EAT, SLAY, LUZT: A sexy wild ride through the dark heart of the zombie apocalypse.

by Jillian Stone

  The partition separating me from whatever was walking around in the cargo bay felt cool and metallic. I tried to remember if thermal imaging could see through metal.

  A shimmer of light and dark flickered at the corner of my eye. I held my breath, not daring to exhale. Pressing my backpack tight to my chest, I unzipped the side pocket, and pulled out the grenade.

  The thing inside the chopper moved closer.

  Outside the cockpit window, a skirmish was going on. Chris and Ivan had something trapped under the metal door. A humanoid mirage made up of shadows and light, passed right by me. Poor peripheral vision, perhaps? The creature leaned forward, into the cockpit. It seemed this predator was also interested in the fight scene outside the chopper.

  This was too good to pass up. I raised my leg, and kicked with all my might. The predator zombie fell forward into the pilot’s seat. I pulled the pin on the grenade and rolled it into the cockpit. From this point on, it’s all sensation. I remember slamming the cargo bay door shut and turning the safety lock.

  I also ran like the devil.

  An eerie stillness preceded a brilliant flash of light. I looked back as a plume of white-hot fire consumed the chopper. I don’t remember the explosion. I do remember thinking how easy it was to fly through the air.

  “Wake up, baby.” I felt a gentle shake as my eyes fluttered open. The blurry face above me quickly resolved itself.

  Chris held me in his arms. “Tango down—you got him, Lizzy.”

  I squinted. “I did, really?”

  “Take a look.” He nodded toward what was left of a chopper in flames. The charred remains of a predator zombie lay on the ground smoking. “The blast sent him right through the window.”

  “How long I was out?” I gripped his knee, and Chris helped me sit up.

  “You’ve been in and out. A few minutes, maybe.”

  “What happened to your guy?” I took a deep breath and winced. My chest hurt, and I had a skull pounding headache.

  “Decapitated.”

  I managed a grin. “Nice.”

  “Where do you hurt, Lizzy?”

  My throat felt sore and parched, and I swallowed hard. “I’ll be fine as soon as I get some water.”

  Chris checked my arms and legs, then propped me up against one of the potted palms.

  “Everything seems to be working. I’ll be right back.”

  I continued my own self-examination. Vision okay. Hearing, not so much. The blast concussion had left me with a high-pitched ringing in my ears. I sat cross-legged and watched Ivan stack boxes of frozen steaks in the golf cart.

  “If there’s a country left to go home to, I’m going to insist the U.S. military be banned from watching horror and science fiction movies.”

  Ivan looked up at me. “What about the books? Some of the black ops guys actually read.”

  “Books too and no video games.”

  “You can’t take away video games.” Chris passed down a bottle of water. “As soon as you feel up to it—we pop smoke.”

  In fifteen minutes the head and chest aches eased, and my hearing returned. I spent another few minutes stretching and working the stiff out.

  I climbed into the golf cart. “Get in, Ivan!” I yelled.

  Our favorite zombie lord stood at the edge of the marina, gazing out to sea. Even as his condition worsened, he’d been amazingly helpful these past twenty-four hours. He’d even made a trip out to the Zephyr with Chris to stow the rations.

  “Come on, Ivan, we’re almost out of here.” I tried again as he headed for the water.

  He turned in place, his eyes steady for once. “You two need to get going.”

  Chris looked like his gut had just taken the same wallop mine had. He stood beside the golf cart, shaking his head. “Sorry, no zombie lord left behind.”

  Ivan continued to walk away. One leg dragged slightly, in what could only be described as a zombie shuffle. Now my heart ached in a different way. The same kind of twinge I felt when I knew I was losing a patient.

  “What are we going to do?” I asked quietly.

  Chris dipped his head under the cart’s canopy. Crystal blue eyes, shaded with pain, searched my face. “Let’s give him a couple of minutes, he might change his mind.”

  “And if he doesn’t?” I whispered, swallowing hard.

  Chris turned back toward the marina. “Come on, Ivan, we’re almost out of here.”

  Ivan limped down one of the boat slips that shot out into the bay. There was barely a breeze in the air, and the water was still and glassy.

  “What do you think is going on with him?” I asked.

  Chris shook his head. “Most of the time when humans turn, it’s fast. They reach the edge and then, bam!”

  “They zombify.”

  “You said it earlier, Lizzy, it’s like the virus is in slow motion. Slow and painful.”

  “We’ve got morphine. I can make the transition easier.”

  Chris held out his hand, and I climbed out of the golf cart. We caught up with Ivan at the end of the slip, his gaze still fixed on the sea.

  Chris gestured for me to go ahead.

  Ivan sat on the boardwalk, his back braced against a lamppost. His facial features were rigid and worn, with a fragility I’d never seen before. Rigor mortis usually lasts from one to four days. The walking dead put up with stiff joints and muscles until the lizard brain died. For the first time ever, I wondered if they felt any pain.

  I sank down on my knees beside him. “Ivan, we both want you to come with us. There’s plenty of room on the Zephyr.”

  He opened his eyes.

  Chris moved up behind me. “I could use another good hand.”

  Ivan reached up, dug his fingers in behind his ear, and peeled a bloody flap of necrotic skin off his neck. An exposed artery throbbed ominously. “I’m hours away, Lizzy.”

  I sucked in a breath. “I’ve got morphine. I can make the pain go away—as much or as little as you want.”

  His head jerked backward, against the post. “I’ve come this far. I’d kind of like to see if I can go the rest of the way.” His eyes shimmered in the low evening light. “It’s more than I deserve, trust me.”

  My eyes flooded so unexpectedly, I wasn’t sure what to do. Turn away or let him see me cry.

  He grabbed my arm, dislodging tears that ran down my cheeks. “Listen to me, Lizzy. I’ve hurt people in ways you cannot possibly imagine. Tortured men I knew were innocent and slept like a baby. However I die, it won’t be painful enough.”

  “But you’re not going to die, Ivan, you’re going to turn.” I swallowed a sob.

  His mouth curled into a wistful, lopsided half smile. “Even zombies die sometime.” His pale gray eyes met mine without wavering.

  I leaned in closer. “You are a despicable man,” I whispered, pressing my lips gently to his. “Even so, I’m very fond of you.” Slowly, I sat back on my haunches.

  His gaze moved from me to Chris. “You lucky fuck.”

  Chris dropped down next to me. “I know.”

  “Take care of her.”

  Chris reached in one of his deep pockets and pulled out a flask. “I finally found the bar in the salon of the boat. It’s not Tres Agaves, but it packs a kick.”

  Ivan reached for the pint-sized container. “It’ll do.” He unscrewed the top and took a nip. “Ahh, whiskey—good man.”

  He shooed us away. “You two need to get the hell out of here.” He tipped the flask again for a good long swig. “Good-bye, beautiful.” His gray eyes danced with whiskey and golden light.

  “Please come with us.” My husky voice cracked from the lump in my throat.

  His eyes were steady and he wore that annoying zombie lord grin. The one he used to get my goat. He shook his head. “It’s too late for me, but not for you two.” Deep, dark pupils bore into me. “Say it, Lizzy.”

  “Good-bye, Ivan.” I rose and moved away. Chris also stood to leave.

  “Hey, Rotorhead.”

&nbs
p; Chris nodded for me to walk on ahead.

  I took a few halting steps and then ran toward the golf cart. I grabbed Chris’s flight jacket and scrounged the ratty bandana he’d worn that first night, when he roared into my life on a monster motorcycle.

  I dried my tears and didn’t look back toward the marina. Whatever Ivan had to say to Chris was between the two men. Strong ties had formed quickly. For the past forty-eight hours we’d all been living on the razor’s edge, forging a bond of friendship without even realizing it.

  Chris barely looked up from the walkway until he settled in beside me.

  “I’m still not comfortable leaving him behind,” I said.

  “Sorry, Lizzy.” He nailed me with one of his alpha male stares. “Any second now, he’s going to turn, and I’m not taking any chances.”

  “But you’re immune, and we’ve got the interferon—” I sputtered to a stop. This was the weakest of all possible arguments. “Third rule of zombie apocalypse survival: No attachments.” I sighed.

  He reached out and pulled me into his arms. “There is an exception to rule number three.”

  “And that would be?” I leaned into his warmth and solidness.

  “I refer you to survival tip number one: No attachments—unless you find a kick-ass partner.” He rubbed my back in that comforting way of his.

  “Oh yeah, that rule,” I whispered.

  We drove back to the Zephyr in relative silence, and quickly loaded the rest of the supplies. Earlier in the day, Chris had hooked up the solar power. I checked the appliances. “The freezer is freezing.” I smiled, stocking it with boxes of seafood and steak.

  Chris wasted no time getting the yacht under way. “Lesson one, Lizzy.” He started the engine, and then showed me how to throw off the lines.

  The sky was a hazy shade of indigo as we motored out of the channel and into Doha harbor. The air was almost cool over the glassy smooth water. I curled up on the cockpit cushions near Chris. “What made you change your mind about Ivan?” I asked.

  “The asshole saved our lives twice.”

  I nodded. “He was right about the bunker. I’m not sure we could have outrun the z-storm.”

  Chris stood at the wheel of the ship looking sea captain-like. “There’s gin and tonic water in the salon bar.”

  “And I scavenged a few limes from the restaurant.” I sat up straight. “I’ll be right back.”

  I checked the icemaker in the galley to make sure we had ice. “Yes!”

  I chopped limes and loaded two tall bar glasses with ice, then I located the hideaway bar in the salon. “A jigger and a half of gin. Add tonic water.” I stood back and admired my bartender skills. Refreshing and clean, my favorite kind of cocktail.

  Above deck, a gun fired one shot.

  Chris had his M4 on deck. A precaution, I’d thought, in case zombies knew how to swim. If there were predator zombies, there could easily be Aquaman zombies. I climbed the stairs, cautiously.

  Chris took the glasses out of my hands and set them in cup holders.

  I stared at him. “Tell me I didn’t hear a shot.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “COME HERE, LIZZY.” Chris angled back against the seat cushions and pulled me between his legs. “Take the wheel.”

  He placed his hands over mine. “We’re just leaving the marina, and coming up on the jetty.” He pointed to the bright red dot on the electronic chart. “Our intended course is due east, which would be—?”

  I squinted at the number running along the dotted line. “Ninety degrees.”

  Chris pointed out several other numbers. “Winds are Southerly from 183 degrees to 003 degrees, so we’ll make our heading 095 degrees to compensate for wind drift.”

  He would be a patient instructor in the art and science of open water sailing. But at the moment, I was a poor student.

  He rubbed his five-day-old beard against my cheek. “Lizzy?”

  “Ivan is dead.” The words rushed out in a raw whisper. I turned to look over his shoulder and quickly found the pier. At the base of the lamppost, the dark shape that was Ivan had fallen over sideways.

  “He asked for the bullet.” The husky choke in Chris’s throat, spoke to me in ways his words never could.

  I eased back in his arms. “You two colluded without me.”

  Chis nodded. “Sorry.”

  Maybe it was the physician in me, but this mercy kill was difficult. I didn’t want to give up, I suppose, and that was the lesson of Ivan. The interferon had prolonged a kind of twilight time, between living and undead, but this virus was hard to beat. I thought about Ahmed. Would he turn, as well? I was beginning to believe that unless you were sufficiently antibody positive, like Chris, maybe everyone eventually turned.

  Tears of grief and defeat welled up and overflowed.

  There’s an old hospital axiom that says never cry in front of your patient. You cry later, in the doctor’s lounge, or at home in the shower. I hadn’t cried much for humanity these past few weeks. At camp, the z-virus had broadsided us. Stunned, as well as shaken, and too scared to cry or think we’d focused on the injured and our own survival. And then later, when I was alone in the desert, fighting off biters, I couldn’t cry for myself, not unless I wanted to join the z-team.

  Now, in the safety of Chris’s arms and away from the mainland, my tears came in a deluge. For Ivan. For all the medical staff and soldiers lost at Zaatari. For all the refugees of tent city, and the people of Syria and Jordan. For the entire Middle East, Asia, Eastern Europe, Europe, the U.K and the U.S.

  Vague mental snapshots of family flashed in my head. I didn’t dare go there. If I allowed them in, I’d never stop crying. The lights along the pier flickered on. I blinked the tears away and squinted hard. I could barely make out Ivan’s body.

  “You’re sure he’s gone?” I sucked in a shaky breath.

  “I’m sure, baby.”

  I was angry with the both Chris and Ivan. But at the same time, I couldn’t be angry with either man.

  Chris rubbed my back. “I had to do it, Lizzy.”

  I curled up into his arms. “I know.”

  We motored along for several minutes, neither of us speaking. The soft cloth of his shirt eventually dried my tears. I stared out to sea, as the Zephyr sliced through the rippling water of the bay. A sliver of crescent moon hung above the horizon.

  “The moon is so beautiful,” I murmured.

  “Look starboard to the west, see that twinkling red one?” His husky voice soothed.

  I shifted my gaze. “Venus.” I exhaled a shaky sigh. “I come from a family of geeks. My brother works at Space X, my mother’s such an amazing gardener she’s practically a botanist, and my father is an amateur astronomer. His telescope is on all his ships.”

  Chris lifted the gin and tonics out of their cup holders. “To geek heads everywhere, including Ivan.”

  I snorted a laugh. “He was geeky for a CIA black ops guy.” I clinked my glass against his. “To Ivan.”

  I sipped the refreshing cocktail. “Where are you taking me?”

  “A small basin south of Doha. We’ll anchor offshore tonight and get an early start in the morning.” Chris pointed to the GPS screen. “See the peninsula here? The basin is just around the bend.”

  I experienced a moment of silent panic. All this newfound freedom suddenly felt lonely and terrifying. I gulped down more liquid courage and tried to make a sigh sound like an ah-h-h.

  “What’s the matter, Lizzy?”

  “I think I’m feeling a little separation anxiety. I’m going to miss Ahmed and his men, and now Ivan is gone.”

  Braced behind the wheel, Chris rubbed my temple with his scruff. “Ivan really got to you, didn’t he?”

  I could sail all the way home like this, cuddled in his arms, watching his hand on the wheel, steady and on course.

  I looked up at his chin, and those lovely cheekbones. “Completely exasperating at times, but somehow lovable.” I sighed. “It’s hard to explain
. And don’t pretend he didn’t get to you. What was that whiskey flask all about?” I leaned sideways just to eyeball him. “You’ll miss him too…eventually.”

  “Yeah, like I’d miss a tick burrowing under my skin.”

  I thought about both men. Smart, highly skilled, combative alpha males. It was no surprise they irritated the crap out of each other. But there was also respect there. I’d seen it in both their eyes. “You’re a lot alike, you know.” I leaned into his chest. “You both started out as Padawans.”

  Chris snorted a laugh. “Jedi knights in training.”

  I slanted a look at him. “But then Ivan was seduced by the dark side of the force.”

  “More like he sold his soul to the devil and got bitten in return.” Chris resettled me in his arms. “Ivan Ivanovich, zombie lord. He’s the kind of character we’ll tell stories about someday.” He nuzzled the fine hairs at my temple. He also moved his hands over my breasts, teasing nipples through thin T-shirt material.

  Over the past few weeks, I’d gotten used to living in the weird now of the zombie apocalypse. The very idea that we were talking about a future together felt strange. But it also felt wonderful. And hopeful.

  Chris steered the Zephyr into the deserted cove and throttled down the engine.

  “I need someone to scrub my back, make my breasts all soapy and slick.” I arched in his arms, and his gaze landed on my hard nipples. “Wanna take a shower with me?’

  “Oh yeah.”

  I stood up and pulled him onto his feet.

  “I’ll join you in a few minutes, I need to turn her into the wind, set the anchor and alarm.”

  “There’s an alarm?”

  Chris nodded toward the open hatch. “One here at the top of the ladder, and another at the forward hatch.”

  “I feel safer already—do you like your shower on the hot or cool side?”

  “Just make sure it’s wet and you’re in it.”

  Coconut vanilla body wash spiraled down the drain, rinsing away the last ten hours of getaway stress. A steady warm rain poured over my shoulders as I considered this new man in my life. How quickly he’d slipped under my skin and wrapped me in his spell.