Plague World (Ashley Parker Novel)

by Dana Fredsti

  * * *

  We flew down the coast, following the line of the I-5 Freeway until it curved east, and then followed the toll road down through Laguna Niguel until it hooked back up to the 5 above San Juan Capistrano and San Clemente.

  The toll road, usually lightly traveled, was as jam-packed as the 5, but traffic seemed to be moving, albeit at a glacial pace. I didn’t see any zombies yet, but it was only a matter of time before the spread reached the bedroom communities.

  JT switched seats with me so I could sit next to Lil, who curled up against me despite my still-damp clothing. He also retrieved the blanket and handed it to me. It was Griff, however, who helped me tuck it around Lil when I spread it out over the two of us. I muttered a quick “thank you” to both of them. Then I put my headgear back on, even though part of me was really into blissful ignorance about now.

  We passed over the San Onofre nuclear power plant, the two mound shaped reactors looking for all the world like a pair of breasts. My dad called them “nuclear hooters,” which he’d say whenever we drove past it. My mom had giggled every time.

  A new and scary thought popped into the horror show inside my head. What was going to happen to the reactors around the world? They had to be kept cooled, right? If they had to be evacuated, there weren’t exactly “off” switches workers could hit on the way out. Remembering what had happened at Fukushima, I multiplied it by… well, however many nuclear reactors there were, scattered around the world.

  Seeing my expression, Gentry reached across and tapped me on the leg.

  “Don’t worry,” he said, nodding back in the direction of San Onofre. “DZN has core personnel and military backup in and around most facilities, to make sure the reactors aren’t compromised. At least not by zombies.”

  I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

  “So when did you add mind-reading to your wild card skills?” I asked.

  Gentry gave me a rueful grin.

  “Let’s just say you’d make a lousy poker player.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  San Diego, one of the most beautiful cities in the country, lay under the same pall of smoke and chaos as Los Angeles, but on a smaller scale. It lacked the urban sprawl of L.A. and the surrounding counties, but it packed enough people into a relatively small area to make for plenty of zombie fodder.

  We’d flown down the coast, past all the little seaside towns from Oceanside to Del Mar and La Jolla, cutting inland once we hit Mission Bay. I recognized Mission Valley as we passed over I-8 before jigging south along the 163, a scenic freeway marked by graceful bridges and tons of trees.

  We were headed for Balboa Park, home to museums, theaters, the world famous San Diego Zoo and, evidently, yet another DZN base hidden somewhere among its acreage. My money was on the Air and Space Museum or the Fleet Science Center.

  The helicopter dipped low as we approached our destination, the late afternoon winter sun hitting the bridge that led to the iconic California Tower, originally built for the Panama-California Exposition more than a century ago. Hundreds of zombies staggered down across the bridge and into the park like gormless, rotting tourists, bumping aimlessly against statues, architectural treasures, and yet more abandoned vehicles.

  Where the hell are we going to set down in this mess?

  My unspoken question was quickly answered as Carl maneuvered the helicopter over an open courtyard garden and the parking lot behind it. In a graceful swoop worthy of Roy Scheider, he took the helicopter into a canyon tucked behind the parking lot and set down in the middle of a large dirt clearing.

  The canyon was flanked by palm fronds, giant ferns, and ancient looking trees, some with above-ground root systems that looked like petrified tentacles. Cthulhu meets Jurassic Park. I expected to see velociraptors emerging from the shadows.

  The mood was somber as we disembarked, everyone moving quickly to gather their gear before the helicopter’s landing drew too much attention from the zombies up top. Carl and the mechanic immediately set to pulling down low-hanging branches and palm fronds to camouflage the helicopter from anyone who might fly over. Definitely justifiable paranoia.

  I could see several figures moving slowly around up there, but our landing area was concealed by plenty of thick foliage. If we moved quickly, we might be able to motor before an intrepid zombie spotted us and started the moaning chorus.

  A wooden staircase at the far end of the canyon led up to the parking lot, tall palm trees flanking it like ragged sentries. Up top were small cream-colored buildings with curved red-shingled roofs.

  Something white caught my eye—a set of earbuds on the dusty ground. They were attached to a blood-spattered iPod. A plastic water bottle lay crumpled against one of the Lovecraftian tangles, dark patches in the dirt telling the story of what probably happened to the iPod’s owner.

  I glanced over at Lil, who was staring off into the distance. I put a hand on her shoulder.

  “You okay?” I spoke in an undertone.

  She nodded. “Just thinking about the zoo,” she said softly. “It’s huge, isn’t it?”

  Uh-oh.

  “Yeah, it’s pretty big,” I said cautiously. “With a ton of people who are committed to taking care of the animals during all sorts of emergencies.”

  Lil nodded again.

  “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

  A plaintive moan drifted our way from the bottom of the wooden staircase. We all looked back to see a lone female zombie in sweats, tennis shoes, and T-shirt staring at us with a dead yet hungry gaze. It had nasty wounds on its arms and legs, one ankle nearly gnawed through, and I’d bet dollars to donuts it was missing an iPod. It lurched unsteadily in our direction, moaning again. A ragged chorus responded from the parking lot above.

  A small pop sounded, and a hole appeared in the jogger’s head. It slumped to the ground, but already other zombies were appearing on the platform at the top of the wooden stairs.

  “Time to move,” Nathan said quietly to everyone gathered round. “Hand-to-hand weapons to keep the noise down.” He nodded at Davis and Jones. “Except you two, of course.” He unhooked his Halligan bar from his belt as Simone pulled an identical tool from a duffel bag.

  Awww, how cute. Matching weapons. I had the sense to keep the observation to myself.

  “Where are we headed?” I asked.

  “It’s not too far,” Nathan replied. “Just stick together and follow Simone. She knows the way.”

  Simone took point, moving up the slope to the east like some sort of magic ninja, her feet barely making any sound on the leaf-covered ground. The Gunsy Twins and Nathan moved with similar efficiency. JT moved quickly, refraining from swinging off the many low-hanging branches. He seemed to be taking the situation more seriously, instead of treating everything like an obstacle course for him to conquer.

  I unsheathed my blades, and fell in behind the rest of the group, taking Tail-End Charlie just so I could keep an eye on Lil and not have Griff at my back. Compared to Simone, I felt like a clumsy puppy chasing after a sleek greyhound, feet landing on every stray branch. It made me feel slightly better to hear Tony, Lil, and Gentry crunching through the carpet of dead leaves, and downright happy when the catlike Griff tripped on one of the tentacle-like roots along the way.

  And like a cat, he pretended nothing had happened.

  Near the top, we reached a green fence separating us from a cement path, which led down into the canyon and up a flight of stairs that ended behind a row of the cream-colored buildings. The ever-present moans of the undead drifted toward us along with the all-too-familiar smell of necrosis.

  I’d kill for some Febreze about now.

  Simone nimbly hopped over the fence and ascended the stairs, the rest of us close behind. She stopped at a strip of walkway that was still below the rest of the park, several of the buildings hiding us from sight.

  “Try to stay together,” she said quietly. “If you fall behind, just remember to head left through the Inter
national Cottages to the Organ Pavilion. You can’t miss it.”

  Organ Pavilion? My eyebrows shot up. Not the obvious choice.

  “Once there,” Simone continued, “go straight to the door at the end of the right colonnade. Someone will be there to let us in.”

  “What’s a colonnade?” Tony asked, saving me the trouble.

  “It’s a row of columns placed at regular intervals, usually supporting a roof,” JT said without missing a beat.

  Tony looked at him without love.

  “Like, shouldn’t you be on Jeopardy, dude?”

  “Tried out, didn’t make it,” JT admitted in a cheerful undertone. “Totally blew it in the sports categories. I hate sports.”

  Simone shushed them with a look, and hefted her Halligan bar.

  “We need to move quickly and quietly,” she said. “Let’s go.” With that, she took off at a sprint. I couldn’t help but notice the way Nathan’s gaze followed her.

  Who knows? If we survived, maybe they’d figure their shit out.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Simone led us up a walkway between two of the International Cottages, and to the edge of a large grass clearing littered with food stands, barbecue grills, and overturned tables, rotting food and body parts scattered all over the formerly green lawn. A large banner reading “Ethnic Food Fair” stretched between two trees.

  I’d been here many years ago during this same event, and still remembered all of the participants in their festive national costume. I’d dragged my indulgent parents into each and every one of the houses with their cheerful blue-painted shutters, and insisted on sampling food from every country.

  Now the words “Ethnic Food Fair” took on a new and more literal meaning as zombies of all ages and nationalities in dirndls, lederhosen, kimonos, kilts, saris, and assorted other national garb gnawed on body parts or wandered around in search of food. It was like a ride at Disneyland, as imagined by George Romero.

  It’s a dead world, after all…

  That’s enough of that, I told my brain firmly before that particular brain worm took hold.

  There were muffled pops again as the Gunsy Twins started doing their job culling the herd. Zombies dropped as the rest of us broke from cover and plowed through the crowd as best we could. Those of us with immunity focused on keeping the zombies off of the helicopter crew. Gentry, Simone, and Nathan were a few yards ahead, while off to my left Lil wielded her pickaxe with gleeful abandon, splattering blood and black fluid in her wake. Tony swung Thor’s Wee Hammer with less glee but equal effectiveness, while JT effortlessly bounded on and over anything in his way.

  I raised my katana as a zombie in traditional Greek costume reached for me, arms raised as though it were about to start line dancing.

  “Sorry, Zorba,” I said, slicing through its neck.

  I heard a snort.

  “Life is what you do while you’re waiting to die.”

  I turned to see Griff right behind me, facing off against a female zombie wearing an orange sari.

  “Life is where the time goes by,” I shot back.

  He grinned, looking genuinely amused for the first time since I’d met him as he nonchalantly bashed his opponent right in the middle of its bindi. I had to admire his aim.

  “Raised on show tunes, were you?” he said.

  I shrugged, but before I could answer, a shit-ton of ethnically diverse zombies headed my way. At the forefront was a swarm of formerly adorable Chinese toddlers in blood-stained folk-dance gear. They staggered unsteadily on chubby little legs, almost the way normal toddlers do when first learning to walk—like little Godzillas stomping through Tokyo. A little girl zombie reached towards me with chubby arms, as if asking me to pick it up.

  This was so wrong on every possible level.

  “Empty shells,” I muttered, reminding myself of a near-fatal lesson I’d learned in Golden Gate Park. Steeling myself, I raised my katana, but before I could cut off its head, Griff swung his crowbar and knocked it backward into the other toddlers. They toppled over like fat little bowling pins, tripping up a couple of adults who looked like refugees from Riverdance.

  Griff turned to me. “Keep moving,” he said, his expression unreadable. “Just take out the ones you have to for now, not the ones that’ll give you more nightmares.”

  I nodded tersely, and kept moving. I couldn’t bring myself to thank him, but as much as I hated to admit it, he was right.

  That’s when it hit me.

  This was so much worse than the swarm we’d defeated in Redwood Grove, I didn’t even know how to parse it. I mean, we weren’t just talking about Balboa Park. We weren’t even talking about San Diego, Southern California, or the entire frigging state. This shit, as Tony liked to say, had gotten real, and on a global scale.

  Taking out a few dozen zombies in brightly colored costumes wasn’t going to make a whole hell of a lot of difference. This zombie United Nations was only the tip of the proverbial iceberg.

  So I kept running, not bothering with my katana any more. I knocked zombies out of my way by hip-checking them or kicking them hard in the kneecaps. Maybe they didn’t feel any pain, but the laws of physics still applied.

  * * *

  Clearing the International Cottages, we emerged onto an asphalt road littered with cars. A huge parking lot stretched out before us down a slope while hedges and trees lined the sidewalk to our left and hugged the back of a large square structure a few hundred yards away.

  Simone darted across the road between the stalled vehicles, heading toward the sidewalk beyond. Nathan was right behind her. The rest of us followed, ducklings trailing their mother.

  Undead hands reached out of car windows, clutching at us as we wove in between the front ends and bumpers. Zombies staggered toward us from the parking lots; tourists who’d come to spend the day at Balboa Park, but were now on permanent vacation in hell.

  Carl gave a yell of fear and disgust as a female zombie in a full-skirted yellow dress and a little sweater, all retro with a matte black Bettie Page ’do, reached out from between two cars and grabbed his left arm. It yanked him hand first toward its open mouth, which still bore the remnants of bright red lipstick, now smeared with black vomit and blood.

  Not gonna happen.

  I vaulted clumsily over the hood of the car nearest me, shoving my Kevlar-covered right forearm into Retro Zombie’s gaping mouth before it could chomp down on Carl’s fingers. I then shoved the point of my tanto into its eye socket, grimacing at the smell and the inevitable gross squishing noise upon entry and withdrawal.

  “Thanks.” Carl gave me a shaky grin and pulled his arm free. We checked to make sure none of the splatter had hit him.

  “Gotta keep the pilot alive, right?”

  What looked like the matching Daddy-O Ken to Bettie Page Barbie lurched towards us, hipster bowling shirt covered in gore. I smacked Carl on the shoulder and we caught up with the rest of the team at the base of what looked like Hollywood’s idea of a Greek temple, complete with ornate columns. Benches filled in about two-thirds of a brick courtyard in front.

  “There.” Simone pointed toward a small wrought-iron gate. “Follow me.”

  The moment Simone dashed up the stairs and onto the walkway, all of the zoms in the vicinity turned to follow, as if on autopilot. Some staggered straight up to the walkway, clutching fingers trying to reach us over the raised edge. Others unsteadily navigated the stairs. The Gunsy Twins took up positions on either side of the walkway, taking out the slowly moving targets one headshot at a time. They were joined by Nathan and Gentry.

  Simone rapped hard on the iron grill and shouted, “Appel!” The sounds brought a renewed chorus of moans from all around us. Our guys continued to cull the herd, but more zombies appeared from all directions—more than they could possibly put down. Soon the pavilion courtyard was thick with them, and it quickly became apparent that we were boxed in.

  If we didn’t get in soon, we were toast.

  “Now wou
ld be a good time to get the damn door open,” Nathan growled as he took out three zombies closing in on us. The rest of us stood in a cluster, hand-held weapons ready. I dropped my knapsack in front of the gate.

  Simone slammed an open palm against the metal again, three times in quick succession.

  “Appel!”

  “Maybe you should try ‘friend’ in Elvish,” JT suggested helpfully.

  Tony gave a surprised snort of laughter, then looked pissed at himself for doing so.

  Pop. Pop.

  Two more shots, two more zombies crumpling to the ground a scant fifteen feet away from us. The ones behind stumbled over their fallen comrades, but kept moving toward us. Simone kept hammering at the gate and yelling.

  The rest of us drew into a tighter knot. Almost unconsciously I moved slightly in front of Lil, determined to protect her even as Griff stepped out in front of the two of us like a knight in Kevlar armor.

  I bristled. I mean, seriously. Like I needed protecting.

  Then I looked at Lil, and almost laughed. Her expression mirrored my thoughts.

  She grinned up at me with one of her instant mood shifts, looking for all the world like the what you got if the death goddess Kali got it on with a Care Bear. If it was time to die, we’d do it together. Although I really hoped it wasn’t that time yet.

  I really needed to see that she got her meds.

  Simone slammed her open palm against the gate again, yelling as she did so.

  “Appel!” Slam.

  “Eric!” Slam.

  “Appel!” Slam.

  “Open the gate!”

  Slamslamslam!

  “I can’t open the gate with all of you leaning on it.” An unfamiliar male voice sounded from behind the gate, sounding like an especially cantankerous Wizard of Oz.

  “Everyone step back,” Nathan ordered. We all did, except the female mechanic—who seemed frozen in place as she stared at the incoming zombies.

  Yup, definitely a red shirt.