Undead Ultra Box Set | Books 1-4

by Picott, Camille

  “Trust me on this,” I reply.

  “Come on, Carter.” Jenna takes his hand, tugging him toward the door. “Let’s go. The zombies won’t clear themselves.”

  After they leave, I take the list of Fern supplies and tuck it into my pocket.

  Next, I gather the three bottles of brandy. I carefully combine everything into a single bottle. When I’m finished, I have a single bottle of golden-brown liquid.

  Just what Johnson likes.

  On an errand, I scrawl on a scrap of paper, leaving it on top of the ham radio where they’re sure to see it. Be back later. Don’t come looking for me.

  I drop trail mix, a flashlight, and two bottles of water into a backpack. The last thing I put inside is the brandy, wrapping it in a towel to protect it. I take one of the guns from my hiding place under the sofa and stash it in my jacket pocket. Then I leave Creekside.

  Carter won’t be happy to find out I’ve gone out alone, but it can’t be helped. I don’t want to involve him or any of the others in my errand.

  43

  Errand

  KATE

  I return to the frat house, taking up position across the street behind some bushes. Zipping up my jacket and pulling the brim of a hat low to shade my eyes, I sit down and settle in to wait.

  The house is quiet and dark. If I hadn’t seen the group go in a few nights ago, I’d never guess this is where they lived.

  The sun is high in the sky before I finally see signs of life. Two of the boys step onto the front porch to pee over the railing before returning inside. Neither of them are the one I’m looking for.

  I munch on trail mix as the sun crawls toward the western horizon. The only sounds are those of the buzzing flies and the squawking vultures as they feast on the dead. If those two creatures ever go extinct, I will shed no tears.

  I hear voices coming from the backyard of the frat house. They carry on for half an hour, then disappear.

  Dusk comes. Still, I wait. They have to come out sooner or later. I don’t care how long it takes.

  Night falls. Under the cover of darkness, I creep into the backyard. The side yard next to the house is overgrown with weeds almost as tall as I am. I wade into them, stealing up to the side of the back porch. I flick on a flashlight.

  As I had hoped, the siding along the bottom of the porch is rotting. I push against the boards with my foot. They crumble under the pressure like wet cardboard.

  Doing my best not to think about spiders and rats, I drop to my stomach and crawl underneath. Once there, I spread out my tarp and pull the hood of my jacket over my head. The dull sound of voices comes from inside.

  I think of poor Lila. The memory of her dull eyes makes me want to scream. If I can figure things out with Johnson, will she recover? Will she ever be able to adjust to the new state of things?

  At some point, I drift into dreamless sleep.

  I’m awakened by the sounds of boots on the floorboards overhead. My eyes snap open. I roll my freezing fingers into fists. I’m so cold I can hardly move.

  I lay still as boots clomp on the boards directly above my head. A moment later, a long stream of urine hits the grass a foot away from my head. I recoil, drawing farther beneath the porch.

  “Good haul from those tithers,” says the boy above me. Not Roberts. It’s Ryan, the college boy. “What do you think they’ll have for us when we go back in a few days? Think they’ll find Johnson a bottle of brandy?”

  A grunt comes in response. Another stream of urine hits the grass on the opposite side of the porch.

  I crawl through the dirt and weeds, trying to catch a glimpse of the second person. Spiders and cobwebs are everywhere. You’d think I’d be immune to creepy critters after dealing with zombies and dead bodies, but nope. Spiders are still icky.

  A third stream of urine hits the ground somewhere in the middle of the porch. “There’s more I want than brandy.” This statement is followed by a lewd laugh.

  Gooseflesh pricks my skin. Johnson’s voice is unmistakable.

  “I want the tall one,” says Ryan.

  “Patience, brother,” Johnson says. “Good things come to those who wait.”

  “You guys are crossing the line,” says the third boy. His voice is hard and angry.

  Roberts. Finally.

  He’s the one on the far side of the porch. I army crawl the rest of the way toward him, wondering how best to get his attention.

  “Calm down, brother,” Johnson says, voice going from lewd to silky. “We didn’t mean anything by it. Did we?”

  “Nah,” Ryan says. “I was just fucking around.”

  “Making them tithe food to us is one thing,” Roberts says. “But that’s as far as it-it—”

  He falters as I shove a blade of grass up between the boards by his feet. We make eye contact through a knothole.

  Don’t give me away, I think as hard as I can, hoping Roberts will receive my silent message.

  “Did you have something to say?” Johnson asks.

  Roberts spins on his heel, zipping up his fly. “We should give them protection for the food. Give them something in return.”

  Johnson snorts. “We let them live, brother.”

  “That’s not living,” Roberts replies. “That’s letting a nest of resentment grow. Offering them protection makes them beholden to us.”

  “We don’t have to give them anything,” Ryan scoffs.

  “We have the guns,” Johnson points out. That smarmy smugness is back in his voice.

  “You’re my brother,” Roberts says after a long pause. “I follow where you lead. Just think on it, okay?”

  Johnson’s boots clomp on the boards as he heads back inside. “Sure thing. You coming in? Ash is going to make pancakes.”

  “Can you believe we got pancakes off those losers?” Ryan says.

  “I’m going to have a smoke,” Roberts replies. “I’ll join you in a few.”

  Johnson and Ryan go back inside, the door closing behind them without a squeak. I take note of this, wondering if the door was well greased before the apocalypse.

  I crawl back to the hole I kicked in the bottom of the porch and emerge into the daylight. Roberts watches me, taking a long drag off a cigarette. I wipe a cobweb off my face, glancing around to make sure we’re alone.

  “No one else is here,” Roberts murmurs. He grabs a chair and pulls it over to the railing closest to me. “You’re lucky I didn’t piss on you.”

  “Honestly, if I had to choose between piss and spiders, I’d probably pick piss.”

  “Really?”

  “No.”

  He flashes a small grin at me before taking another drag off his cigarette. “How long were you under there?”

  “All night.”

  “You must have something important to say to me.”

  I study his handsome face. Dark eyes, perfect skin, classic military haircut. He’s not a guy to fuck with, but he doesn’t give off the same predatory vibe as Johnson and Ryan.

  “I want to make an offer to Johnson. Will you help me?”

  “What kind of offer?”

  “Creekside is our home. We want to live in peace.”

  Roberts snorts. “I don’t think there’s going to be peace for a long time, lady.”

  “Kate.”

  “What?”

  “My name is Kate. And I heard what you said to Johnson about creating a nest of resentment.” I meet his eyes. “You weren’t wrong.”

  Roberts shakes his head, letting out a lungful of smoke. “You heard him. He’s not interested in doing things differently.”

  “Give me a chance to convince him.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Take me inside. Give me a chance to talk to him.”

  Roberts waves an expansive hand at the frat house. “Door’s open, Kate. Go on in and talk.”

  “I’d like to speak to him without having a gun in my face. That’s not talking.”

  Roberts looks away, turning his
gaze to the frat yard. “One of the first attacks was here,” he says. “An infected girl turned and went ballistic at a party. Bit a bunch of other kids. Everything pretty much went to shit after that. Ironic that Johnson picked this place as our headquarters.” He lets out a long, silent breath. “Johnson changed with the world. He wasn’t always a bad guy.”

  “I’m not here to judge him,” I reply. I couldn’t give two shits about Johnson being a good guy before the apocalypse. “I want to find a way to live in peace with him. With all of you. In case you hadn’t noticed, there aren’t a lot of people left. We can work against each other, or we can work with each other.”

  “You sound like a politician.”

  “I’m a mom. I’m trying to protect my family. I heard what you said. You know what Johnson is doing is wrong.”

  Slowly, I lay out the negotiation I’ve constructed in my head. I show him the bottle of brandy and the paper with the list of supplies in Fern. Roberts listens, sucking away on his cigarette as I talk.

  “Help me,” I say when I finish. “Please.”

  Roberts looks me up and down. “You lay under the porch all night for a chance to talk to Johnson?”

  “To talk to you,” I correct. “You were the only one I was pretty sure wouldn’t shoot me on principle.”

  “You’re not wrong.” Roberts stubs his cigarette out. “I’ll take you inside. I can’t promise he’ll agree to your offer, but I can keep him from blowing your head off.”

  “That’s all I’m asking. Thank you, Roberts.”

  “Don’t thank me yet.” He rises. “Come up here. Let me pat you down.”

  I climb onto the porch, holding out my arms. “I have one gun. Right pocket.”

  Roberts pats me down, taking my gun and tucking it into his waistband. He lets me keep my knife, probably figuring I’m not much of a threat with it.

  He isn’t wrong. I might be able to take down a zombie, but it’s unlikely I could take on any of the boys with it.

  “You sure about this?” Roberts asks.

  I nod. “Yeah.”

  “All right,” he says. “Let’s go get pancakes.”

  44

  Pancakes

  KATE

  The bottle of brandy is heavy in my hands. As I follow Roberts into the house, I carry it in front of me like a shield. Like I can hide behind a glass bottle.

  The back door opens into a large kitchen. Yellowed linoleum covers the floor. The cupboards are beat-up red oak that look like they were installed in the nineties. Christmas lights are tacked to the top of the cupboards, dormant with the lack of electricity.

  Past the kitchen is an archway that leads into a sitting room. A large pool table fills half the opening. Surrounded by chairs, it looks like it does double duty as the dining room table.

  Beyond the table is a mishmash of sofas. The boys are sprawled around a coffee table playing cards as they pass around a bottle of tequila.

  Yuck. Tequila for breakfast? With pancakes? I’m sure that never made it onto any restaurant menu. Ever.

  A girl in military fatigue pants stands at the kitchen table flipping pancakes on a propane camp stove. Like everyone else, she looks to be in her early twenties. Thick black hair is swept into a ponytail. Her wife beater tank top shows off well-muscled arms. She could be a poster child for CrossFit.

  “I’m glad it’s the apocalypse,” she says without looking up as we enter. “Sooner or later you’re going to run out of cigarettes. You won’t—who the hell is that?” Her eyes narrow as she catches sight of me, her hand going to her gun.

  “Woah, Ash.” Roberts holds up his hands. “This is Kate. She’s just here to talk. She’s from the tithe group we established the other night.”

  From first glance, I wouldn’t have thought the boys in the other room were paying attention to anything beyond their cards and their tequila. As soon as Roberts speaks, they explode into action.

  Cards fly into the air as the boys leap to their feet. The soldiers draw their weapons. The college boys also pull out firearms, though not with the smooth efficiency of the soldiers.

  Ash goes back to flipping the pancakes, letting the boys handle the situation. I try to get a read on her, but she’s mastered inscrutable.

  “What the fuck, Roberts?” Johnson demands.

  “Kate is here to have breakfast with us,” Roberts replies, unruffled by the agitated boys with guns. “She wants to talk.”

  “Unless she wants to suck me off, there’s nothing to talk about,” Johnson retorts.

  My grip tightens on the brandy.

  “Can you all just calm the fuck down?” Roberts asks. “She’s just here to talk.”

  “How did you find us?” Johnson asks. “We don’t advertise our location.”

  I bypass the question. “I brought a peace offering.” I step around Roberts, displaying the bottle of brandy. I make eye contact with Johnson. I want to smash the bottle in his face, but I force my best mom smile. The one that promises cinnamon rolls and a cup of hot chocolate for good little boys. “Word has it that you like brandy. I had this bottle dug up especially for you.”

  A slow smile spreads across Johnson’s face. I remember that smug, feral expression from the other night. “Why didn’t you say so?” He holsters his gun. “Come on in.”

  I stay beside Roberts. I trust him to keep me in one piece, but he can’t do that if I’m on the other side of the room.

  Together, we cross to the pool table. I place the bottle of brandy on the worn green felt. My palms are sweaty from nerves. I press them flat against the table, meeting Johnson’s gaze with a level stare of my own.

  “Would you like a pancake, Kate?” Roberts asks.

  “That sounds good,” I reply. Seeing the bag of Krusteaz on the table makes my blood boil. That was our pancake mix.

  I take a seat. Within fifteen minutes, everyone is gathered around the pool table eating pancakes. A bottle of Aunt Jemima syrup is passed around.

  My stomach feels like lead. The last thing I want to do is eat, but I force down a bite. If it’s one thing I learned from ultrarunning, it’s how to push forward with a bad stomach.

  No one speaks. The only sound is that of forks against plates. The boys stare at me with a mixture of curiosity, distrust, and arrogance. I count nine altogether. Four soldiers and five college boys, plus Ash, who is still in the kitchen making pancakes. What does she think of all this?

  “So, Kate,” Johnson drawls between bites. “What is it you wanted to talk about?”

  I gauge the room as I take a bite of my pancake, determining the best way to move forward. Playing the scared sympathy card won’t get me anywhere with this bunch. Neither will bravado or threats.

  In the end, I decide to play the mom card. It’s the one I know best, and it worked to some extent last night. A mom offering a reasonable compromise, not a mom trying to cram her opinion down a kid’s throat.

  “I want to talk about neighbors,” I reply.

  He snorts. “As in, we’re neighbors?”

  “Exactly.” I set my fork down. “It used to be that everyone had neighbors. Sometimes you couldn’t get away from them. I could tell you about periods of my life where I went out of my way to avoid certain neighbors.”

  A small murmur of agreement runs around the table as everyone continues to shovel pancakes into their mouths.

  “These days, neighbors are scarce. If you want to play cards with a friend, you’re shit out of luck because there are no neighbors. If you need someone to help you move furniture, you’re shit out of luck because there are no neighbors.” I tilt my head, letting my gaze linger on Johnson. “My point is, there are benefits to neighbors. We help each other out. We bring each other gifts.” I gesture to the bottle of brandy.

  “We don’t need gifts,” Ryan sneers. “We take what we need.”

  “Everyone needs gifts,” I reply. “Everyone needs favors. Roberts.” I turn to him. He sits to my left. “Would you mind reaching into my pocket and pul
ling out the paper there? I’d do it myself, but I don’t want anyone to think I have a weapon.”

  Roberts complies. His hand dips into the pocket of my coat and emerges with the folded piece of paper. I take it from him and smooth it out on the table.

  “This is a list of all the supplies in the Fern dorm,” I say. “My kids cleared it. I’m giving it to you, Johnson. You and your people. A gift. A kindness. That’s what neighbors do for each other. There’s enough rations in there to feed you guys for a month.”

  His eyes narrow at me. “We don’t need favors. We take what we need.”

  “Think of the big picture,” I say. “You could have us working with you. We can clear buildings together. Your people and my people. We split everything fifty-fifty. You’ll have more supplies that way. We can watch each other’s backs. Everyone wins. It can be good to have neighbors.”

  “I don’t see how we win in that scenario,” Johnson says. “Sounds to me like you’re trying to get us to do work for you.”

  I shake my head. “A community goes further when everyone works together. It doesn’t have to be you and us. We can be on the same side. The real battle is out there.” I pick up my fork, jabbing in the direction of the university. “The undead. We should be fighting them, not each other.” I spear a piece of pancake and shove it in my mouth to keep from saying more. I’m skating too close to a mom lecture. That won’t get me anywhere.

  “Huh.” Johnson grunts and returns to his pancakes. “Ash, bring me another hot one, will you?” When she delivers the requested pancake, he slaps her on the ass.

  Ash whirls and slaps his hand with her spatula. Johnson bursts out laughing. The other boys all laugh, too. Ash, spine stiff, stalks back into the kitchen.

  Johnson digs into his pancake. He watches me as he eats, chewing loudly. I return his stare, eating my pancake. I feel like throwing up. I’ve never been this nervous in my life.

  This is for Carter, I remind myself. For Carter and everyone else. I have to keep them alive and safe.