Eric’s body rolls across the ground. The backpack tumbles free of his grasp. He flops onto the pavement, sucking in deep, terrified gasps.
“Eric!” I fling myself at him, attempting to lift him up into a hug. He’s bigger than I am, but I try anyway.
Reed joins me. Between the two of us, we manage to haul him to his feet. We cluster in a tight embrace. Tears make my cheeks wet.
“I thought we’d lost you.” I dig my fingers into Eric’s shoulder. “You scared the shit out of me.”
Breath saws in and out of his throat. The lenses of his glasses are foggy from the smoke, but I can still see the whites of his eyes.
“Shit,” he whispers. “That was close. Good thing I’m not fat anymore.”
Reed squeezes both of us. “For a few seconds there, I thought I was going to lose a brother. You scared the shit out of me, dude. Johnny and Carter would kick my ass if I came home without you.”
We all laugh, the sound tinged with the residual panic that clings to us.
“I’m getting too old for this shit,” someone grumbles behind me. “Next time, some other shithead gets to risk his ribcage with my dumb-shit maneuver.”
I break away from Eric and Reed, whirling around to face Ben. The front of his shirt is ripped. The side of his cheek is abraded from the concrete. But he, too, is gloriously intact and alive.
This should make me happy. Ecstatic. Overwhelmed with joy.
I feel none of those things.
I am overtaken by a surge of anger as my mind flashes through the last sixty seconds. I could have lost Ben. He could have been stolen away from me, just like Kyle had been stolen.
Thinking about this is like stepping through a time machine back to the day Kyle died. To the day Carter and I came home and found him dead on the front walkway of our house.
I haven’t thought about that day since I said goodbye to Kyle on the Avenue of the Giants. It all comes rushing back to me now. I recall the way the world fell out from beneath my feet. I recall the way I had lived, directionless, for the next two years. I’d been a shell of myself.
I stalk toward Ben and shove him. Hard. “What the fuck?” I yell. “You almost died!”
He blinks at me, absorbing my anger with a wrinkled brow. “The kid would have died.”
I smack him on the shoulder. When he just stares at me, I hit him again. Then I hit him a third time, just because I don’t know what else to do.
My anger is irrational. I know this. But I can’t turn the giant tidal wave of fear and anger crashing all around me.
“Kate.” He tries to reach for me.
I sidestep, turning my back on him. I can’t even look at him right now. My tumbling emotions threaten to unravel me right here on this broken bridge.
Tears blur the edges of my vision. I swipe them away with an angry hand.
As I do, the world south of the bridge leaps into focus for the first time. I’d been so intent on seeing everyone safely over the Noya River, I hadn’t paid any attention to what was beyond it.
We’ve all done our share of shouting in the commotion of the last five minutes. It has not gone unnoticed. Stumbling toward us in a mass of rot are a dozen zombies. They raise their arms, moans piercing the smoky air. The light of the growing fire paints their bodies a lurid orange.
“Get your weapons out,” I snarl, fists closing on my knives. “These fuckers are going down.” I turn a glare on my people, letting it linger on Ben longer than necessary. “And if any of you even thinks about getting bitten, I’m going to kick your ass.”
Normally, seven against twelve isn’t great odds. Normally, I wouldn’t think of pitting us against so many.
But today is different. Our determination is electric. I feel it gathering around our tight-knit group.
Braggs has not been kind to us. We may have left the main part of the city, but we still have several miles of outskirts to make it through. We didn’t survive two bridges, a horde of zombies, and a fire just to die now. No fucking way.
“She’s scary when she’s mad.”
It takes me a second to register Ash’s voice. I ignore her, focusing on the horde that lurches in our direction. They’re thirty feet away and closing. We’re killing these assholes and getting the hell out of Braggs.
I sense Ben’s presence just behind my left shoulder, hovering at my back. I’m so angry I can’t look at him or acknowledge his presence.
I break into a run, charging at the undead.
The first of them dies with my knife buried in its forehead. I yank it free, spinning around to kill the next monster that reaches for me. This one gets a zom bat to the nose.
More of them edge in, closing around me like the petals of a carnivorous plant. I bare my teeth and slash at the next closest one.
“Dammit, Kate.” Ben stabs one in the back of the head, flinging it aside. “Watch yourself!”
Eric steps up on his other side, smashing the skull of a zombie in his path.
All my people are there. Smoke from the fire swirls around us as we fight, cutting a bloody path through the undead. Within minutes, we’re surrounded by a pile of dead bodies.
We pause, all of us panting from the small battle. I take in the scattering of small shops, restaurants, motels, and low-roofed homes that stretch before us. The road, still four lanes wide, is cluttered with abandoned cars and zombies.
Many of the zombies make their way toward us. I don’t know if they’re drawn by the fire or if they’re attracted to the commotion we made.
It doesn’t matter. They’re nothing but an obstacle course to overcome.
“We move fast,” I say. “We avoid the zombies when possible. If we have to fight our way through, we fight in pairs. Eric and Ben. Ash and Caleb. Me and Reed.” I ignore the exasperated scowl Ben throws my way. “We watch one another’s backs. We all get out of here alive. Understand?”
I wait until I see everyone nod in understanding. I turn and break into a run.
A boom rips through the air.
Another ball of fire leaps into the sky, blooming over the south side of Braggs like a blazing mushroom.
Shit-shit-shit. I’d been so worried about the fire on the north side of Braggs that I hadn’t paused to consider there might be fire on the south side, too.
“Gas line?” Caleb asks.
“More likely a gas station,” Eric replies. “This town is going to burn to the ground.”
“Come on,” I snarl. “We have to run.”
16
Tennis Racket
JESSICA
I lay on my stomach on the bed, my mind drifting as the asshole on top of me grunts and groans.
Instead of focusing on what’s happening to my body, I focus on my surroundings. This very bed—this twin-sized piece of foam—is the bed I shared with Shaun. We lived in this tiny trailer together for months, like we were still husband and wife; there wasn’t enough room in the fort for people not to double up, and we preferred rooming with each other rather than strangers.
I didn’t mind. Not really. Even if we weren’t married anymore, Shaun was all I had left. I still loved him. There was something nice about laying down on the mattress with him at the end of a long day. After he left me for Richard, it was something I never thought I’d do again.
In those rare moments of darkness, I liked to pretend we were still married. I’d take the apocalypse any day of the week if it meant I could keep Shaun.
Pieces of Shaun remain in the room. His jacket is wadded up on the far corner of the mattress. A small Girl Scout patch he found on a scavenging run is tacked to the wooden wall. It’s a tribute to our lost daughters, who’d been on a Girl Scout camping trip when they died.
Around the Girl Scout patch are over a dozen one-hundred-dollar bills. Shaun collected those, too. He joked that one day, when toilet paper ran out, he was going to use them to wipe his ass.
My eyes travel to the dented tennis racket on my side of the bed. Besides my crushed soul, it’s th
e only thing I brought out of that Girl Scout camping trip.
It had been covered in blood and bits of hair. Wispy, light brown hair with a hint of curls at the end. Claire and May had the perfect combination of my dark brown hair and Shaun’s curly blond.
I feel like that tennis racket most days. I’d taken it to the campground with the intention of hitting some balls in the morning while people still slept. We’d been at one of those over-accessorized campgrounds with a swimming pool, miniature golf course, playground, bocce ball courts, and various other activities to entertain kids.
Instead, I used it to put down my own children. To save my ex-husband who had left me for another man. I may have smashed in little Claire’s head with the racket, but it may as well have been a knife through my heart.
I don’t know why I kept it. It’s a memento of my worst nightmare.
It’s easy to ignore the sweating monster pounding into me when I see the tennis racket. My mind fogs over, drowning in memories that are so much worse than the ones being made today.
My dead kids don’t know it, but in a really fucked up way, they’re saving me right now.
I LET MY HEAD ROLL to one side as the next asshole pounds into me. In the end, it’s all simple mechanics. The only thing I have to do is not resist. Biology takes care of the rest.
My eyes settle again on the tennis racket. It had been a gift from Shaun on our eighth wedding anniversary. A Babolat Pure Strike. I’d cherished that racket more than any other gift he’d given me.
Three days after Shaun gave me the tennis racquet, I’d found the second cell phone he carried to stay in touch with Richard. It had been dumb misfortune to find that phone.
Sometimes I wonder what life would have been like if I’d never found it. Would I have hummed along in blissful ignorance? Or would Shaun still have left me?
Resentment surges inside me. Even after a year and a half of therapy, I hadn’t been able to find peace with my new Shaun-less reality. He’d taken away the simple joy I found in making ham and cheese sandwiches and cutting out paper gingerbread men.
Before the apocalypse, I took out my rage on my tennis partners. Bitchy stay-at-home moms from the private school our daughters attended. Their life purpose seemed to be hunting down all the latest small-town gossip and spreading it around like smallpox.
To be honest, I detested them. But I loved tennis more than I loathed them, so I put up with their petty shit.
Still, their friendship wasn’t free. I fed them just enough gossip about my divorce to keep them on the tennis court with me. Then I pounded the hell out them with my backspins and drop shots.
So ironic that I used that same tennis racket to save Shaun.
So terrible that I also used it to put down my zombie children.
I close my eyes, letting the pain wash over me.
The asshole on top of me is nothing compared to the things I’ve suffered with my tennis racket.
17
Truck
KATE
In front of us, the fire rages. The flames whoosh back and forth like banners, the crackling fabric rippling as it moves. Buildings snap, pop, and collapse as the fire devours them.
The noise acts as a zombie magnet. All around, the undead moan and make their way toward the noise. It’s so loud most of them don’t notice the desperate humans plunging down the road. Our rubber-soled shoes are mere whispers on the ground. Only our breathing is heavy and harsh, but it’s swallowed up by the destructive inferno behind us.
The highway through the outskirts of Braggs is still four lanes wide. Despite this, our path is far from clear. Every time a zombie stumbles in front of us or draws too close, we’re forced to take it out.
Ben jumps in front of me as two zombies step in my direction with outstretched arms. He moves fast, the knife a blur as it punches first one zombie in the head, then another. Even after how I treated him, he’s still looking out for me.
He’s barely dispatched them when Caleb confronts another, this one a rotund man with pants that sag around his rotting middle. Caleb swings his zom bat, clocking the fat zombie in the side of the face.
My eyes flick left, right, then left again, scanning our surroundings as we run. The highway is like a giant obstacle course. We swerve around cars and bodies. Anytime a large group of zombies appears, I lead my people in the other direction. We zigzag down the road of death, killing when we have to.
I wish we could use the alpha zom recording. But after the near-miss in Braggs, we can’t risk it. I’ve already seen two alphas in the surrounding chaos, both of them leading large packs away from the fire. I can’t risk drawing the attention of one.
My insides twist as I see the horde of zombies stumbling toward us. There’s no fighting our way through it. There’s no darting around it, either. I could lead my people into one of the side streets and hope for the best, but the undead drift out of every side street in sight.
“Dammit.” I pound a fist on my thigh, desperate for a way out. I didn’t bring my people all this way to die now. There has to be a way.
Fifty yards away, I spot a Toyota Tacoma. It lists to one side, half on the sidewalk, half on the road.
Before the apocalypse, the Tacoma was shiny yellow with chrome rims and over-sized tires. Now, the front grill is covered with undead gore. Blood streaks the sides. One tire is flat.
“Truck,” I hiss. “We can hide in the back.” I tear toward the truck in a blind run.
A swirling of the undead stand between us and the truck. I count twelve.
We can take them. We have to take them.
Ben, who still hasn’t budged from my side, seems to understand my plan. He charges the first of the zoms, taking it out with a knife through the eye.
Reed is hard on his heels, the tall young man swinging his zom bat with ruthless efficiency. He bludgeons one zombie on the head, then leaps forward another two steps and takes out another.
Eric sprints past me. I glimpse a profile set in determination. His knives reflect the orange flames that paint the sky.
He cuts around Caleb, stabbing the zombie that stumbles up behind his friend. The monster hasn’t even hit the ground before Eric springs away.
He’s the first one to reach the truck. He spins around, planting himself in front of the truck like a defender of the Alamo.
Ash is the next person to reach the truck. Eric darts forward, cutting off the zombie that closes in behind her. He kills it, buying Ash a few precious seconds to vault into the bed of the Tacoma.
I cut down a zombie and rush to Eric’s side, planting myself beside him. We fight without words as the zombies pour down the street, keeping one side of the Tacoma clear for our friends.
Caleb and Reed vault into the truck. Ben looms out of the chaos with blood spattered all across his face and the front of his clothes.
“In.” His word snaps at me like the end of a whip.
There isn’t time to argue. The big hoard is drawing near, led at a shambling run by the alpha. I hurl myself over the edge.
Ben is about to rush one of the biggest zombies I’ve ever seen, a man easily six-foot-five and three hundred pounds. It barrels toward the truck with a keening cry.
Ben recoils, bunching his muscles to spring into action.
Eric beats him to it. He barrels into the zombie, mouth open in a silent scream. He jams both hands hard against the creature’s chest.
It stumbles back, snarling in surprise. Eric doesn’t let it recover. His knife hand flashes down in rapid succession, breaking through the flesh and bone of the undead monster’s face.
Ben doesn’t wait. He turns to the truck, flinging himself inside.
I rush to the far edge, holding out a hand as Eric hauls ass back to the Tacoma. Three zombies pursue him, letting up a fresh set of wails.
Eric jumps through the air like a spider, arms extended.
I latch onto one forearm. Caleb grabs the other. We pull Eric inside, cushioning his fall as the three of us stumbl
e backward onto the hard metal of the truck bed.
The three zombies chasing Eric slam into the tailgate. They hiss and moan, claws digging at the metal and swiping at open air.
Reed advances, jaw set. Ben grabs his arm and shakes his head, motioning for all of us to huddle near the center of the truck.
Sandwiched between Caleb and Eric, I crouch in a sitting position. The rest of my people squish in around me. We are a silent, huddled mass in the center of the Tacoma.
The three zombies at the tailgate continue to scratch and keen. Another dozen zombies surround the truck, led there by their alpha. The alpha—a teenage girl with half her hair torn away from her scalp—keens and clicks, calling more zombies to surround us. The Tacoma rocks back and forth as they moan and claw.
I barely dare to breathe. My hands are sweaty around my knives. Adrenaline courses through my veins, sending tremors through my sweaty hands.
South of us, the fire is gaining momentum. Big flames lick at the sky, belching up black plumes of smoke. If we don’t get out of here soon, we might suffocate and burn to death.
If we leave the truck bed, we risk being overrun.
A zombie swipes at the open air above the truck, nails only inches from my face. It takes every shred of willpower not to swipe back, not to bury my knife in its face.
But this is just one of many zoms surrounding the Tacoma. There’s no way for us to fight our way free. The truck continues to rock. The zombies continue to hiss and moan.
Eric’s nostrils are flared, his muscles tense and ready to spring. Ben looks as fierce as ever, eyes flicking between the zombies and me. Ash and Caleb sit back to back, equal parts scared and determined. Reed crouches on the balls of his feet, looking ready to fling himself over the side of the truck and into the surrounding horde.
The alpha shoulders through the pack. When it bumps up against the truck, it pounds its fists against the metal with a shriek of frustration. The cry is echoed up the road by other zombies.
Undead Ultra Box Set | Books 1-4 Page 104
