One thing he’s never paid much mind to is his underwear. He always bought whatever was cheapest at Walmart, or whatever the military gave him if he was overseas. His tidy whities aren’t exactly white anymore. There may even be a few holes in them.
He feels like a dumpy old man next to Caleb. The young man is nothing but miles of smooth dark skin and hard muscle. He wears dark red boxer briefs, which make him look like an Olympic swimmer. Fucker.
“Dude.” Eric blinks at Ben from behind his glasses. “Those are some bad ass tattoo sleeves.”
“Is that a fairy on your arm?” Susan asks.
Ben doesn’t stick around any longer. Checking his belt and weapons one more time, he dives off the boat and into the frigid waters of Humboldt Bay.
46
Manila
BEN
Caleb hits the water seconds later. The younger man shifts into a perfect freestyle, long arms pulling at the water as he swims away.
Ben took a few swim lessons as a kid. He spent long summer days at the Y staying cool at the pool with his buddies.
As an adult, he used to take his son, Sam, fishing at Lake Barry in the summers. The two of them had often gone out for swims in the afternoon when it got hot.
This sums up Ben’s experience in the water.
Not wanting to look like an ass, Ben takes off after Caleb, attempting to mimic the form of the younger man.
He tries to recall his childhood swim lessons. He can’t even recall the name of his teacher, let alone anything she taught him. When he and Sam swam in the lake during their fishing expeditions, they had foam noodles or some sort of floatie to rely on.
It doesn’t take long for him to realize swimming in the bay is vastly different from swimming anywhere else. Not only is the water cold as fuck, but the current wants to push him south, away from Manila. Already his muscles are burning. He takes in a mouthful of saltwater with every other stroke.
And he thought running sucked ass. Barely five minutes in the water, and he has no illusion as to which is the more difficult of the two.
“Ben.” He pretends not to hear the voice calling after him from the boat.
“Ben!”
He keeps paddling, settling for a pathetic dog paddle in lieu of the freestyle stroke he can’t do anyway. Caleb is already fifty yards ahead of him.
A minute later, something round and white is thrown in his direction. It splashes ten feet to his right.
A life preserver.
It’s a knife to his pride, but fuck it. He doesn’t want to drown out here while golden boy takes all the credit for saving Kate and the others.
He paddles over to the life preserver and grabs it. Latching onto it, he starts kicking.
Now, this is more like it. He can almost imagine he’s back at Lake Barry with Sam. He misses the kid. He misses him a lot.
He’s spent his whole life missing Sam. It started the minute he exited the hospital, leaving his newborn and all the rights to him in the hands of his mother.
He never should have done it. He thought it had been the right thing for Sam, but he remembers how sick he felt when he signed the custody papers. He wanted to tell Sam’s mother that he’d resign his commission and move nearby to help raise their son.
The sentences tried to force their way past his lips. But even back then, words had failed him.
He was lucky Shelia never tried to keep Sam from him. She let him visit when he was on leave. She made sure Sam got all the letters Ben wrote. She even made sure the kid sent him a birthday card once a year and let Ben take him on trips during the summer.
Ben pushes away thoughts of Sam. He knows without a doubt he’ll never see his son again. If the boy is even alive, he’s on the other side of the country.
He shifts his focus to Caleb, who’s now a hundred yards in front of him. Gritting his teeth, Ben kicks in a vain attempt to keep up with him. He periodically dunks his head into the water to check for zoms. The salt water stings his eyes, but he’ll take stinging eyes over a zom bite anyday.
Caleb is already out of the water by the time Ben reaches the shoreline. He stands there like a young Greek god. Ben never looked that good, not even when he was young and in the best shape of his life after boot camp.
“Ben!” Caleb waves his arms to get his attention, his soft voice nearly swallowed by the lapping water. “Move! There are zoms in the water.”
Ben pours on speed, kicking as hard as he can. He opens his eyes underwater. Everything is murky, but he spots two pale white forms below him in the water.
Fuck and double fuck.
He’s exhausted from the long paddle from the Fairhaven. His legs feel like jelly and his breath is raw fire in his throat. He kicks harder, trying to get ahead of the zombies.
As he reaches the shoreline, he feels something tickle against his leg. He kicks harder.
The rocks of the shore bite into his knees. He pulls his feet beneath him and starts to stand.
Something grabs his leg.
Before he can act, Caleb is there, knife in hand. He pounces, knife slashing through the water. The fingers around Ben’s ankle release. As Ben hurries the rest of the way to shore, he sees a zom float to the surface of the water.
“I saw it as I swam in,” Caleb says. “It was walking along the bottom of the bay. It followed the sounds of my kicks all the way to shore.”
Ben grunts, exhausted from the swim and pissed off that he owes one to Caleb. He sits down on a boulder to catch his breath.
“Why did you volunteer for this mission if you can’t swim?” Caleb asks.
“I can swim.”
Caleb gives him an exasperated look. “You know what I mean.”
“Not a lot of water in the Sandbox.”
“Ben.”
He spits out a mouthful of salty saliva, scowling up at the young man. “Because Kate was getting ready to do it, okay?”
“And you wanted to protect her.”
Caleb is prodding him. Fuck that. “We can’t afford to lose her,” Ben snaps. “She holds everything together. We’d all be zombie snacks if not for her.”
Caleb tilts his head, studying Ben in a way that makes him want to sock the other man. “That’s why I did it. Well, that and the fact that I’m a good swimmer.”
“You can brag about it when we get back to the boat.” Ben stands, wincing as rocks cut into his bare feet. Fuck.
Looking down, he realizes how badly he is in need of new underwear. There’s a tear in one side he hadn’t noticed before. Could this day get any worse? He hopes Kate didn’t notice. He looks like a crazy old man from an asylum.
Caleb smirks at him. “Dude, we’ll find you some better drawers before we go back. Can’t let your woman see you looking scruffy.”
Ben feels his face heat. He flips Caleb the bird and stalks off. His destination is a dock with two small motorboats lashed in place. The boats have taken on water and are half-submerged on the shore. No one said they needed working boats, just boats with gas.
He changes course mid-stream. Finding the boats is all well and good, but they need something to put the gas in.
He angles away from the water. The house nearest the dock had been an elegant mansion in the 70s. The wood is peeling and worn from the saltwater. The windows are all leaking, the glass fogged from the inside. The roof looks like it endured its own private apocalypse long before the actual apocalypse.
Off to his right, the water of Humboldt Bay laps at the shore. The coastal breeze rustles the wind-bent pine trees and thick clumps of calla lilies growing near the shore.
He bypasses the house, heading instead for the shipping container on the south side of the house. No doubt the owners stored all sorts of shit inside. That’s just the sort of place he’ll find a gas can.
He pulls out a knife and zom bat, keeping an eye out for undead. He’s grateful as he steps onto un-mowed lawn. Much better than moving on sharp gravel.
Sensing movement behind him, he looks back to see
Caleb following. Little fucker. Anger crawls up his spine, indignant at the other man’s simple existence.
Focus, dumb ass, he tells himself. Getting distracted is going to get him killed.
Reaching the container, he pauses outside to survey it. The outside has been spray-painted with graffiti. Someone went to the trouble to place baskets of fake flowers on either side of the doors, along with a doormat that says WELCOME.
Maybe this was someone’s man cave. Or a woman’s cave. Whatever.
He taps a hand on the shed. To his dismay, a growl comes from inside. Damn. He’d been hoping to get lucky.
“You sure we need to go in there?” Caleb licks his lips, tightening his grip on his weapons.
“Where else are we going to find a gas can? The master bedroom? Get ready. On three.”
Caleb’s answering glare brings satisfaction. It’s short-lived. Turning back to the shed, Ben prepares to face whatever is on the other side.
He grips the door latch. It lets loose an awful metallic squeal as he lifts it, rusted from exposure of the sea air. It’s like a foghorn going off.
Two reeking zombies jerk into the sunlight. They’re dressed all in camouflage, bandoliers slung across their chests.
Caleb and Ben raise their weapons, bracing for combat.
But the zombies don’t advance on them. They dance in the doorway of the container, moaning and swiping at the air.
“What the fuck?” Caleb frowns.
Ben follows the younger man’s gaze. That’s when he notices the blue dog leashes wrapped around each zombie’s neck, holding them in place. The leashes are suspended from the ceiling just inside the container.
“They must have hung themselves,” Caleb says.
“I don’t think so. Their feet touch the ground.” Ben scans the area, the skin between his shoulder blades crawling. “I think someone strung them up inside to protect their assets.”
He pulls a small battery-operated flashlight off his belt. It’s no longer than his palm, but the beam is bright.
“Where did you get that?” Caleb asks.
“Found it in a dorm room.” He always carries it on his belt, just for times like this. Good thing it still works after being dunked in saltwater.
He shines the beam into the container. His jaw drops open.
“Do you see what I see?” Caleb whispers. “It’s a prepper’s wet dream in there.”
The younger man isn’t exaggerating. Inside the container are enough supplies to rival a WalMart.
“Holy fuck,” Caleb breathes. “We’ve hit the jackpot, old man.”
“Maybe.” Ben can’t shake the unease that crawls between his shoulder blades. “We can’t assume this place is abandoned. These zoms look like guard dogs to me.” Guard dogs Ben intends to eliminate.
He brings the zom bat down into the forehead of the first zom. Then he whips the bat sideways and takes out the second. The undead dangle from their leashes, brain matter dripping onto the ground.
“Come on. Let’s find a gas can and get what we came for.” Before whoever strung up the guard zoms comes back.
Ben shoulders his way past the corpses, Caleb on his heels. He scans the interior, trying not to get caught up in the sight of all that canned food. He’s here for a gas can, not refried beans.
“Old man, we seriously need to get you new underwear. Especially if you’re going to walk around looking like that.” Caleb hurls a small plastic package at him.
Ben catches the package. “Looking like what?”
“Like that.” Caleb gestures to him. “Like a lovesick puppy. Except you’re too grumpy to be a puppy. A lovesick alligator.”
Does everyone know how he feels about Kate? Hell, he can barely put words to it. No one else seems to have that problem.
“I’m not lovesick.”
“Whatever. Are those your size?”
Ben looks down at the plastic package in his hands. It contains brand new boxer briefs similar to the ones Caleb wears. They’re all black.
“You know what?” Caleb asks. “It doesn’t matter if they’re your size. Anything is better than those rags you have on. Your ball sack is hanging out.”
Scandalized, Ben takes a minute to survey himself. “It is not,” he snaps.
“Whatever. It’s about to hang out. Just change, old man. You’re hurting my eyes.” Caleb takes the flashlight from him and ventures deeper into the container.
Ben changes, kicking the old underwear into a corner. Good riddance.
“For what it’s worth, I think she likes you, too,” Caleb says from the back of the container. “She’s too good for you, by the way.”
That’s one thing they both agree on.
“Man, they have a decent amount of weapons. We need to bring the boat back here and load up.”
“That’s a terrible fucking idea.” Just thinking about it makes Ben’s shoulders itch even worse. “Someone left those zoms here to guard their shit. What if they come back and we’re here?”
“I’m telling you, those guys are the owners and they hung themselves. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t love to have extra weapons for the attack on Rosario’s people.”
Of course he wants more weapons. What an asinine thing to say. “It’s too risky.”
“This place is abandoned and ripe for the picking,” Caleb replies. “You’re just being paranoid. Everything is going to be fine.”
“Is that what you told yourself when you teamed up with Johnson?”
Caleb stops cold, giving Ben a scathing look. “Are you ever going to let that go?”
“Can you let it go?” Ben counters. “You have sixteen deaths on your shoulders.”
“They’re as much on my shoulders as they are yours.”
Ben narrows his eyes. “I tried to save them. You just stood there.”
Caleb’s mouth tightens. “I’m not going to argue with you. It’s pointless.” He stalks out of the container.
Ben marches after him, anger pounding in his temples the way it always does when he thinks of the murdered College Creek kids. Just because Caleb eventually found the balls to kill Johnson doesn’t clear his name. Far from it.
Ben can count the number of hours he’s slept in the last two days. Six. Six fucking hours. Every time he tries to close his eyes, he sees those poor kids. He sees Cynthia. That sweet girl deserved a chance at life. Caleb stood by while Johnson stole it from her.
Ben wants to punch a hole in something.
Caleb heads to the dock. As he crunches over the ground on his bare feet, Ben hears a succinct snick. Too late, he registers the long line of catfish wire strung across the ground.
“Get down!” he screams at Caleb.
He dives for the younger man. The two of them roll across the ground as a loud pop echoes in the air.
A flare whistles upward, leaving a long trail of orange smoke above Manila. Ben missed the tripwire only because he’d walked on the grass to spare his feet. The wire was clearly put up to snare anyone walking toward the container—or away, in Caleb’s case.
“Fuck!” Ben knew they weren’t alone. Now they’ve just alerted the owner of that shipping container. “Move! Get to the gas.”
He and Caleb haul ass to the dock with their gas cans. Caleb siphons the gas while Ben scans the area for hostiles.
Dammit, he needs a gun. When the owner of that container shows up, they’re fucked.
Nothing moves in or around the house. The silence makes Ben even edgier.
“Almost done?” he snaps.
“Almost. Let me fill this second can. Get the paddleboard ready.”
“The what?”
“The paddleboard.” Caleb gestures with his chin at a giant, bright-red oblong object. “How old are you, man? Haven’t you ever seen a stand-up paddleboard?”
“Spend thirty years of your military career in the Sandbox and see how much you know about shit like that.”
He stomps over to the paddleboard. Using some bungee cords they found in t
he bunker, he straps the first gas can into place. He keeps up a constant surveillance of their surroundings, ready for the attack.
It doesn’t come. Seconds tick by as Caleb fills the second gas can. Ben’s palms are sweaty with anticipation.
They should have been here by now. Whoever set up that alarm system should be back here to defend their possessions. Where are they?
“Maybe whoever stockpiled the container is dead.” Caleb scurries over with the second gas can. “Maybe I was right about those two zoms.”
Ben wants to believe that, but he can’t shake the feeling shit is about to go sideways. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.” He won’t be able to relax until they’re back at the Fairhaven.
47
Speedboats
KATE
Ben and Caleb are halfway back to the Fairhaven, rowing a paddleboard across the water. The rest of us stand alert, rifles raised and pointed toward the shoreline. Just because I’ve never fired one doesn’t mean I’ll hesitate. Whoever set that flare gun trap obviously wants to know if someone trespasses on their space. I don’t intend to let anyone hurt Ben or Caleb.
“Do you hear that?” Reed tilts his head to one side, frowning. “It’s a buzzing sound.”
Shit. Worry spiders over my skin. The last time we heard a distant buzzing sound, it was an alpha army on the march.
“Which direction?” I ask.
“South, toward Eureka,” Reed says.
I grab the binoculars and scan the horizon. Two dots bob on the water, getting larger with each passing second. I hear the distinct rumble of engines.
“Fuck.” I push the binos at Reed. “Do you see what I see?”
Reed grabs the binoculars from me. “Boats,” he says grimly. “Two of them. They’re coming right for us.”
“Dammit.” Fear pounds through me. I have no doubt these are the people who set up the flare gun. I don’t know what’s in Manila, but it’s obvious they want to protect it.
“Ben! Caleb!” I wave my arms to get their attention, not bothering to lower my voice. “We have company!” I point in the direction of the oncoming boats.
Undead Ultra Box Set | Books 1-4 Page 83
