Undead Ultra Box Set | Books 1-4

by Picott, Camille

  “Everyone out!” bellows a shrill woman’s voice. Jeanie. I’d recognize her voice anywhere. She’s the bitch with the zombie who bit Shaun. “I want every last one of you outside and on the ground in five minutes. I’ll shoot someone for every extra minute it takes. The timer starts now.”

  A single second of stunned silence hangs in the air. Then every person surges toward the single exit provided to us.

  I position myself just behind Bella and Steph. A worry for them has been growing in my mind.

  Steph barely escaped the last time Rosario’s goons got their hands on her. What’s going to happen to her now? To her and Bella?

  I’m not stupid enough to think I can provide any sort of protection against men with guns, but I stick close to them anyway. Once upon a time, my whole world had been built on taking care of Shaun and my girls. If I’m honest with myself, I miss it. Desperately.

  I miss making little ham and cheese sandwiches on sliced whole wheat with the crust cut off for Claire. I miss cutting out paper gingerbread men for May’s class. I even miss ironing Shaun’s shirts. Up until the apocalypse, I’d always assumed my calling in life was to be a housewife.

  It had been a great gig.

  We rush outside into the open dirt area around the old stone well. Shaun’s head lolls to one side, eyes slit as he watches us. Armed men and women form a lopsided circle. Jeanie waves us into the circle with her gun. She has on a new shirt that reads Assholes Live Forever.

  “Into the circle, assholes,” she shouts. “Anyone who tries anything stupid will be shot. No warnings, no questions asked. Everyone on your knees with hands behind your head.”

  I jostle Steph and Bella toward the center of the circle. Maybe if they’re in the thickest part of the group no one will notice them.

  “Keep your heads down,” I murmur to them. “Don’t make eye contact.”

  I surreptitiously take note of our situation. Four men and three women contain us in the lopsided circle, each of them with a leashed zombie. There are more perched on the rooftops of the surrounding RVs, every last one armed with multiple weapons. More people stroll about, all of them also armed.

  “Thirty seconds.” Jeanie taps her wrist to emphasize the time, even though she doesn’t wear a watch. “Chop, chop.”

  Fear and terror ripples through our people. I put my hands on the backs of Bella and Steph and push them to the ground. I drop to my knees beside them.

  “Nice.” Jeanie rests her automatic in the crook of her arm to applaud us. “Twelve seconds to spare. We’re going to get along famously if you can keep this up.”

  In my right periphery is Shaun. His head has lolled to the other side, but other than that, he hasn’t moved or made a sound.

  In my left periphery is Alvarez. He’s also on his knees, playing the part of the cowed subject. I’ve spent enough time with him to know he’s taking advantage of this moment to size up our situation, to look for anything we could use to our advantage in the future.

  It doesn’t take a genius to see there’s no advantage here. Rosario had us out-gunned and out-smarted from the beginning. Some of us are going to have to die. It’s the only way out of this situation. There are no fairy tale endings in the apocalypse.

  “Slaves.” Rosario stands on top of an RV, staring down at us with her hands on her hips. Her voice cracks through the air like a whip. “You’re all familiar with the generic meaning. I’m referring to the pre-Civil War meaning of the word. American slaves. You are the first of a new generation. Get used to it.”

  Slaves. I taste the truth of that word on my tongue. Slaves.

  “The only good slave is a useful slave,” Rosario continues. The ruffles of her wide cotton dress puff up in the wind. “Anyone who doesn’t serve a purpose will be repurposed.”

  The lackeys with the zombies waggle their long poles, causing the zombies to moan and swipe at the empty air in front of them. Our community contracts in response, all of us squishing closer together in the dirt.

  “There’s only one rule: obedience in all things.” Rosario faces us, hands on her hips. “Just in case any of you have any ideas about being a hero. Anyone who defies me or my people will be beaten without question. If you survive that, you’ll be required to choose one among your fellow slaves to submit to death by zombie. If you don’t survive ...” She grins as the people shrink further into the ground at her words. “Well, if you don’t survive, my girl Jeanie will pick one among you to join your fearless leader on the post.”

  Shaun.

  “I’ll leave you with that warning,” Rosario says. “You get to decide whether or not I’m bluffing.”

  She’s not bluffing. Anyone can see that. And there isn’t a soft face among her followers.

  “Now,” Rosario continues, “we need able-bodied men and women who can fish. You will be expected to bring in a quota of food every day. Volunteers?”

  Eyes dart back and forth. Heads turn.

  A hand creeps into the air. Andrew. He’s out on the fishing boats almost every day.

  A few more hands inch into the air.

  “You, you, you.” Rosario scans the rest of the hands. “And you. Scooby, round ‘em up.” Rosario gestures to the man with one of the zombies. “I expect to be dining on fresh fish tonight.”

  “You heard her,” Scooby barks. “Fishermen, with me.”

  Slowly, hesitantly, Andrew and the others rise to their feet and make their way to Scooby.

  “Now,” Rosario continues, “you can’t have fish without people to cook them. Who among you is a decent cook?”

  Bella and Steph immediately raise their hands. Both have spent their fair share of hours in the communal kitchen. Hands of several older men and women also shoot into the air.

  Rosario selects four people to cook. They’re taken to the communal kitchen, which has been set up in the largest of the RVs.

  Bella and Steph are not among them. I notice two men leering in their direction. Sick dread takes root in me.

  Rosario continues to tick off her list, dividing us into our new roles. It feels like we’re in a Sorting Hat horror movie.

  Cleaners. Gardeners. Hard labor. Maintenance. Scavengers. Group by group, our people are led away.

  Alvarez is among those who volunteer to tend our pathetic gardens outside the gates. He tries to get my attention as he raises his hand. No doubt out of his so-called obligation to Shaun to look after me.

  We both know I have a black thumb. I ignore him and keep my hand down.

  There are any number of roles I could fill. I don’t raise my hand for any of them.

  Instead, I stay close to Bella and Steph. The two of them have raised their hands multiple times but have yet to be chosen.

  And then the role I’ve been waiting for. The word crashes over my head like a shattering vase.

  “Whores.” That brings grins to many faces, including some of Rosario’s women. “It’s a time-honored tradition for slaves to serve their masters in all capacities.”

  No one raises their hand.

  “No volunteers? We’ll just have to pick from among those who are left. Darren, pull out a few willing ladies.”

  Darren, a skinny man with a wicked leer, beelines across the clearing. A sob breaks from Bella’s throat. It doesn’t take an idiot to know he’s heading straight toward her and Steph.

  I can’t let him take the girls. Even though Alvarez has a plan in motion, I can’t risk anything happening to them.

  “I’ll do it.” The hoarse words push themselves past my dry lips. My stomach threatens to empty itself onto my shoes. “I volunteer.”

  “That’s more like it.” Rosario beams at me. “Darren, help the woman up.”

  “But—”

  “Get the woman up, Darren. She’s volunteered, after all.”

  “But what about these two?” He jerks a sullen chin at Bella and Steph.

  Bella looks like she’d rather be electrocuted on the spot. Tears of terror streak Steph’s face.


  “I’ll take care of everyone.” Fury beats in my chest as I speak the words. I’m doing the right thing. Someone has to do this. I raise my chin to look at Rosario. “I don’t care how many. I’ll do it.”

  “She’s a nympho,” bellows one of the men with an automatic. Chuckles run through our captors.

  “No.” The single word rises from Shaun’s throat. His chin lifts as he looks in my direction.

  I ignore him. There’s two of us who can fall on our swords, asshole.

  “She’s either a nympho or a martyr,” Rosario says. “Guess we’ll find out. No other volunteers? Well then. If this pretty lady wants the job, it’s hers. If she isn’t up to the task, we can always institute the draft at a later time.” The threat is clear in her voice. “Darren, take her.”

  As Darren grabs my arm with a venomous glare, I glance at Steph and Bella. I want to tell the girls these fuckheads can’t hurt me. I want them to know there isn’t anything worse than what’s already been done to me. I want to tell them to find a way to escape and get the hell out of this place.

  There’s no chance. I’m taken to a smaller RV and thrown inside. Darren leers at me with promise in his eyes before slamming the door.

  13

  Broken Glass

  JESSICA

  I stare at the familiar inside of the RV. A postcard is taped there, bits of smeared blood dried on the coastal scene.

  How ironic that, of all the places chosen for my prison, it’s the tiny motorhome I called home for the last few months.

  I pull the postcard off the door, flipping it over to look at the handwriting on the other side. Most of it is obscured by blood, but the most important part is still legible.

  Love, May and Claire

  Seeing their names, written by them less than a day before they died, almost breaks me. It was a postcard from our camping trip to their grandmother. I sniffle and shove it under the bed cushion. The last thing I want is for one of the dickheads out there to get their hands on the last piece I have of May and Claire.

  Dread and fury mix inside me at the thought of what’s to come. I refuse to let dread get the better of me. I haven’t been asked to do anything I can’t do. I might not like it, but it can be done. It has to be done.

  I couldn’t save my daughters. Maybe I can save Bella and Steph. I resolve to give it my all. Which means I won’t curl up in a ball on the floor and cry. I won’t.

  My mind races. Maybe Alvarez’s plan will work. Maybe all the dickheads out there will get shit-faced drunk and we’ll kill them all while they’re passed out. Sort of like a reverse Trojan horse. It’s a long shot at best, but not impossible.

  I do my best to rage against the fear, but it comes anyway. It makes my entire body shake. I sit down on the narrow bed as tremors rock me. The only saving grace is that no one is around to see me like this.

  Well, almost no one. Shaun and his laundry pole are no more than ten feet away. The windows of the RV are open, giving him a clear view of me. He’s looking in my direction. The sorrow in his gaze breathes life into the inferno I’ve carried inside me for months. I hang onto it for dear life.

  “You’re not the only martyr out there, Shaun,” I whisper.

  “It’s gonna be a party tonight!” calls a voice. A skinny man with bad teeth comes out from between two tents. In his arms, he carries a large cardboard box. Bottles clink inside. “Look what I found!” he trills.

  Rosario’s people gather around him. They cackle and crow and gloat, snatching bottles out of the box to pass them around and admire them.

  My body settles, some of the fear leaching out. Alvarez’s plan is already falling into place. Maybe these assholes will start their party right now. Maybe the nightmare will end before full darkness descends.

  One woman yanks the topper off a bottle. She’s just about to take a swig when Rosario marches over.

  “Stop,” she commands.

  The woman freezes, the bottle halfway to her lips.

  Rosarios jerks it from her hand. “Where did you find this?”

  “Over by the sleeping quarters,” says the man who found the box of booze. His chest swells with importance. “Right on top of a pallet of canned food.”

  “Uh-huh. And it just so happened to be sitting out in the open where any idiot could find it?”

  The man shrinks under Rosario’s wrath.

  “Answer me, Ratty.”

  “Yes.” His voice is meek.

  “These fuckers have been inside here for a full twenty-four hours and you think they just so happened to leave their stash of booze out in the open for you to find?”

  No one answers.

  Never taking her eyes off her people, Rosario tips the open bottle sideways. Dark brown liquor sluices out onto the ground.

  Everything inside me compresses as I watch the earth drink our one and only plan of escape.

  Rosario flings the bottle to the ground. It hits a large rock and shatters. I stare a the shards of glass, feeling like I’m in a million pieces just like that bottle.

  “Pour them out,” Rosario orders. “Every last one of them. The only reason the slaves left them out is because they wanted us to find them. They’re probably laced with poison.”

  Muttering in malcontent, Rosario’s people comply.

  I force myself to watch until the last bottle is emptied. I force myself to watch hope disappear. Despair fortifies me.

  Maybe it’s better this way. No hope is better than false hope.

  “Jessie ...” Shaun’s voice carries to my ears. I hate the sorrow I hear.

  I flip him off. The act edges out my dread, making it easier to hold onto the fury.

  I’m going to need every ounce of it to survive.

  14

  Smoke

  ERIC

  Not even the thunder and lightning raging outside of the pink house can keep me awake. I’m asleep within seconds of closing my eyes.

  I dream of Lila.

  The dream is always the same. It plays over and over like a subroutine.

  I see the zombie clamp around her leg. I see the bloody gash in her shin. I see her put the gun to her head and pull the trigger. I see the way the side of her face caves in like a crushed flower.

  And every time in the dream, my body is stuck. Paralyzed. No matter how much I want to move, I can’t. I’m forced to stand by and watch Lila do the unthinkable to herself. I relive that moment over and over and over again.

  It had been like that in real life. When Lila had been bitten, I’d frozen with shock and sorrow. I’d stood there like a spectator while she’d ended her own life.

  I hadn’t been there for her when it really counted.

  She wasn’t wrong when she called me a loser.

  My eyes fly open. My heart pounds. My eyes are wet. I sit up and scrub them dry. I take in my surroundings, momentarily forgetting where I am and who’s with me.

  Reed sleeps on the floor of the tiny bedroom, wrapped in thick blankets.

  A faint smell tickles my nose. I sit up, trying to figure out what it is. My abdominal muscles groan at the movement, aching and sore from the long run down the Lost Coast.

  The pink house is musty and moldy from being shut up for months, but this is a new smell. It takes me a minute to figure out what it is. When it registers, a jolt of unease goes through me.

  Smoke.

  It trickles through the bedroom, caught in the motes of light that filter through the mini blinds.

  I get out of bed, stepping around Reed. The sore muscles of my legs protest every step of the way. I have chafe marks all around my waist from the running shorts. More around the area where my leg meets my groin. I’m so sore, it feels like my body has been pounded with a hammer.

  As perverse as it sounds, I kind of like the soreness. It’s a reminder of the crazy shit I’ve survived in the last twenty-four hours. It’s a reminder that I’m a survivor.

  Out in the living room, I find Kate and Ben on the sofa. Kate is asleep with her h
ead on Ben’s lap. Ben’s head is tipped back, his jaw hanging loose. A soft snore escapes his mouth. Why they chose a sofa over a functional bed is beyond me, but they look happy together.

  Around the room is a distinct gray haze. More smoke. It’s thicker in here that it had been in the bedrooms.

  Something is burning. I do a quick check through the house to determine nothing inside is on fire. That’s good, but with this much smoke in the house, something nearby is definitely burning.

  “Hey.” I give Ben’s shoulder a shake.

  He bolts upright, hand flying automatically to his side. The knife flashes out. I leap back, holding up my arms.

  “Woah, dude. It’s just me.”

  Ben inhales, the sleep clearing from his eyes. Then he glances down at Kate.

  “I fell asleep,” he says, looking astounded. “I never fall asleep on watch.”

  “Something is on fire. See the smoke?” I wave my hand around to take in the smoky haze.

  “Shit.” Ben gently dislodges Kate from his lap.

  “What’s going on?” She sits up, rubbing at her eyes.

  “Smoke,” I explain. “Something outside is burning.”

  That wakes her up. The three of us file onto the porch. It’s late afternoon, a few hours before dusk. The smoke outside is thick, clogging the air with a gray haze. The rain has stopped.

  I scan the road, the nearby houses, and the open land across from us, searching for the source of the fire. I don’t see any flames, but there’s enough smoke to indicate there’s a huge fucking fire somewhere.

  “The lightning probably caught something on fire,” Ben says.

  “Where’s a fireman when you need them?” I mean it as a joke to lighten the mood, but my companions ignore me.

  Kate’s lips are set in a hard line. “Wake everyone up. We’re moving out.”

  Even though the land around us is wet from the storm, the idea of an unchecked wildfire sends a chill through me. We had our fair share of those in California before the apocalypse. I don’t want to think about the damage a wildfire could do without anyone to fight it.