Reckoning in an Undead Age

by A. M. Geever

  “I didn’t see the first zombie until the baggage claim, and we thought the fella was crazy. That was on the Sunday. By Friday…well.”

  She remembered that Friday. The day Sam had coaxed her out of her dorm room, and Karen had told her she wasn’t dying for her. The day she’d decided she was going to live.

  “I’ve seen a lot of America over the years, just not how I thought I would.” Alec shrugged. “In a way, this world suits me.”

  “It suits you?” she said, coughing, because she’d gulped her Scotch in surprise.

  He looked abashed. “Of course I’d rather have it the way it was. I just didn’t have deep roots anywhere. My parents and grandparents were dead. No brothers or sisters, or other family to speak of. My job kept me moving all the time, from one war zone to the next.”

  “You were a war correspondent?” she said, surprised. “I thought you did government stories.”

  “Same thing, different form. Seeing all those conflicts is what saved me. When you see the latest savior turn into the next dictator, see the slaughter that goes along with it enough times, you get good at spotting the next storm.”

  Coming from a large, extended family, where Sunday dinners at her nana’s house with her aunts and uncles and cousins had been the default throughout her childhood, she had a hard time fathoming what he was describing.

  “There must have been some people you were close to.”

  “I’m not saying it verra well,” Alec said. “Of course I had my mates. I just… I never wanted to settle down. It never made sense to me. People leave in the end, want different things. Want different people. I thought it was better to be the one doing the leaving. And now, well… It’s even easier to get yourself killed. It doesn’t pay to get too tangled up.” He looked at her sidelong, a mischievous gleam in his eye. “Enjoy the moment, don’t get too serious. It’s easier. And more fun, in my experience.”

  His smile set butterflies fluttering in her stomach, and a warmth that had nothing to do with the Scotch made her cheeks hot. Alec was flirting with her, in his low-key way, and she liked it.

  “In mine, too,” she said.

  She took a long, slow breath. This wasn’t the same as Phineas’ flirting, which was just in fun. Alec was flirting with intent. And with the way she’d just agreed with him, so was she. It might be the Scotch clouding her perceptions, but as she studied him, all she saw was an easygoing, good-looking man who didn’t want anything demanding, and wouldn’t demand much in return. After how things had ended with Mario, with his desperate needing that had felt like it was sucking her dry, an undemanding lover, only interested in the here and now like Alec seemed to be, was appealing.

  Warmth filled her belly, then sunk even lower. A low-grade tingling seemed to skate across her skin. Alec’s lips, which she hadn’t paid attention to until now, when they were only eighteen inches from her own, looked just right. And the way he carried himself, brimming with relaxed confidence, all but guaranteed he rocked in bed.

  “Thanks for sharing the Scotch,” she said.

  “Anytime,” he said, covering his mouth when he failed to suppress a yawn. “I think I’ll turn in.” He climbed to his feet, then added, as if it were an afterthought, “I’m not sure what Kendall thinks, but it wouldn’t be you being vain.”

  He gave her another one of those smiles, sly and easy. She couldn’t see his eyes, just the low light reflected in them, but there was almost an invitation in his voice.

  She said, “Dream sweet.”

  The burr of his accent buzzed gently against her ear when he said, “That won’t be a problem.”

  12

  Doug scrunched his eyes shut, tight as he could, then opened them and blinked rapidly. He shoved the sextant, pencil, and the small, tatty notebook filled with his tight handwriting into his pocket.

  “I think this is it…” His voice trailed as he shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know why I feel so unsure about this. Math is math.”

  Speaking up to be heard over the wind, Skye said, “Even if you’re wrong, it’ll be nice to stretch our legs.”

  A light spray of salty water misted Doug’s face as she leaned close, snuggling into his side. Mario sat near the small sailboat’s rudder, guiding them to shore. Silas sat in the well of the seat, next to Mario’s knees, his peach-fuzzed head the only part of him visible. He looked miserably cold, but had insisted that he wanted to be topside. After all his carrying-on about the rowboat, he hadn’t batted an eyelash about following Mario onto the sailboat.

  Kids, Doug thought, go figure.

  The stretch of deserted beach looked like a scar of tan against the dark rocks. Mario had agreed with him that this was the right place, but all the beaches looked the same. Despite the fact that he and Mario had three math-intensive Ph.D.s between them, the sameness made Doug second-guess his measurements with the sextant.

  The high, craggy cliffs were heavily forested right to the water’s edge, punctuated by beaches, strips of sand both wide and shallow, or rocky jumbles of gray, brown, and black. Rocky or sandy, they were similar…bleached driftwood scattered like bones, long ribbons of kelp at high tide marks, and sometimes dark tumbles of rockfall where sections of the cliffs above had collapsed.

  Doug could hear Violet’s piping voice from the cramped lower deck of the sailboat, along with Tessa’s low murmur. It was funny, thinking of this twenty-footer as small, but compared to the yacht, it was tiny. Where the yacht had been luxe and, in retrospect, spacious, this sailboat was cramped and utilitarian. No honey-colored wood paneling, gourmet galley, real beds, or being able to stand fully upright in the cabin below, at least for him. And definitely no hot showers.

  Doug sighed. It had been nice while it lasted, but the hot showers had screwed them. Tessa had been planning to repair the electrical system that heated the water before they left Eureka, but her illness had pushed it to the back burner. She thought the delayed repair—and ensuing smoldering connection on the heating element when the battery was turned on—was what started the fire. By the time he, Skye, and Violet met up with the others two days later, the yacht had long since burned to the waterline and sunk. That Tessa had saved as much of their supplies as she had was a minor miracle.

  That day had been the high point of the rest of their stay in Eureka. To Doug, it was a blur: fortifying the little restaurant on the island after their safe house on I Street was also overrun, and cannibalizing what was left of other watercraft, to get this sailboat—pronounced by Mario as ‘a piece of shit when it was new’—seaworthy, and killing zombies. So many freaking zombies; Doug’s arms still ached.

  They lucked out, too. The mostly intact Road Atlas and National Parks guide, circa 2021, in the restaurant’s office had helped them decide where to make landfall. Mario had warned that there were too many people for the size of the boat, and that he didn’t think it would be seaworthy for a three-hour tour, forget about a voyage as far as San Jose. He’d been right. But at least the atlas had given them a few possibilities for where to make landfall. They managed to make it almost as far as the best-case scenario: Black Sand Beach in Mendocino County.

  It wasn’t that far from Eureka—maybe two hours by car back in the day—but the coastline farther south was too wild a place to begin a journey on foot. The forest of the King’s Range had been remote in the old world, never mind this one. Doug would have preferred Shelter Cove, which was the next place worth trying to land, but it was too far. Another zombie-free forty miles of coastline couldn’t be enjoyed if they drowned. They’d traveled almost fifty miles today; it was good enough.

  Thanks, Big Guy, he thought, looking to the sky. He wasn’t a priest anymore—in his heart if not by official channels—but he still believed.

  “How close do you think you can get us to shore?” Doug asked Mario.

  “We’re not taking this hunk of junk anywhere else. The beach looks sandy and shallow. Once we know it’s safe, we’re running aground.”

  “I thought
you said that was bad,” Silas said, his upturned face puzzled.

  “Well, usually it is,” Mario said. “But this isn’t a good sailboat, and we don’t have a dock.”

  Under his breath, Doug heard Mario mutter something about a hunk of junk and better than it deserved.

  “It’s been better than walking, even if it is too cramped for more than a day,” Skye said to Doug.

  Doug pulled Skye close and kissed the side of her head. “That was the idea. I’m counting this as a win.”

  “I’m tired,” Violet whined.

  Doug swatted at the mosquito buzzing around his head and turned back, wilting in the sun along with everyone else. Violet’s brown skin had an undertone of pink that made her look red-faced. Her lower lip jutted out, along with a budding look of mutiny.

  The first three miles of the sixty-mile hike to Garberville—the first place they could catch Highway 101—had been okay. Violet and Silas had run along the beach, and even frolicked at the water's edge with an adult supervising. The last hour, however, had convinced Doug that the only thing more hellish than traveling on foot in unknown terrain with no idea how many zombies might be in the area, was doing so with small children.

  Assuming no complications, an adult could make the hike in three or four days. Doug had no idea how long it would take now, and had revised the day’s goal. They were aiming to reach a retreat center, south of Petrolia, a don’t-blink-or-you’ll-miss-it town. The National Parks part of the road atlas must have assumed a general interest in camping, because indicators of natural points of interest and campgrounds not in the parks system were plentiful.

  As soon as they left the beach for the path made by remnants of the old road, the whining began. Doug appreciated that someone had trained them about the importance of being quiet, but it was still whining. The slow, sustained incline of the past hour had only intensified Silas’ and Violet’s protests. There was only so much ignoring a person could do before Doug found himself thinking maybe they just needed a good smack. Since being smacked by adults was not how Doug had been raised, it occurred to him that Silas and Violet weren’t the only ones who were tired.

  Frequent stops were required for Mister Bun Bun. Despite the emergency blanket attached to the top of the carrier to reflect the bright sunshine away from the rabbit, Silas fretted that Mister Bun Bun was overheating. Mario had taken the lead in dealing with Mister Bun Bun, and Silas seemed to think that Mario knew how to care for rabbits. Or maybe he was just young enough that he still thought adults knew everything. Mario had told Doug how he’d rescued the rabbit, despite how stupid it had been with zombies closing in on them. No good deed goes unpunished, he thought, smiling. Silas seemed to trust Mario implicitly now. What Silas couldn't see was how much his trust freaked Mario out. Perhaps following her brother’s lead, Violet gravitated to Mario as well.

  “Mawree,” Violet said, the desperation in her voice a notch higher than the last whine a few minutes ago.

  “Take over for Mister Bun Bun?” Mario said to no one in particular.

  “I’ll do it,” Tessa said, reaching for the carrier.

  Mario turned to Violet. “C’mon, kiddo. I’ll carry you.”

  “Give me your—” Doug began, but Skye had already stepped in to take Mario’s pack. “You want me to carry that?” Doug asked her.

  She shook her head. Violet crawled onto Mario’s back, wrapped her hands around his neck, and lay her head to the side. She’d be out cold in two minutes.

  Gravely, as if he were conducting a job interview, Silas said to Tessa, “Do you know about rabbits?”

  Doug saw Tessa look quickly to Mario, who smothered a grin.

  “I know enough to carry him safely until we get somewhere for the night,” Tessa said.

  “Okay,” Silas said. “The carrier is heavy, and we’ve been walking a long time.”

  “There’s an ‘Are we there yet?’ coming,” Skye murmured softly.

  They continued, and soon everyone was silent. When they were near the halfway mark to Petrolia, Doug looked back to Mario, Tessa, and the children. Tessa smiled and raised her free hand. Doug could tell that Mario saw him, and he acknowledged Doug’s check-in, but without really doing much beyond meeting Doug’s eyes. Between Tessa and Mario, Silas trudged, looking almost asleep on his feet. Doug shrugged off his backpack. For the first time since they’d left Eureka, he didn’t feel the sting of the supplies they’d lost. He unbuckled his belt and threaded it through the loops of the small backpack.

  “Doug, what are you doing?”

  Doug looked at Skye, raising an eyebrow. “Get your mind out of the gutter. I’m going to give Silas a piggyback ride. You already have two packs, and Tessa has Mister Bun Bun.”

  Doug dropped back to walk beside Mario, collecting Silas as he went. Violet slept against Mario’s back. Doug fished in his pocket for a bandana, which he tucked around the girl’s head, since he wasn’t sure if she’d get a sunburn. Which makes me the whitest person in the world, he thought. He made Silas shade his head and face, too, just in case. Within minutes, he could tell that Silas was out.

  “I knew Humboldt County was sparsely populated,” Doug said to Mario. “I didn’t really get it, though.”

  He looked at the forest that edged the road behind them. It had spent the intervening years encroaching over the fields that people had cleared. Every step they took away from the beach seemed to increase the temperature. Doug knew the forest helped with the heat—while you were in it—which they were not. Approaching the summit of the hill, Doug wouldn't have been surprised to find it was over eighty degrees.

  “You doing okay?” he asked Mario.

  “Yeah,” Mario answered. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Silas and Violet have taken a shine to you.”

  “This is not my first rodeo.”

  Doug said, “You were just kind of…aloof with them, before we left Eureka.”

  Mario took so long to speak that by the time he did, Doug had decided he wasn’t going to answer.

  “It’s not like we could walk away,” Mario said. “It’s a complication I didn’t see coming, but we’ll manage. Right now isn’t the time to talk.”

  “Okay,” Doug said. He was sure the kids were asleep, but Mario was right. “I’m all ears if you want.”

  “I’ll let you know.”

  Mario was right that now wasn’t the time to talk about it. Still, his reluctance made Doug uneasy. Mario’s refusal to talk about where he was at, what kind of emotional toll this might be taking on him, felt too much like Miranda after she lost the baby. I don’t think either of them knows how alike they are sometimes, he thought.

  Silas stirred against Doug’s back, then resettled with a sigh.

  “You don’t think we’ll get stuck carrying them all the way to Garberville, do you?” Doug asked.

  Mario grinned, a real one. “Only when they’re tired, but they’ll definitely try.”

  “It should be right around here,” Tessa said. She squinted at the atlas again, then nodded as if it was settled.

  The winding mountain road turned east, continuing across a river by a bridge that had seen better days. Doug wasn’t sure it would hold a heavy vehicle, but it was safe enough on foot. He’d looked at the atlas earlier. Their destination was clearly marked on the west end of the bridge. He searched their surroundings, looking into the tall redwoods and pines. He didn’t see anything resembling a camp.

  “It’s probably up a drive or dirt road that’s overgrown,” Tessa said.

  “I see it,” said Skye. She waded into the brush. “Here’s the sign.”

  She pushed back the branches and brambles to reveal a dark wooden sign. Letters that had once been painted bright white or yellow, but were now the same color as the sign’s face, were carved into the wood. In its current state, it was almost unreadable.

  “How the hell did you see that?” Doug said.

  Skye took a few steps beyond the sign, peering into the trees. �
�We need to take this…” She hesitated, then said, “Non-road.”

  Doug looked in the direction she pointed. The road leading the Mattole Camp and Retreat Center must have been narrow and unpaved. They would need to cut a path through the trees and undergrowth. In a lot of places, the bushwhacking wouldn’t be worth it because of the noise, but they hadn’t seen any zombies. And there was nothing out here. There were surely abandoned houses and barns in the area, but unlike this campground, they didn’t know where they were. They might stumble on a house if they left the main road, or they might miss it by fifty feet and never know.

  Doug jiggled Silas’ knees. He felt the boy stir against his back.

  “Time to wake up, small fry.”

  Silas’ soft groan sounded like the sigh of a sleeping puppy. Doug crouched down until he could let go of Silas’ legs. Silas looked up at him, rubbing his eyes.

  “Are we there?” he said. “Where’s Violet?”

  Doug shook his head. “It’s still a little ways, but we need our hands free. Violet’s right there.”

  Silas turned around, then left to join his sister. Doug saw him make a visual sweep of the group and detour to collect Mister Bun Bun from Tessa. Doug arched his back, stretching his arms high overhead. The kid wasn’t that big, but sixty pounds of dead weight on your back for ten miles was no joke.

  Violet announced, “I have to pee.”

  “Me too,” Silas chimed in.

  Tessa held out her hands. “Come on, you two. I’ll take you.”

  Silas looked at Tessa askance. “Together?”

  Doug smothered a laugh. He saw a flicker of exasperation pass over Mario’s face.

  “C’mon, Silas,” Mario said, any annoyance deftly mastered. “Let’s go.”

  The kids and their respective escorts walked in opposite directions, staying so well in sight that the sudden modesty was a moot point. Doug joined Skye to study the atlas. Unfortunately, the camp was just a dot and a name without an indication of the size of the property or location of the buildings.