Fort Dead

by Camille Picott

  “I’ll take my sweet time and you can wait your fucking turn.”

  I resist the urge to attack both these assholes with my bare hands. I want to scratch off their faces and rip out their hearts. Adrenaline beats so hard in my temples that I’m half convinced I can do it.

  But two against one has never been good odds, even if I do have righteous fury on my side. I have one shot to scorch every last fucker in this place to ash. I can’t risk that chance by acting preemptively.

  Joe Dirt and Bad Teeth argue for another thirty seconds. I ease close to the window over the sink. Both men turn as the window slides shut. I give them both a flat stare as I pull the curtain closed.

  “Come back when I’m finished.” Joe Dirt plants his foot in Bad Teeth’s stomach and kicks him backward. The other man yelps as he tumbles backward onto the ground.

  I turn my back to Joe Dirt as he closes the door and locks it from the inside. He chuckles as I work my way around the RV, systematically closing each window and drawing the curtains.

  The rattle of his belt buckle makes my teeth grind. The clump of his shoes makes me want to stab something. The soft crumpling of his pants as they hit the floor make me wish I had fangs.

  He grabs me around the waist as I close the last window. His mouth latches onto the back of my neck.

  “Looking for a little privacy with me, hmmm?” His teeth nip at my nape. Each bite feels like poison.

  I spin around to face him. I don’t smile. I don’t pretend. I glare at him with every shred of fury contained in my body.

  He chuckles softly and palms my breast. “I like feisty women. You can fight me if you want.”

  My nostrils flare. I can’t fuck this up. One chance. One chance is all I have.

  I let him crab walk me back onto the mattress. The cheap springs creak as he pushes me onto it.

  34

  Hallucinations

  ERIC

  Mama Bear will come for us.

  This is the thought that sustains me as I watch the zombies tear into the flesh of the people who had been massacred in the garden. The jeers of Rosario’s people weave with the sound of snapping bones and tearing flesh. Underpinning that are the sobs and whimpers from Alvarez’s people as they’re forced to watch the bodies of their friends be devoured by zombies.

  Mama bear will come for us. Kate always looks out for us, no matter what.

  I can’t look away from the body of the girl I tried to rescue. Sometimes it’s a blessing to be nearly blind. I recognize her by the dark hair and the color of her clothing. I’m grateful I can’t see the details of her head and face.

  “I’m sorry, guys. I messed up.”

  “You fucked up.” Ben wheezes and spits out a wad of blood. “But your heart was in the right place.”

  Pain makes my head heavy. The ropes cut into my torso, making it difficult to breathe.

  “Have you ever seen those spy movies where the bad guy has a fake tooth in his mouth filled with poison?” I ask. “I want one of those.”

  “Stay alert,” Ben replies. “Be ready for Kate’s offensive.” Ben’s voice is rock-hard with certainty. “She’s always at her best when those she loves are threatened.”

  “She’ll come.” Ash’s voice is a croak, but I’m surprised to hear steel in it. “Kate always comes.”

  Apparently, I’m not the only one pinning my salvation on Kate. This makes me feel marginally better.

  The man staked to the pole beside us stirs. “K ... Kate?” he slurs. “That ... that Alvarez’s frieeeeend?”

  The poor bastard is half dead.

  “Yes,” Ben tells him. “We’re Kate’s people.”

  The man makes another string of garbled sounds. I can’t understand anything he says.

  “Poor fucker has been bitten,” Ben says. “He’s turning.”

  Damn. Bitten by a zom, then strung up on a pole to turn. Rosario’s cruelty knows no bounds.

  Speaking of which ... my blurry gaze drifts back to the zombies and their “appetizers.” How much longer before Rosario turns them on us?

  “Why did you tell Rosario we were sent by Medieval John?” Ash asks.

  “She was going to beat an answer out of us,” Ben replies. “I gave her an answer I’d hoped would satisfy her.”

  Well, it did satisfy her. But we were beaten anyway. Just not for information.

  “I have a confession to make,” I tell my friends. “I’m having hallucinations.” I glance across the small, hard-packing clearing to where Tom and Lila stand at the front of the crowd.

  “Jackalope hallucinations?” Ben asks.

  “Sort of. It’s Lila and my brother, Tom.”

  At the mention of her name, Lila rolls her eyes. Tom flashes his frat boy smile and waves.

  “My brother is waving to me right now.”

  “Either of them have a knife?” Ben asks. “We could use one right now.”

  “Tell the old man I’ll leave the killing to the rest of you,” Lila says. “But he already knows that.”

  “I lost my pocket knife weeks ago,” Tom says. “It got stuck in a zombie eye socket. There wasn’t time for me to get it back. We were overrun.”

  I don’t relay their message. The fact that I’m having coherent conversations with them tells me just how messed up I am right now.

  I lean my head to one side and close my eyes, wondering if I can fall asleep. At least if I’m asleep, I won’t feel all the pain. If I’m asleep, I don’t have to count down the minutes to our execution. If I’m asleep, I don’t have to watch the body of the teenage girl I killed get eaten like lunch meat.

  “I thought it was bad with Johnson.” Ash’s bitterness tugs my eyelids back open. “He used to grab me and fondle me whenever Caleb wasn’t around.” Her throat clogs with anger. “I think life here for these people is ten times worse.”

  I search for words, but they fail me completely

  “If I don’t make it, and one of you do, tell Caleb ...” Ash’s voice trails off, another sob breaking free. “Tell Caleb I love him.”

  “Finally,” Lila says. “Caleb has been, like, waiting forever for Ash to let him in.” She stabs a finger at me. “You tell her Lila says that.”

  What the hell? “Lila says to tell you that Caleb has been waiting forever to hear you say that.”

  Ash half laughs, half cries. “Lila,” she says, “I don’t know if Eric’s fucking loco or if you’re really out there. If you’re out there, I miss your cooking.”

  Ben wheezes. The sound is part laugh, part gasp of pain. “You’re full of shit. You never said a damn nice thing about anything she made.”

  “I know. But I still miss it. Lila, I miss you. Even if you did make hard pasta.”

  “It’s called al dente, Ash,” Lila replies.

  Oh, my God. It almost feels like we’re all back in Creekside, our core group still intact and alive. I can almost imagine away the long miles that have stolen friends and landed me beaten and tied to a stake awaiting execution by zombie.

  “What did she say?” Ash asks. “She had to have a comeback. Lila always had a comeback.”

  “She says hard pasta is called al dente.”

  “Al dente, my ass,” Ash says. “I’ve had al dente pasta, and let me tell you, those noodles she made were not al dente. They were hard and crunchy like crackers.”

  “Like I said, al dente,” Lila replies.

  “Looks like you found yourself some good friends,” Tom says. “I’m glad. I worried about you a lot.”

  “I never worried about you,” I reply. “You’ve always been at the top of every game. Straight As. Varsity sports in your freshman year. I was always glad mom and dad had you.”

  “They loved us both.”

  “I know, but I was glad they had one perfect son. Took the pressure off me, you know?”

  Tom shakes his head, a wistful smile on his face. “I saw what you did today, little brother. Believe me, Mom and Dad are proud of you. If there’s anyone living in a s
hadow, it’s me.”

  “Which hallucination are you talking to now?” Ben asks.

  “My brother. He was the perfect big brother.”

  “I had a perfect brother. Guy was an ass hat.”

  Tom straightens indignantly. “Tell your friend I’m not an ass hat.”

  “Tom says he’s not an ass hat. It’s true. He’s a good person.” I miss him. I miss my brother.

  “Even if I die, I’m not going to let those fuckers take my pride,” Ash whispers. “It doesn’t matter what they do to me. I’m going to die with my head held high.”

  “No one is dying,” Ben growls. “Kate’s coming.”

  There’s nothing else to say about that. Lila and Tom try to prod me into talking, but I’m too beaten down to carry on anymore conversation.

  There’s nothing to do but wait for Kate while the sound of tearing flesh fills the air.

  35

  Serve

  JESSICA

  I endure.

  For Bella. For Steph. For Alvarez. I endure for them.

  Hell, I even endure for Shaun.

  I bite my lip so hard it bleeds.

  I watch Joe Dirt’s face, waiting for the moment. I wait for the orgasm to build in him, for his nasty eyes to roll back into his head.

  My hand closes around the tennis racket I slid between the wall and the mattress.

  One strike. I have to do this in one strike.

  I grip the handle of the racket like it’s my last lifeline.

  Joe Dirt groans with pleasure. His eyes flutter shut.

  I seize the instant.

  The racket leaps free of its confines. I bring it down with such force, the nails meet no resistance. They puncture his forehead and the top of his skull.

  All those years of playing tennis with those bitchy moms tumbles to bloody fruition. Blood sprays everywhere. Big goopy clumps spill down the front of Joe Dirt’s skull.

  Satisfaction floods me. I always had a killer serve.

  I pull up my feet and shove the body away from me. The tennis racket goes with Joe Dirt, lodged in his skull. I yank on my pants and drop to my knees, crawling toward the front of the RV.

  It’s the only part of the vehicle that doesn’t have curtains. I crouch low so no one will see me. My hands shake as I once again fumble with the matches.

  A fist pounding on the door makes me jump.

  “You done yet?” Bad Teeth calls.

  “Wait your fucking turn,” I screech.

  “Damn,” he replies. “You better save some of that for me, honey.”

  Honey. I grind the words to dust between my teeth. The only thing this honey is going to do is bash in his fucking head.

  A single match flares to life. I toss it onto the sheepskin cover and immediately light another.

  I light match after match. A small fire licks upward, curling the ends of the sheepskin. I grab another two matchbooks and throw them on.

  In less than thirty seconds, the inside of the RV is filled with smoke. I back away from the flames, turning my attention to the tennis racket. Joe Dirt does not get to keep the last gift my ex-husband gave me.

  I plant one foot on his chest and grasp the racket with both hands.

  “God dammit,” I hiss. The damn thing is wedged tight.

  “Hey, what’s going on in there?” Bad Teeth pounds on the door. “Mitch, you okay? I see fire in the front seat.” The door rattles.

  In a crackling rush, the entire passenger seat goes up in flames. Another finger of flame races across the ceiling.

  The door vibrates as Bad Teeth begins to kick it. “Mitch!” he yells. “Mitch! Guys, something’s—”

  A huge boom rips through the fort. The floor beneath my feet shakes from the force.

  Alvarez. He’s come back for his people. I know without a doubt.

  The heat of the fire crackles over my head as it continues to spider across the ceiling. I let loose an animalistic scream, my knuckles white around the handle of the tennis racket. It comes free with a sucking sound. Bits of bone and brain matter fly loose. I stumble back a few steps.

  The nails in the tennis racket scrape loudly against the ceiling. I maintain my iron grip on the handle. Flames leap onto the dry strings. I don’t let go.

  The door bursts open, kicked off its cheap alloy hinges. Bad Teeth leaps in.

  A half second passes as his eyes meet mine. Confusion clouds his expression as he struggles to absorb in his dead friend and the crazy bitch standing over him with a burning tennis racket.

  A half second is all he gets before my racket delivers a raging serve to his face. The nails rake across his skin and tear off half of his nose. He grunts at the impact, stunned. His hands come up out of sheer instinct.

  Screaming, I bring the racket down on his head over and over again. I don’t stop until it’s a pulpy mess.

  I stand over both bodies, heart pounding. I raise my tennis racket and scream. And scream, and scream, and scream.

  I scream for May. I scream for Claire. I scream for Steph and Bella. I scream for Shaun. I scream for the marriage we lost. I scream for the end of the world and all the people who have died. I scream. The suffering of the world pours out of my lungs while the tiny motorhome burns all around me.

  “Jess ... Jessie!” A weak voice cuts through my incoherence.

  Shaun. Reality crashes in around me. I realize my hand is burning. I don’t even feel the pain.

  I should put out the flame on the racket. But then I see Limp Dick’s hulking body rush past the RV.

  Another fucking monster who has to die.

  A shock of adrenaline courses through me. I leap out of the motorhome and zero in on Limp Dick.

  Part of the south fort wall is in pieces. Someone blew a hole in it. Fire crackles along the edges, illuminating Limp Dick’s silhouette.

  I close the twenty yards between us in a full-throttle sprint. My burning tennis racket connects with the back of his skull. He drops.

  I pounce. The racket comes down with a vengeance, spraying flames in every direction. Nearby patches of dried grass and weeds ignite.

  Pain registers as the bulky body of Limp Dick stills on the ground. I drop the racket and smother my burning fingers in the dirt.

  The pain is excruciating, but it’s only physical pain. It’s not even a pinch compared to the hell I’ve endured in the last twenty-four hours, let alone the last two years. I snatch it back up and sprint toward the RV where Bella is held captive.

  The fire is spreading. I see it on the ground eating at small patches of grass. I see it on two other motorhomes. I see it rushing along the two-hundred-year-old redwood timber.

  I’m peripherally aware of shouting, running, and general chaos. I barely see any of it. My eyes are locked on the big man who drags Bella out of their motorhome by gunpoint.

  He never sees me coming. With a shriek, I swing my nail-studded racket at the back of his head. Just like Limp Dick, he drops. I yank out the racket and deliver another blow to his temple, just to make sure he stays dead.

  “Jessica?” Bella gapes at me.”

  And then a huge semi-truck crashes into the north wall of the fort. The force is like a bomb going off. Chunks of timber fly everywhere. One of the motorhomes is hit, the fiberglass frame crumpling under the impact.

  People are screaming and shouting. Guns are firing. My people are being gunned down like cattle.

  And then zombies flood the compound.

  36

  Assault

  KATE

  “Hold on!” Caleb bellows. “Five seconds to impact. Four.”

  I brace my feet against the floor as we charge the wall of Fort Ross like a bat out of hell. The semi bounces across the grassland surrounding the fort.

  “Three.

  In the sideview mirror, I see zombies pitched out of the back. No problem. They’ll find their way to the fort.

  Two.”

  I’m coming, Ben.

  “One!”

  The semi explod
es through the north wall of Fort Ross. Timber flies in every direction. Big beams of it smash across the front of the semi. The seatbelt locks, pinning me in place.

  The front of the semi plows into a motorhome, smashing right through it. Caleb slams the breaks. Bullets hit the front windshield.

  “Everybody out!” I fling open the door and leap to the ground, gun and zom bat in hand. Reed lands beside me.

  The compound is consumed by chaos. Fire rages along the south wall, started by the grenades from Alvarez. The old timber is going up like a matchbook. Some of the zombies have already made it past the flames. They stagger through the confusion, swiping at the air as they track down prey.

  “People of Fort Ross!” Alvarez bellows. “Fight! Take back your home!” He disappears into the melee, gun blazing, but I still hear his voice. “Fight for Fort Ross!”

  Gunshots ring all around us. Smoke boils through the air, illuminated by the flames. I see people rally to Alvarez’s war cry. They snatch weapons from their hiding places, taking up everything from frying pans to screwdrivers.

  A woman wielding a smoldering tennis racket streaks past us. She’s a lithe figure in dark clothing with long hair.

  The scream she lets loose it otherworldly. It echoes with the pain of the world. She charges a large man who drags a teenage girl by the hair.

  She delivers a wicked, sideways forehand to the back the man’s head. The side of her tennis racket connects with his skull. The man drops, releasing the teenager.

  The tennis player pounces. Her racket comes down again, caving in his temple. She never stops screaming. Are those nails embedded around the edge of the racket?

  “Damn,” Reed breathes. “That’s one badass woman.”

  A shriek goes behind us.

  “Zombies!” someone bellows. “They’ve brought zombies!”

  “Come on.” I grab Reed’s arm. “Let’s find our people."

  The two of us race deeper into the fort. My eyes flick left and right, searching. Where would Ben and the others be? Would Rosario lock them up somewhere? Or would she string them up in a cage like Medieval John?