GENERATION Z THE COMPLETE BOX SET: NOVELS 1-3

by Peter Meredith

  She had put the contraption together squarely in the middle of the conference room and now it was surrounded by a mishmash of junk and trash: the dead bicycle, the dissected vacuum, a dozen hangers, the remains of the sheet, a fan whose blades she had found both too small and heavy for her needs, nuts, bolts and a lawn mower that she had flipped over that was dripping oil slowly into a pan.

  “Does it work?” Stu Currans asked from the door. He had a plate in one hand and a candle in the other. It was only then that she realized that hers had burned down to a little puddle and that the wick was just about to be drowned.

  She jumped a little, having been so absorbed in the process that she hadn’t heard him come in. “It just needs wind,” she answered and gave the fan blade a quick whirl. At the other end of the machine, the LED light glowed briefly and then faded.

  Stu stared at the little light in wonder and when it went out he asked for more, feeling like a child seeing a magic trick. Jillybean gave it one more whirl and then, suddenly famished, asked, “What do you have there?”

  “Catfish. There were four monster catfish living in the hold of the Saber. Jenn told me you hadn’t cared for her preserves.”

  Stu had made more than just broiled catfish, he also had glazed yam on the plate. She tore into the meal, groaning lustily. “I had no notion I was this hungry.”

  “You should be more than a bit hungry. You’ve been at this for hours.”

  “Hours? What time is it?” In answer, he opened the door. From the lobby window came a pale, yellow light as the first rays of the sun streamed over the tip of Mount Diablo twenty miles due east. Just like that, Jillybean was exhausted. The uppers and downers were out of her system, leaving her in a natural state of fatigue.

  “Weren’t you supposed to bring me a soldering gun at some point?”

  He held out a hand, which she took without question and he helped her up, asking, “And how were you gonna use it? Which one of these wall sockets would we have plugged it into?”

  She summoned enough energy to laugh at herself. “What a goose I am. You’re perfectly right. Here, hold on. If it’s been so long I should check on the thug…I mean my patient.”

  “It’s about time,” One Shot growled. “I’ve been in pain for hours and where the hell have you been? Shacking up with Stu by the looks of it.”

  Jillybean felt the first stirrings of a shadow within her. She ignored both the shadow and One Shot even as she gave him a quick once-over, hearing the first gurgle of bowel sounds, which was something of a relief. “BP, pulse, respirations and temp, are all normal. Looks like you’re on the mend. Oh no, don’t thank me,” she added when he only sneered harder.

  She trimmed back his pain meds slightly. Then she was done. Barely able to keep her eyes open, she yawned in imitation of a hippo, showing off her back molars and not caring in the least.

  Stu led her to Jenn’s apartment, though carried was closer to the mark. Her exhaustion hit a low point and she began reeling like a drunk. Now that her attention was no longer so focused, she felt the first cravings: one part of her wanted her bed and the other her pills—not the accursed downers, but the amphetamines.

  With buckets in hand, Jenn answered her door on the first knock. After a good night’s sleep, she’d been preparing a bath for herself. She was well past tired of appearing before Mike looking little better than a used dishrag.

  “Can you watch over her today?” Stu asked. “You know, keep people away while she sleeps?”

  “Me?” Jenn leaned in close and lowered her voice. “I thought you were going to help me today. You said you would, you know, make me kinda like how Colleen is.”

  He had completely forgot his promise. “I’ll ask Mike to watch her.” Jenn’s face took on a stricken look but he took no notice as he angled Jillybean toward the back bedroom. “Though chances are he’s already asleep,” he said, to her great relief. “He was at the boat all night trying to repair the hole in her. It’s the Coven I’m most worried about. Jillybean left a mess in their little room while making her generator thing. I’d better talk to them before we leave.”

  “I’ll just take a bath…” Jenn began.

  “No, do it when we get back. You always come back filthy. Every single time. I’ll be back in an hour, so be ready.” Just before leaving, he went back into Jillybean’s room and kissed her forehead, thinking that she was asleep, which she wasn’t.

  Although she had been slipping in and out of a walking coma on the way back, the second her head hit the pillow her mind had begun racing along, hunting down ghosts of ideas and turning them over and over. Finally, in desperation she snuck out to the living room and hunted around in her pack until she found the bottle of barbiturates. Two went down her gullet and in no time she was out and stayed that way until late in the afternoon. She even slept through Jenn’s triumphant return. The girl came back very dirty, just as Stu had foreseen. Dirty but happy because she came back laden down with dresses and shirts and shoes and jewelry, all of which were splendid and lady-like, a quality she hadn’t ever hoped of attaining.

  And it was an altogether strange thing to her that the shoes she brought home delighted her beyond reason.

  Still Jillybean slept on as Jenn mixed and matched.

  Jenn was not the only one in high spirits. Mike had worked straight through the night, repairing not just the hole, but also the sadly wrecked floors in the cabin. Without them it was just a sloping dark room that really wasn’t useful in any way.

  Now, the floors he installed were not what they had been: specially treated teak and holly that gave the interior of the Saber a fancy air. The flooring he put in consisted of uneven and splintery two-by-fours that he cut himself, blistering his hands in the process. He covered the boards in a carpet that he had stripped from the nearest house and, with only the light of the moon to see by, he furnished the boat with borrowed chairs, mattresses, folding tables, coolers and fishing gear.

  Then, exhausted, he too slept the day away. It was late afternoon when he woke in an almost euphoric state, wishing he could get the Saber back on the water right then. “Two more days,” he told himself. The resin would take that long to dry.

  He washed up quickly, eager to tell Jenn about the boat.

  Across the complex, she couldn’t wait to show off her new look.

  She had chosen a deep green dress that hung just below her knees, silver shoes with a two-inch heel—the highest her unpracticed feet could handle—and a diamond necklace. Had it not been for the shoes and the diamonds, the dress would have been appropriate in a business setting, but with them it became something more.

  Next, she applied the smallest amount of makeup, fearing that too much would make her look like one of the slave girls the Santas kept hanging around. Finally, she, brushed her auburn hair, letting it fall naturally.

  Then she too left her apartment, heading out to find Mike, which she did standing at the foot of her stairs. Seeing her, Mike forgot his boat. It could’ve been sinking at that very moment and he wouldn’t have cared. He gaped up at Jenn and the look on his face was indescribable to her other than to say it was perfect. No one had ever looked at her that way and she couldn’t keep from smiling. Just then she didn’t think anything could stop her from smiling, ever.

  Then she saw Orlando Otis and five of his brutish friends heading towards them. The smile vanished.

  “What is it?” she asked, as they pushed past Mike and came up the stairs. She knew the answer even before Orlando spoke.

  “One Shot’s dead and now it’s time for your bitchy, know-it-all friend to pay for her crime.”

  Chapter 11

  Mike felt quite undone. As Orlando and his thuggish friends had approached the stairs, Mike had been pushed aside as though he were little more than a child. Then when Jillybean was dragged out of Jenn’s apartment, wild-haired and wild-eyed, he had done nothing about her arm being canted high behind her back, the nails digging into her wrist, the spitting or the insults.


  He had stood meekly by, staring like a tourist. He was still standing there watching the men haul Jillybean away when Jenn grabbed his hand. “Come on. We have to do something.”

  The two followed after the gang and behind them came everyone else. It was a parade of sorts that wound its way to the clubhouse. The gang went in, but Jenn and Mike were stopped outside by Orlando who looked down at Mike, saying, “Coven business only. They’ll call you if they need you, which I doubt they will.”

  Mike began to bristle, a useless, self-serving gesture. He probably couldn’t win in a fight against the much bigger Orlando and, even if he could, there were the other goons, and if by some prodigious luck, he got past them, what could he say that would change anyone’s mind?

  Stu came up and managed to embarrass Mike even further. “Get out of the way,” he growled at Orlando.

  This brought on a smirk. “Coven. Business. Only,” Orlando said, over-pronouncing each word.

  “Get out of the way, or else.” Stu’s dark eyes smoldered into Orlando’s and now there was just the smallest amount of doubt in them. Still, he didn’t give up his ground. Without another word Stu drove a fist into Orlando’s solar plexus dropping him to his knees. As he gasped for air, Stu limped around him with Mike and Jenn following.

  Stu paused looking to his right at the clinic door which was wide open. The room was dark and silent, empty save for the body. A soft curse escaped Stu’s clenched teeth as he turned away, heading to the conference room which was even messier than it had been—Jillybean’s contraption had been smashed to pieces.

  A few feet away from it was a scrum as five men tried to control Jillybean who kicked, punched, scratched and bit. When they finally wrestled her down, she panted like a demon and sent glaring, murderous expressions about the room.

  Donna, her face lined and tired, shook her head at the spectacle. “Jillybean, we find you guilty of…”

  “Stop!” bellowed Stu. “You haven’t found her guilty of anything.”

  “…Guilty of the murder of One Shot Saul,” Donna went on, putting just enough effort into the speech to be heard by the Coven. Stu caught little snatches and knew enough to roar again, uselessly as it turned out as Donna went on, “You shall have the death of your choosing. And that will be?”

  “Old age, bitch,” Jillybean spat out, cackling madly, her eyes bright and hideously yellow.

  Donna sighed and was about to pick Jillybean’s death for her: a bullet to the back of the head, when Stu said, “If she dies, I will leave.”

  “And if we banish her? Wouldn’t you leave then, as well?” Lois asked. “I think you would. Your feelings for her are obvious. We lose you either way, so your threat is useless. I’m sorry but Jillybean has put us in a terrible position. We can’t have murderers walk free and we don’t have the resources to jail them. This is our only choice.”

  “I have something to say,” Jenn practically cried. “She is not, uh rational. That means…”

  Jillybean had grown sullen and quiet. Now, she said in a confused little voice, “That’s what means she’s not right in the head.”

  Everyone stared at her, not knowing exactly what to think. It had sounded as though the voice had come from another being entirely. Jenn was the first to gather herself and with a sidelong look at Jillybean, she said, “She’s not right in the head and they used to say you couldn’t find a crazy person guilty. Kind of like you can’t find a baby or a child guilty. They don’t know better or they don’t understand what’s happening to them. It wouldn’t be right to, ahem, K-I-L her when she’s like this.”

  As if Jenn’s point had made them both physically and mentally uncomfortable, the seven women sitting somberly behind their wide table shifted around in their seats.

  This would be the hilltop’s first execution and Donna wanted it as above board as possible. There couldn’t be any questions or doubts. She whispered as much to Lois who whispered to Miss Shay and so on until each had heard the whisper and agreed.

  Another sigh from Donna. “Have her take her pills and get her mind proper by sunrise. We were going to do it then one way or the other. I am truly sorry, Stu. We did not come to this decision lightly.” She went on longer than that with her excuses but few people listened. Jenn certainly wasn’t listening. Her ears were filled with cotton for all she heard, and her mind was as well or so it seemed as she tried and failed to come up with a way to save the girl.

  She was still straining her wits when the five men cuffed Jillybean’s hands behind her back and led her away. Jenn started after them only to be yanked around by Miss Shay, whose long face was puckered unpleasantly like a stork sucking on a lemon.

  “We’re going to need you to turn in your crossbows. Just until after, you know. And we can’t have you leaving the complex either. There’ll be no more foolishness. No more running around after dark. There’ll be a guard, an armed guard, parked right out in front of the shed so please, no heroics, any of you.”

  Stu shouldered past her almost knocking her down. He stormed towards the door, but stopped as he came abreast of the machine Jillybean had built. “Who broke this?” he demanded.

  Miss Shay made only a humph noise and it was up to Donna to answer, “It was like that when we came back from lunch. Poor One Shot, he seemed fine when I checked on him this morning and then, well, I guess he died somewhere in there. It happens and I’m sure Jillybean tried her best, but now we have to do what’s right for the community. We can’t have people going around killing each other without actual real-life consequences or it’ll be total mayhem.”

  Stu began to bristle again; Jenn stopped him by asking, “What about putting it up for a vote? Maybe more people want her alive. She did save Aaron, William and Stu.”

  Donna warped a smile onto her face. A vote of the people was the last thing she wanted. If they voted once, they’d get a taste for it and then they’d want to vote on everything. The Coven would be useless if this happened.

  “Even if you won a vote,” she paused, looked around and leaned closer, “she would still die. I can’t name names but there are those who made it clear to us that if we lost One Shot, Jillybean was going to die one way or another. Yes, it would be wrong, it would be murder and all that. We know this, but we aren’t going to chance a civil war. That’s not something we can allow.”

  Stu was stunned by this. It was bad enough that there were vigilantes on the hilltop, but what was worse, was the moral cowardice displayed by the Coven. Their weakness was appalling—and couldn’t they see that it, more than anything Jillybean could do, would eventually undermine them?

  He couldn’t hide his disappointment or the harshness of his contempt. It sent the Coven scurrying away with mumbled excuses. He stood, staring after them and it was up to Mike to get him moving, whispering, “We can’t just stand here. If you want to save Jillybean we’re going to have to think of something.”

  The younger man took Stu by the elbow and began heading towards the front door however Stu stopped just shy of it. “Wait. I have to check something out.” With Mike and Jenn reluctantly trailing behind, he turned to the clinic.

  One Shot was still in his bed, a sheet drawn over his face. Stu went to him and slowly pulled it back, not knowing what he was going to see; a look of fright, maybe? His face contorted in misery? His eyes open and staring?

  All three of them were relieved that One Shot appeared only as if asleep and looked much like himself, except without his usual sneer and with a little more pallor to his cheeks than usual. Stu drew the sheet even further down, discovering that the corpse was naked.

  Going pink, Jenn turned away. Seeing a man’s parts was bad enough, but seeing a dead man’s parts was even more unseemly, going beyond indecent and bordering on sinful, she was sure. It was also a complete certainty on her part they were positively coating themselves in ill-luck just being in the same room with a corpse.

  And then there was One Shot’s spirit. Had it left? Or was it hanging around l
ooking for someone to haunt? She didn’t know if ghosts and spirits were a real thing, but they were such a frightening possibility that she didn’t think it warranted taking the risk poking at a body. One Shot had been such an abomination in life that if there were such a thing as ghosts, his would definitely persevere and was probably being teased out of some dark cranny even then.

  “We should get out of here,” she said with a shiver.

  “You can wait outside,” Stu answered, inspecting the eight-inch long wound. The stitches seemed as sound as if they had been put in with a sewing machine. There wasn’t any swelling and the smell of the wound wasn’t like that of a ham having been left out in the sun for a week.

  Unfortunately, there was no way to tell just by looking at the outside of him why he had died.

  Under any other circumstances, Stu would have thought complications from surgery had punched One Shot’s ticket. It was the smashed generator that had him worried he was looking at a murder victim. Yet there were no marks or bruising, not even on the man’s throat, and there were no lumps on his greasy head.

  He knew there were poisons that could kill a man, but he’d heard they turned their victim’s faces black, unless they were black to begin with then they turned a deep shade of blue.

  While Stu stood over One Shot, uselessly courting a haunting or a possible possession, Jenn gathered up Jillybean’s supplies, taking everything and shoving it back into the duffle-bag that had come down from Bainbridge with them.

  Mike only stood between them, pulled and pushed by unseen forces. He too, worried over being so close to a dead body and not just because of ghosts. There was also the specter of disease. As brave as he was, he had a slick, oily feeling in his stomach as he watched Stu probe One Shot’s belly. And when the probing caused an acidic burp to rumble out of One Shot’s mouth, Mike felt the catfish he’d had for dinner threaten to come up.