Generation Z (Book 1): Generation Z

by Peter Meredith

  Although there were a few fishermen among them who pulled trout, sturgeon, and striper from the Sacramento and the American Rivers, most of the people survived by endlessly scrounging among the ruins of the city. Of course, thievery was so commonplace that it was practically an accepted profession in itself.

  They owned slaves; they kidnapped and raped the unwary; they allowed sadists and murderers free rein and just about the only law they recognized was that might made right. This would suggest that any trip to Sacramento would be a trip into a lion’s den. Yet, unlikely as it seemed, Stu could expect to be treated with some respect.

  The people of Sacramento were many things but they weren’t self-delusional. They knew they were uncivilized savages. It was a sad fact that they reveled in their own debauchery. Still, as clear-eyed as they were when looking in the mirror, they tended to view outsiders as paragons of virtue and bravery. They also exaggerated, in their own minds, the strength and resolution of both the Hill People and the Islanders.

  Although individuals sometimes disappeared if they wandered too close, any official visit to the city was treated with all the politeness and diplomacy a gang of criminals could muster. So far the yearly trading trips had come off without incident, though it had been close at times. The wrong word could be taken as disrespect and even though there wasn’t a thing respectable about the petty crime lords who ran Sacramento, they demanded the deference one would pay to…well, crime lords.

  “When we arrive, let me do the talking,” Stu told the group sitting huddled in the Puffer as a cold wind pushed them up the Sacramento.

  Jenn snorted at this. “You want to do all the talking? You’ve said like, five words since we left. I was just about to check to see if you had frozen to death.”

  They had left at six that morning after Jenn had checked on both Aaron and Jeff and found them worse off than the day before. It was now nearing noon. Behind them was the remains of the Carquinez Bridge: two towers with stubby bits of highway jutting a few yards out, while looming in front of them was the still intact Benicia Bridge.

  Stu knew his reputation as a quiet man, but it was precisely this which would keep the group safe. The less the criminals of Sacramento knew about the Islanders and the Hill People, the better. And they would pry; they always did.

  Ignoring Jenn’s completely factual remark, Stu said, “If, or rather when, they ask how many people we have, the answer is always the same. You tell them ‘we have enough.’ They’ll tell you that’s no kind of answer, but no matter what, it’s the only one you give. Understood?”

  They all nodded as once more silence fell among them. Stu hadn’t been the only one who was quiet. Jenn, at the front of the boat hadn’t said much more than Stu and when she did speak it was either to Stu or William Trafny. There was still a wall between her and Mike, who sat at the back of the boat, one hand on the tiller and the other on a rope holding the boom in place.

  William, who wasn’t known to be exactly chatty, either, had spoken the most. He had sensed things weren’t going well between Jenn and Mike and when the silence had become uncomfortable, he had just started talking.

  “This has to be the most gossiped about expedition in the history of the apocalypse. Everyone is yakking back and forth, running their gums. My dad used to say ‘flapping’ your gums, but that never made much sense. I think he meant to say ‘flapping your lips,’ but who knows? All those sayings from before are getting a little turned around, I bet.”

  “Maybe this isn’t something we should talk about,” Jenn said, her eyes flicking towards Mike quickly and then away again even faster.

  William had broad shoulders set upon a thin frame and when he shrugged, he looked like a puppet being controlled by hidden strings. “They’re talking about me,” he said, ignoring her. “I had that damned fool, Winston ask me if I had got caught stealing. Can you believe that?”

  When no one answered, William barked laughter. “No, it wasn’t anything like that. Jeff…Jeff has saved my bacon from the dead three different times. And they weren’t simple, easy distractions, either. Each time he put his butt on the line.”

  “Was it one of those times when he killed one with a baseball bat?” Mike asked.

  William nodded. “We were in this house that we had no business being in. I mean, the floors were like this.” He held up a hand canted at a steep angle. “The beast was trapped in the basement and we didn’t hear him until I fell through the floor. Man that was bad. I was crawling around with a busted leg…it was really bad. I was a goner and then out of nowhere there’s Jeff. He put himself in front of me and just goes to town on this huge zeke. That’s why I’m here. What about you, Mike? You could have turned Gerry down.”

  Now it was Mike’s turn to flick his eyes in Jenn’s direction. “I don’t know, maybe it was the right thing to do.”

  Stu guessed that was only half the answer. He had been put on the spot with the girl he was supposed to marry standing right next to him. To make matters worse, she had volunteered. There was no backing out then, even if he had wanted to. Stu didn’t think he would’ve backed out no matter what. Mike had guts.

  “And what about you?” William asked Jenn. She opened her mouth to answer what she thought was the same question, but he added, “You really killed Frankenstein?”

  Her mouth hung open for a few seconds and then, as if embarrassed, she shrugged and said, “Yeah, I guess.”

  “Wow!” William cried, slapping a hand across his knee. “You have to tell us what happened. I mean that thing was a nightmare. I saw him once next to this house. I kid you not, he banged his head on the eaves. That’s how big he was.”

  “How did the other four zombies die?” Stu asked.

  Hesitantly, she told the story of what had happened. The three men sat there spellbound by her words. None of them had ever heard a story quite like it. When she was done, Stu and William peppered her with questions, while Mike just sat, gazing off into the distance.

  When the questions had been answered, Mike finally spoke. “That’s an awesome story. Wait, I didn’t mean to call it a story. I meant like a tale….or…”

  “I know what you meant,” she said, and for the first time, gave him a genuine smile.

  That lightened the mood and while the wind continued to blow they had an easy time of it. The breeze generally came out of the northwest which made their eastward trip a quick one, however when they were forced to turn almost due north their speed slowed to a crawl.

  They were making so little headway that Stu ordered them to break out the oars. They had brought them along for just such a moment as this. Normally, they would have putted along at two miles an hour and thought nothing of it, but with two people in the process of dying they took turns at the oars. They weren’t easy to handle with ropes strung everywhere and the sail overhead. Using the oars doubled their speed to that of a purposeful walk.

  This went on for two hours and they were all quite tired when they came to a wide open manmade lake: Prospect Slough. It was part of the canal system and was wide enough to allow them to sail properly. Compared to the rowing, they positively raced up the slough. Unfortunately it only went so far and when it ended they had fifteen miles still to go up a much narrower canal, the builtup walls of which channeled the wind almost directly into their faces.

  “Back to rowing,” Stu said and took up the oar on the port side while William sat down on his right. The wind picked up and brought with it a change in the weather for the worse. Everyone bent forward as sloppy wet flakes plastered against them.

  Hoods were drawn, gloves were pulled on and scarves wrapped around their faces though it did little good and they were soon soaked, all save Jenn who pulled a yellow slicker from her pack. Stu gave it a look. “What?” she asked snapping the last of the buttons. “I would have warned you but you don’t believe in signs.”

  “You could have warned me,” William muttered. “I believe the signs.” He crossed himself and then knocked on the oar t
hree times.

  “As do I,” Mike said, “especially after what you did at the dock.” She smiled briefly and then covered her face. This was the last smile of the day for any of them. The cold, the wet, and the endless labor robbed them of any mirth and joy. Hours went by as they worked against the wind and the current. When Jenn was on the oar, they slowed, taking a snaking course. Mike was too strong and when he gritted his teeth and heaved, the boat swung to port.

  He had to take it easy without making it look like he was taking it easy. He was the freshest of them when they came to the end of the canal and saw the dead city of Sacramento outlined in the gloom. Unlike San Francisco, the buildings of Sacramento were untouched by the ravages of earthquakes and yet to Stu they looked like nothing more than giant tombstones.

  They rose up on the east side of the canal and at their base were the dead, moving slowly, confused by the snow, their low moans echoing along the canyon-like streets. Other than the quiet flick of snow touching down on their hoods, it was all that could be heard. On the west side was farmland choked with weeds and brambles.

  Trash and bloated bodies floated in the canal. These weren’t the bodies of the undead. These were the rotting corpses of people. Like all the rest of their trash, the dead had been flung into the canal.

  Jenn’s oar struck one, causing it to roll over. As it did, the putrid flesh of its face slid off like hot cheese. A shudder racked her, and she gagged, trying to keep from vomiting. She looked away until it floated past then she dipped her oar in the water once more.

  Now the scenery changed on the west side of the canal: piers and docks and warehouses that were rusting at an incredible rate. “They live in one of those?” Jenn asked.

  “It’s coming up,” William said. “It’s the big one; you’ll see it.” He had his rifle in his hand as did Stu who was squinting into the wet snow. Ahead, was another dock sitting in front of a warehouse that was as long as a football field. “That’s the one.” From here and there across the vast, flat expanse of roof, several thin trails of dark smoke disappeared up into the snow. “Remember, let me do the talking. When we go in, I need you to face outward without making it look like you’re facing outward.”

  William agreed. “When I came with Gerry, we would pretend to be interested in different things so that it didn’t look like we didn’t trust them. It should be fine. We’ve never had trouble with them before.”

  They rowed to the dock where the Puffer was chained and locked in place. Stu led the diamond formation with Jenn a few feet behind his left shoulder, Mike behind and to his right, and William taking up the trailing position. Each of them carried M4s with fully-loaded magazines, but they did so as casually as they could.

  They hadn’t gone thirty feet before they found the first dead body. Stu angled towards it and saw that it had been a woman, rail-thin with sunken eyes, and a blue tinge to her flesh. She wore only a rag of a sundress which made no sense since the body was relatively fresh. He toed the woman’s abdomen and found it soft. As she had no wounds or obvious injury, it was a mystery as to how she had died.

  “Probably not dead even a day,” he said, pulling his eyes from the corpse and staring around. There were five more bodies scattered about the rear parking lot. “Maybe less since the birds haven’t got to her.”

  “What do you think, Jenn?” Mike asked. “What do the signs say?”

  “Signs?” Stu growled. “We’re standing over a dead body and you’re asking about signs? I don’t think we need to read any signs to know things aren’t exactly hunky-dory around here. Then again, things are never hunky-dory around here. Keep your eyes peeled and your mouths shut.”

  Once more he moved off, and although there were other bodies he didn’t bother to inspect them. It was growing dark. He wanted to get the pills and get back on the boat as fast as possible. With the wind coming from the northwest, they’d be able to zip down to Rio Vista, twenty miles south and spend the night there.

  He hurried to the one partially open bay door. From it came an outrageous stench. The warehouse always stank, however these fumes were dizzying. Stu wrapped his scarf around his face and ducked under the partially closed door, almost stepping on another body, this one much like the first, except it was a boy of maybe eight or nine.

  “Hello?” he called out, moving wide around the body and squinting into the dark. The only windows were dingy squares set high up on the walls. It took a minute for Stu’s eyes to adjust and in that time the only sounds were whispers in the dark and the slap of bare feet running towards them.

  “Hello? I’m Stu Currans. We’re from the Hill and Alcatraz.” He paused, wishing he had a working flashlight. Flashlights were a dime a dozen; they could be found anywhere, but batteries were a completely different story. Even if there were any to be had, the best batteries had a shelf life of between seven and ten years and were long dead.

  Still no answer. “We’d like to talk to someone concerning a trade.” This time he raised his voice so that his words echoed throughout the warehouse. There was no true leader among the people living there, rather they had a confusing array of factions that were constantly on the verge of war with one another. They fought and bickered over everything, including trade, much to their detriment.

  “What do you gots?” a hesitant voice asked from the darkness.

  “Bullets, grape seed oil, cocoa powder, fresh oregano, smoked salmon, and infused vinegar.”

  Mike broke their only rule by adding, “It’s carrot and beet infused vinegar. It’s very good.”

  Stu glared at Mike who replied with an apologetic shrug. Before he could turn back, Jenn gasped and William raised his rifle. Stu jerked around and stared. A crowd of people were slinking from the dark. Sweat dripped from their greasy heads and they peered out of sallow faces from eyes that were sunk back in their sockets. They weren’t just a little sick, they were diseased.

  Chapter 16

  Jenn Lockhart

  The stench of sour feces coming off the crowd filtered past Jenn’s wet scarf, making her gag. Even fighting the urge to vomit, she didn’t dare take her eyes from the vile creatures. They were a desperate and dangerous lot who looked ready to rush at the four of them any second.

  Behind her, William cleared his throat and she assumed he was having trouble with the smell as well. Then he stepped forward and hissed, “Eyes left.”

  She was supposed to be watching their left flank. When she turned she saw a fresh horror: four little children were creeping out from behind a pyramid of hot water heaters. The four, three boys and a girl, didn’t look or move like normal children. They were small for their age, standing on legs that were so bowed they resembled scuttling crabs as they came forward.

  She swung her M4 in their direction, stopping them. Two of them had that same sweaty, sick look as the adults.

  “Take it easy,” Mike said. He hadn’t been facing where he was supposed to be either; now he turned and scanned down the barrel of his rifle.

  The warehouse opened up in front of them. It was tremendous in size with row upon row of sturdy, industrial grade shelves that towered forty feet above their heads. The hundred-foot long shelves were divided into ten-foot long sections that were just about five feet high and another five wide. Almost all of them had sheets or blankets hanging from them. It was in these odd spaces that the people lived and slept like bees in a hive.

  Jenn was still marveling over this when she checked the left flank again and saw that the children had disappeared behind the water heaters and were peeking out with fever-bright eyes.

  Ahead of them, someone in the crowd asked, “What do you want for all of that? My left nut?” This brought on a tittering from those with the strength to laugh.

  “Medicine,” Stu answered.

  This caused even greater laughter. “Do we look like we have medicine to spare?” the same man asked.

  “Shut up, Frankie,” a tall man said, passing a hand across his damp brow. “We have stuff, Islander. We
have stuff, come see.” He pushed a woman out of the way and shooed more aside so that there was a path between the hundred or so people.

  The four moved forward, making no effort to hide the fact that they were afraid. Their guns were held tightly, not quite at their shoulders, but they could get there in a blink.

  Among the crowd were women who wore rusting iron collars and from the collars hung chains. Some had weights dangling from them and others had bells that jingled. They were slaves. Jenn didn’t know why they would have to lug weights around, but the reason for the bells was obvious: they kept them from running away. Zombies would be on them in a blink. Like the others, they were almost all sick.

  “This way, this way,” the man wheezed pointing down one of the rows.

  Stu hesitated and for good reason. The cement floor was littered with trash and wet with urine and excrement. “Why don’t you fetch what medicine you have and we’ll make a deal here?”

  “Fetch?” the man suddenly shouted. “I am Willis Firam! Do I look like the kind of man who fetches? It’s almost like you’re calling me a dog. Is that what you’re doing? You calling me a dog?”

  For a long tense moment Stu stared at him with eyes like ice. “I’m just asking you to bring what you have here. We’ve come fifty miles in driving snow. The least you could do is meet us here. We can call it a compromise. If not…and if you can’t be more polite to guests, then maybe I’ll be trading my bullets for your blood.”

  Stu brought up his M4 and sighted it on the man. Jenn, Mike and William brought up their rifles as well aiming at the few armed men among the crowd. Jenn was surprisingly calm. Death hung like a specter over the entire city and the warehouse could have doubled as a morgue but she wasn’t afraid.

  There hadn’t been a single omen of death on the trip. They weren’t going to die in Sacramento; she was sure of it.