“One down, two billion to go,” Jillybean said, heading back to the fire and sitting Indian style on the tarps.
“Is that a lot?” asked Jenn, hiding the gun away and sitting next to her friend, holding her hands out to the fire. She was already calm, her near death experience in the past.
Jillybean was just looking slow-eyed once more. The question roused her and she took to laughing so hard she fell over onto Jenn. “Is that a lot? I love the way you said that. You slay me, Jenn Lockhart. Wait. You were serious, weren’t you?” She sat up quickly. “I keep forgetting that you had no proper schooling. Sorry.”
“It’s not an excuse for being stupid,” Jenn replied bitterly. “You only made it to the second grade and now look at you. You’re a doctor. Everyone knows doctors are smart.”
“Some are,” she conceded. “And some shoot innocent people. I think we both agree that shooting One Shot was a terribly stupid thing to do.” Jenn began to argue that there was a difference between crazy and stupid, but Jillybean spoke over her, dismissing the entire question with a tired, “Everyone has their problems. How far do you think it is back to the Hilltop? Nine miles?”
Jenn had never measured the distance. She had only come this far south once on what had turned out to be a useless scavenging trip. It had taken her a day to get this far and most of the night to get back. It had been useless and frightening. She had been hounded relentlessly by the dead who had been mad with hunger. With nothing else to eat, they had stripped the city’s parks and golf courses bare and now chased anything that moved in a way she had never seen before. They attacked trees to get at bird’s nests and homes were torn apart to get at the mice living there.
It was a dangerous trip and the few bullets and cans of soup she had brought back had not been worth it. “Yeah, maybe. Somewhere like that. I hope the snow keeps up.” Jillybean agreed, but to their dismay, the snow had turned to a cold rain, and the wind still whipped in objectionable gusts alternating between howling and moaning.
“The wind will die down, eventually,” Jenn said. “We could wait.” Both knew it wouldn’t be wise to wait. “He came at you, Jillybean. I’ll testify to that and so will Mike,” she said as they left the warmth of the little building
“Mike is still technically an outsider and you, well I don’t think they’ll listen to you. I have to go back and fix what I did and the consequences will be what they will be, though I highly doubt they’ll kill me. I don’t mean to sound egotistical, but I’m too valuable to kill.”
On the face of it this was true. The people of the hilltop could only make a few simple things like Jenn’s infused vinegar and Orlando’s hooch. Half of them could barely read, and the half that could, rarely did, and when they did, they never read the same sort of things that Jillybean did.
On the other hand, Jillybean seemed to be a direct link to the old technological world and everyone knew that technology had given rise to the dead. Over the last week the possibility of there being actual lights on Bainbridge had been the only thing people could talk about, and during these conversations, someone would invariably go on about the unholy nature of the light bulb and how it had undoubtedly been the start of it all.
Jenn was mulling this in her mind as they walked in a hunch against the freezing rain, their ghillie suits plastered to their slickers. She let Jillybean guide her northwest into the very teeth of the wind, but they had not traveled more than a mile before Jillybean began to tire. Her pallor grew extreme and the yellow of her eyes stood out even in the dark. Although the hills ran gently in this part of the city, she labored terribly as she toiled upward.
They stopped frequently, and when they did, Jenn prayed fervently to the Christian God and then, without missing a beat, to the gods of luck and fortune whose names she didn’t know. Luck was the only thing keeping them alive.
Jillybean was too worn out to run from even the slowest zombie; she walked with her chin on her chest, heading in a straight line and no matter how much Jenn begged, she wouldn’t leave the center of the street, when there was a street that is.
Many houses and buildings that had been built along the hillsides had collapsed in the earthquake and the streets were frequently all but impassable.
Their luck held as twice they came upon the dead and both times they were able to scurry among the hunks of wood and rusting metal. The second time, Jillybean was so lethargic Jenn didn’t know if she’d be able to get her moving again. “Hey, just think, Stu is back at the hilltop waiting for you. And it’s not all that far to the bridge now. You can hear the bay bells.”
This rallied Jillybean enough to get her to the bridge. It was six lanes of near bumper to bumper traffic and since it was so narrow and so long, over a mile and a half including the sloping run-up, meeting a zombie along its length would be particularly dangerous.
“You ready?” Jenn asked. A grunt was all the answer she received. Jenn fished out her cross, kissed it, and started across. Amazingly their luck held until they had about a half mile to go when they saw three hulking, menacing shadows lurking in the rain. Two were slowly stomping along the same lane as Jenn and Jillybean, while the third was standing in the lane farthest from them.
With the dark and the miserable weather, it should have been nothing to dodge the beasts, but Jillybean’s exhaustion betrayed her. In her stupor, she kicked a hunk of metal that skittered loudly, and worse, in her desire to get away from the sound she knocked up hard against a car that had one end sitting up on a spindly jack. For twelve years that jack had survived severe wind, wild weather, earthquakes and the dead, but it could not withstand Jillybean’s ill luck.
The car came down with a huge crash. All three zombies charged at the two girls. Since the beasts never tired, running was out of the question. The two hid beneath a smallish SUV, Jenn holding the Sig in shaking hands and Jillybean with a marble.
She threw the marble, but the clacking noise went unnoticed as two of the creatures attacked the vehicle and the third went down on its hand and knees and reached a long arm beneath. Its hand, bigger than a catcher’s mitt was on Jenn’s sneaker, and before she knew it, she was being dragged out into the rain. In terror she began firing the Sig as she was lifted off the ground. She shot into its face and it almost seemed like the zombie was eating the bullets, six went into it before it jerked and dropped her.
It fell, stiff as a tree and as the other two creatures rushed around to get her. Jenn, mad with fear, scrambled under the car, only to feel claws on her calf. In a blink, she was out in the rain and once more dangling upside down. She fired the gun once and then, to her utter horror, the gun’s slide shot back. She was out of bullets.
Chapter 6
Mike was too slow. He saw One Shot coming at Jillybean with that damned fist of his cocked and ready to go and, too late, Mike tried to get between them. When the gun went off he froze, Colleen let out a little scream and Orlando clutched at his ghillie suit like an old lady clutching her handbag.
The report from the gun echoed, bouncing off the hills and the abandoned houses. For a few moments that was the only sound. Even One Shot was silent, his eyes round and bulging, his lips quivering as he sank to the ground.
Jillybean stepped toward him, breaking the silence, “Betcha that hurt like a mother, didn’t it?”
He was too afraid to answer, Mike could see it in his eyes. It was common knowledge that for years, One Shot had lived off an unverified and unwarranted reputation for bravery. He talked a good game and his excuses, when true courage was called for, were nothing short of genius. But now he was undone by this little slip of a girl.
“Want another?” she asked. “Want one in the knee?”
With tears springing in his eyes he begged her, “Jillybean, please don’t.” This made the hideous insanity inside her burn and Mike could swear there was real fire in the depths of her huge eyes.
“Don’t call me that.” The hot madness in her was on the verge of spilling out. She raised the gun which was just as black as
the shadow of a raven and pointed it at his crotch. For just a second, One Shot forgot the hole in his belly and the pain screaming from it as he covered his parts with his left hand.
“Her name is Eve,” Jenn whispered quickly. When Eve swung around, Jenn jerked her hands up and took an involuntary step back. “Hi, uh, Eve. I-I was just introducing you. Is that okay? Everyone, this is Eve…uh, you never did tell me your last name.”
Eve opened her mouth only to shut it again a second later, as a look of angry uncertainty came over her. “It’s not Martin, you can count on that. I’d never take that lying, murdering son of a bitch’s name. No. It, it, it’s none of your damned business.”
In that moment of confusion Mike might have been able to snatch the gun from her and if it had been pointed at anyone other than Jenn he might have. Then the moment was gone and Eve took a step back, gazing at each of them in turn, a sneer on her lips.
“What a pathetic bunch. None of you are worth a damn, except for maybe boat-boy. Too bad we don’t have any friggin’ boats. And what are you supposed to be?” She demanded of Colleen. “Apocalypse Barbie?”
Colleen was too shocked by everything going on to answer which only made Eve angrier. Jenn interceded before anything could happen. “Apocalypse Barbie, that’s a good one. Hey, we’ve got one boat. Remember the Saber? It’s sort of sunk, but I bet you could think of a way to raise her. Do you want to take a look?”
Eve hesitated as if sensing a trap. “Yeah, but I only want to see it with you. The rest of these ding-dongs give me the creeps.”
She led Jenn away. The moment they were out of sight, everyone came to hover over One Shot, who said, “She shot me.” He sounded surprised as if it had happened just that second.
“She killed you is what she did,” Orlando said. “Taking one in the guts is like signing a death warrant. Man, what a crazy bitch! But don’t you worry, One Shot, I’ll round up the old boys and take her out.” He tried to smile at his friend, but it didn’t stick. There weren’t all that many of the old boys left and the ones that were left weren’t what anyone would call brave.
One Shot shook his shaggy head. “You can’t kill her. She can fix me just like she did Aaron and that Islander. Once she fixes me, then you can kill her.”
“No one is killing anyone,” Mike snapped. “Jillybean has problems but they are manageable as long as she isn’t threatened and that’s exactly what you did, One Shot. I’m going to go after them. Can you get him up the hill with Colleen’s help?”
Orlando scoffed at the idea. “With the dead all around us? Are you friggin’ kidding me?”
The dead were indeed coming closer, drawn by the sound of the gun. The four of them huddled in the shade of a brick house and with the ferns growing lushly all about them, they were near invisible, as long as no one spoke or moved.
Poor One Shot was in a bad way. The initial wave of adrenaline had worn off and now the pain almost radiated out of him. No one knew much in the way of first aid and the only thing they could think to do was to cut away a portion of Orlando’s coat to use as a “bandage.” In truth it acted more like a sponge, but it helped to calm One Shot.
A half hour went by and still seven or eight zombies lumbered around them sounding like elephants as they crushed bushes and saplings beneath their huge feet. During this time, One Shot’s pain mounted and his face grew ashen, his lips slightly blue.
He’s going to die right here, Mike thought. “Maybe I should make a run for it. I could draw them away and then you two can haul him up the hill. I think it’s the only way.”
“I told you I can’t,” Orlando whispered back in a waspish tone. “I have a bad back, okay?” One Shot gave his friend a long look that was easily read: Since when?
“We have to do something or he’s going to die right here,” Mike insisted. One Shot’s blood leaked out of him at a steady rate and would soon be all out of him if they’d have to wait much longer. They were still trying to figure things out when a series of gunshots came from the harbor.
The zombies around them roared off in the direction of the harbor. The second they were gone, Mike and Orlando took hold of One Shot and dragged him up the hill as fast as they dared.
Colleen led the way, holding a weak crossbow in weak hands. She was used to the timid pace of a mouse when outside the complex, and time and again, Mike and Orlando caught up with her as she was still tip-toeing along.
“Move your ass!” Orlando barked, sounding like a drill sergeant which was in direct contradiction to how he looked: like a frightened, middle-aged man, sweat streaming from his thinning hair and his foul breath coming in gasps.
She ran faster, and in her haste, almost missed a slow-moving creature. It had lost both legs below the knees and now propelled itself along using its knuckles and the stubs of its legs, looking very much like a hairless grey gorilla.
They had to wait until it passed by before they worked their way to the forest of spears which guarded the approaches to the apartment complex. Once through the gate, they were thronged by the entire population of the Hilltop. Everyone had heard the gunshots and curiosity had driven them to the gate. Orlando gave an abbreviated report that made Jillybean out to be more of a cold-hearted monster than she really was. He completely left out the part where One Shot raised a fist. Mike forcibly interjected with the truth.
“And you think this gives her any right to shoot him?” Lois Blanchard demanded.
“I think so. She’s tiny. A single punch could have killed her, and she doesn’t know One Shot. Hell, I don’t know him. I actually thought he was going to hit her and if I had been closer I would have clocked him myself.”
Donna Polston, her face set in such a hard shell that it looked like a mask, asked, “But would you have shot him?” Mike wouldn’t have. He might have threatened One Shot, but he wouldn’t have shot him. This was plain to see on his honest features and Donna sighed, shook her head, and muttered, “Tsk, tsk, tsk. What have we allowed into our midst?”
Lois, gazing down at One Shot answered, “A monster. That’s what she is, and she should be hunted down and killed like one.” There was a quiet rumble of agreement from the people gathered at the gate, though no one jumped up to volunteer to lead the hunt.
The only voice that rose over the rumble to challenge Lois was Mike’s. “Slow down! What about One Shot?” He pointed at the pale figure and snapped his fingers in emphasis. One Shot hadn’t been able to follow what was going on, but at the sound of the snapping fingers he looked up, his face slack and his eyes as bleary as a drunk’s swaying in front of a urinal at two in the morning. Mike went on, “He’ll die without Jillybean’s help. Jillybean can fix him, just like she fixed Stu and Aaron and William. We should give her a chance to fix this.”
“I think maybe I agree,” Orlando said. “If she can fix One Shot then maybe we don’t kill her.” We don’t kill her right away, is what he obviously meant.
Mike missed the dark look that passed quickly over Orlando’s face, and he agreed quickly. “Yes. Exactly. She’s One shot’s only chance. And we have to get her quickly. She has Jenn. Who’s willing to come with me to rescue her?”
“I will,” Stu Currans said, limping forward. After a moment’s hesitation, Aaron Altman, looking small and sickly, joined him.
“Aaron, get over here!” Miss Shay snatched her son back, pulling him into the throng of people.
Stu glared around. “That’s it? Whatever you think of Jillybean, Jenn is one of us and so is One Shot.”
That was true, except there was a big, unspoken “But” hanging over the group. Jenn was one of them, but she had always been considered unlucky and few considered her more than just an acquaintance. While One Shot had an actual handful of friends, he was also actively disliked by quite a lot of people. He had been a bully to the entire younger generation and had a tendency to look down his nose at women, and that included the Coven, with whom he was frequently surly.
The crowd, which had been rumbling a
ngrily before, now became quiet save for the whispered excuses: I would, but I have guard duty—I just got off guard duty—And I’ve got water boiling for a bath…
“I guess it’s just us,” Stu said, not bothering to ask the Coven’s permission. They seemed as uncommitted to the idea of a rescue as everyone else, and they weren’t actively demanding that someone form a posse to kill Jillybean, either. Donna and Lois were attending to One Shot, while Miss Shay was making a scene, embarrassing Aaron who had his chin to his chest.
“Maybe I should go by my…” Mike began, only to have Stu glare him into silence.
Stu hurried at his fastest limp back to his apartment where he grabbed his coat, backpack, and crossbow. The two then pushed through the milling crowd, stopping only to take the raggedy ghillie suit Jillybean had made for Orlando. With the two of them decked out like shrubbery they went out into the world where the wind was already beginning to freshen, and the sky to the north was filling with slate-grey clouds.
At first the two were able to go along at a fairly good rate. They didn’t see their first zombie until they were halfway to the harbor. After that, they saw more and more, until their way was completely blocked. The dead were everywhere, stirred up by the gunfire.
Stu tried to curl around them, moving constantly to his right, but he eventually ran out of real estate. If they went any further they would end up in the bay. There was no way they could get to the harbor, but the trip was not wholly a waste. Stu, with his binoculars pressed to his eyes, picked out Jenn and Jillybean slipping across the front of Angel Island in a canoe.
“We can still catch them,” he said, handing the glasses over to Mike. “They’re tiring already, and it looks like they’re heading for Oakland.”
“Or to Santa Clara,” Mike remarked, watching Jenn push them slowly along. Jillybean had a paddle across her lap but it looked bone dry. He then swung the binoculars around and took in Pelican Harbor where seven zombies stood about with vacant expressions on their ruined faces.
The Queen of the Dead Page 6
