Reckoning in an Undead Age

by A. M. Geever

  “Yeah, I hear it. Haven’t seen any animals for a good fifteen minutes,” she said, taking a quick look around.

  “Just once,” Rich said. “I’d like to go hunting for lost people and not find them surrounded by zombies.”

  “Or worse,” Phineas said.

  “How close are we?” Miranda asked Rich.

  Rich had slung his rifle over his shoulder and had a map in one hand. He squinted at it, then consulted the compass in his other hand.

  “Half a mile, maybe? And it only took us what…five days to travel seventy miles?” He pulled his sunglasses down from the top of his head, even though the day wasn’t particularly sunny. They were polarized, and he said they helped with the glare. He folded the map in half. It took three tries to stick it back inside the breast pocket of his jacket. “Good Lord,” he muttered. “It’s a good thing I repel zombies or I’d be in trouble.”

  “Ready?” Miranda asked, nickering to get Delilah’s attention. She latched the leather leash to the pit bull’s collar. When the guys nodded, she said, “Let’s go see. Stick close, Phineas.”

  Phineas grinned, the freckles scattered over his nose almost black against his cocoa-brown skin. “Like I need an invitation.”

  “To Rich,” she answered dryly. “Stick close to Rich.”

  “Aw, Miranda, don’t be like that,” Phineas chided, not sounding the least bit put out.

  Rich said, sounding amused, “How ’bout we keep our minds on the job?”

  It was nice to know they’d soon reach their goal. Rich had said the elevation was about three thousand five hundred feet, and Miranda could feel it. She was just happy this fool’s errand hadn’t taken them to Timberline Lodge, which was another two thousand feet up Mount Hood. They’d left Highway 26 about an hour ago for the narrow, windy path that led to the old Boy Scout camp. It had probably been a two-lane road once, but now was no more than a game trail. The forest had encroached, the conifer trees sprouting straight and tall to the sky. The dried, rotting leaves that covered the road in drifts crunched under their feet. Delilah strained against the leash, not appreciating her freedom of movement being curtailed. Miranda gave a few tugs, until she quit pulling so hard.

  As the buzz turned into faint moans and hisses, she said, “Sounds like the world’s most miserable garden party.”

  Ahead, Miranda could see slivers of a building through gaps between the trees. A low growl rumbled in Delilah’s chest.

  “It’s all right, Liley,” Miranda said softly.

  They rounded the last bend. A swaying mass of zombies, twenty bodies deep, milled along the length of a large building that looked like an old three-story barn. In the center on the ground level was an entry sheltered by a gable. Miranda could just see the top of a door below the gable. Zombies wriggled and swayed, milling in place as they groaned and hissed. There was a row of windows on the second story that ran half the building’s length. On the right-side end from where Miranda stood was a two-story timber porch to the second story, but the staircase that led up to it was missing.

  “They’re here,” Rich said. “Or they were. I can’t think of another reason for there to be that many zombies this far up the mountain, all in one place.”

  Miranda judged the width of Nanitch Lodge at approximately sixty to eighty feet. She stood on tiptoe, straining to see over the horde. “That’s a fuck ton of zombies.”

  “There don’t seem to be any windows on the ground floor,” Phineas said.

  “That we can see,” Miranda murmured. She dropped her heels to the ground, lips pursing as she surveyed the horde. “There must be two hundred of them on this side.”

  “I haven’t heard of groups of zombies this large out here normally,” Rich said. “There just aren’t enough people to draw them out. How the hell did they attract so many?” He sighed, then looked to Miranda and Phineas. “You should walk with me, Phineas. Miranda will have her hands full with Delilah.”

  “Why don’t you just let her off the leash?” Phineas said. “The zombies won’t eat her.”

  “We have to open the door again if she doesn’t come in with us,” Miranda said, surprised it wasn’t obvious.

  “Oh, right…of course,” Phineas said, looking embarrassed.

  They set off, Phineas tucked against Rich. Rich put his arm around the younger man’s shoulders. Miranda walked alongside Phineas’ exposed side, taking no chances. Delilah’s growls became more menacing. When she barked, almost as one the horde turned. It surged toward them in a slow, stumbling sort of way.

  Phineas wrinkled his nose. “My God, they stink.”

  Miranda braced herself as the horde hit. It didn’t matter that they wouldn’t attack her. The wrongness of them, their existence despite—in defiance of—the natural order, never changed. They flowed around her, snapping teeth and grasping arms reaching, then shying away. They jostled her and Delilah, who barked and strained against her leash. Miranda pulled the pit bull in close, arms trembling with the effort of restraining her. Another reason she wanted to keep Delilah close was she didn’t want her leading more zombies to them.

  Rotting faces with sores and bite marks, open maws and snapping teeth, exposed bone peeking through rotting scalps, noise from all sides, assaulted her. The horde churned around them, the zombies farther away from the human epicenter pushing against those that were shying away. It felt like being in a mob one punch short of a riot.

  Phineas’ forehead was dotted with beads of sweat as the horde jostled around them. So was hers, and her upper lip, too, as the zombies shoved and recoiled on all sides.

  “Phineas on the door?” Miranda said, raising her voice.

  “Yeah,” said Rich.

  “Goddammit, Delilah,” Miranda muttered.

  Delilah hadn’t stopped barking. She wasn’t lunging in a way that would yank Miranda into the horde, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t being a complete pain in the ass. Miranda knew the pit bull would settle down once they were out of the horde. If there aren’t too many zombies inside, she amended silently. It was still better to have her along. She’d find any zombies they missed, and when she wasn’t being obnoxious, like now, Delilah was better company than most people.

  Phineas stepped to the door. Miranda and Rich stayed behind him, sheltering him from the unruly zombie mob. He gave the doors a tug, but as expected, they didn’t budge. He squatted down, examining the crack between the doors.

  “It’s dead bolted,” he said, straightening up.

  “If there’s anybody in there, they won’t think us banging on the door is anything but zombies. We could try climbing that porch,” Rich said. “Did we bring anything we could use as a grappling hook?” At their blank faces, he said, undeterred, “Let’s check it—”

  “Hello?”

  Miranda cocked a brow at Rich.

  “Hello?” called a voice, louder than before.

  “Is someone in there?” Phineas said, facing the door again.

  “Aye,” the voice said, a man’s voice, with the faint trace of an accent. “How’re you out there?”

  “Never mind that,” Rich shouted, because the zombies had gotten louder. “We were sent by P-Land to look for you. Can you open the door?”

  No answer, then, “Are ye out of your mind?”

  “We can get in without letting them in,” Rich said.

  “You need to find another—” the person began, but Miranda cut him off.

  “I’m standing out here with a dog that’s trying to dislocate my shoulder and a horde of goddamn zombies at my back. Open the fucking door. We’ll keep them out.” To Rich and Phineas she added, “Idiot.”

  “I canna open the door. You can climb the porch there, at the side of the building.”

  “We haul our asses all the way up here and we’re supposed to climb to a second-story porch,” she said to Rich.

  “Well, we can,” Phineas said, shrugging.

  “I’m not— Fuck it,” she said, shaking her head.

  She kn
ew her irritation was getting the better of her because she was tired. Whoever was on the other side of the door didn’t know they could repel zombies. At the same time, they were standing outside the door and they weren’t being eaten. Anyone with half a brain should be able to puzzle out that they were doing something right.

  “Okay,” she said. “I guess we—”

  Delilah barked, louder than before, and lunged, pulling Miranda off-balance. Miranda’s free arm flailed, waving in the air as if she might find something to grab on to. Instead, she hit the ground hard on her hip and elbow. The leash cut into her wrist. Delilah strained against it, barking to raise the dead—or the undead, depending.

  “Goddammit, Delilah,” Miranda groaned.

  She pushed up to her knees and yanked on the leash as hard as she could. Delilah yipped, and started toward her, a look of reproach in her eyes. She wasn’t used to being yanked on and didn’t like it. Miranda knew how she felt. She put one foot on the ground to stand up, turning to Rich and Phineas as she did.

  “Phineas, no!”

  Phineas reached to give her a hand up, but he moved a step too far from Rich. A gaunt, weathered woman, with long patches of stringy hair that hung lank from a rotting scalp, cloudy eyes both ravenous and vacant, snagged him. Her filthy, almost taloned fingers, dug into his shoulder. He yelped, eyes rounding with fright. Miranda vaulted up, slamming into Phineas’ solid frame just as Rich tackled him from behind. Starbursts flashed across her corneas when Phineas’ chin connected with her forehead. His breath huffed out in an oof as her momentum was arrested by Rich’s tackle from the other side. They trio twisted as they fell to the ground in a heap, both Phineas and Rich more than less on top of her.

  “Are you okay?” Rich said urgently.

  Phineas sucked in a breath. “I think so.”

  Miranda lay still as they climbed to their feet, blinking hard to clear her vision. She’d lost hold of Delilah’s leash. She searched for the pit bull as she sat up, but it was impossible to see anything but the zombies surrounding them. The noise had hit a crescendo, the struggle riling the horde to a fever pitch. Miranda stood, now furious with the idiot on the other side of that door. She helped Rich check Phineas, who had been squished but nothing more. Then she pounded on the door.

  “You’re obviously okay here and don’t need our help. We’re leaving. See you never, asshole.”

  “Wait! No,” the voice cried.

  Rich looked at her askance. “You don’t really think that’s going to work, do you?”

  “I don’t care if it works! Phineas almost died. As soon as I find Delilah, we should leave. They asked us to find them. They never said anything about bringing them back.”

  “Okay, okay!” the muffled voice said. “I’m opening the door.”

  The hideous squeak of the door hinges grated against Miranda’s ear. It sounded like an animal in its death throes. She’d have to look for Delilah later. If they didn’t go inside now, they might miss their chance. She stepped back behind Rich and Phineas. She’d let Rich take the lead, because she was so aggravated she was liable to punch whoever met them.

  The door opened a crack, then a little more, before Rich grasped the handle and pulled it just wide enough for Phineas to slip through. Miranda sidled up beside Rich and followed him inside. They slammed the door shut and turned the deadbolt. It was so dark that Miranda couldn’t see her hand in front of her face, though there was some weak light ahead of them.

  “This way,” said the disembodied voice of the person who’d let them in.

  He kept talking, and they followed him through the dark to a set of stairs. The light improved as they climbed the stairs, until they stood in what used to euphemistically be called a great room. The windows she’d seen outside, which hadn’t looked that big, ran the length of the room, almost floor to ceiling. A huge stone fireplace was against the opposite wall, with firewood stacked high beside it. Comfortable couches and chairs were arranged around the fireplace. The room was open to the third story, and managed to be both grand and homey, probably because of the furniture’s plaid upholstery. The areas beyond the room’s edges faded into a murky darkness.

  “You can put your things here,” the stranger said, gesturing around him at nothing in particular.

  “Where are you from?” Phineas asked.

  “Scotland,” he said. “I’m Alec, by the way. Alec Campbell.”

  Miranda dropped her pack by the fireplace. After introductions were made, and Alec’s connection with P-Land confirmed, Phineas and Rich sunk onto couches along with Alec.

  “You’re the only one left?” Miranda asked. She didn’t sit, since she had to go back outside to find Delilah.

  Alec nodded, his eyes an arresting shade of hazel that looked haunted. He told them a story they’d heard before, of something that didn’t seem important at the time, which led to something else, and ended in disaster. He was the only survivor, and the fabled weapons store was just that.

  “How were you able to get to the door?” Alec asked when he’d finished his story. “You had zombies all around.”

  You sounded like yew when he said it. The burr of his Rs stretched them out, as if his tongue snagged the consonants a few seconds too long as it left his mouth. He had a heavy but not overpowering brow above his hazel eyes. His short black hair was grimy and swept back from his face. His bone structure was beautiful…high cheekbones, the kind of chin people liked to call rugged, and a jaw that was just square enough. His nose fit his face, which was to say it was beautiful, too.

  “It’s a side effect some people get from the vaccine LO developed,” Rich said.

  “What?” Alec blurted. “We haven’t heard about that.”

  “Your council knows,” Rich said. “But out from that, it’s need to know.”

  “Aye,” he said absently, nodding his head as he absorbed the information. “That might make you a target to the wrong kind of people.” He looked from person to person. “All three of you have it?”

  “No,” Miranda said. “Just me and Rich. You have to stay close to us to be protected. That’s why Phineas almost got killed while you refused to open the door.”

  Alec’s mouth fell open. “I’m sorry,” he said to Phineas, sounding horrified. “I didn’t know. Obviously. And I didn’t see how you could get through the door without…” His voice trailed. “I am truly sorry.”

  “Yeah, whatever,” said Miranda, dismissing him. “I’ve got to find Delilah, Rich. Will you help me with the door?” She looked pointedly at Alec. “So no zombies get in?”

  Alec winced. “Who’s Delilah?”

  “My dog,” Miranda said. “Don’t worry, she’ll like you. She has terrible taste in men.”

  Delilah sprawled at Alec’s feet, blissed out while he rubbed her tummy.

  “You’re a good wee doggie,” he crooned to her.

  Oh Delilah, Miranda thought, able to appreciate the irony even if she was still annoyed with this Alec Campbell. It turned out that there had been a weapons cache here once. Alec showed them the storeroom full of empty crates and ammo boxes that he and his companions had found, before someone got a bright idea that ended up with only Alec and a guy named Chris making it back. Chris had been bitten, so he ate a bullet, and now lay rotting a hundred yards into the forest. Miranda had known Chris a little, and killing himself rather than waiting to turn fit. Still, she’d searched for and found him, just to make sure the details of his bite and their flight back to the building matched Alec’s story. It was easy enough to find their route. They hadn’t been trying to cover their tracks, and that played with running for their lives. Even so, she didn’t know Alec from Adam. The P-Land Council trusted him, but seeing as how they had agreed to the fool’s errand that started all this, she wasn’t putting a lot of store by their judgment.

  Delilah left Alec behind to settle in front of the hearth. The fire in the huge fireplace crackled and spit, firelight dancing in the windows of the rear lounge. Distorted, flickerin
g shadows danced across the high ceiling. The building had cooled down noticeably once the sun set, even though it was still early fall. None of the windows in the building had been opened in a while, making the air stale, but the woodsmoke smell of the fire masked it.

  Rich stretched his arms overhead with a groan. “Well, I’m just glad you’re okay, Alec. It’s a damn shame about everyone else, though.”

  The noises of the fire, coupled with the musical drawl of the American South and the lilt of the Scottish Highlands, had mellowed Miranda’s annoyance. Phineas had sacked out a while ago, uncharacteristically subdued, but brushes with death sometimes did that. Miranda lay on the couch opposite Rich and Alec. She closed her eyes, but could tell she wasn’t going to sleep well, even though she was exhausted. If only I had these two to talk me to sleep every night, she thought. She cracked an eye, giving Rich the once-over. If he wasn’t already taken, she might consider seducing him just so he could talk her to sleep at night. She was pretty sure his voice would keep the nightmares away, too.

  “You might have to move to LO, Alec, unless Rocco has settled down,” Rich said.

  Alec said, “Come again?”

  “Rocco, LO’s new commander, was pissed about this,” Miranda said. “Not coming to look for people.” She paused, remembering his initial refusal, and added, “Not that much. But the whole Nanitch Lodge weapons cache thing. He was pissed that your council sent people to look for it.”

  At Alec’s puzzled face, Rich added, “People have talked about the weapons sitting here ripe for the taking for years.”

  “I still don’t see why that means I have to move to LO.”

  Miranda chuckled. “Rocco doesn’t trust P-Landers to not yap about us repelling zombies.”

  “I was a reporter,” Alec said, sounding affronted. “I have loads of experience protecting my sources.”

  “Rocco won’t care,” Miranda said, pulling herself upright. “He thinks everyone at P-Land are flakes until proven otherwise. He values the relationship, but he’s not a process person.”

  Rich laughed. “That’s one way to put it.”