by A. M. Geever
In the end, River pronounced Miranda mentally and emotionally unstable due to recent trauma. Rocco reminded the consequences faction that if he was taking on leadership of LO, then he needed someone he trusted to take over the farming responsibilities. He also pointed out that Miranda had been a friend and an asset to the community since her arrival and made no adverse consequences a condition of taking on Smith’s job. Since no one else wanted it, that had been that.
“Is there anything else that I should be planning for the harvest?” Miranda asked, thinking of the list that they had drawn up yesterday.
“Not that I can think of,” Rocco said.
“Then I’m gonna jet,” she said, standing and picking up her dish. “I know they’re leaving early. Don’t want to miss them.”
Rocco scowled at her. “You could try sounding broken up about it.”
“And you could try not being an asshole,” she said playfully. “See you later.”
Miranda left the dining hall, Delilah at her heels. She nodded to a few people, some she knew, others she didn’t yet. But she would, eventually, since she was staying.
She followed the path through the narrow strip of trees between the Boys’ Home and the housing plan, then took the first path into the Big Woods, the one that went by Otter Pond. Delilah darted ahead, plunging off the path to investigate a scent or chase some poor woodland creature. She never bothered the otters, though. They had not exactly kicked her ass but had instilled in the pit bull a healthy respect for their fierceness. It worked better than Miranda calling her away ever could.
Miranda could smell the scorched scent that lingered in the air before she reached the remains of the Nature Center. The meager salvage and demolition effort was completed. There was nothing to do about the smell but let time pass. In the parking lot, two pickup trucks were at the epicenter of a group of busy people. Both truck beds were loaded with gear and supplies, though one had more open space than the other. For people, Miranda figured.
Doug and Skye stood by the closer pickup. Skye was laughing at Doug. He pulled her close for a kiss, then refused to let go while he tickled her. Her peals of protest rang out.
“Stop it!” she cried, laughing and squirming as she tried to free herself of Doug’s hold.
“What’s the magic word?” he said.
Miranda approached them, smiling. It was impossible not to. They were too happy.
“I’m going to kill you,” Skye squealed.
“That’s not it,” Doug teased.
He looked up as Miranda drew near. Still smiling, he let go of Skye.
“You better watch your back, buddy,” Skye said. “Payback’s a bitch.”
Doug smirked. “Promises, promises.” He turned his attention to Miranda, his eyes flashing with merriment. “Came to see us off, huh?”
“I did,” Miranda said.
Skye nudged Doug’s shoulder with her own. “I don’t know if I’m going to survive two weeks on that yacht with him.”
“You’ll manage,” Miranda said. “There are always pillow fights to pass the time.”
“Pillow fights?” Skye said, puzzled.
“I’ll tell you later,” Doug said.
“I’m sorry you’re not coming with us,” Skye said. She stepped forward and gave Miranda a hug. “But,” she said, letting go, “I’d be lying if I said I’m not glad that you’ll be here to help Rocco. He acts like he’s back to normal, but he’s not. And running the whole show is freaking him out. Not that he’ll ever admit it.”
Miranda said, “Don’t worry about him. I’ve been dealing with guys like Rocco my whole life. I’ve got his number.”
“I know. I’ll see you when I see you. Stay safe, Miranda.” Skye turned to Doug and said, “I’ll go check on that thing.”
“She’ll go check on that thing?” Miranda asked when Skye was out of earshot.
Doug grinned. “Subterfuge is not her forte.”
After a moment, Miranda said, “So…this is it, I guess.”
“It’s not too late to change your mind.”
“I don’t need to change my mind,” Miranda answered. “This is better all around, you know that.”
The corners of Doug’s mouth tugged downward. “I don’t. But you think so, so…”
“Be careful, okay?”
Doug nodded. They looked at one another, the pause in their conversation not uncomfortable. She still saw Doug almost every day, but things were different. Doug followed her lead and kept everything light, respected the emotional distance that she had put between them. He didn’t like it, but he didn’t push. Miranda wasn’t sure she liked it, either.
It wasn’t that she loved Doug any less. She didn’t understand the new terrain of their friendship since their argument. Doug wrapped her in a hug, his tall, lanky frame comfortable and warm. Muscle memory of other hugs of affection and comfort and friendship filled her body.
“I love you, Coppertop,” he whispered. “Remember that. We’ll figure out the rest.”
Miranda nodded against his chest, her throat suddenly tight. Tears prickled the corners of her eyes. Her best friend was leaving. She might never see him again. She didn’t know how to make things right between them, and he didn’t seem to know how, either.
“Okay,” she said. “I love you, too.”
She didn’t—couldn’t—let go right away. When she finally did, she saw Doug try to wipe his eye without her seeing.
“Tell Father Walter I love him. And I miss him. And Karen, too. Make sure she isn’t wearing stupid shoes.”
“I will,” Doug said with a smile that didn’t sit on his lips quite right.
“And don’t get dead.”
His smile relaxed, becoming genuine. “That’s the plan. Don’t you, either.”
She nodded, gave his hand a final squeeze, and turned away. She knew she was right not to go with them, but she couldn’t kid herself that it felt right to stay.
She looked around the parking lot when she reached the edge by the path but didn’t see Mario anywhere. She didn’t want to see him but knew she should. Everything about them felt like a dream she couldn’t remember the details of. That they had been together, loved each other so much, even lost a child, felt like a book she might have read that didn’t seem terribly realistic.
Delilah raced over, banging into Miranda’s shins before flopping heavily onto Miranda’s feet. She looked up at her human, her mouth wide in a goofy pit bull grin.
“You’re trying to cripple me, dog,” Miranda said.
She reached down and stroked Delilah’s silky fur. As she straightened up, she caught sight of Mario on the far side of the parking lot. She had not seen him since the day she killed Jeremiah, when he had held her face in his hands and demanded to know how Jeremiah had hurt her so that he could protect her and make it right.
He looked different, but she couldn’t put a finger on the change. His features were as handsome as ever—the dark-brown eyes, the Roman nose, the square chin and full lips, as was the way he moved, so stiffly upright yet as fluid as water. But the tightness around his eyes and in his jaw, the chilly reserve that surrounded him like the cloak of a person who didn’t want to be seen, was new, even jarring.
Even at a distance she could feel the longing for something she didn’t have to give him rolling off his body like the gravity well of a planet. She had barely let herself feel anything about Mario one way or the other the past few weeks. Now she…didn’t. How could she have wanted him so much, and for so long, and now feel nothing?
Mario caught sight of her across the bustling parking lot, his face both lighting and extinguishing at once. His eyes met hers. She searched their brown depths for an ember, a spark. When he spoke, she couldn’t hear his voice, but she didn’t need to.
I love you.
No flutter of response in her chest, just the echo of a once familiar ache. She held his gaze another moment, the feeling of one epoch ending and another beginning swirling thickly around her.
“Come on, Liley,” she said, tearing her eyes from Mario’s to look down at the trusty little pit bull. “Let’s go.”
Sneak peek first chapter of Reckoning in an Undead Age at the end of this ebook! Don’t miss it!
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About the Author
A.M. Geever lives in her hometown of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. An avid reader of science fiction and fantasy from an early age, the only job she ever wanted—besides being a writer—was to be a Star Fleet Officer.
The idea of becoming a zombie because her car runs out of gas gets her to the gas station when she would rather not bother, and when not dreaming up disaster survival tales, she spends most of her time with her family and fur babies, and loves to travel to exotic locales.
For more information, check out my website, www.amgeever.com.
Acknowledgments
No book is written without the community supporting the author. As always, huge and humble thanks, and deepest gratitude, to my family, whose support and love means everything. I cannot think of any positive thing I’ve done in my life that hasn’t been influenced by the love, generosity, and general badassery of each and every one of you.
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The Beta Readers
Sarah Lyons Fleming, who is always right about what needs to be cut, what needs to be explored, and what just won’t fly.
Terry & Joe Hingston, for your outrageous enthusiasm, and saving me from making an embarrassing Seattle gaffe.
Rhonna Woodie & Roseann Powell, for providing such valuable feedback from gen-yoo-ine fans of the Undead Age universe.
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The Editing Team
Arianne “Tex” Thompson, Developmental Editor Extraordinaire. With only a written summary of Love, which she had not read, and the outline for Damage, Tex fixed the massive problem with the plot that I had not been able to resolve—in ten minutes. Ten minutes. This book would have sucked without you, Tex. Thank you!
Kimberly at Kimberly Dawn Editing, who fixed all the crap to make the story shine.
Darcy Prince and Scott Karavlan, nit-picky proofreaders extraordinaire. There will be typos, I know, despite everyone’s diligent efforts (including my own six plus rounds of proofreading), because typos are like fucking cockroaches.
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The Creative Geniuses
Molly Phipps of We Got You Covered Book Design for the new, re-branded covers for this series. I couldn’t be happier with the final product.
Doug Dean, who designed the original covers for the series to help me realize an artistic vision that I still love. I wanted something different and unique, and I got it beyond my wildest dreams.
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The Publicity Team
Many thanks to Heather Roberts at L. Woods PR for helping me think about and tackle the big picture of being an author, not just what’s right in front of me.
BM, thank you for the advice.
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Very Special Thanks
Diana Gordon, Education & Outreach Coordinator for the Oregon National Primate Research Center at Oregon Health & Science University. The last minute tour you were gracious enough to take me on when I was in Portland was not only a fascinating highlight of my research trip, but contributed immensely to the veracity and originality of the story.
Arthur Crivella, for your generous loan of Na-Wak-Wa Lodge, which allowed me to work on the first big re-write without distractions.
Mass Giorgini, for allowing me to use your family name for Rocco. I hope he does it justice.
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Last but not least, my Three Favorite Pieces. My dad, Eamon, who lifts my heart out of my shoes. My husband, Drew, who still makes me laugh and only occasionally drives me as crazy as I drive him. And my brother, Justin, who continues to inspire me to pursue my artistic dreams by pursuing his own, and whose support and encouragement is off the hook.
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— June 6, 2020
Sneak Peek: Reckoning in an Undead Age - unproofed & unedited
Doug frowned as he stepped through the doorway into the yacht’s fore cabin. Mario lay on the berth, limp as a rag doll. He coughed, a deep, wet hack that went on for half a minute, before he spit into the bucket on the floor.
“How are you feeling?”
Mario’s fell back against the mattress. He looked spent from the coughing fit. His breath wheezed in and out for a few seconds before he answered.
“Worse.”
Doug stepped closer and put the back of his free hand against Mario’s forehead. It burned hot against his skin. He held up the mug he carried, a wisp of steam curling from it.
“I’ve got more pepper-honey tea.”
“I’ll drink it later.”
“No,” Doug said. “Now. You have to stay on schedule.”
Feebly, Mario pushed to sit up. Doug set the mug down and slipped his hands under Mario’s arms to give him a boost.
“How’s Tessa?” Mario croaked.
“Pretty much the same.”
Tessa actually seemed a little worse than yesterday, even though her cough was not as bad as Mario’s, but Doug didn’t want him worrying about that. If Doug had not already been concerned, the fact that Mario had just accepted his help to sit up instead of shooing him away would have set alarm bells ringing.
“We’re going to find somewhere to put in tonight, find a dry building where we can stop for a few days,” Doug said as Mario sipped his tea. “I’ll check in on you later.”
“Okay,” Mario said. “Thank you.”
Doug plastered a smile on his face. “Anytime.”
He stepped into the parlor, catching sight of the breakfast dishes in the galley’s sink that still needed to be washed. He reached the ladder and climbed up into the yacht’s cockpit, squinting his eyes despite the overhead canopy that shielded him from the bright sunshine. He twitched his fine, sandy-colored hair out of his eyes.
Everywhere Doug looked, he saw beauty: calm, dark blue ocean, golden sunshine, and a dark, craggy coastline edged with lush, green forest. He zipped up his windbreaker against the chill. The sunshine that seemed to promise warmth might as well be a siren calling sailors toward sharp rocks on which to founder. Oceanside temperatures this far north along the Pacific coast, even in the summer, rarely ventured beyond the seventies. Though less than a mile from the shore, topside temperatures on the yacht hovered another ten degrees cooler due to the ever-present breeze.
Skye looked up at him. “How are they?”
“Worse.”
Doug dropped into the seat beside her.
“Watch the helm,” Skye said, reaching out to steady the mid-sized, wagon-like wheel that Doug had jostled. “So we shoot for Eureka, and we’ll see what we see?”
“Yeah,” Doug said, frowning. “Mario didn’t protest at all when I helped him sit up to drink his tea. He sounded like he was coughing up a lung, and he would have just gone back to sleep if I hadn’t told him he had to drink it right away. Tessa’s cough isn’t as bad as Mario’s, but it’s getting there.”
Skye took Doug’s hand in hers. He looked at her, his breath catching in his throat. Those blue eyes got him every time.
“They’ll be okay,” she said, giving his hand a squeeze. “We’ll hole up somewhere dry and keep them on the antibiotics. They’ll be right as rain in a few days.”
“If it’s bacterial pneumonia, and if the antibiotics we have are the right ones,” Doug said, worry creeping into his voice. “Or maybe it’s viral, and then we’ve wasted antibiotics we might need later.”
“I know,” Skye said. “But we are where we are, with what we’ve got.”
Doug shook his head and scowled. She was right of course, but— But what? She
was right. He was already doing all he could, even though it felt inadequate.
“What if he dies?” Doug whispered. “I’ll have to tell Miranda, and then she really will… God, I hate this.”
“Hey,” Skye said softly. When Doug looked at her, she said, “Do you remember Avi Lehr?”
“The rock climber rabbi?” Doug said. “Yeah, of course.”
“It will have to be sufficient. He said that all the time.”
The corner of Doug’s mouth quirked up in a wry smile. Now she was using the Torah to reassure him.
“That’s not exactly how it translates, but close enough.” The smile faded as quickly as it had appeared. “It's so loud when they cough. Sometimes I think we should just stay on the yacht in case it attracts zombies, but this damp can’t be good for them.”
“We’re talking about sheltering in a city that wasn’t even thirty thousand people before, in a part of California that didn’t have a lot of people to begin with. There’s no way every zombie stuck around.” Skye narrowed her eyes. “What’s going on? You’re usually more optimistic than this.”
Doug squeezed her hand, sure that it would sound as stupid out loud as it did in his head.
“He’s in the same cabin as Connor, when he…” His voice petered out. “I know it’s stupid, but it kind of freaks me out.”
Skye grimaced. “That would freak me out, too.”
Buoyed by Skye’s answer, Doug gave himself a mental shake.
