GENERATION Z THE COMPLETE BOX SET: NOVELS 1-3

by Peter Meredith

  Turning his head put all thought of getting shot out of his mind. One of the dead was clawing its way out of the water and up onto land. It was followed by more of them: grey and slagged and half-rotted away…and gigantic. None were less than eight-feet tall, but from Stu’s viewpoint, curled in a ball in a pothole, they seemed to tower two-stories tall.

  All thoughts of a glorious death in battle left him completely and now all he could think about was how fast he could turn his own gun around on himself.

  Chapter 10

  Stu Currans

  A huge, grey zombie foot, half the length of Stu’s arm, came down next to his head, further cracking the asphalt and sending more chunks of rock into the pothole. The owner of that foot was of such a monstrous size that had the foot been planted on Stu, it would have broken bones and perhaps even killed him.

  Stu had been in the process of turning his rifle around when the beast stomped by, shaking the earth. Now, he froze as ten more just like the first, moaned their way onto the island. They paused, trying to decide which way to turn. There was shooting from both left and right—but there were also screams coming from the left.

  A few of the women who’d been with Gerry were having their clothes ripped off them right there in the middle of the dwindling battle. Stu guessed that the unlikely timed rapes were meant to draw out a bold but stupid frontal assault, which would have ended in a massacre and would have meant, for all intents and purposes, the end of any defense of Yerba Buena.

  Now the screams drew most of the zombies in that direction. Only three turned towards Stu’s people, one heading right for George Parry, who had been slow to realize the new danger as he scrambled for his dropped gun.

  He picked it up and turned to see the beast bearing down at him. Perhaps knowing that running would be futile, he fearlessly held his ground, bringing the M4 up, one-handed. It was tough enough to kill the enormous beasts in the daytime, but in the dark and with only one hand, it was nearly impossible.

  Nearly. George waited until the thing was almost on him before he fired three times, hitting the creature’s head with the second two shots and sending black blood fountaining. The creature made a sad, almost mournful sound, then slowly tipped over on its side, like a tree that had just been sawn through.

  George had no time to celebrate because immediately the next beast was on him. With that same amazing display of nonchalance, he fired his gun again. His last three bullets went home, blasting out teeth and blowing apart bone, doing horrendous damage that went completely unfelt.

  “Damn,” George said in the half-second before the beast was on him. The gun was torn from his hand at the same time his shoulder was torn from its socket. He was lifted by his head and had his neck bitten through in one bite. His death was quick as the beast filled its gaping jaws with flesh and hot blood.

  All of this happened in the span of six seconds and a stunned Stu Currans was still getting to his feet as George’s body was cast aside. The two zombies then went charging at the remains of his assault team. Some fled while others emptied their magazines into the on-rushing zombies. Before going down, the two absorbed a hundred rounds, almost the last of their ammunition.

  More zombies were struggling to get to the island; Stu had no choice but to call for a retreat.

  The mission had been a complete fiasco. They hurried back to Yerba Buena having lost three people and used up all but eighty-two rounds of ammunition. Eighty-two rounds to defend a mile and a quarter of shoreline.

  “Whose vision was that?” Manny Lopez asked. “Or should I say, whose nightmare?”

  “Shut up,” Stu whispered without any sign of his usual growl. It had been his mission from start to finish and he didn’t think he could’ve screwed it up any more than he had. He collected the last of the ammo, set a watch on the causeway and then went back to the clinic. He was so ashamed that it took him a few minutes to collect himself before he went inside.

  Jenn was operating on one of the Sacramento women; she had lost half her face and a good chunk of her shoulder. Stu didn’t recognize her.

  It took only one glance for Jenn to see things had gone horribly wrong. Her shoulders slumped and exhaustion stole over her. Stu could see it envelop her like a blanket. “Sorry,” he said, again unable to raise his voice over a whisper. “They were cut off and surrounded just before they got to the causeway. Then the dead came and…” He shrugged. There really wasn’t much more to say.

  She looked like she wanted to cry into her patient. “So, what do we do? Do we let the strong swim?”

  As much as he wanted to shrug again, Stu forced his shoulders to remain neutral. “Maybe. Yes. Probably. I really don’t know. If Jilly…” He sucked in his breath. Jillybean was the reason they were in this mess, and yet she was probably the only one who could get them out of it.

  “It’s okay,” Jenn said, obviously too tired for recriminations. “If she were here what would she do?”

  The obvious answer was that she wouldn’t have let them get bottled up on the island to begin with. “Even she would see that we have to swim.” The idea was horrible. It would mean leaving everything behind, including the wounded and the weak. Perhaps even the children. Stu didn’t know if he could…

  A brief burst of gunfire to their east interrupted his thoughts. It went on for forty-two seconds and then stopped. There had been no return fire. “The Corsairs are going to find out how bad things are with us soon enough,” he said.

  Jenn gazed down at the wound she’d been working on without expression, perhaps coming to the same conclusion as he had concerning leaving the wounded behind. “Yeah,” she agreed, “and when they do, it’s not going to be pretty.” She lifted her chin to indicate the others in the clinic.

  None of them would be able to make the swim. Stu thought he was beyond the ability to feel, however imagining them slowly drowning, or being pulled under the dark water and eaten alive by the undead, or being scooped up by the Corsairs only to be thrown back in, made Stu regret missing his chance to die in battle even more. His soul felt as though it had been turned to lead and was now sinking lower and lower, pulling at him so that he stood stooped over from the weight of it.

  Two beds over, Donna Polston whispered, “Give us something to float on. It’s the right thing to do. You have to give us a chance.” Jenn did not have Jillybean’s skill and of all the patients she had worked on, Donna was the only one who looked better, and it was only a slight bit better. Other than her eyes, which had regained some of their spark, she was still grey and listless.

  “I think we can do that,” Jenn replied, adding, with a fake smile, “for most of you.”

  And for the rest of them? Stu didn’t want to know. He knew that in Sacramento things hadn’t been exactly legit. He had seen the bodies of the newly dead; he had seen the faces of the corpses frozen in surprise and misery. Jillybean had weeded out the very weakest and at the time Stu had told himself that it had been for the greater good. It was a phrase that haunted him now.

  “I’ll take care of it,” Stu told Donna. He looked around and that heavy feeling inside of him, pulled his shoulders down even more. There were only nine patients left alive and a freezing journey across the last third of the bay would likely kill most of them. “Rafts for nine.”

  Jenn turned away and held up four fingers so that only Stu could see. He thought about glaring at her but it took too much effort. “Nine,” he repeated and left the room. As he swept through the blackout curtains, there was the pop, pop, pop of gunfire, this time in the direction of the northwest.

  From the top of the hill, he could see little lights blinking and the ghost of a sail. Someone on the island returned fire, a few feeble shots.

  “They’ll make their landing soon and we won’t be able to do anything about it.” He knew he would have to hurry if there was to be any chance of saving the patients, and yet the moment he left the building he was confronted by Shaina, who came tiptoeing out of the dark like a timid deer. She
wanted to know what they were going to do. Then Johanna Murphy came hurrying up to tell him that Manny Lopez and a few others were taking the last few wetsuits left at the Coast Guard Station and were telling everyone that they were leaving.

  On one hand, Stu wanted to be rid of the coward, while on the other he second-guessed the timing. Was it best to let everyone leave in dribs and drabs or was it better to try to get across in one giant scrum? One way or the other, the swimmers would be virtually helpless against any attack.

  He had no idea which would be best…no, which would be worse. There would be no best of anything anymore.

  Both Shaina and Johanna wanted to ask the Queen what she thought; Stu outright refused. Jenn was barely holding on overseeing the wounded and Stu thought she would fold if too much responsibility was piled on her at once. Which meant that once again, he would have make a decision that would cost lives.

  Although he wasn’t sure what the right thing to do was, he had a fairly good idea that letting a healthy adult take a wetsuit when there were others, thinner and weaker than he, was the wrong thing.

  “Take these,” Stu said to Johanna, giving her a handful of bullets. “Tell Manny to wait. And make him take off the suit. We’ll all cross at once. It may be our only chance to stay together. Shaina, go with her and guard her back.”

  The two left and, just as Stu began to put his mind on getting the wounded across, there came a series of screams and shouts from the north in the direction of the cove. Was it the Corsairs again or more undead? Did it matter? No, it didn’t since he had two full magazines and almost everyone else was forced to use crossbows.

  Stu limp-charged towards the sound of the screams, but by the time he got to the cove they had died away to nothing. He slowed, listening, thinking that it had been a zombie attack and, since there were no moans or cries, he had missed the action. But where was everyone? Where was Rebecca Haigh, who had been in charge of this section of the island’s defenses?

  Without knowing precisely what was happening, Stu kept quiet as he eased through the underbrush. He walked for fifty yards along the edge of the cove and still saw and heard nothing. Had everyone run to the other side of the island? Or were they even then attempting to make the swim? A curse had just formed on his lips when he saw something move to his right.

  It was a hand waving from amidst an overgrown bush. The hand was ghostly white; it began pointing to his right with a sharp jabbing motion. Only then did the stink of undead wash over Stu.

  Slowly, he turned and saw an unusual zombie. For one, it wasn’t grey, it was green. Beneath a mantle of seaweed, it was slimed over with algae which allowed it to blend in perfectly into the background. Unless they were sleeping or attacking, the dead normally moaned or wailed, however this one had a human foot corked squarely in its mouth, acting very much like a pacifier.

  It wouldn’t remain passive for very long; someone would sneeze or move, or someone like Stu would wander over and become its next meal.

  Gradually, with all the care he could manage, Stu brought his M4 around. He wasn’t careful enough and he hit a barely seen branch. There was a light thunk. Light, but loud enough to have the zombie breaking through the underbrush and charging; though not exactly in Stu’s direction.

  The beast had misjudged the source of the sound and began tearing up saplings five feet to Stu’s right—still in an odd silence. Other than the crack of wrist-thick branches being snapped in two and the rain of dirt and leaves, there were none of the usual zombie sounds.

  Had Stu been alone, he would have remained still and let the monster finish terrorizing the plants in peace. With, who knew how many people hiding around him, he couldn’t take the chance. Silently, he stepped up with the gun aimed. He pulled the trigger just as the zombie flung half a tree at him.

  The gunshot was shocking and the flash of light amazingly bright, and the bullet that sped out of its barrel, completely wasted.

  Faster than he thought possible, the zombie was on Stu, who was still tangled in the clutches of the hunk of tree that had hit him. The zombie didn’t care what it was attacking. Stu lost half his coat as well as his rifle as the heavy branch was ripped away. The only thing he could do was dodge behind a slightly larger tree. It was barely enough cover and he knew it wouldn’t give him more than an extra two seconds of life, so he lunged back further into the underbrush only to stumble on a root.

  He went flailing backwards into another bush, which swallowed him whole. The zombie, in a silent rage, tore through the bush and almost caught Stu scrambling for his gun. Its strap was caught up in the branches of the limb and there was no time to extricate it. Stu had to shoot around and through the remains of the branch. He had to aim perfectly at a dim and constantly shifting target, and he had to fire without hesitation or he’d be dead in half a second.

  The bullet missed by an inch. It buried itself in the creature’s orbital socket with the force of a sledgehammer strike. In a spray of blood, the zombie’s head snapped back, just as its left hand closed on the remains of Stu’s jacket. The brilliant flash in the dark, coupled with the bullet in the head and the tremendous sound of the gunshot confused the beast.

  Stu was yanked violently off the ground and swung in a half-circle by the thrashing zombie, which may not have even known what it had picked up.

  Something heavy smashed against his head and the spots in his vision from the gun blast were nothing compared to the stars he saw now. He might have moaned or cursed, because the beast suddenly took a renewed interest in him. It was just lifting Stu to its bloody face when, out of the dark, someone came screaming up. There was the twunk of a crossbow being shot and then that someone went screaming off again.

  Spitting the foot from its mouth, the zombie let out roar and turned, smashing Stu into a tree, and dropping him. The stars were back, brighter than before. Despite the ringing in his head, Stu forced himself to his feet and wobbled after the beast, which was chasing what appeared to his addled brain, to be some sort of shadow-sprite.

  The “sprite” dodged left and right, scrambled through bushes and turned circles around trees. At one point, Stu recognized that it was a woman. “It’s Miss Rebecca,” he said, struggling to keep up. Rebecca Haigh was quick and nimble, and also weak from her long ordeal with the cholera. Soon, she was slowing, and Stu saw that it would only take a single fall in the dark for her to be caught and eaten.

  “Back this way!” Stu shouted. “Follow my voice. Yes! Good. Now, dodge around the big tree and I’ll get him on the other side.”

  She did exactly as instructed and as the zombie lumbered around the trunk, Stu came up behind it and took a shot at the back of its massive, bulbous head. He almost missed again, and at first, as the zombie spun around, looking more pissed than ever, Stu thought that he had. Then the thing kept spinning, going round and round until it eventually spun itself into the ground.

  Rebecca came huffing over to look at it. She was not alone. Eight others had been hiding nearby and now they stood around the huge corpse.

  “You okay, Stu?” Rebecca asked. “You look like you’re wobbling a bit.”

  The shadows did seem to be rising and falling as if he were on the deck of one of Mike’s boats. The thought of Mike made the shadows darker and the stars go dim. He’d been a good friend.

  “I-I think I’m good,” Stu answered, more quietly than usual as he tried to push all thought of Mike out of his now aching head. He touched a tender lump behind his ear; it came away wet. Blood. It wasn’t a lot, and it was already coagulating around bits of bark and dirt.

  Someone asked if there was a plan to escape, reminding Stu why he’d been out in the first place. It was a question that he didn’t want to answer. “We’re, um, working on that,” he said, slipping into the role of politician without even noticing. Someone else asked about a rumor concerning the “old” queen, which he thought was a strange way to refer to an eighteen-year-old girl.

  “Since you two were together, shouldn’t y
ou be king now?” the person asked.

  It was the last thing he wanted, the very last thing. “No. We have a queen and she…” He paused as the sound of someone running through the underbrush could be heard. As one, the little group crouched; Stu found himself kneeling on the dead zombie’s thigh, with his M4 propped on the thing’s hip, looking like a big game hunter posing for a photograph.

  Shaina Hale’s nervous voice whispered, “Stu? Is Stu here?” Someone let out a low whistle and Shaina immediately turned towards them. “Stu? The Queen needs you. It’s Manny. He’s not listening.”

  A sigh escaped Stu as he pushed off from the carcass. “Show me,” he told Shaina.

  Wearily, he followed her, and following him came Rebecca and the last of her team, abandoning their places around the perimeter without a thought. Stu didn’t say anything. What would be the point? They had used up the last of their crossbow bolts trying to kill one zombie. They were defenseless; they all were.

  After a quick two-hundred yard walk they found Jenn standing on a rock at the edge of a small bay, trying to plead with Manny and a few others to stay, “Until the time is right.” It was an unpersuasive argument that fell on deaf ears.

  Stu didn’t blame Manny for wanting to leave or for refusing a direct order from a girl he’d looked down on for most of her life. What Stu didn’t care for was the fact that Manny was abandoning the entire community. He whispered this to Jenn, thinking it might be the only thing to keep him on the island. It didn’t work. Manny said, “Pfff,” in response.

  The situation had grown critical when a Corsair boat suddenly emerged out of the dark like a phantom. It began firing into the group, which scattered leaving screams floating in the night. Without any real hope of hitting anything, Stu returned fire. In was a waste of bullets, but he had to make them realize there was still fight left among the defenders.