GENERATION Z THE COMPLETE BOX SET: NOVELS 1-3

by Peter Meredith

  By then she had made it to the northern part of the island, and at the very tip was the last of the crappy little houses that were crammed one on top of the other. In front of each were little squares of weeds that had once been front yards, while in back, the yards were so small that Eve could cross them in two strides. She couldn’t understand the purpose of them. Had the ownership of grass, even tiny plots such as these, been some sort of status symbol back in the old days?

  If so, it gave her even more reason to hate people.

  One of the houses that faced the bay glowed even without the need for the thermal scope. Some idiot had a fire going inside and because they were using blankets instead of proper black-out curtains, a blurry light pushed its way through. To further demonstrate how stupid they were, people would occasionally pull the curtains aside and glance out. This would send beams of light shooting into the night that could be seen for miles.

  Surrounding the one bright house were three others. These were dark but not empty; they each held nervous and overly chatty guards. Their frightened whispers carried—more stupidity. She hated stupid people with a passion. In her mind, they deserved to die. Before she knew it, she had her M4 at her shoulder and the sights centered on one of the panicked guards. She could kill him easily and she found herself growing hungry at the idea.

  “But is that the smartest move?”

  Eve froze. The voice had come from behind her.

  “They’re fish in a barrel,” she answered, slowly cocking her head to the side and catching a glimpse of a dark figure leaning against a tree only a few feet away. “There’s no reason to over-think this. Besides, what’s it to you?”

  “I just don’t want you to make the same mistake I did. I misjudged Jillybean, just like you are. Have you considered the fact that She wants you to kill all those people?”

  Eve lowered the gun, feeling confused. “I’m the one who wants to kill those people. They’re idiots.” The man smiled and bobbed his head in a way that was very familiar. “Do I know you?”

  The disarming smile widened and the feeling of familiarity became maddening. He was a slightly built man of average height. His words and mannerisms were soft and his face was somewhat nondescript in a vanilla sort of way, and yet he exuded a strangely subtle evil.

  It was subtle and mostly hidden, as if he was letting a little of his savagery show, but could, at any time, dial it up to terrible levels. She could see his evil in his fake smile. She was sure he would wear that same smile as he carved a person into pieces as they lay tied to a tree.

  It made even her shudder. It made her curious. It made her angry. Eve, who was always on the edge of violent madness, was tempted to shoot him if he didn’t tell her who he was right away.

  “You know me, Eve. Without me, where would you be?”

  The shudder wracked her again. “Ernie?”

  “Ernest,” he corrected.

  Without a doubt, Ernest Smith had been the most dangerous man Jillybean had ever faced. He had been sly as a fox, able to hide a serial killer’s mind from everyone, including her. Wearing a pleasant mask, he had gotten close to Jillybean, charmed her, toyed with her, became almost a second father to her, and then had destroyed her.

  Eve was only alive because of him.

  “But you are dead. We killed you.” She would always remember that moment on the bridge: Ernest flinging Jillybean’s stupid stuffed zebra into the river with one hand while reaching for his gun with the other. That was the very second Eve had come alive, emerging whole and complete from Jillybean’s mind.

  Jillybean would have died right there on that bridge without Eve. It was she who saw through the illusion, the sleight of Ernest’s hand. It was she who shot ol’ Ernie down when Jillybean hesitated.

  She had stood over him “I bet you didn’t see that coming,” she had said to him. He had grunted and coughed up blood, while his face turned red. She remembered thinking that it was utterly fascinating the way his throat worked up and down as he struggled to find his last breath.

  “But I didn’t die,” he told her. “That’s the problem with ‘leaving’ someone to die. Sometimes they just don’t.”

  Eve raised her M4. “Then it makes sense for me to kill you now and finish the job.” He didn’t flinch. He didn’t even bat an eye. No sane person could have stood there so unflinching in the face of Eve’s hate, which meant that he was either insane or not a person at all. “That’s what I thought, shade. Go on and peddle your lies somewhere else. You aren’t fooling me. I know a dead man when I see one, especially a dead man that I killed. Now, Ernie, or as I like to think of you, Victim Number 1, what do you want?”

  “I want to keep you from making a big mistake.” He wasn’t real but as he came closer, his features solidified with each step until he was fully formed, standing an inch from her gun. “Jillybean will ruin you. No, not ruin you, she’ll destroy you. She’s going to go back to Bainbridge and do you know what she has there?”

  “Her pills.”

  Ernest smiled that terribly pleasant smile of his. “Yes. That’s right. Her pills, the ones that will banish you forever.”

  “They’re not that good,” Eve replied, quickly, sounding as if she were trying to convince herself. “They’re too old.”

  “Not that old. And you know she’s working on creating new ones. Either way she’ll send you packing because she blames you for everything. She blames you, because she would have gotten away with her crimes if it hadn’t been for you.”

  Eve realized something then. “That makes me the good guy. Like a sheriff or something. Ha! I didn’t see that coming.”

  “You’re not going to be sheriff for long. She is not going to stand for that. She’s going to make new pills, stronger pills, pills that will suck you under forever. She’s going to ruin everything. Is that what you want?”

  “No,” Eve answered. “I’ll kill her first before she could ever do that to me.”

  Ernest’s smile became even colder. “Good. I was hoping you’d say that.”

  Chapter 16

  Eve

  Her glowing rage at Jillybean dropped to a simmer as her eyes narrowed at Ernest. “Good?” she demanded. The tip of her M4 had slipped to point indifferently at his knees. She brought it back up again. “Good? What do you know about anything being ‘good?’ Huh? You were a slaver. The worst sort.”

  She had the gun up, pointing into his stomach, pushing in his fleece coat. With one gentle finger, he moved the barrel aside. “I wasn’t the worst. I was the best. You remember, don’t you?”

  Eve was suddenly inundated with a rush of memories; Jillybean’s memories. She saw a soft, innocent-appearing Ernest Smith sitting in the back of a crowded room, raising a delicate hand. Although he was a stranger, he’d been able to fool a group of frightened refugees into taking him in.

  “A wolf in sheep’s clothing,” Eve whispered, seeing tiny, six-year-old Jillybean laughing with Ernest, talking with him, drinking in his lies. She was a desperate little girl looking for love and Ernest could fake love better than anyone. He had set his bait and reeled her in so easily. He could have killed her at any time, but he wasn’t satisfied with taking just her, no, he wanted all of them.

  Just like so many others, in the end, he had underestimated Jillybean and she had seen through his facade. He had then compounded his mistake by thinking she lacked the will to survive.

  “How was I supposed to know what she was?” Ernest asked. “There was no way you could tell just by looking at her.”

  “What she was?”

  He had shoved both hands down deep into his pockets and when he shrugged it looked as though he was squeezing himself. “She’s a queen.” Eve began to swell in anger. Ernest pulled his hands out of his pockets and held them up to her. “You’re both queens, or at least you could be if you don’t throw it all away. Remember the mistake I mentioned? You’re about to make it.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “How?” she asked, warily, afraid she was being
set up somehow.

  “With them.” He jerked his thumb to where the last of the Corsairs on the island were holed up. “What was your plan?”

  “I was going to kill them, duh.” Killing them would be easy. With the three smoke bombs in her satchel, it would be nothing to replicate what Jillybean had done on the causeway. She could picture herself wading in through the smoke and hunting them down one by one like some sort of demon out of a nightmare.

  Ernest snorted. “That’s it? That’s your whole plan? All you want is to just replicate her? Have you considered doing your own thing and being your own queen?”

  “Yeah, sure I have. I want to be more than queen of this crappy little bay, I want to be queen of the world. Like an empress or something.”

  He whistled in mock astonishment. “And you think you’ll become empress by killing these jackals? Have you considered getting these jackals to do your bidding? You know? To get them on your side?”

  This seemed like a familiar thought. Had she thought it before or had Jillybean? If it had been Jillybean, then the answer was a firm no.

  Ernest seemed to read her mind. “It was your idea to be queen in the first place. Remember Tony Tibbs and the warehouse? She stole your idea and corrupted it. She would be queen of a bunch of weaklings who have only grown weaker. What you need is an influx of men; men who are willing to get down and dirty. Men who will obey your every command. Men who will kill for you.”

  “How?” she demanded, eagerly.

  “By being smart.”

  It wasn’t an answer she was in love with, Jillybean was the smart one. Again Ernest was all over her thoughts. “That’s what I’m here for. I can help you take Jillybean’s intelligence, a little at a time. Take these Corsairs for instance. How would she bend them to her will?”

  Her answer was a slow, “Uhhhh.”

  “First, we put ourselves in their shoes. What do they want? Why did they run to the very tip of the island and trap themselves? Because they are afraid.”

  “I knew that.” And she did know that. Where had that knowledge come from? Jillybean? She hated to think so, but it had to have come from somewhere. “So, what do we do? Back off?”

  His innocent smile turned dark. “No. Jillybean made an ally out of darkness. You will add to that by making a servant out of fear. We need them to be just on the verge of panic, then we dangle a little hope in front of their eyes.”

  Eve thought she understood. Lifting her gun, she surveyed the six guards poking their heads up from behind fences and around the sides of drapes. In the thermal scope, they burned white; their fear was obvious. It made her happy.

  Taking her wonky bullets into account, she aimed close to one of the men peeking out of a darkened bedroom window and fired, blasting a hole in the glass inches to the left of his ear.

  All the guards ducked down and began whispering to each other. They knew the shot had come from somewhere close by, but none knew from where. “I could have killed you,” she yelled to the man. “I could have killed you easily and I still can. That aluminum siding won’t stop a bullet. Do you believe me or do you want a demonstration?”

  “No! Don’t, please. I believe you. Okay? Just don’t shoot.”

  “You see?” Ernest said. “All we have to do…”

  As he was yammering on, she slipped around to the other side of the house and saw one of the guards rush from one of the dark houses and crouch next to an old car sitting cockeyed in the street on four flats. She fired at him, punching a small hole in the trunk beside his head. The man yelped and cringed.

  Ernest rushed around the corner. “Maybe you should slow down. You need to access each…”

  “You’re still here? If you stay, you need to zip it.” She pulled an invisible zipper across her lips and then turned back to the man she had shot at. “I could have killed you as well,” she hissed to him. “I can still kill you. I see you perfectly. You have a vest on and what is that on your belt buckle? Is that a skull?”

  He looked down at the skull on his belt, made a squawking noise and then flung himself back in a strange attempt at turning a summersault which became a mangled roll as he thumped heavily against the car. With another jerk, he began rolling spastically until he smashed into the fence next to the house he’d been in.

  Eve snorted laughter and grinned at Ernest who smiled without much amusement. She rolled her eyes at him. “I guess your sense of humor died with the rest of you. Man, that was gold. You looked like an idiot, dude! You should have seen yourself. Now, stand up and put your hands in the air. Leave the gun. Leave it!”

  “You’re being shrill,” Ernest murmured. “A queen should be composed at all times. When you aren’t, you let everyone see the real you. How do you think I was able to fool so many people? By letting it all hang out like you’re doing? Not hardly.”

  “What’s wrong with the real me?” Eve demanded. “Maybe I don’t want to be exactly like Jillybean.”

  Before Ernest could answer, one of the other Corsairs hissed, “Don’t do it, Martin! She’s just gonna shoot you.”

  Oh, she really did want to shoot him. His name was Martin and she hated that name with a passion. Her finger was bearing down on the trigger and at this range, she couldn’t miss. She had him dialed in, while her quick mind calculated the amount of sideways drift one of the funky bullets would travel in twenty yards.

  “I could shoot you anytime I want, Martin,” she said, sneering out his name. “I have two-hundred rounds and a thermal scope. I could kill all of you. Should I start with you?” He shook his head. “Then get up and move to the middle of the road.”

  Slowly, he stood and did as he was told. Ernest watched him, his hands stuffed down into his pockets again. He looked a lot like a man waiting for a bus. “And that’s on purpose,” he told her. “I worked on this look. I needed to set everyone at ease so they wouldn’t be afraid of me. You have to do something much more difficult. You have to become a queen.”

  “I am a queen. I made myself queen and that was without you and your stupid…”

  “Now what?” It was Martin, standing in the street, his hands barely at shoulder height. He looked and sounded just a hair too insolent and Eve’s fury began to boil over. Ernest tut-tutted her; a warning to hold her anger in check.

  She ground her teeth and growled. “Stand there and keep quiet, and pray I don’t shoot your nads off. Now, it’s your turn, baldy.” The next man over had been crouching behind a low fence; he touched his glistening dome perhaps to check to see if he’d grown a new pelt in the last few minutes and whether Eve was talking to someone else.

  Slowly, he came to stand next to Martin. Eve shifted back around the house and yelled to the man she’d originally shot at. “Alright, it’s your turn. Let’s go.” His glow was dim; he was hiding behind something. He must have thought he was safe because he refused to come out.

  “That’s good,” she said in that silky, dangerous way of hers. She was almost purring. “I usually need to make an example out of someone. You would think that after what I did to Gaida, I wouldn’t have to, but you Corsairs are well known for your high degree of stupidity.”

  “Wait,” Martin asked, squinting across the road. “That was you in that little boat? That was you who blowed up the Sea King?”

  Actually, it had been crappy old Jillybean which was something these morons didn’t need to know. “Oh yeah, that was me. What a monster explosion, am I right? I thought my head was gonna crack wide open.”

  “You’re giving away too much information,” Ernest warned. “Remember, remain composed. If you show too much, they will nitpick and tear at you. If you give them nothing, then they have nothing to use against you.”

  “So what do you want me to be?” Eve demanded. “A freakin mannequin? Or a…now I get it. You want me to be a puppet? That’s it, isn’t it? You want me to be a puppet and you want to pull the strings. Well, you can shove that idea up your…”

  Right then, Martin interrupted, “Who ar
e you?”

  Eve’s fury mounted and she swung her gun over to point at Martin. Ernest again made that tut-tut sound and she had to fight to keep from blasting him and Martin, and all the guards and everyone in the house. She had to fight the desire to turn into the embodiment of hate and rage and revenge. She shook from the effort to remain even slightly in control.

  “The real question is who are you?” she asked through gritted teeth. “Are you anyone? I’ve come for your surrender and if you’re not the one in charge, stop asking stupid questions and go get whoever’s in charge.”

  “Why didn’t you just say that in the first place?”

  Her control slipped and she shot him just north of his belt buckle. It felt good. She experienced something oddly orgasmic as she watched him fall on his ass and begin blubbering and whining. Ernest rolled his eyes. With great satisfaction, she fired twice more, aiming for those dull, ordinary, condescending eyes of his. He might have been some sort of ghost, but he looked real enough as she made a bloody hamburger-like mess out of his face and he too, collapsed.

  “Does anyone else want to question me?” she demanded, a perfect orgy of hate and danger dancing in her eyes. “Huh? Anyone?” No one said a word, except for Martin who continued to blubber, in a manner that she found both annoying as well as highly satisfying. She let him go on. “Baldy!”

  His hands had been raised high; now they crimped inwards, close to his face. “Please, don’t shoot me.”

  “I won’t shoot you. Not yet, at least. Run and get your old leader. He had better come back unarmed and ready to kiss my ass. If not, then I don’t have any need for you or him or any of you. Then I will shoot you, baldy. I’ll shoot you just like I shot poor widdle Martin. Does it hurt, Martin? Yeah? Good. That’s very good.”

  The bald Corsair began backing away with his hands still up around his face. He tripped over the curb and fell without moving his hands. It was worth another snort. “Don’t tell me, Ernie, queens don’t snort? What’s that, Ernie? I can’t hear you. Oh, does the cat have your tongue? And who’s got your teeth?”