27
Trapped
JENNA
We wait in tense silence as Jesus disappears out the front door of the shop. Carlos keeps his gun aimed at the window. The guy is like an animal poised to spring.
Seconds pass. They stretch into minutes. Carlos grows visibly more concerned. Sweat beads around his temples. He swears to himself in Spanish, shifting his weight back and forth between his two feet.
I lick my lips and pick up a large rock from a shelf. Not that a rock is going to do me much good in a gun fight, but I feel better having something in my hand. I catch Carter’s gaze and cast a pointed look at the rocks. He nods, also picking up a rock.
We both jump when two gunshots sound from outside. Three more answer it, these much closer than the first.
“Fuck.” Carlos gestures at us with his gun. “All of you need to get back.” He herds us to the back of the shop, stopping in front of a small supply closet. “Inside,” he orders. “You’ll be safe here.”
“But—” Reed begins.
“Rosario’s men are armed and pissed about their dog,” Carlos replies. “Without a weapon, you’ll be dead meat. Just sit tight and let us take care of them.”
It’s hard to believe this is the same guy who held us at gunpoint. My throat tightens as I realize he truly cares about Reed.
We pile into the tiny storeroom, which is lined with boxes of rocks, shopping bags, and register tape. Carlos closes the door, leaving us drenched in complete black.
The sound of shattering glass and gunfire booms from inside the store.
“Motherfuckers!” Carlos screams.
More gunshots. Something outside the storeroom door crashes to the ground, making the door rattle in its frame.
“We have to get out of here,” Carter says. “It’s not safe.”
I couldn’t agree more. Sitting around in a closet while men shoot each other just outside is not my idea of a good time.
“Let’s see if there’s a back way out,” I say.
“We should sit tight and wait for Jesus and Carlos,” Reed says.
“Be my guest,” Carter replies. “Jenna and I are getting out of here.”
I flounder for the doorknob and give it a shove. The knob turns, but the door won’t budge.
I throw my shoulder against it. The door is old and made of solid wood. There’s a dull thud as my shoulder connects. The door doesn’t move.
“Shit.” I grit my teeth in frustration.
“Let me try.” Carter takes over, slamming his shoulder several times into the door. After several minutes, he succeeds only in getting the door to move a half inch. Gunfire continues, though it sounds like it’s moved out of the shop.
“What the fuck is on the other side?” I kick the door in frustration.
“I think a piece of furniture fell over in front of it,” Carter says.
“Those guys do know they don’t have to kill each other, right?” I ask. “I mean, turf isn’t all that important if there aren’t any people left alive to sell to.”
“Turf is always important to those guys,” Reed replies.
Of course, it is. I kick the door again, for good measure. And because I’m mad and scared and I can’t think of what else to do in this pitch-black room.
Even though the world has ended, these idiots have decided to perpetuate their stupid turf wars. What is it with all these people who insist on dwelling in a world that no longer exists? There’s probably a psychology word to describe the phenomenon. The fact that more of these drug people are in town makes me glad we’re taking steps to gather supplies and fortify Creekside.
The gunfire outside has grown more distant. For the moment, the fighting has apparently migrated away from the rock shop.
“I’m going to try and climb the shelves and see if there’s a way out through the ceiling,” Carter says.
“We just need to wait,” Reed says. “Carlos and Jesus will be back for us.”
“They could get shot out there,” I say. “They’re having a street fight with Mr. Rosario’s men right now.”
“Move closer to the door,” Carter says. “The shelves seem sturdy, but I don’t want to land on you if I fall.”
“Be careful.” I reach through the darkness, groping for him, not caring that I don’t know where we stand as a couple. We’ve landed somewhere between fighting and not fighting. My hand lands halfway between his nose and cheek. “Shit, sorry, I—”
His strong hand wraps around mine. My breath catches when he tugs me forward into an embrace.
“I was an asshole,” he whispers in my ear. “I’m sorry, babe.”
Emotion wells in my throat. “Me, too.” I tighten my arms around him, reveling in the sensation of the tension between us melting away.
He kisses my forehead. “We’ll talk more later,” he murmurs.
“Okay.” I kiss the side of his neck.
When I slip out of his arms, I feel good knowing I’ll be in them again soon. Just as soon as we get the hell out of this place.
The shelf rattles under Carter’s weight but doesn’t tip over. He knocks over unseen boxes as he climbs, all of them making a racket when they hit the floor.
“Dude, watch out,” Reed complains.
“Sorry.” Thunk. “Ow. Shit,” he grumbles.
“Find the ceiling?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
Any hope that he’d encounter a cheap fiberglass ceiling is dashed as his knuckles wrap on something hard.
“I don’t think we’re getting through that,” Reed says. “It sounds like solid wood.
This town was founded during the redwood-logging era. All the old buildings around here are made of solid redwood.
“Either of you have an axe?” I try to make my words light, but they come out dull.
“I think Paul Bunyan has one we can borrow,” Carter says, voice equally glum. He fumbles around for another few minutes, knocking on the ceiling. Everything is solid. “Damn it. I don’t feel anything resembling an attic door, either.”
Another loud crash sounds inside the store, followed by gunfire. This time, the shots are at close range. My ears echo with the blasts.
“Motherfuckers!” comes the voice of Carlos. “Jesus, get that fucker!”
28
Ignite
KATE
I watch the scene unfolding before me in increments of ever-increasing horror. Inside the gem and mineral shop are two dark-haired men. They are ducked beneath the large front window, which has been obliterated by gunfire.
Behind a car outside the shop are three people I peg as belonging to Mr. Rosario. Their hobo clothing, coupled with the fact that they’re packing firepower, is a dead giveaway. They pop from behind the car and shoot at the gem and mineral shop. The men inside return fire. All the while the two groups yell obscenities at one another.
“What the hell?” Johnny says. The two of us crouch behind the statue of the president in the plaza. “Rival drug gangs?”
“I think so.” Honestly, I don’t care who the fuck they are. They have Carter, Jenna, and Reed.
“What are we going to do?” Johnny asks.
“Our people are in the shop. We’re going around to see if there’s a back way in.” With any luck, we can free them, get the hell out of here, and let these drug goons kill each other off.
“Okay.” Johnny licks his lips. “We could really use some guns of our own right now.”
He isn’t wrong. As it is, we have our new knives from the shop and the kitchen knives we took earlier. Johnny has his spear and I have my screwdriver. We’re not exactly armed for a gunfight.
Thanks to Michael Jackson, who still blares in the distance, the plaza has remained mostly empty of the undead. The few still milling around don’t notice us; their attention is on the gunfire.
Good. Let the idiots with the guns deal with the undead.
It doesn’t take long for Johnny and me to make our way to the parking lot behind the row of shops. We dispatch
three zombies on the way. We’re getting so used to this, it doesn’t even slow us down.
A row of doors faces the parking lot, all of them leading into the various storefronts on the other side.
“Which one goes into the gem shop?” Johnny asks.
“That one, I think.” I point to a metal security door. Above it hangs a wooden painting of a purple amethyst.
I try the handle. It’s locked. Shit. I yank and pull, but the door doesn’t budge.
“We’re not getting through that,” Johnny says. “Those security doors are strong.”
I glare at the row of doors. Of course, the gem shop is the only one with the metal security door.
“Maybe we can get in through one of the adjoining shops,” Johnny suggests.
“Good idea.”
We try the shop to the immediate left. Locked. We hurry to one on the right.
A hiss of relief escapes my lips as the door swings open. Finally. A stroke of luck. “I was beginning to wonder if—”
A growl cuts me off. I turn in time to see a zombie rushing at me out of the dark. It’s a woman in jeans and a blazer. Her hair is in a neat bun. If not for her ripped sleeve and the blood soaking her right side, I could almost mistake her for one of the living.
I raise my knife, but Johnny is faster. He leaps in front of me. The zombie woman plows right into his spear. It crumples the front of her face. Black blood and pasty brain parts spill out.
Johnny and I remain in the doorway, waiting and listening. Nothing else moves inside the shop.
“Thanks,” I whisper. He nods, lips compressed in a tight line.
We creep into what turns out to be a futon shop. It isn’t until I take in the various brightly colored fabrics and grain of the wood frames that I realize the lights are on.
“This building has electricity,” I say.
“Must be solar power,” Johnny replies. “A lot of businesses have them. The city gives out big tax credits to anyone who installs them.”
With the sun setting outside, I appreciate the electricity to see by, although I worry about being spotted by the gun-toting psychos outside. All the more reason to get out of here as quickly as possible.
I explore the wall shared with the gem and mineral shop. It’s a slim shot, but maybe there’s a connecting door between the two.
No such luck.
“We’re going to have to go through the wall,” I tell Johnny.
“How are we going to do that?”
“It’s just sheet rock.” I pick up a small end table, hefting it into the air. “We just bash our way through.”
To illustrate my point, I slam the table into the wall. Under normal circumstances, I’d worry about all the noise. Between Michael Jackson and the gunfire outside, our noise is muffled.
Johnny picks up a large paperweight and joins me. We hammer and smash at the sheetrock. Hope flares in my chest as the white plaster crumbles away beneath the onslaught. Another few minutes, and we’ll have a hole large enough to fit through.
My table connects with something hard. Really hard. The impact sends a shockwave up both arms, causing me to stumble back.
What the hell? Whatever I hit is most definitely not sheetrock.
Johnny comes to the same conclusion. He lowers the paperweight and reaches through the hole we made. His knuckles rap on something solid.
“Damn it,” he mutters. “These buildings are made of old redwood planks. No way we’re busting through it without an axe.” He hurls the paperweight to the ground.
I could go back to Trading Post. I could find an axe there. Except that would take too much time. Who knows what could happen in the twenty or thirty minutes it would take to retrieve an axe? Carter could be dead by then. Carter, Jenna, and Reed.
I grit my teeth. Fuck. I slam my end table against the wall a few more times in a fit of frustration.
The sheetrock crumbles against my attack. A spark arcs out in my direction.
I yelp in surprise and jump back. A tiny arc of flame licks out from the wall.
“Woah,” Johnny says. “Electrical fire. You must have hit one of the live wires—”
The tiny flame abruptly goes from a dancing finger of light to a burst of fire. It races up the exposed length of redwood. A gust of black smoke rolls over me. Coughing and waving the smoke away from my eyes, I fall back.
When half the wall suddenly bursts into flame, I shout in surprise. In retrospect, I should have considered the fact that the redwood is old and dry.
“Um, Kate?” Johnny says. “I think we need to get out of here.”
29
Chair
KATE
Too much smoke. It pours into the room, down my lungs, and across my eyes. Coughing and choking, I reach for Johnny. I find his arm and latch on.
Panic claws through my chest. Carter. How am I going to get to him?
Johnny drags me away from the flames. Our way back to the parking lot is blocked by a wall of flame. I pull my shirt up over my nose, struggling to breathe.
“We have to get out of here,” Johnny chokes.
He’s right. I can’t help Carter if I die of smoke inhalation.
We rush to the front of the store. Johnny throws himself at the swinging glass door, but it doesn’t budge.
“Damn it!” he shrieks, yanking on the handle.
I fumble at the door, searching for the deadbolt. There’s no latch, just a keyhole. The only way to turn the deadbolt is to use a key.
Instinct takes over. No way are Johnny and I going to burn to death in a fucking futon shop.
I seize the object closest to me. A chair. A simple metal chair with four legs.
I hurl it at the window.
The glass blows outward, no doubt helped along by the pressure building inside the shop. I grab Johnny and haul him toward the opening. We use our elbows to knock aside lingering pieces of glass, then climb free of the shop.
The street is in chaos. One of Mr. Rosario’s men writhes on the ground beneath a swarm of zombies. The other two are still behind the car. One fires at the rock shop while the other fires at the zombies eating his friend.
One of the dark-haired men who took Carter stands on the sidewalk, backing away from the burning building. Several zombies loom out of the gloom and latch onto him.
I don’t bother to watch as he’s pulled down.
The remaining guy, still inside the shop, rises into a half crouch. “Carlos!” he bellows.
This is my opening. I snatch the metal chair off the sidewalk. Screaming, I charge at the man. I half expect a bullet to punch through me, but I don’t care. I have to get the kids out of that shop. They are not going to burn to death on my watch.
The man’s mouth sags open. I can’t tell if he’s staring at me in shock, or at the zombies that drag his friend to the ground.
I smash the chair across his face. He lets out a shout. His gun thumps to the ground.
“Don’t you ever, ever, lay a finger on my kids!” I scream at him. Rage and fear beat in my chest. “Touch them again and I’ll kill you. Do you understand? I’ll fucking kill you!”
“Lady, wait—!” the man begins.
I swing a second time, hitting him so hard blood sprays out of his nose.
Eyes bulging as he grips his bleeding nose in one hand, the man scrambles up and runs away. He streaks past his fallen friend, past the drug dealers behind the car, and disappears.
I sweep my eyes through the front of the shop. It’s in complete disarray. Display cabinets are knocked over. Rocks and gems are strewn all over the floor.
There is no sign of Carter, Jenna, or Reed.
“Carter!” I scream. “Carter, where are you?”
30
Fire
JENNA
More gunfire and shouting.
Carter and I find each other in the dark. We huddle on the floor in one another’s arms.
“I was a jerk,” I whisper, pressing my forehead against his neck and not caring that
Reed can hear everything I say. “I—”
“I’m the jerk.” His arms tighten around me. “You tried to talk to me but I shut you down. I’m sorry. I was in denial. It’s just ... it was like the world ended when my dad died, you know? I wasn’t ready for it to end a second time.”
“Carter.” I whisper his name, feeling like complete shit for not seeing his turmoil. I’d noticed him talking a lot about his dad after we witnessed the military slaughter, but I hadn’t put the pieces together. “I’m so sorry, babe. I didn’t understand what you were going through.”
“Neither did I.”
Something large hits the shop floor with an echoing thud. More cursing and gunfire.
“My real hair color is blond,” I blurt.
“What?”
“My hair isn’t brown. It’s blond. Junior year a stupid football jock asked me to prom. My mom found out and threatened to take away my cell phone if I didn’t go with him. The guy was from a rich family and mom wanted a piece of it.” I give a soft, bitter laugh. “I said yes to the date, dyed my hair brown, and grew out my armpit hair. It didn’t take long for the jock to change his mind.”
“God, babe. Every story I hear about your family is more fucked up than the last.” He rocks me in his arms in the dark amid gunfire and shouting. God, I hope we don’t die here.
“Looking like a real-life Barbie doll made me a magnet for jerky guys,” I continue. “I wanted them to like me for who I was on the inside, not what I looked like on the outside.” Does he understand what I’m trying to say? Does he understand why I flinch away from compliments? “When I moved away from my mom, I promised myself I would never date until I found a guy I liked on the inside,” I whisper. “Then I acted like an asshole when I got in front of my family and did to you what so many guys have done to me. Sorry I fucked everything up.”
He kisses my temples. “Remember when we ran out of that frat party?” he asks.
“I remember.”
“I pushed people out of the way to get to you. I didn’t care what happened to them. I didn’t try to help them. All I could think about was getting you to safety.” His breath rattles in his chest. “I didn’t want to believe I was living in a world where I had to choose between protecting you and hurting other people.”
Undead Ultra Box Set | Books 1-4 Page 48
