Rude.

  “Excuse me, do you want this?” A woman in the next aisle over offered her a newspaper. “It’s a week old, but I just found it in my flight bag and was going to throw it out. It’s online too. They found some Viking treasure in Ptown last week, and they update the story all the time. It’s pretty interesting if you like that sort of thing.”

  Lane didn’t.

  “Thank you.” She leaned forward and took the newspaper from the woman. The Outer Cape Echo. “This is where you’re from?” she asked the woman.

  “I am. Have you been?” the woman asked.

  “No, but I’m on my way there.”

  “Oh, well, I’m sure you’ll love it. We’re biased, but it’s a great little town. We’ve just been visiting our daughter in London, and we can’t wait to get home.”

  Lane nodded and leaned back in her seat. She didn’t want to carry the conversation on, although she was tempted to ask about Meg. From what she’d heard, Provincetown was tiny, so there was a good chance this woman knew her. But that would mean more conversation—possibly for the whole flight—and Lane didn’t want to chance it.

  She’d read the newspaper, though. It was something to do, and she was headed to the town. Lane unfolded it and started to read.

  VIKING TREASURE FOUND ON WINTHROP STREET

  PROVINCETOWN—Yesterday morning when contractors showed up to work, the last thing they expected to find was Viking treasure. The haul, stored in an original Viking chest, was uncovered by Craig Cherry. “At first we thought maybe there was a dead body inside. I opened it up and found all this old stuff. Didn’t know what it was, but it looked like it might be worth a few bucks.”

  And Craig was right. Provincetown Historical Society’s Wendy Moon believes the treasure to be definitive proof that Thorvold Eriksson docked his longboats in Provincetown Harbour in 1007. The haul still has to be assessed by experts from Boston, but if Moon is right, this could be a significant discovery for Provincetown.

  If you want to take a look at the Viking treasure, then head along to Provincetown Public Library where it’s on display. There’s something for everyone, with jewellery and weapons, including a Viking seax, or fighting knife.

  Meg Daltry checked her watch. Three hours until closing. For once she was glad about that. She’d have worked a fourteen hour shift today by the time she finished at the bar, and she knew she’d be dead on her feet. The only thing that kept her going the last couple hours was the thought of hot tea, her couch, and the baseball highlights.

  They were in the run-up to Women’s Week, and Provincetown was starting to fill up again. Not that it ever really stopped filling up from spring until fall, but usually there was a short lull between the high summer season and the fall events, culminating in Christmas. Not this time. And despite the weather, people kept right on coming. It was good though—good for the Squealing Pig at least, not so good for her feet, which currently throbbed in her sneakers.

  During her year abroad to London last year, she didn’t remember her feet aching quite so much, and the pub she’d worked at was just as busy as the Squealing Pig. She guessed it was age—and that was a depressing thought. It seemed like yesterday she’d been twenty-five and full of dreams about opening her own bar. Now she was thirty-two and still working for someone else, and that hadn’t been the plan at all.

  She’d scrimped and saved so she could spend two whole years in London, learning all she could about authentic British pubs, before launching her own bar. But when her brother got sick, Meg flew home from London early and used all the money she’d s
aved for his medical bills. Now she was starting from scratch. Again. Not that she minded—her brother was more important than any bar. But it meant she’d be closer to forty by the time she opened her own place.

  “Hey, Meg, put another in there, would you?” Dana Sheedy held up her glass and smiled.

  Dana was a paramedic and owned one of the bed and breakfast places in town as well. She came in every night for exactly two beers. She’d stay two hours—one for each beer—then head home. Every night was the same. Meg liked her. She’d been in Provincetown forever.

  “Sure, Dana. How are you doing? How’s your hand?” Meg grabbed a clean glass and poured Dana her second beer.

  “It’s not too bad. I’ve come down with a cold since, though. Joanne can’t stop apologizing. I told her a million times—stop saying sorry.”

  “I guess she feels bad. Did she say why she bit you?” Meg asked.

  “Nah. She can’t explain it. Said she just came over funny. I sent her to the hospital in Hyannis for a blood test. That stuff she cut herself on at the construction site was old. Might be she got some kind of infection, I don’t know. I guess I’m a little run down too, which is making me feel worse. We’ve got a full house this month, so it’d better be gone by next week.”

  Meg put Dana’s beer on the bar and totalled up her tab. Not that it took much work when she always drank the same thing. Meg had given up convincing her to try their monthly guest beer. That had been Meg’s idea, and it was popular. A ton of pubs in London did it and it really boosted sales.

  “Well, I hope so too. Once the weather clears up, I bet you’ll feel a whole lot better.”