The Zombies: Volumes One to Six Box Set

by Macaulay C. Hunter

  Locking her door, Zaley turned off the light. She sat on the floor against her bed and listened to the barracks grow quiet. There wasn’t even a movie playing in the rec room. People were out clubbing or passed out in their beds. Wasp didn’t stick around at night either. He took his relentless bitch-fest home to his wife. Only senior people had that option.

  She picked at the thin carpet. There had to be some way to get them out, and to do it fast. On the off chance this operation got busted in the interim, she was going to be arrested along with everyone else. That was a worrisome thought.

  At midnight, she got out a flashlight and slid open her window. Dropping down to the grass, she left the flashlight off for now. A handful of the windows along the stretch of the barracks were lit, illuminating the ground enough for her to see by. Going out straight from her room to the trees, she slunk along.

  The light was on and music was playing in Kitten’s empty room. The curtains were wide open. They were open even when she changed. Often she accused guys of sneaking a peek, but it was a hint for them to try. She and Fawn had had a foursome with two of the guys, and had gotten upset when the guys ignored them afterwards to play pool with other girls.

  They were such stupid people. Such stupid, dangerous people. The older ones said that living in the barracks was very much like their college dorm experiences. Zaley didn’t want to live in a dorm if this was what it was truly like, music playing incessantly and foursomes and drunk people passed out in the hallways.

  No one was in the other lit rooms except for the last one. Leopard and Cuckoo were making out against the wall. The window was propped open. They were so intoxicated that they hadn’t noticed the spoiled meat smell filling up their love nest.

  Skirting between trees, Zaley circled the mobile unit that served as the office and paused in the darkness to listen. There were the ever-present, chilling animal sounds from the hill, hoots and cries and barks. Everyone had saluted Mothman for what he’d done when a bunch of zombies charged the fence. The guy was shaking. One feral had nearly gotten out alive. Zaley hadn’t had to suit up for haz-mat to clean that mess, and it killed her until dinner to think that the many dead might include her friends.

  A spare key was taped under the railing. The friendships with Kitten and Fawn had been good for that much information. Prying it free, Zaley unlocked the door and let herself inside. Then she locked it behind her and flipped on the flashlight. The overheads would shine through the cracks in the blinds, and no one was ever in here this late. She ran the light over the hulking shapes of the desk, copier, and the filing cabinets. The keys to the museum and gates could be anywhere. Hidden behind the copier, in the back of a filing cabinet . . . Without a clue of where to start, she searched Mrs. Hitler’s desk. The drawers held pencils and pens and pads of paper, everything but keys.

  If Zaley actually did find keys, she had to figure out what to do then. She couldn’t unlock the South Bridge gate and stroll up merrily to the lodge. Knock on the door and announce that she was here to pick up Micah, Corbin, Elania, and Austin! The lodge was where people who hadn’t gone feral yet stayed for safety, according to Kitten. Zaley wouldn’t make it to the top of the hill alive, not to mention that the South Bridge had a light shining directly on it from the watchtower.

  The North Bridge was much dimmer, but it didn’t lead to a gate. The glass was far too thick for a captive Sombra C to punch through, and the bucket had a heavy metal latch to stop them from opening it between meal services.

  She shined her light on the underside of the desk. Nothing. The filing cabinets were unlocked. Each one rattled, which made her cringe. It was louder when the office was quiet. A lot of the drawers held nothing but copy paper; the others had information about raiders and where they’d searched for Sombra Cs hiding out. Very little paperwork was kept on people like Zaley, just their names and date of arrival, with a separate file for people who’d died or gone AWOL.

  An air freshener exhaled. For one terrified second, she thought someone was in the office breathing. Then her nostrils filled with the scent of cranberry.

  The door to the side office was locked. She swore and leaned her head on the cool surface. This was a stupid idea. There wasn’t any way to get them out unless Zaley was going to shoot a watchtower guard and clip a hole in the fence, at a time prearranged with the others to have them waiting on the other side. If she was going to shoot someone, then she needed a silencer.

  She inspected the copier. There weren’t any keys behind it. When she lifted the lid, a forgotten piece of paper was swept up in the gust of wind and sailed down to the floor. It was a list of rotational and permanent braces extending up to the Golden Gate Bridge and beyond. Folding up the paper, Zaley pocketed it in frustration. Getting them out was a fantasy, so she wasn’t going to need this.

  She closed up the office and went back through the darkness, passing the lit-up room where drugged, lusty grunts were emanating. This place was so gross. At her window, she hoisted herself through with difficulty. The next time she was assigned to cleaning Little Hitler’s office, she would look around.

  Wild ideas floated through her head as she changed and settled into bed. Rent a helicopter and fly over the hill, dropping a ladder for them to climb up. Aim a torpedo at the fence. She fell asleep still chewing on it. In her dream, she gave herself Sombra C and went in there to be with them.

  When morning came, she showered and dressed for Report outside the canteen. They had to show up by six, which stunk for the people who’d dragged their sorry asses in from Bonko’s or elsewhere at half-past three. Kitten was wobbling from fatigue and Zebra had pizza stains on his chin and cheeks. His hair was standing up everywhere.

  Swelling up in annoyance when names went unanswered, Wasp said, “Anyone want to tell me where Fawn and Beetle are?”

  No one knew. Beetle was probably passed out in his bed, and Fawn in someone else’s bed. He assigned tasks bad-temperedly and Zaley was put on path guard for the afternoon. As they were dismissed, Kitten moaned, “I don’t feel so good,” and barfed on the ground. The smell of rot was joined by the scent of alcohol. People shouted and leaped away from the sprays of her vomit. Clutching her stomach, she said, “I have to go to bed.”

  “You can’t!” Wasp yelled. “Get in the kitchen and start work!”

  With a show of sympathy, Zaley helped Kitten into the canteen and through the tables to the kitchen. Everyone rushed past to claim the better jobs, leaving the dull-eyed girl to sink onto a chair by the microwaves as the morning zombie feeder. Part of that job was to bring the meals from the freezers to the microwaves, but Kitten just sat there stupidly.

  Rolling the cart over to get the meals herself, Zaley had to move aside Little Bear and Wildebeest’s bottles of soda to pull out stacks of them. Both watchtower guards drank an alarming amount of Pizoom. They weren’t supposed to keep personal items in the canteen kitchen but did it anyway. There were always two to five bottles in there, and in the most inconvenient spot for everyone else. The girls made sure their Pizoom weren’t in there long enough to freeze.

  Selecting the trays of chicken and potatoes, Zaley stacked them on the cart. The others were making oatmeal, breakfast burritos, and scrambled eggs. Cuckoo unloaded the dishwasher, which should have been done by someone in the evening shift. Then he realized the dishes weren’t clean, so he returned what he’d taken out and set it up to wash. Wasp came in and yelled. They needed those dishes and Cuckoo should have just washed them by hand. It was too late to do anything about it now.

  Searching for another target upon which to visit his wrath, Wasp shouted, “What the hell are you doing in here, Spitfire? You’re not on kitchen today!”

  “Helping out, sir!” Zaley said, jamming a fork through the plastic of a meal with a pointed look to Kitten. Almost asleep on the chair, Kitten mumbled that she just needed a minute. Wasp told her to get off her fat ass and carry the flats of water bottles into the bucket room. She pried herself off the chair with exc
ruciating slowness and lumbered to the pantry. Zaley loaded meals into the microwaves. There were six microwaves altogether. Some people loaded six meals in at a time and pressed start so they finished all at once; she preferred to do it in an assembly line so one was always finishing as she began another.

  Informing Zaley that she was still on path guard duty in the afternoon, Wasp stormed out to make himself a bowl of cereal. Zaley worked steadily at the microwaves as Kitten went back and forth in the corridor. She was pushing the water along with her foot rather than carrying it. Then she came back, lifted the chair, and carried that to the bucket room. She didn’t return, catching a nap in there and letting Zaley cover her work.

  This particular meal was supposed to be heated for three minutes. Most people didn’t bother with that, but Zaley did. Everyone on that awful hill should have a meal that wasn’t still partially frozen. Jellyfish wheeled in a dolly of spaghetti and meatball cups to be loaded into the freezer. Those were tiny things and Zaley said, “Are those supposed to be a whole meal?”

  “Yeah,” Jellyfish said sleepily. Those things were two hundred calories, definitely not a meal. Crover was cutting down on expenses.

  She had to get them out of there but how? If she purchased a silencer before she reported to the path for duty . . . she could need a different kind of gun altogether, if silencers couldn’t be fixed to any gun. The library could have books on that, since she didn’t have the Internet for a quick tutorial on attachments. She checked the clock. There wasn’t enough time to get over there, search for what she wanted, read it all, and come back. It was best to go directly to the gun store and ask for advice from an employee.

  No. Sales of weapons and ammunition had ceased. One of the other guards could have a gun with a silencer. That was a question for tonight in the rec room. Some of them were real gun aficionados. She needed to come up with a story about why she was interested. Not really. People were too high, stoned, or drunk to think very deeply, which was why they all sat around the sofas giving advice on anal sex in mixed company. Use plenty of lube. Ugh.

  The bell rang. Kitten was in that much of a stupor that she’d rung the bell to alert the Sombra Cs for breakfast, and Zaley was only halfway done. Running down the corridor, she found the girl settling back on the chair. Her eyes were mostly closed. There wasn’t any point in saying something. It wasn’t like Kitten could un-ring the bell. Zaley dashed into the kitchen, picked up one of the bins they used for dirty plates, and loaded the heated meals into it. She delivered them to the bucket room and returned to the humming microwaves.

  Not wanting to miss her friends, she went down the corridor every time she had three to six more meals. Someone was thumping on the glass during one of these deliveries. Kitten had forgotten to add a bottle of water. Totally out of it, she waved at the man dismissively. Zaley slipped the water into the bucket and sent it over, saying, “Kitten. Kitten! Go and make more meals.”

  “I don’t feel good,” Kitten muttered.

  The line had to wait for Zaley to relocate Kitten and her chair to the microwaves. Then Zaley passed the food and water through, praying that Kitten wasn’t just sleeping over there. Elania came to the window and gave a slight smile through the glass. Behind her was Corbin, who picked up his food, made a horrible face at it, and mouthed why so slow? Zaley rolled her eyes as the bucket slid to her side. Corbin grinned and mouthed I love you.

  It was the first time he had ever said that. And there was glass between them. She wanted to punch a fucking hole through it. Mouthing I love you back to him, Zaley watched heartbrokenly as he dipped under the railing to the grass. The girls would take butt-slapping, drugged-up Cuckoo over Corbin and she loathed them for it.

  Kitten trudged in with six more meals and dumped them unceremoniously into the bin. There were only ten in the bin altogether, so Zaley passed them out and was forced to wait for the next six to come. A woman stood on the other side of the glass, and towering over her was Austin. Every time he came to the window, he broke out in the brightest smile to see Zaley. It was very hard not to smile back.

  She didn’t want to let them down. Tonight she’d ask about silencers.

  When Kitten didn’t return, Zaley held up a finger to the woman to hold on. Going down the corridor, she checked the microwaves. Kitten was gone and Cuckoo pointed to the closed bathroom door, where retching could be heard. Gathering up the three meals that had finished, Zaley returned to the bucket room. Those went out and still there were another dozen people standing on the bridge for their breakfast. She had them wait again.

  What if she did punch through the glass? As she heated up more meals, she pondered it. She could slug that window all day long and never make the tiniest crack. But if she shot through it . . . or if she swung a sledgehammer at it, the glass could break. Zaley doubted that she could lift a sledgehammer. Her right arm was gaining more and more functionality by the week, but it was far from strong. She had just mastered hooking her bra, and that was with it turned around so the hooks were over her stomach. Then she wriggled it around to her back and pulled it up.

  Giving out the first three meals to finish, she eyed the glass. A sledgehammer was out of her reach, but a regular hammer wasn’t. Her left arm was fine, and compensating for the right had made it stronger. The problem was that this was very thick glass. It had been made to withstand an assault.

  She collected the next three meals as Kitten came out of the bathroom and took her place on the chair at the microwaves to finish up. Vomit had dribbled down her shirt. She hadn’t brought enough water to the bucket room, so Zaley put the meals in the bin and retrieved more bottles. No one pounded on the glass or did any more than look worried.

  Soon Kitten stumbled through the corridor with meals and said grumpily, “I got it!” when Zaley reached for them. The smell of vomit, vanilla air freshener, and the rot coming in with the sliding bucket was a nauseating combination. If only the bucket were bigger, her friends could climb in and she’d pull them over to the kitchen. It was embedded within a metal panel attached by braces to the floor below and the glass above.

  Kitten mumbled about needing two additional water bottles, which Zaley doubled back to get. She missed Micah for that. The irritation passed in a flash and she inspected the panel more closely. But this wasn’t the time; Kitten was latching the bucket so Zaley picked up the empty bin and ferried it into the kitchen. She unloaded the dishwasher, which had finished, and loaded it up again with dirty plates coming in from the canteen.

  Relinquishing her duties entirely, Kitten wandered out. Wasp was yelling at the morning path guards to hurry it up with their breakfasts and relieve the night guards so they could eat and get to bed. A morning guard protested that he’d like to get to bed himself and Wasp retorted that he had had the whole night to sleep. Get the fuck out there. Morning guard was a misnomer when they didn’t finish until three, and Zaley’s afternoon path guard shift ran until eleven. Her dinner would be brought to her out there by one of the kitchen workers, who also came by sporadically to bring coffee up to the watchtower guards.

  She had to check over the situation in the bucket room more thoroughly. Taking out the broom when she’d gotten the dishes under control, she retreated into the corridor to sweep. No one was on the bridge. Getting down on her hands and knees, she inspected the panel and braces. Like the glass, they were thick. The metal panel had been set into a natural break of the concrete path leading up to the bridge. She couldn’t get it out. It was attached to the heavy glass partition on top.

  Then her heart stuttered in her chest. The metal panel wasn’t removable, but the bucket was. If she unlatched it at the top and unscrewed it at the base, she could pull it out. It wouldn’t make a big exit, but perhaps just big enough to wedge through.

  The light was dimmer upon this bridge at night, and no one was likely to be in the canteen in the wee hours. It wasn’t locked either. Raiders came back at random times on occasion and fixed up a meal. That always pissed off the mor
ning kitchen crew, finding a fresh mess to clean.

  She inspected the screws. The little she knew about screws was that they came in different sizes, and one used a screwdriver to put them in or take them out. These were bigger ones. There was a toolbox in the janitorial closet on the far end of the barracks by the rec room.

  Standing up, she swept innocently. People were going up the stairs of the hill, Austin’s tall form recognizable among them. She needed to get to that toolbox and give herself a crash course in screws and screwdrivers. Since she’d be on the path through dinner, she couldn’t tell them to come to the bridge tonight. Not unless she found someone to trade shifts. That would be hard. Afternoon path guard wasn’t a job that anyone wanted.

  That was getting ahead of herself. It wasn’t going to do them any good if they got out of the confinement point and had nowhere to go. Those four couldn’t blend in anywhere in their condition. They needed showers and different clothes, somewhere to rest as she worked out a way to get them past the braces. She had to make arrangements, secure a safe location and without Sombra C News helping out with a catch. Their last recommendation had gotten them into this mess.

  The toolbox. Gas in the car. A place to go. She put away the broom, snagged a breakfast burrito for herself, and left the canteen to get started.

  Austin

  “I’m not supposed to be here!”

  The group weaving down the path to the lodge was massive. Austin counted the shifting heads and estimated forty plus. A man in the throngs was speaking very loudly. Another had a small lurch to his step.