GENERATION Z THE COMPLETE BOX SET: NOVELS 1-3

by Peter Meredith

  Jillybean’s memory of the last few minutes was shrouded in smoke, dark smoke, and within it was that terrible presence, the one that burbled hideous laughter and screamed insanities—the one that was worse than Eve.

  Jillybean tried to reset everything by saying, “What matters is that the Black Captain will not be stopped. Do me a favor, Jenn turn that scope around.”

  They both looked south in search of hope, but the bay was empty. They tried the radio and got only static.

  For an hour, Jenn kept keying the send button and repeating, “Mike, come in, Mike,” and got nothing in return. During that time, Jillybean paced along the roof, pausing momentarily at each turn. On the far side she would gaze out at the Corsairs as they assembled their fleet once more into three nearly equal parts: two groups comprising almost a hundred ships were to the west of Angel Island and a third group of forty just to the east of it.

  When she paced back the other way, she paused to watch the Puffer shuttling the surviving defenders off the bridge and across half a mile of water to the Floating Fortress. Stu was with the last group to leave. He’d been fighting, not the Corsairs, but the living dead which had spotted the frightened group twenty minutes before and were closing in from all sides.

  The raging fires Gerry had lit had done their job and now San Francisco was crawling with zombies. It meant her far left flank was secure. Unfortunately, her right flank was wide, wide open. There were countless piers on the Oakland side of the bay where the Corsairs could land hundreds of men, completely cutting off all retreat.

  “And people think we’re winning?” It was preposterous. The danger they faced now had multiplied a hundred-fold. Their annihilation was staring them right in the face with nothing standing between them except two miles of calm water, gentle airs and flights of gulls winging by to feed on the dead Corsairs.

  She turned about and paced back the other way once again, fretting over her decisions, worrying every aspect of them to shreds. Just then it seemed like a terrible mistake to have separated her small force in the face of superior numbers. Historically it led to disaster and it seemed that in the present it would as well.

  They had barely enough men and women to defend the Floating Fortress properly and not even a fifth of what was needed to defend Treasure Island. Worse, the island was separated from the barge by a half a mile of water. When the fighting started, there would be no way to get back and forth. Even the simplest commander could see that each could be destroyed in detail.

  It was practically an invitation for an attack…

  Which is what you want, ain’t it? It was the dark voice again bubbling up out of the deep cracks in her mind. Jillybean didn’t want to hear this, even if it was the truth.

  Thankfully, Donna suddenly broke in on her thoughts, appearing at the stairwell door and saying, “It’s time.” The Puffer was skating across the water, racing in a terrible hurry. The Corsair fleets to the west were breaking up, the larger of the two tacking west so that it could come at Alcatraz with the wind directly on its stern. The other two fleets of boats had started straight across the bay, moving with surprising swiftness. One on a heading for the Floating Fortress and the other towards the blunt north end of Treasure Island.

  Jillybean knew each could shift their direction at any time and converge, coming at her defenses from any of three directions.

  “It’s time,” Jillybean repeated to Jenn, who was taking one last look to the south in a vain search for the Saber.

  Chapter 43

  The Puffer was the last of the boats, the dreadfully small boats, to leave Alcatraz, flying along at breakneck speed toward Treasure Island. It hadn’t gotten far before red smoke erupted from the side of the largest Corsair ship. It had to be the signal to attack since all of the Corsair ships suddenly unfurled every scrap of sail they possessed and charged with shocking speed across the low waves.

  An eerie silence greeted them. Jillybean had mentioned laughing at the Corsairs, but there wasn’t a single chuckle. There was only a gripping fear that had most of the defenders cowering and praying fervently with mumbling lips, most of them only repeating, “Please God, please God, please God,” over and over.

  The Corsairs came so fast that Jillybean saw they weren’t going to make it to Treasure Island and ordered them to stop under the shadow of the Floating Fortress, where dozens of hands reached out to pull them up the high metal walls. Stu shoved people out of the way to get to Jillybean.

  Although he was the one covered in blood and had a black gash parting his hair on the side of his head, he asked her, “Are you okay?”

  How could she be? The battle, the bodies, the smell of guns wafting over her, the blood…She was on the verge of fading into the darkness inside of her and yet he was there with her, and so was Jenn.

  “Maybe I’m okay. What about you? I should take a look at that…”

  She was interrupted as the far western Corsair squadron racing with the wind suddenly exploded with the fire of hundreds of guns.

  Screams and pandemonium broke out all over the barge as Stu pulled Jillybean and Jenn inside one of the containers. There was so much noise that it was a few seconds before he realized they weren’t the ones being attacked.

  The fifty or so ships were running down the length of Alcatraz Island where a dozen cooking fires had been purposefully left going. These sent up feeble streams of smoke, but otherwise the island seemed dead. The Corsairs didn’t believe it. The lead boats carried on, blasting in every door and window and sending up a cloud of dust and a rain of cement chips.

  After ripping up the island, they broke off, sweeping north, the tenth boat in line running flags up and down its mast. It was a signal for the center fleet to attack. Almost as if they were running downhill, the next squadron of boats raced at the island, blazing away with gunfire. The first ten boats kept going up the island, but the rest made a hard landing, sacrificing safety for speed.

  Screaming like madmen, the Corsairs rushed over the sides of their boats and charged like marines onto the abandoned island. They went here and there shooting into empty rooms. Soon they were cheering. Every one of them had been sure Alcatraz would be a bloody affair; the hardest nut to crack, just like they were sure that everything else would be a cakewalk after it fell.

  It had not been a “free” victory. Along with hundreds of wasted bullets, three men suffered broken ankles and five boats were damaged, two irreparably, when they struck rocks hidden just beneath the surface of the water.

  Still, this was minor, and the Corsairs eagerly set sail again after leaving a small force behind. They had the wind at their backs and could go where they wanted.

  With the telescope forgotten in the bottom of the Puffer, Jillybean snatched up a pair of binoculars as she ran up the ladder of one of the containers. She was watching the flagship, The Black Captain’s immense Sea King. Once more the flags broke out.

  “They’re going to test us!” she said into her radio, speaking to her remaining lieutenants, three of whom, Donna, Stu and Jenn were right next to her. The others were spread out on Treasure Island, trying to hold a 568-acre island with only 350 people. “Keep cool and don’t get caught up in the fighting. Your main job is to keep me abreast of the situation and to relay my orders. The first of which is to take out their ship captains.”

  “You heard her!” Stu cried. The Floating Fortress had become strangely silent and still as everyone sat in frightened little clumps. “You know your stations,” he went on. “Get there and stay there.”

  A terrified cry went up, “They’re coming!”

  Fear spread through the air and everyone, including Jenn, felt the sting of it. She felt it deep down in the pit of her stomach. “Do you want me to order Gerry to light the fires?”

  Jillybean did a double take, seeing Jenn not as the sweet girl she was but something horribly changed. Her eyes had gone to slits and there was a nasty knowing look in them that went perfectly with her treacherous, cunning smile.
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br />   “No, I don’t! Whose side are you on?” Jenn shrank back as if slapped and the evil look dissipated like smoke. “Sorry,” Jillybean said, passing a hand over her face. “I’m just…my head is spinning is all. And really, the smoke won’t help Mike.”

  As always when Jillybean opened up Jenn’s mind and read her hidden secrets, it made her feel utterly naked. It was true, she wanted the fires going for Mike’s sake. Even with the Corsairs bearing down on them, she couldn’t stop craning her head south. Each glance back robbed her of hope and strength.

  “He knows the way,” Jillybean said. “Come on, we need to get down from here.” Already bullets were flying.

  The forty-foot Wave Master was leading the western squadron, knifing through the water straight at the Floating Fortress. At three hundred yards, it opened up a steady fire that rang and tinged off the containers.

  In answer, there came a thin crackling as four or five rifles opened up from the defenders. It wasn’t a barrage by any means. They were well controlled and well-aimed shots from long range rifles mounting powerful scopes. Among the fighters was William Trafney, who winced in pain with every shot and could only hope that his stitches would hold as he fired.

  Next to him, Stu was so deliberate he took only two shots a minute. They simply did not have bullets to waste on misses.

  A mile away on Treasure Island, Gerry the Greek, seeing seventy ships coming his way, begged to light the fires, sending Jillybean into a towering rage. “Don’t you dare. I’ll kill you myself if you do! Do. Not. Light. Them!” she thundered into the radio.

  Lois Blanchard, who had not yet recovered from the terror she had experienced on the Marin Headlands, and who was now in charge of fifty people on the island’s eastern shore—a long open expanse that looked impossible to defend—begged, “Please do it, Gerry. It’s our only chance.”

  Hearing this, Jillybean, her eyes growing crazed, clenched a fist so tightly she dug crescent moons into her palms.

  Jenn saw that her mind was on the brink of failing and jumped in front of her, saying, “Look at me. Focus on me, Jillybean. We need you, not Sadie and certainly not Eve. You need to explain things to them. Is there a reason why they should wait? If so, explain it to them. It’s what Jillybean would do, right? And you are Jillybean. Jillybean?”

  “I-I am,” she said, letting out a long shaky breath and unclenching her hand. She stared at it, trying to connect what she was seeing with what she was feeling, which was an overall numbness that she associated with “fading away” from her own body.

  The stress on her was immense, while the odds of victory were tiny. She was going to die soon. They all were and it was her fault; Jillybean’s fault. It made her not want to be Jillybean anymore.

  “But you have a job to do,” Sadie whispered, using Jillybean’s lips. “You started this and now you have to see it through. It’ll be okay. I’m with you.”

  “Yes. Listen to that one,” Jenn said, desperately. “Was it Sadie? Yes? She’s right. You have to see it through.”

  Jillybean opened and closed her hand a few times, trying to get the feel of it back. “Okay. Sorry. I’m here.” She remembered the radio in her still numb left hand. “This is Jillybean. It’s uh, it’s uh…the reason we aren’t lighting the fires is because they’re only testing us. I know because I have broken their codes. It wasn’t all that difficult. They only use so many flags so each one can only represent so many letters or letter combinations. Red and blue flags are vowels. When they’re preceded by white pendants they’re…”

  With guns blazing and the ships kicking up white foam along their hulls, Jenn grabbed her arm. “Maybe just give them the condensed version.”

  “Of course. The gist of their messages is that they’re testing our defenses. Thus, it makes no sense to give away our hand. So please, listen to my orders. Don’t light the fires just yet.”

  This made sense and there was a general murmuring of agreement before the radios fell silent.

  Nothing else in their world was silent. The bay was alive with the rattle of gunfire that rose, growing louder and louder. It could have been louder still. Neither side was putting everything they had into the battle. The Corsairs were merely probing, while the Queen’s defenders limited their shots, afraid to run out of bullets.

  When the western squadron came closer to the Floating Fortress, it split in two with a file heading down each side of the barge. There were a few screams of panic, but for the most part, the defenders held their fear in check, mostly thanks to Stu Currans. The grim, generally silent Hillman kept up a relentless roar: “Take them down! Let them have it! Don’t let up. Don’t let up!”

  Although half of the defenders wouldn’t come out of hiding, the others did as he asked.

  Hiding in, on, and around the containers, they kept up a steady, accurate fire, aiming for the captains of each boat. It proved to be a highly effective defense since sailboats were delicate machines. Without anyone at the wheel for even a few seconds, boats suddenly turned or lost headway. A number of them slewed into each other. Sometimes with a loud crash that could be heard over the din, and sometimes with an inaudible thud that could be felt but not heard.

  Some boats became locked together as booms lanced into rigging. Others sank, one with amazing suddenness—it hit another boat side-on, broke away showing a tremendous gash in its side and went down by the head in less than a minute, sending two trapped men and a female slave to a watery grave.

  With boats going in every direction, the attack failed altogether. Along with the four that sunk, six boats were utterly abandoned by their crews as the rest turned tail leaving fifty-three Corsairs in the water to drown or be eaten by the zombies that were filling the bay, drawn by the noise and commotion.

  For once, people cheered as the dead ate their fill.

  The probing attack on Treasure Island was far more successful. Although the Corsairs lost two boats and had close to fifty casualties, the defense proved porous and soft. With only a low, hastily built rock wall ringing the island and far weaker leadership, the defenders suffered more casualties than they could afford.

  Worse than the casualties was the weakness shown by the defenders. Many hadn’t fired a shot and had only cowered uselessly, while others, overcome by panic, fled to the interior of the island and hid.

  When the attack on the barge ended, Jillybean was the first to rush up to the top of the containers. She stared at the carnage she had wrought: the bay was littered with floating bodies and wrecked ships. It was ghastly and yet all around her was excited cheering and what sounded like childish laughter, though the latter might have been coming from inside her own head.

  A second later, Jenn joined her. The girl was one of the few who was not cheering.

  Once again, the striking similarity between the two was apparent as their hair whipped and spun, twisting into each other, connecting them at least physically. Mentally and emotionally, they were worlds apart. Jenn stared to the south where the bay remained stubbornly empty, while Jillybean’s eyes were drawn across to the island.

  Through the binoculars, she could see rivers of blood running from beneath the wall to dribble into the ocean, and there were mangled bodies lying among the rocks. And there were lonely body parts: a stump of an arm flung off by itself or a foot poised, as if someone was casually reclining on the other side of the wall.

  Your fault, your fault, your fault…

  “Where’s Stu?” she asked Jenn, in a slurred whisper. Her lips were fading into darkness along with the rest of her.

  She was sure she had whispered the question since she didn’t have the strength for more, but somehow he had heard her. He was suddenly there, talking to her, looking into her eyes. He kept calling her name over and over. Even with him so close she was disappearing and this time it wasn’t because Eve was fighting to get out, it was because Jillybean wanted to hide.

  Then Stu was kissing her and it wasn’t so much the feel of his lips that brought her back as
it was the taste of him and the scent. He had a very manly smell that was uniquely his. Had she been blind, she could have picked him out by scent alone. That scent evoked images and memories, and before she knew it, she was back.

  “Hi,” she said. She wanted to say more and she wanted to breathe him in, or kiss him with her real lips, however over his broad shoulder she could see the Corsair fleet gathering. Signal flags were going up and down on the lead boat as fast as they could be knotted in place.

  “The Black Captain is in a tearing hurry,” she remarked, not at all surprised. The attack on the barge was yet another bitter defeat and couldn’t be offset by the ease with which the eastern fleet had had things. “There has to be talk among the surviving captains. They have to be on the verge of mutiny.” It was almost the only hope left to her. “If we can just sting them again, we might be able to win,” she whispered, before looking through the binoculars once more.

  They almost weren’t needed. There was only one logical place to attack. “They’ll be going to the island next,” Jillybean said. “Light the fires, Gerry!” She practically yelled into the radio. “Now’s the time. Light the fires and stretch out the buoys. Are you there, Gerry?”

  “Yes.” He sounded tired. “Light the fires, right.”

  “And stretch out the buoys and then bring us closer. Repeat those orders.”

  He did so breathlessly as he ran across the island to help. “Lois! Did you hear? Light the fires! Lois!” She didn’t answer and his fear doubled. Halfway across he saw smoke billowing up. “Lois?” he asked into the radio.

  “No this is Lindy. Lindy Smith I’m a Hillgirl. Jenn knows me.”

  Half a dozen adults around the bay gaped at their radios. “Where’s Lois?” Donna asked, her voice shaking and warbling with more than just static.