The Zombies: Volumes One to Six Box Set

by Macaulay C. Hunter

  The descent went a little more easily, gravity helping to draw the log down. No one passed by on the road or he would have screamed for help. He took great care around the eroded parts of the hill. If the log fell into one, it was going to pull him after it.

  By the time he got to the bottom, his hands were scuffed and he had sweated through his clothes. The sun was blazing as it set. Zaley would be at the lake alone and there wasn’t one fucking thing that Corbin could do about it. His body cried out to rest, but he pushed on to the fence that outlined the old man’s pasture. It was made of horizontal boards, which he slid right under. The land angled up from the fence to the house and barn.

  Twice he called for help. No one answered. The guy could have driven away while Corbin was in the bushes. Pulling at the log, he scooted up through dead grass and tossed his belongings ahead. Below the jaws, his leg felt dead. The sun was going down over the western hills.

  The log got caught on something and didn’t budge the next time he pulled. Too wiped out to keep going, Corbin lay on his back beneath the deepening blue of the sky. He should have been expecting traps in the hills. There had to be coyotes and other nuisances around, aiming to pick off chickens or sheep. But he hadn’t grown up on a farm. Closing his eyes, his anger at his carelessness faded. He hurt too much for it.

  Jingling. The brown dogs were coming over the pasture to him. One had a bell on its collar, and the other had milky eyes. Those were blind eyes. Corbin didn’t recognize the breed, or the breeds that made up their mix. Without the energy to stretch for his bow, he just watched them approach. In moments, a nose sniffed at his face. The bell jingled gently on the dog’s collar. Corbin breathed in and out as a second nose sniffed at his shirt. “Hi, guys.”

  A heavy weight collapsed over his stomach. The blind dog had taken a seat on him. The one with the bell sat down by Corbin’s head. The bell was a guide for the blind dog. Both of them were well-fed creatures, although not fat. The blind one was quite a weight to have on one’s stomach, but the heat was bleeding from the sky and the dog was keeping Corbin warm. If they hadn’t been friendly, he would have been screwed.

  “Lucy! Big Boy!”

  The man was calling for them. The dogs got up and ran away, the jingle of the bell telling the blind one where to go. Corbin called, “Help!” weakly. Then everything was quiet.

  He couldn’t go any farther. He was done.

  “Well, come on in. Come on in for dinner!” the man was saying. The dogs barked.

  Corbin didn’t want to die in a pasture. Taking a deep breath, he dug his fingers into the earth and bellowed, “Help me! Please help me!”

  Jingling. The dogs were coming back. The big man was following along, the beam of a flashlight trained on the ground. Corbin pushed up his hand over the tall grass and waved. The dogs trotted to him without delay and sat at his sides. “Good . . . good dogs,” Corbin said dizzily.

  The guy lumbered down the pasture and stopped to stare at the weird sight of a guy chained to a log on his property. The beam went up and down Corbin twice. The man’s mouth worked slowly, chewing on something, and he said, “Thought there might be someone out here when the dogs didn’t want to come inside. Where did you come from?”

  “The hill,” Corbin said, acutely aware that the guy was holding a rifle. “I stepped into a coyote trap.”

  “Not a coyote trap, boy, that’s a zombie trap.”

  “A zombie trap?”

  “Fillman set them all over the hills to keep zombies off his property and ours. We were under siege there for a bit. Then he got Sombra C himself and died of it. Damned nuisances, those traps. Big Boy got caught in one a month ago, didn’t you, mister?” The blind dog wagged his tail. The man moved his flashlight to show Corbin the dog’s leg. The skin was healed but the fur had yet to grow back. Then the man drew the beam over the log. “You sit tight then. Stay, Lucy.”

  Corbin couldn’t have gone anywhere if he had wanted to. He lay there with the dogs, who were happy to have a new friend. He patted them and waited as the heavy footsteps went off and then returned. The guy had brought an axe and a sheet. Panicking, Corbin said, “Don’t cut off my leg!”

  The guy looked at him in slow surprise, his eyes widening and brows going up, and the left side of his lips going out. “It’s not for your leg, kid. Fillman made those damn things so they’re impossible to get off. Had to cut the one off Big Boy with power tools. Let’s get you off the log and then we’ll go to the barn for the rest.” He flicked the sheet over Corbin. The axe thumped into the log in a steady rhythm. The dogs were under the sheet too, calm as could be. Pieces of wood hit the sheet and they just snuggled into Corbin companionably.

  Grass swished and there was a metallic clink. Corbin pulled down the sheet and peeked. The guy was rolling the two pieces of the log away. Straightening, he leaned on the axe handle and said, “Think you can walk with some help? Or should I get the wheelbarrow?”

  Corbin hopped on his good foot and let the guy help him along with the bad one. They crossed the pasture and went into the barn where a lamp was shining. Open cages were along the wall, all of them holding chickens. They made soft clucks in the evening. More chickens were clucking from beyond a partition in the barn. The wooden floor was splattered with years of droppings, but the place didn’t smell too awful. Sitting down on a bale of hay as he was told, Corbin lifted up his bad leg to rest along it.

  “Figure you’re heading for Arquin?” the man said.

  “Yes,” Corbin said thoughtlessly, and paled. He lifted his hand to his neck.

  The man rustled through tools strewn on a table. “No matter. You wouldn’t be talking so fine if you were sick in the head yet. Arquin’s not far and they’ll give you pills, if that’s what you’re after. You a local?”

  Almost breathless at how casual the man was being about Sombra C, Corbin said, “No, I’m from just south of San Francisco. Cloudy Valley. Could you tell me where Arquin is? I didn’t get the best directions.”

  “Just down this road. About a mile and to the left. You can’t miss it. They’re moving on next week, I hear. I drop off eggs there.”

  “I saw you honking at a cow earlier.”

  “Don’t know what ranch she got loose from. No one knows. Every time I try to catch her, she takes off in a hustle. Happy out there. These chickens have come from all over the place, too.”

  Something was humming. There was a generator in the barn. The man went back and forth in the halo of light from the lantern. “Might be best if you don’t watch.” A belt was thrust out of the dimness. “Don’t expect I’ll hit you with the power saw, but bite down on that. Don’t move a muscle until I say. Big Boy had a fit when I got the trap off.”

  “It was the blood going back into his nerves. It hurt him.” The dogs had padded into the barn after them and were sitting by the chicken cages. If it had hurt the dog, it was going to hurt Corbin. He put the belt in his mouth and closed his eyes as the saw roared to life.

  A vibration rolled up his body and he tensed, biting the belt for all he was worth. The saw did its work fast and the man pulled the trap off. The pain wasn’t bad at first. Then it grew. A million tiny lances stabbed into Corbin’s foot and lower leg, harder and harder, and it became so terrible that he couldn’t even lift his leg closer to take stock of the damage. The guy eased off Corbin’s shoe and sock, making him gasp, and hiked up his jeans to check out the injuries. “How long were you wearing that trap?”

  Gritting his teeth, Corbin stammered, “I stepped i-in it this afternoon.” Pain was a good sign. Pain meant his leg wasn’t damaged beyond repair.

  “Doesn’t look all that discolored. They got doctors at the base. Get you some antibiotics.” The man cleaned up and tossed the pieces of the trap into a corner.

  When the pain diminished to bearable, Corbin massaged his foot and pinched the toes to hold the buzz at bay. The guy brought over a bucket of water for him. Washing the blood away, Corbin said, “Where is it safe for me to dump
this?”

  “Oh, I’ll take it out back. The little critters will be dead by morning.” The man lifted it up and walked off through the cages to the back of the barn. The dogs went after him. Water splashed.

  Corbin got up unsteadily and put weight on his leg. It held, so he slipped on his sock and shoe. He had to get his belongings out of the pasture and head to the lake. “Thank you!” he called.

  “You leaving?” the man asked, setting down the bucket in a corner. “Figured you’d have a plate of dinner.”

  “My girlfriend is out there. We were supposed to meet up at the lake this evening, but I couldn’t drag the log all the way over there.”

  The man chewed. He didn’t look stupid, just like he considered his words before he said anything. Then he looked out to the growing dark. Corbin hobbled over to the doorway and said, “Thank you so much. I’ll look where I’m going better from now on.”

  “Not your fault. Fillman hid ’em. Then a zombie attacked him while he was busy hiding ’em. Get in the back of the truck; we’ll sweep over there and pick her up. Gotta go fast, the headlights get the zombies in a snit.”

  “Really, you don’t have to-” Why was Corbin objecting to the nicest offer he’d gotten in ages? “Thanks. That would be wonderful.”

  “Can’t see to leaving a girl out there,” the man said.

  This stranger was a total godsend. After Corbin limped into the pasture and retrieved his things, he climbed into the idling truck. The blind dog was in the cab and Lucy was in the back. Corbin sat beside her. Steadying himself with a toolbox, he held on as they rumbled down the driveway.

  When they got to the lake, it was worrisomely dark. The guy pulled onto the shoulder and Corbin shouted, “Zaley? Zaley, it’s me!”

  Silence.

  “Zaley!”

  The answer was more silence, which chilled him. She could have stepped in a trap herself and be bleeding somewhere in the hills. Calling for him, struggling to free herself, being feral bait . . . He flashed his light three times and called her name in increasing alarm. Then he heard a distant reply. “Corbin?” A light flashed back three times. She was climbing down from a tree.

  Jumping to the ground to wait for her, he flinched at the flaring pain in his leg. It was so overpowering that he could do nothing but stand there and let it ease. Zaley reached the shoulder and moved her light over the truck. To the man, she said nervously, “Hello.”

  “This is . . .” Corbin had never asked the man’s name, nor had Corbin given his own.

  “It can wait. Get in and let’s get back,” the guy warned.

  He drove to his home quickly and told them to go inside while he closed up the barn. Zaley restrained her questions about the limping as they passed through a squeaking door to a crowded living room. Lit by a lantern, it was packed with books and tools, rocking chairs and a love seat, and stacks of wood. A wood-burning stove was alight in the kitchen. It was making the house uncomfortably warm.

  Corbin sat in a chair. His leg was still bleeding. The jaws had left three punctures in his calf. “Would you get me one of our towels? I don’t want to contaminate his house.”

  “What happened to you?” Zaley asked.

  “I walked into a trap for ferals. He cut me loose.” Corbin wrapped the proffered towel around his leg and knotted it.

  “Did you see anything on the roads?” Zaley asked. “Anyone? I didn’t see a single soul except for a feral. Not one car that whole time.”

  “It doesn’t matter. He knows where Arquin is. It’s a mile down the road from here.” That information finally hit Corbin as Zaley’s face lit up. Joy rose in his heart. It was real, it was close, and it had Zyllevir. Maybe it would also have tests. They had to know if she was infected.

  The man came in with a basket holding well over a dozen eggs. After locking the door, he sent the dogs to their beds along the wall and said, “Scrambled eggs for dinner. Got to wash some things first.”

  “I can help,” Zaley said. They went into the kitchen, Corbin wanting to see if there was anything he could do but his leg keeping him still. It throbbed. The guy’s voice rumbled through the doorway as he spoke with Zaley. His name was Don Borgetti, fifth generation of his family to live in Petaluma. He drove baskets of eggs into town every few days, wandered around the roads and stopped for anyone who waved until he was out. The soldiers gave him fuel, as he also made deliveries to Arquin.

  On the wall was a framed degree from Davis from thirty years ago, and the mantel had lots of pictures of the guy with a woman and three daughters growing from babies to adults. There wasn’t anyone else in the house, so he was divorced or the wife had died.

  In Corbin’s backpack was a little candy from the offices they’d raided in Novato. Pulling out the miniature chocolate bars, he set them on the coffee table. It was a lame expression of gratitude for pulling a trap off his leg and saving his life, but at least it was something.

  Zaley soon came out of the kitchen with two dog bowls and set them down by the beds. Scrambled eggs were heaped in them. Lucy and Big Boy wolfed down their meals in seconds and had flopped onto their sides by the time Zaley brought a plate over to Corbin. He ate the steaming pile of eggs with little more grace than the dogs had shown, and was downing the last mouthful by the time the other two sat with their meals.

  “Don said that we could ride along in the back of his pick-up to the base if we want to wait until the day after tomorrow when he makes a delivery,” Zaley said.

  “If my leg is okay, we’ll walk over there tomorrow,” Corbin said. “It’s just a mile, you told me?”

  “A mile and a quarter at most,” Don grunted. “You’ll pass a junked-up truck on the right side of the lanes. Once you see that, you’re just a curve in the road away. That was militia, that truck.” He chuckled grimly. “Got their asses handed to them, my wife said.”

  “Is your wife here?” Zaley asked.

  “No, I dropped her off in town. She’s helping out a friend whose daughter just had a baby. Bad time to have a little one.”

  Corbin understood that all too well. He was glad that Don still had his wife. It had to be a lonely place to live, out in the middle of nowhere. “Have you seen anyone else going along to Arquin? We got separated from our friends.”

  “Seen a few Sombra Cs around the roads and in the fields, but they were all pretty feral,” Don said. That wouldn’t be Micah or Austin then. Even without Zyllevir, should they be without it, it hadn’t been enough time for them to go feral.

  “Will we have trouble with militia on the walk?” Zaley asked.

  “Probably not. The base didn’t take guff off the Shepherds; they don’t take guff off any gangs or militia. And they won’t take guff of you, just so you know. Be honest about any weapons you got other than that bow. They’ll pat you down. So don’t lie. If they think you’re there to cause trouble, you’re the only one who will be in any. Give over what you got and you’ll get it back when you leave.” Finishing his eggs, he accepted a candy bar. “Haven’t seen one of those in some time!”

  “Do you know about anything going on? Outside of here?” Corbin asked.

  “Sure. They tell me it’s not going so well for Prime these days. No electricity in a lot of places, have to boil water, find food, their foot soldiers got better things to do than make trouble. Got their asses handed to them,” a small smile came to his lips to quote his wife, “three of their cabinet. Special Forces routed them out. Shot one, took two into custody. That’s the latest.”

  After dessert, Don and Zaley cleaned up. The second bedroom in the house was filled up with supplies, so the love seat was going to serve as a bed for the night. The place was so warm that a blanket wasn’t necessary.

  “Don’t stay up late,” Don said, meaning about himself when the kitchen was in order. He went down the hallway to his bedroom. Lucy jingled over to a water bowl and Big Boy followed after her. Then she jingled back and he did the same. Corbin visited the bathroom, careful not to leave blood on
anything, and stripped down to his underwear when he returned to the love seat. Zaley exchanged her clothes for the giant gym shirt and cast a longing look at the window that wasn’t safe to open.

  They tried out a few positions and ended up sitting to sleep, each on a cushion with an armrest for a pillow. It wasn’t the most comfortable perch, but it wasn’t the ground or a tree, it wasn’t with ferals banging on the door, and Corbin didn’t wake up until morning. When he did, he felt a little sick. A fever was building.

  The holes in his leg were somewhat swollen and very angry-looking. However, he was fully capable of walking, and he wanted to move on. They shared another meal of eggs and he shook the man’s hand when it was time to go. Sometimes it seemed like everyone was the enemy, but that wasn’t true. There were good people in the world. The dogs followed Corbin and Zaley to the end of the driveway, and sat there when they turned out into the road.

  The escaped cow of mysterious origins was hanging out in a pasture across the street. She chewed her cud and watched them go by. Zaley checked the road behind them and said, “I hope he’s right. I don’t see anyone.” Corbin’s stamp was covered.

  He limped on determinedly. A mile and change was nothing, especially when he wasn’t doing it on his ass and dragging a log. In twenty minutes, they reached a blackened truck. It was tipped into a drainage ditch, crumpling its hood and the metal bent all along the side. The fire hadn’t spread. No bodies were inside, but there was a heap of dirt in the pasture that could have been a grave.

  They rounded the curve. On the right side of the road was hilly pasture, and the left sported a huge line of opaque fence with barbed wire stretched out on top. Nothing labeled it as a base, but that was all it could be. “It looks like a driveway is down there where the fence breaks,” Corbin said. He tried to go faster, but pain stabbed through his calf. So he just had to be patient for a few more seconds.