Undead Ultra Box Set | Books 1-4

by Picott, Camille

  Jenna cocks her head. “Maybe it’s an indoctrination thing. Like, you can’t be an official Stevenson family member unless you shave off your hair.”

  I rest a hand on her shoulder. “You’re already an official family member as far as I’m concerned.”

  We share a moment in the mirror, the two of us looking at one another. It’s hard to remember a time when I resented Jenna’s very existence. Now I think of her as a daughter.

  Jenna looks away first. “Come on. Let’s go show everyone your new look.”

  We exit the dorm bathroom and enter the sitting room. The whole Creekside crew is gathered there, except for Reed, who’s on watch.

  This is the original dorm where I lived when I first arrived in Arcata. We’ve since branched out into other rooms. I now share a four-room dorm suite with Carter, Jenna, Ash, Caleb, and Ben. The rest of the kids live here.

  Eric is currently commanding everyone’s attention. He stands on a chair, one hand grasping the front of his pants.

  “Watch this, everyone!” He flashes me a grin as Jenna and I enter the room. “Wait for it.” He pauses dramatically, making sure all eyes are on him.

  Then he releases his waistband. His pants fall, puddling around his ankles and revealing blue-striped boxer shorts.

  Eric holds up his hands in triumph. “No more beer belly!” he exclaims.

  Carter stands up and applauds. Everyone else groans, myself included.

  “Mi amigo,” Jesus says, “there’s no one here besides Lila who wants to see that.”

  Lila colors, then rallies. Straightening her spine, she levels a glare at Jesus.

  “You’ve been buttering me up for the last week,” she says. “I don’t know what your deal is, but right now you’re doing a good job of unbuttering me.”

  “Told you she’d see through the bullshit,” Ben says.

  “There’s no buttering going on in this corner,” Caleb says. “Pull up your pants before we go blind.”

  Eric remains nonplussed, propping his hands on his hips. “Guys, this is a miracle. Before the zombie apocalypse, I thought I was destined to be a fat guy forever.”

  “It’s not the apocalypse that made you skinny,” Ben says. “It’s Kate’s hard ass workouts.”

  “I know, but I wouldn’t have to run every day if the apocalypse hadn’t happened. I call this my apocalypse bod.” Eric rotates on the chair with his arms up. Somehow, he manages to do this without tripping on his pants and falling. He also flashes a bit of his stomach. It’s covered in light brown hair.

  “Dude,” Caleb says, “I wasn’t joking about going blind. Put that shit away.”

  “Mom, you cut your hair!”

  Every head in the room turns in my direction. Eyes widen.

  Eric falls off the chair. “Ow,” he complains.

  Everyone ignores him, except for Lila. She helps him get his pants from around his ankles back up to his waist.

  “You look like a hot biker chick,” Ash says.

  “You’ve always been kind of scary,” Caleb adds, “but I think you just managed to make yourself scarier.”

  Ash slaps him. “Caleb!”

  “I meant that as a compliment,” he grumbles. “She looks badass.”

  “Our Mama Bear would be beautiful with green skin and purple hair,” Jesus declares.

  “You look like a wannabe G.I. Jane.” This comment comes from Ben. A dent mars his brow as he studies me.

  His comment makes my stomach sink. I cover the disappointment by wordlessly flipping him the bird, which gets hoots of approval from everyone else. Ben reddens and looks away.

  Jesus turns to Ash. “Por favor, no te cortes el cabello bella dama.”

  Ash rolls her eyes.

  “Hey, we’ve talked about this,” Caleb says. “No speaking Spanish when the rest of us are around.”

  Jesus smirks, folding his arms across his chest. “What are you going to do about it?”

  “Everybody up,” I say, attempting to turn the tide of the conversation. “Time to go for our run.”

  Everyone shifts into action, not a single argument among them.

  “You.” Ben flicks a hand at Johnny. “It’s your turn to keep watch.”

  Johnny grumbles, but plods toward the door. He detours by the kitchen table, grabbing a notebook and a pencil. “At least I can work on my Thrive book if I’m going to be stuck on the roof for the next few hours.”

  “I thought you were writing something called Dorm Life,” Lila says.

  “I am,” Johnny replies, “but that’s the blue notebook. The red notebook is How to Thrive in the Apocalypse.”

  “Here are your snacks.” Lila hands me a Ziploc filled with granola bars. “I’ll have lunch ready when you guys get back. I’m making vegan mac ‘n cheese today.”

  “It’s not vegan if you use powdered cheese,” Caleb says.

  “It’s vegan,” Lila insists. “We don’t have any milk or butter, which makes it vegan in my book.”

  I give Lila props for her enthusiasm. Unfortunately, enthusiasm doesn’t always equal flavor. I’d never tell her that, though.

  Twenty minutes later, we march down the stairwell in a group. Lila holds open the door, security bar in hand as she prepares to lock it after us.

  “Come with us,” I urge. “Some fresh air and sunshine will do you good.”

  She shakes her head. “I have to check on my plants.” She gestures to the indoor garden beds. “The zucchini and tomatoes are almost ready to harvest. Besides, someone has to stay behind and cook lunch for all you losers.”

  I stare at her until she looks away. We both know she’s full of shit.

  I wait until everyone else files out. I lower my voice so only Lila can hear. “This isn’t living. You weren’t meant to spend your life in a cage.”

  “It’s good enough for tigers in the zoo,” she replies with a forced laugh. “If it’s good enough for them, it’s good enough for me.”

  I give her shoulder a squeeze. “Think on it. Just come with us to the track and sit in the sun one of these days.”

  Lila shrugs and falls back. “I’ll see you guys after your run.” As she closes the door, I hear the bar and several bolts sliding into place.

  6

  Spam

  KATE

  As we return to Creekside after our track workout, I run through the list of things we need to get done today. We’re in the process of mounting several more solar panels on our roof. With any luck, we’ll have grow lights for additional garden beds soon.

  And, most importantly, a solar-powered water heater.

  Eric spotted one on a recent trip into town. It took us three trips and a few run-ins with zombies, but we managed to get it dismantled and transported back to Creekside.

  Now we just have to figure out how re-assemble it. And get water into it. We may be able to divert some of the garden’s water supply. Whatever the case, I’m confident we’ll figure it out. We have the university library at our disposal. And Eric. He’s our secret weapon. He might be a pot head, but he’s an engineering genius.

  As we reach Creekside, Ash puts two fingers to her lips and whistles. Johnny’s dark-haired head appears on the edge of the roof.

  “Be right down,” he calls.

  A few minutes later, the metal bar protecting Creekside slides aside. Lila and Johnny throw open the door. They jostle each other, Lila glaring

  “We need to take a poll,” Johnny announces.

  “Fuck you and your polls,” Lila says. “I get to say what it is. I’m the chef.”

  “That’s a generous appropriation of the word,” Johnny replies.

  “I’d like to see you do better,” Ben snaps.

  But Lila doesn’t need Ben’s defense. She’s more than capable of sticking up for herself. “If you don’t like it, you can go to bed without supper. Your loss. I found a tub of vegan protein under a bathroom sink upstairs. Everyone is getting an extra dose of good health tonight.”

  She spins
on her heel, marching toward the stairwell as the rest of us file into Creekside.

  “It’s not vegan just because it has vegan protein powder in it,” Johnny calls after her.

  “I used soy milk, dick wad.” Lila punctuates this sentence by flipping him off.

  “Yeah, with Spam,” Johnny hollers. He turns to us, palms up. “She insists the mac n’ cheese casserole she made is vegan because she used soy milk and vegan protein powder. Even though she threw in a can of Spam and used the powdered cheese.”

  I drop the security bar into place and slide the three bolts into the locked position. “Does it really matter?” Whatever the case, it sounds awful, though my criticism of Lila’s cooking never leaves my mouth.

  The others don’t have the same standards.

  “I’m less worried about the description and more worried about the fact that Lila put protein powder into a mac n’ cheese casserole,” Carter says. “Hopefully it’s not something weird like chocolate protein powder.”

  A collective groans goes up.

  “You’re all a bunch of ingrates.” Ben scowls. “That young lady works hard to make sure we get nutrition. She has shit to work with and look at the things she makes for your ungrateful asses.”

  “Vegetable soup with canned tuna is not earning anyone a Michelin star,” Johnny says. “Especially when you consider the fact that she put spam in that, too.”

  “What about that three-bean salad she tossed with the blue cheese dressing?” Reed chuckles. “That was nasty.”

  “Beans are a great source of protein. You guys should try eating beef stroganoff MREs for thirty-two meals in a row.” Ben’s face is flushed with irritation, his mouth pressed into a hard line. “None of you guys would complain about anything after that.”

  He shoulders to the front of the pack, stomping ahead and slamming open the door to the stairwell before disappearing.

  “Beef stroganoff MREs for thirty-two meals in a row? That must violate some sort of regulation,” Ash says.

  Caleb shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe someone fucked up on a requisition and shipped too many of the same thing.”

  The debate continues as we file upstairs. Since the university-issued table was only built for six people—and moving in an extra table would mean getting rid of the couch—we don’t have a formal eating arrangement. With eleven of us, we sit wherever we find a spot. Despite this, I take pride in the fact we eat three meals a day with each other.

  I get comfortable on the floor, holding a bowl of Lila’s afternoon concoction in my hands. I scrutinize the lumpy mess in my bowl. The base is mac ‘n cheese from a box. The cheese sauce, according to Lila, is made of powdered cheese, soy milk, and protein powder. The smart thing would be to spoon the food straight into my mouth with my eyes closed.

  “What’s with the Spam?” Caleb asks. “You put this shit in everything.”

  Lila plants her hands on her hips. “What’s wrong with Spam? I’ll have you know that a hundred million pounds of spam were consumed by the Allied troops during World War One.”

  “What she means,” Ben says, already shoveling food into his mouth, “is that Spam was partially responsible for the defeat of Hitler. All you little shits would do well to remember that.” He jabs his fork at our collective group for emphasis.

  “Thank you, Ben.” Lila draws herself up, beaming at the older man. “At least someone appreciates Spam. My mom always put Spam in our spaghetti when I was a kid.”

  “Dude, I’m pretty sure the nukes were responsible for the defeat of Hitler,” Reed says.

  “I said partially responsible,” Ben retorts. “You think our soldiers would have stood a chance if they didn’t have Spam to fill their stomachs?”

  “Okay, we get it,” Caleb says. “Spam saved us from the Nazis.” He rolls his eyes, popping a bit of the casserole into his mouth. “What kind of protein powder is this?”

  “Plain.” Lila, from her seat besides Eric, spoons a heaping amount into her mouth. “It gives the cheese sauce a nice texture.”

  A few people cough. Ben says, “Good stuff.”

  I stir the stuff around in my bowl, working up the courage to try it. “If Spam is responsible for the defeat of the Nazis, what do you think are the chances of it defeating the zombies?”

  Ben glances up from his bowl. He looks at me like he can’t tell if I’m serious or not.

  Best not to leave that open to interpretation. “I’m joking.”

  “Thank God. I was trying to figure out the best way to answer that from a logistical standpoint.”

  I do my best not to laugh in his face. Only Ben would use Spam and logistical in the same sentence. I look away before the conversation can deteriorate, as it often does between us.

  I venture to put a spoonful of the stuff into my mouth. My gag reflex works in the back of my throat. The cheese sauce has a gloppy texture, but not in a nacho-cheese sauce sort of way. More in a runny-with-chunks way. The supposed plain flavor of the protein powder has a distinct earthy flavor that lingers long after I’ve swallowed.

  It’s amazing than even Kraft mac n’ cheese can be thoroughly ruined, even in the apocalypse. Straight water with the cheese powder would have been better than the sticky mess that’s in my mouth right now.

  “I did the calculations,” Lila says. “We each have about twenty grams of protein in this meal. It’s good for us.”

  “Twenty grams?” Jenna’s mouth sags open. “How do you figure that?

  “I calculated the serving ratio of the protein powder and added that to the protein in the mac n’ cheese. I added a little more for the soy milk. The apocalypse is treating us well.”

  “It’s the best damn thing I’ve had since the world ended,” Jesus says. “Can I have seconds?”

  Lila narrows her eyes at him. “You’ve been complimenting my food for the past week. Why?”

  Jesus’s eyes widen with innocence. “Can’t a man compliment the chef?”

  Ash snorts. “Mentiroso.”

  Lila doesn’t buy it. “In all the months you’ve lived with us, you’ve never said one nice thing about my cooking. In fact, I believe I recall you saying something along the lines of my stew tasting like roadkill.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Yes, you did.”

  “What I meant is that maybe we should find some roadkill for snacks.”

  “You are so full of shit.”

  “No, I mean it. Roadkill could make nice jerky.”

  “I can see why you and Reed are besties,” Lila says. “You’re both full of shit.”

  “Hey, don’t drag me into this,” Reed says. “I don’t fill your ears with lies. This casserole makes me want to yack, Lila. But I’m going to eat it because I know it has nutritional value and Mama Bear made us run for two hours today. Then she made us run up and down the bleachers for another thirty minutes. So I’m hungry and pretty much up for anything. See? Truth.”

  “Thank you, Reed.” If Lila is offended by anything he’s just said, it doesn’t show. “I’m glad you appreciate the nutritional value. I work hard to find ways to get you all extra protein.” Her gaze swings back to Jesus. “Out with it. What do you want from me?”

  “Want from you?” Jesus protests. “Why do you think I want something?”

  Lila stares at him, refusing to answer. She stares at him until he squirms and throws up his hands.

  “Okay! I admit it. I was trying to soften you up.”

  Lila narrows her eyes. “For what?”

  “For St. Roch.” Jesus fishes the necklace out of his shirt, holding it up for Lila to see. “He’s the patron saint of plague victims. I want to build a shrine for him in this room.”

  “Why here?”

  “Because this is where the Creekside crew gathers,” Jesus replies. “St. Roch can look over all of us this way. And we can pay him respect.”

  Lila considers this. “If I let you have space, will you continue to tell me my food is good?”

  “I
f you will grant me a place for a tribute to St. Roch, I will gladly tell you every dish you serve is worthy of French royalty.”

  “I’m pretty sure France hasn’t had a monarchy in over a hundred years, but whatever. You have yourself a deal, Jesus.”

  Jesus kisses the pendant and crosses himself. “Thank you, mi chef.”

  By the end of this exchange, most of us have finished eating. I drop my empty bowl and fork into the sink, glad I don’t have dish duty today.

  “Babe,” Eric says, “we gotta go back to that part about you calling this a vegan meal. I could ignore that statement if we were just talking about cheese powder, but it has Spam. It can’t be vegan if it has Spam.”

  “Don’t be a dick,” Lila shoots back, her eyes brightening. For some reason, these two love to bicker with one another. “It has vegan components. I mean, soy milk, Eric. That’s as vegan as it comes.”

  Eric is grinning now. “That’s like saying a chicken Caesar salad is vegetarian because it has lettuce in it.”

  “I’m the chef. I get to say what it is.”

  “You can say whatever the hell you want. That doesn’t make it factual.”

  Lila huffs. “Go fuck yourself, Eric. You try cooking for eleven picky people when there are no grocery stores and see how well you do.” She makes a show of stalking out of the kitchen, loudly slamming the door to her bedroom.

  “Here we go,” Carter mutters, rolling his eyes. Jenna elbows him.

  Eric waits sixty seconds before following. Another sixty seconds later, rhythmic banging sounds from the bedroom.

  Another collective groan rises from us. Lila and Eric never seem to care if any of us are around when they get busy.

  “I’m going to go in there with a hacksaw and remove their headboard.” Johnny pushes an empty bowl away. “I have to say, that was weird as shit but not terrible. Maybe I’ll pass the recipe on to Alvarez.”

  “You and I have different definitions of the word terrible.” Jenna stares forlornly into her bowl. “My mother would roll over in her grave if she saw me eating Spam. She’d probably give me a sermon on what this stuff does to my colon.”