Ben catches the package. “Looking like what?”
“Like that.” Caleb gestures to him. “Like a lovesick puppy. Except you’re too grumpy to be a puppy. A lovesick alligator.”
Does everyone know how he feels about Kate? Hell, he can barely put words to it. No one else seems to have that problem.
“I’m not lovesick.”
“Whatever. Are those your size?”
Ben looks down at the plastic package in his hands. It contains brand new boxer briefs similar to the ones Caleb wears. They’re all black.
“You know what?” Caleb asks. “It doesn’t matter if they’re your size. Anything is better than those rags you have on. Your ball sack is hanging out.”
Scandalized, Ben takes a minute to survey himself. “It is not,” he snaps.
“Whatever. It’s about to hang out. Just change, old man. You’re hurting my eyes.” Caleb takes the flashlight from him and ventures deeper into the container.
Ben changes, kicking the old underwear into a corner. Good riddance.
“For what it’s worth, I think she likes you, too,” Caleb says from the back of the container. “She’s too good for you, by the way.”
That’s one thing they both agree on.
“Man, they have a decent amount of weapons. We need to bring the boat back here and load up.”
“That’s a terrible fucking idea.” Just thinking about it makes Ben’s shoulders itch even worse. “Someone left those zoms here to guard their shit. What if they come back and we’re here?”
“I’m telling you, those guys are the owners and they hung themselves. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t love to have extra weapons for the attack on Rosario’s people.”
Of course he wants more weapons. What an asinine thing to say. “It’s too risky.”
“This place is abandoned and ripe for the picking,” Caleb replies. “You’re just being paranoid. Everything is going to be fine.”
“Is that what you told yourself when you teamed up with Johnson?”
Caleb stops cold, giving Ben a scathing look. “Are you ever going to let that go?”
“Can you let it go?” Ben counters. “You have sixteen deaths on your shoulders.”
“They’re as much on my shoulders as they are yours.”
Ben narrows his eyes. “I tried to save them. You just stood there.”
Caleb’s mouth tightens. “I’m not going to argue with you. It’s pointless.” He stalks out of the container.
Ben marches after him, anger pounding in his temples the way it always does when he thinks of the murdered College Creek kids. Just because Caleb eventually found the balls to kill Johnson doesn’t clear his name. Far from it.
Ben can count the number of hours he’s slept in the last two days. Six. Six fucking hours. Every time he tries to close his eyes, he sees those poor kids. He sees Cynthia. That sweet girl deserved a chance at life. Caleb stood by while Johnson stole it from her.
Ben wants to punch a hole in something.
Caleb heads to the dock. As he crunches over the ground on his bare feet, Ben hears a succinct snick. Too late, he registers the long line of catfish wire strung across the ground.
“Get down!” he screams at Caleb.
He dives for the younger man. The two of them roll across the ground as a loud pop echoes in the air.
A flare whistles upward, leaving a long trail of orange smoke above Manila. Ben missed the tripwire only because he’d walked on the grass to spare his feet. The wire was clearly put up to snare anyone walking toward the container—or away, in Caleb’s case.
“Fuck!” Ben knew they weren’t alone. Now they’ve just alerted the owner of that shipping container. “Move! Get to the gas.”
He and Caleb haul ass to the dock with their gas cans. Caleb siphons the gas while Ben scans the area for hostiles.
Dammit, he needs a gun. When the owner of that container shows up, they’re fucked.
Nothing moves in or around the house. The silence makes Ben even edgier.
“Almost done?” he snaps.
“Almost. Let me fill this second can. Get the paddleboard ready.”
“The what?”
“The paddleboard.” Caleb gestures with his chin at a giant, bright-red oblong object. “How old are you, man? Haven’t you ever seen a stand-up paddleboard?”
“Spend thirty years of your military career in the Sandbox and see how much you know about shit like that.”
He stomps over to the paddleboard. Using some bungee cords they found in the bunker, he straps the first gas can into place. He keeps up a constant surveillance of their surroundings, ready for the attack.
It doesn’t come. Seconds tick by as Caleb fills the second gas can. Ben’s palms are sweaty with anticipation.
They should have been here by now. Whoever set up that alarm system should be back here to defend their possessions. Where are they?
“Maybe whoever stockpiled the container is dead.” Caleb scurries over with the second gas can. “Maybe I was right about those two zoms.”
Ben wants to believe that, but he can’t shake the feeling shit is about to go sideways. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.” He won’t be able to relax until they’re back at the Fairhaven.
47
Speedboats
KATE
Ben and Caleb are halfway back to the Fairhaven, rowing a paddleboard across the water. The rest of us stand alert, rifles raised and pointed toward the shoreline. Just because I’ve never fired one doesn’t mean I’ll hesitate. Whoever set that flare gun trap obviously wants to know if someone trespasses on their space. I don’t intend to let anyone hurt Ben or Caleb.
“Do you hear that?” Reed tilts his head to one side, frowning. “It’s a buzzing sound.”
Shit. Worry spiders over my skin. The last time we heard a distant buzzing sound, it was an alpha army on the march.
“Which direction?” I ask.
“South, toward Eureka,” Reed says.
I grab the binoculars and scan the horizon. Two dots bob on the water, getting larger with each passing second. I hear the distinct rumble of engines.
“Fuck.” I push the binos at Reed. “Do you see what I see?”
Reed grabs the binoculars from me. “Boats,” he says grimly. “Two of them. They’re coming right for us.”
“Dammit.” Fear pounds through me. I have no doubt these are the people who set up the flare gun. I don’t know what’s in Manila, but it’s obvious they want to protect it.
“Ben! Caleb!” I wave my arms to get their attention, not bothering to lower my voice. “We have company!” I point in the direction of the oncoming boats.
A flurry of curses carries across the water. The two men haul ass back toward the Fairhaven on their paddleboard, arguing the whole way.
“I told you the owners were coming back,” Ben says.
“How was I supposed to know they’d come by water?” Caleb snaps.
“Shut up and paddle!”
Fear and irritation pound in my temples. I can’t listen to them anymore.
“How long before those boats reach us?” I ask Susan.
Her lips press into a thin line. “Three minutes, tops. Leo, I need your help.” Susan passes him a funnel. “I need you to start pouring the gas in as soon as Caleb and Ben get here. I’m going to fire up the Fairhaven.”
Leo positions the funnel in the gas opening just as the paddleboard bumps up against the side of the boat. Caleb lobs the first gas canister over the side. Reed passes it to Leo, who immediately begins pouring it into the funnel.
“There’s a bunker on shore,” Caleb says in a rush as he clambers on board. “Enough stuff to stock Creekside for a month. We think those guys are the owners.” He jerks a thumb at the oncoming boats.
“And dipshit here set off their tripwire.” Ben jumps onto the deck, face flushed with fury. He marches over to the weapons pack, pulling out ammo clips and his rifle. It’s a really bad time to notice how good he
looks mostly naked, or that fact that he found a new pair of underwear.
“Hope you’re ready to shoot that thing.” Ben hands me an extra clip of ammo. His face is set, eyes focused. “Get ready to defend the Fairhaven.”
The boats are no longer dots on the horizon. They’re close enough for me to see that they’re two speedboats. A look through the binoculars shows me three men on each boat, all of them armed. They’re closing in on us.
“We have to go,” I shout. “Leo, close the fuel tank. Susan, fire up the Fairhaven. We’re out of time.”
The Fairhaven sputters to life, the charter boat coughing as fuel races back through its engine. Susan leans into the accelerator.
“Come on, girl,” she murmurs. “Get us the hell out of here.”
“We can’t outrun those boats.” Ben raises his rifle, sighting down the scope. His lean muscles are taut, the tattoos tense along both arms as he takes aim.
Before he can fire, gunshots crack from our pursuers. Bullets pierce the water on either side of us. One bullet hits the back of the Fairhaven.
“Motherfuckers,” Susan screams.
Ben fires. A spray of glass goes up from the closest of the speedboats.
Almost as soon as Ben starts shooting, the speedboats fall back. They slow enough to stay out of range, but close enough to tail us.
“Fuckers,” Ben growls, lowering his gun.
The Fairhaven gains speed as Susan aims the boat in a southward direction. Directly in front of us looms Indian Island, a small chunk of land that sits in the middle of Humboldt Bay. Susan aims her boat toward a narrow channel on the east side of the island. The speedboats continue to follow us.
“What do you think they want?” I ask.
“That bunker is where they store their supplies,” Ben says. “Most likely they want to protect it.”
“But we’ve left. We didn’t steal anything besides gas from sunk boats.”
“They don’t know that.”
“You think they want to risk a shootout over some stuff even after we’ve left?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t know what they want. But they’re following us, which isn’t a good sign.” He stalks away and grabs his fatigues, climbing back into them.
“Leo,” I say, “any idea who these guys are? Did you have any run-ins with them when you lived in Eureka?”
“No,” Leo replies. “We occasionally spotted other groups when we were out scavenging, but mostly we avoided one another.”
The speedboats maintain a safe distance behind us, but always stay within eyesight. I edge over to Ben, who is once again fully clothed.
“Do you think they’re herding us into an ambush?”
“The thought did cross my mind.” His gaze flicks to the speedboats and back to me. “We need people on the bow and stern.”
I nod. “Eric, Caleb, Reed, come with me,” I call. “We’re keeping watch on the bow. Ben, Ash, and Leo, you guys patrol the stern.”
As I lead my team onto the bow, the Fairhaven leaves Indian Island behind. We return to the wider part of the bay. To our right is a narrow peninsula dotted with homes and rolling sand dunes. On our left is the city of Eureka.
I haven’t seen Eureka since I first journeyed to Arcata to find Carter. At that time, I’d been able to navigate the city and avoid zombies by being quiet.
That wouldn’t be possible now. The waterfront streets I once moved through on foot are now packed with zombies. They turn in our direction as we approach, many of them walking right into the water as they attempt to follow our sound.
“Oh, my God,” Reed says. “It’s a Costco! Anyone want to try and load up on samples before we go to Fort Ross?” He points to the giant wholesale store that backs up to the bay.
“Pay attention,” Ben snaps at him.
Costco. It’s surrounded by the undead. I can’t help but wonder what might be inside. Maybe when Johnny and Gary learn more of the alpha language, we’ll be able to drive the zombies back and get inside the store. But these are thoughts for another day.
I turn my attention back to the water. It’s a clear path between here and Hookton Channel, the waterway that leads from Humboldt Bay to the open waters of the Pacific Ocean.
The speedboats are still tailing us. My unease ratchets up several notches. Everything is looking too easy.
I edge around the boat in Susan’s direction. She’s the only one of us that’s seen this waterway semi-recently. “Do you recall anything about this area those guys might use against us?”
Susan’s expression is tight. “That’s the town of Samos.” She points to a tiny town on the peninsula to our right. It’s little more than a scattering of homes and rolling sand dunes. “That’s where Gary was attacked by the great white. There’s a lot of zoms in the water. This area is dangerous. If those pricks on the speedboats make a move, it’s going to be in here.”
“Kate, there’s something in the water,” Eric calls from the bow. “Grab the binoculars.”
I hurry back to the bow, binos in hand. I study the area of water indicated by Eric. The water is dotted with pale white objects.
“Are those ... ?” I frown, leaning closer for a better look. What I see chills me to my core. “Holy fuck. We’re in trouble.”
All across the bay are zombies. Hundreds and hundreds of zombies, all of them thrashing around in the water. There’s no clear path through them.
“What is it?” Ben hustles over to us. His nostrils flare when he sees the zombies. “Motherfuckers. It’s a trap.”
“What’s happening?” Susan demands.
There’s no time to sugarcoat our situation. “The bay is clogged with zombies.”
“How? They should be sinking?” Susan’s voice is pitched with panic. “They always sink unless they’re really dead.”
All I can do is stare at the hundreds of undead in the water. As we get closer, I see ropes around the zombie necks, holding them in place. Someone captured all these zombies and strung them across this section of the bay.
“We are so fucked if any of those body parts get stuck in the propeller,” Susan cries. “We have to do something!”
“Those assholes drove us right into their dragnet,” Ben growls. “Fucking pirates.”
A look over my shoulder confirms Ben’s suspicion. The two speedboats are edging closer to us. If we accelerate to get away, we risk our boat getting tangled in the zombies.
“God damn assholes,” Ben snarls. “If those fuckers want an old-fashioned shoot-out, I’ll give them one.”
48
Dead Waters
BEN
His attention narrows on the two speedboats. Ben can practically feel the smug bastards gloating. No way are these fuckers getting the best of them.
“Eric, Ash, Caleb,” he barks. “Rifles up! We’re going to take out those bastards. The goal is to kill them before they get close enough to kill us.”
“I’m a good shot.” Leo shoulders up with his rifle. “I’ve been hunting since I was a kid.”
Ben nods. “Line up, solider.” He, Caleb, Ash, Eric, and Leo spread out in a line along the stern.
“I need everyone else up here,” Kate calls. “We’re going to shoot through the ropes. The zoms will sink if the rope isn’t holding them up. Susan, keep the boat moving. We’ll clear the way for you.”
Kate wastes no time getting to work. The sound of gunfire is the best music Ben has heard since they started this insane mission. He can’t help feel a burst of pride as he watches Kate take aim from the bow.
He turns his attention back to the assholes in the speedboat. Ben raises his rifle and sights down the scope, looking for the first bastard who’s going to die.
He exhales and taps the trigger. His shot goes wide, splitting the windshield. Fuck. He’s a decent shot, but hitting a moving target at two hundred yards while standing on the back of a charter boat is a tall order.
The rifles crack on either side of him as his companions open fire. One man on a
speedboat goes down.
“Hell, yeah,” Eric mutters. “Take that, asshole.”
As Ben sights through the scope again, he sees his next target raise his own rifle. Fuck. These guys really need to die.
Bullets pierce the water all around them, a few even hitting the Fairhaven. The rest of his companions crouch low for cover, but Ben maintains an upright position. He shoots three more times, finally dropping his target. He edges the rifle to the right, sighting on the next target.
Kate’s voice carries to him. “We’re through! The zoms are sinking. Gun it, Susan!”
Ben shifts his weight, anticipating the momentum of increased speed. The slight movement saves his life. A bullet whizzes just past his ear and hits the driver’s console.
“Shit!” Susan cries. “Will someone please get rid of those fuckers before they kill me?”
The charter boat picks up speed. They’re fully in the zombie dragnet now, the tethered dead thrashing as their bodies are dragged down by their own weight.
Ben once again takes aim, this time focusing his crosshairs on the driver of the closest boat. The man is hunched over the wheel while his companions fire on the Fairhaven. All Ben can see are his eyes and the top of his head.
It will have to be enough. He squeezes the trigger three times in rapid succession. The top of the driver’s head explodes in a shower of blood and windshield glass.
Then he hears the hollow thunk-thunk-thunk of bullets hitting flesh. He turns in time to see Leo. The man had propped himself up on one knee to fire at their pursuers. Red blooms across the front of his shirt. The rifle falls from his hands.
“Dammit!” Ben catches Leo as he falls. “Man down! Susan, get us the fuck out of here.”
The Fairhaven rumbles forward through the churning waters. Zombie hands scratch at the side of the boat. Susan ducks down, steering as best she can while gunshots ring behind us. Ash, Caleb, and Eric remain crouched down behind the stern and continue to fire.
“Leo!” Kate skitters across the desk, hunched over to avoid the bullets. “Ash, I need you over here!”
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