GENERATION Z THE COMPLETE BOX SET: NOVELS 1-3

by Peter Meredith

  “Oh, don’t be silly. Your threats are as bad as Stu’s. At least Colleen had the brains to try to conceal her intentions. Both you and Stu threaten me to my face and then expect me to sit back and allow it.”

  “If you hurt one hair on her head,” Mike said, in a barely audible whisper.

  He took a long, whistling breath, in preparation to extend his remarks, but Jillybean put a gentle finger to his lips, stopping him. “Yes, I’m sure you’ll do something truly awful to me, and you can rest easily knowing that I’m shaking in my boots. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have more patients to attend to.”

  She had more than just patients to worry about. A proper defense of the two islands had to be arranged, the Floating Fortress had to be hauled back into its previous position and anchored in place, and new flags had to be sewn.

  “Flags?” Jenn asked.

  “Yes, big ones. I’m thinking something simple that can be put together in a few hours’ time. Maybe a gold crown on a white background? It can’t be too involved if they’ll be flying by this afternoon.”

  Jenn said the word: Flags again as if it was a foreign word that sounded strange. Stu scoffed, “At least your ego is good for one thing, it makes it so much easier to get over you.”

  Although he was trying to be hurtful, he had the opposite effect. She was hungry for any attention from him, good or bad. “Put aside that you still love me,” she said. “The flag is a symbol, and no, it’s not a symbol of my unchecked ego. To our enemies, it will be a symbol of how badly they have been losing. Picture the flag flying over Yerba Buena, Treasure Island, the Floating Fortress and three of their ships. What will they think?”

  “That we’re unbeatable?” Jenn answered, her brow furrowing. “And that we’re far from giving up.”

  “Yes.” Jillybean snapped her fingers and pointed at her. “It’ll also be the same for our own side. It’ll give them something to rally around. It’ll give them hope and strength. Jenn, do not underestimate the power of symbolism, especially when it’s backed up with determination and valor.”

  Her brow was still lined. “And won’t the flags also cement in everyone’s head your position as queen?”

  “What? I never thought about that,” Jillybean answered, tipping Jenn a wink. “I suppose it’s a chance we’ll have to take. Maybe you and I should take a quick walk so you can see what’s really going on.” For Jillybean the flags were also a symbol that she would never give up either. She needed Jenn to back down. Even though Jillybean figured she could weather a storm, it would create unnecessary talk and perhaps divisions as well.

  They met Colleen as they were leaving. She was carrying a big bowl of soup. Watching her carefully, Jillybean took a mouthful. Judging by Colleen’s lack of response, she decided that it was just soup without any extras. Because she was pressed for time, as always, or so it felt, Jillybean gulped down the soup, asked Colleen to get more for the wounded and escorted Jenn outside, where they couldn’t walk twenty feet without someone coming up to Jillybean, wearing a beaming smile and bowing.

  Quite a number complimented her using either miracle or miraculous to describe the fact that they were still alive.

  “I wonder what you think you will get out of your accusations,” she asked Jenn. “The past will remain unchanged. It’s only the present and the future that you can harm. It might even be irreparable harm. It might undo everything that your friends and family sacrificed their lives for.”

  “I think you mean it might harm what they were sacrificed for,” Jenn shot back. Jillybean said nothing to this and Jenn sighed. “Here’s what I’ll get: everyone will know the real you. They’ll know you can’t be trusted. They’ll know that maybe right now you are planning on using them for your next plot. That you’ll throw their lives around like they are nothing to you, because they are nothing to you. You’ve already proven that. You made yourself queen and you seem to think that you’re better than everyone else. And maybe you are, but it doesn’t really change anything. I still can’t trust you ever again.”

  The two young women stared at each other as the gulls screeched overhead. This time it was Jillybean who couldn’t stand the cold look in Jenn’s eyes. “That was painfully succinct. Whether you believe me or not, I don’t plan on taking over the world. I just wanted to make our little part of it safer.”

  “Safer? Am I talking to Eve? Because I thought she was the crazy one. She’s the one who thinks up is down and black is white. You know better. You…” Without warning, Jenn pressed her lips together and stomped away, her head shaking back and forth, her hands bunched in small fists. She went only as far as the next building, where she stopped and stared up at the sky. Jillybean knew the look on her face; she was searching for a sign.

  She must have found one, because she hurried back, stopping with an old car between them.

  “You know what? I’m the one who should know better. It just feels like you’re spinning more lies and I’m falling for them again, like an idiot. So, here’s what’s going to happen, you have one day. After that I will tell everyone and we’ll let the chips fall where they will.”

  Chapter 20

  Jenn Lockhart

  By all appearances, Jillybean seemed to take Jenn’s threat to heart. With her usual energy, she rushed around the island, personally overseeing the preparation of the defenses, the towing of the barge, the sewing of the flags, the building of larger smoke bombs and the removal of the many hundreds of corpses that were lying around everywhere.

  During all this frantic activity, Jillybean remained perfectly poised and, in fact, seemed to swell in size and beauty. Somber, grey clouds moved in on a cold wind and while Jenn huddled in an over-sized coat, Jillybean seemed robust and in the height of health. Her cheeks were a sublime shade of pink and her eyes a glorious blue. Even her hair came alive in the wind, flowing and rippling.

  She was a peacock and Jenn the sparrow.

  It was just one more reason why Jenn didn’t want to be anywhere near her. And yet, Jenn remained at her side. She didn’t trust Jillybean, afraid she had a dozen tricks up her sleeve. “Shouldn’t you at least pack a bag?” Jenn asked. “Just in case?”

  Not only had she not made any provisions for leaving, she was still encouraging the bowing and kneeling, and the general fawning. Jenn knew she was trying to cement her place as queen. She also knew it wouldn’t do her any good. Donna Polston had once told them that people needed to “blame” someone for all their problems, and when they found out the truth, they would have a field day with Jillybean.

  After a lunch of dried cod and barbecued venison, Jillybean finally confronted Jenn. “We’re too short-handed for you to do nothing but trail along after me. I need someone with experience to plan tonight’s attack on Alcatraz.”

  “Me?”

  “I figured you would think bad things if I did it. Besides, a military victory will be good for you. It’ll help you get respect. You do plan on taking over once you, uh, you know.”

  Jenn didn’t really want to be queen. She had accepted the position the evening before simply because they needed someone to step up right away. In six short hours as queen, she hadn’t made a single good decision and if Jillybean hadn’t shown up when she had, her people would have scattered to the winds and would have been easy pickings for the Corsairs.

  She felt Stu would make a better king. His one problem was the difficult to overlook fact that he’d been suicidal since they’d all found out about Jillybean’s duplicity. Having failed to die in battle, he’d spent part of the night sabotaging his own IVs. He wouldn’t admit it, but there was no other explanation as to why he’d had so many issues with his thick, pipe-like veins.

  If not Stu, then she thought Mike was a good second option, except he couldn’t talk above a ghost of a whisper. There was no telling how long he’d be like that and they needed someone to step up, decisively. Besides, he would insist that Jenn should be queen.

  After that the choices went downhill quickly.
Donna Polston had aged dramatically since being shot. Jenn had seen her twice that morning and both times she’d been lethargic and careworn. It was no wonder since Jenn had been forced to take care of her rather significant wound without any guidance. Jillybean had declared her work “adequate” though she had used the word somewhat reluctantly.

  Gerry the Greek was out of the question. After he had failed to retreat to Yerba Buena with almost everyone else there had been rumors questioning his courage. Gerry had never shown any failings in that area before and Jenn didn’t believe it for a second, but until the rumors were cleared up, no one would follow him.

  Who did that leave? “I don’t know,” she said, thinking on the fly, “Maybe Rebecca Haigh? She’s really stepped up in the last couple of days.”

  “We don’t know anything about her,” Jillybean replied. “What if it comes out later that she was a ‘Sacramento Girl?’ How do you think that will go over?” A “Sacramento Girl” was a euphemism for prostitute.

  “It might not be a deal breaker. People can change.”

  “Except for me, of course,” Jillybean shot back. Jenn made no answer to this; she only stared steadily at her until Jillybean said, “Okay, Rebecca it is. I’ll have her plan the attack. Who knows, this might turn out for the best. Maybe when Rebecca is queen she’ll listen to reason and not banish me. Excellent idea, Jenn.”

  She patted Jenn’s shoulder and started to turn away. Jenn grabbed her. “Forget it. I’ll be queen.”

  “Then you’ll plan the attack?”

  Jenn froze, not knowing what to say. The truth was that she didn’t know much about fighting in general and of the twin pillars of war: tactics and strategy, she knew next to nothing and assumed they were really variations of the same word, somewhat like jog and trot.

  And Jillybean knew this—so was this a trick? Did she want Jenn to fail in her first battle? It would be a huge embarrassment, and instead of giving Jenn any credibility, it would completely undermine her.

  She wasn’t going to fall for the trap and with an arched eyebrow and a smug tone, she said, “No, I don’t think I want to plan an attack, thank you. I’m sure there’s something else I can do.”

  “Sure, you can be in charge of getting the Floating Fortress hauled back into position.”

  The cool way Jillybean said this, as if she had known all along that Jenn would find a way to slip from her trap, made Jenn think that this was probably a trap as well. What did she know about sailing? Very little. And what did she know about the strange underwater parachutes that Jillybean had rigged to help steer the immense barge? Even less. And how likely was it that Jenn would mess up and cause the barge to drift out of control, where it would end up either sinking or running up on some rocks? Very likely.

  “No, not that either,” Jenn said, feeling very proud of herself.

  “Okaaay. I have the sewing circle already set up for the flags and I have Nathan in charge of gathering supplies for the smoke bombs. Could you take charge of moving the bodies? You can use the prisoners as labor.”

  Jenn tried to see where Jillybean would “get her” with this one and when she couldn’t see what angle she was playing, Jenn said, “Yeah, sure. I think I can handle that.” She spoke slowly and warily, watching Jillybean closely, looking for any signs that she had accidentally sprung the real and true trap.

  “Good. You’ll need an armed guard for every two prisoners, and feel free to use some of the kids to find strays. We don’t want to miss any because moving a week-old body is a hundred times worse than moving a fresh one. Have it done before sunset.”

  Feeling as though she’d dodged a bullet, Jenn went at the task with a will—a will that was quickly tested. It was a horrible, exhausting, thankless job that seemed to go on and on. She was at it long after the new flags were flying, and she had hours to go after the Floating Fortress had been pulled back into position and chained in place.

  Even Nathan completed his task of going to the mainland for supplies before her and, judging by his refreshed appearance as well as that of his seven-person crew, they’d had a rather easy time of it and obviously spent a good deal of the afternoon napping.

  Jenn got no rest from the plodding work, or the endless complaining. It was an ordeal for all of them, including the prisoners, to constantly uncover the mangled, bullet-ridden bodies of friends and loved ones. And then to have to haul them away to the northern part of Treasure Island and dump them in the bay like so much garbage was too much for some people.

  Some of the guards simply disappeared, choosing to hide or join a different task force. Manny Lopez got so drunk that he passed out and was mistaken for just another body which came as a surprise to the two Corsairs who threw him in the bay along with the other hundreds of corpses. They both screamed like five-year-old kids when Manny came spluttering out of the water.

  “Zombie! Shoot him! Shoot him!” they cried to their guard. The guard, Kelly Cross had been an actual Sacramento Girl who’d only fired a gun a few dozen times during the entire apocalypse. Luckily for Manny, she had the gun on safe when she pointed it at him and pulled the trigger.

  Manny was a false alarm as a zombie, however two others were not. Somewhere in all the fighting, the two were both wounded and had become infected by the zombie disease. Now the pair were stunted, shambling, undead creatures. Compared to the older, far larger zombies, they were weak and slow.

  In a strange way they were almost quaint and they were viewed with a feeling of nostalgia by everyone, including Jenn who couldn’t bring herself to order them killed right away. The bigger of the two was held back by Dustin Heilman. The ex-Corsair easily kept the thing at bay using only a rake he kept planted firmly on the thing’s mutilated chest.

  The other was missing most of both feet and was little danger to anyone. They were a two-hour wonder and were visited by everyone on both islands, including the Queen who stared at them for an oddly long time, sighed out a great sad breath and said, “Kill them.”

  “I know him,” Dustin retorted, sharply.

  His insolence raised eyebrows, including hers. “Then all the more reason to kill him and kill him quickly.”

  Dustin glared at her. “Just kill him? What about your promises? You said we were your people, too, but you treat us like slaves.” Her eyes flashed so dangerously that Dustin’s glare slipped as he dropped his chin, adding, “Your Highness.”

  She mumbled something under her breath and then, as if in answer to the mumble, she said, “He doesn’t know what being a slave is really like. I think his perspective is slightly askew. We could fix it easily enough.” She looked up at Dustin. “Is that what you want? If you wish, I can treat you just like the Corsairs treat their slaves. Would you like that? For example, I can have you whipped within an inch of your life just because of that nasty tone of yours. Would you like that? Would you like to feel firsthand what a real slave goes through? We’ll call it your re-education. What do you think?”

  Dustin’s was now the color of chalk. “No ma’am. But, can I say we’re not all like that?”

  “So, you’re a good Corsair.” She laughed joyfully, maliciously, her madness slipping right to the edge. “Are all the rest of you good Corsairs, too? Did we just happen to get the only twenty-eight good Corsairs out of the whole bunch?” None of them would meet her gaze, however a few nodded with tiny motions.

  Jenn saw that Jillybean’s eyes were dark and her smile was all teeth and looked like the smile of a shark. Eve was on the verge of showing herself and when she did, Jenn was fairly certain that the wrong word would lead to public whippings and possibly executions. After that, there was a good chance things would snowball into an avalanche until Jenn would be asked to step in. It would make everything so much easier.

  “They’re lying,” Jenn whispered to Jillybean. “There are no good Corsairs. There’s only two types of Corsairs: evil Corsairs and dead Corsairs, or in their case, the soon-to-be dead Corsairs. Ask them which they are.”

 
“Well?” Jillybean demanded, coming to stand right in Dustin’s bearded face. She was on the verge. The stress of ruling, the coming attack, the break-up with Stu had her head spinning. “Which is it?” She was loud, and now even her own people began to back away. All except for Jenn, who had been fighting to keep Eve locked away for weeks. It was surprising how easy it was to let her out.

  Dustin was doomed. He couldn’t answer one way or another, and an apology would only be an admission of guilt in Eve’s eyes.

  Jenn felt a sharp pain of guilt deep within her, but she didn’t say or do anything to stop what was coming. It’s for the greater good. The hated words echoed in her head. “There is a scale,” she murmured to herself. Her evil was small potatoes compared to Jillybean’s. And was this even evil? She was showing everyone what Jillybean was really like, and in the process probably saving them all—at one man’s expense. For the greater good.

  The hated echo was still ringing in her head when Dustin saved himself. With a quick move, he bashed in the brains of the still struggling zombie and then went down on both knees and hung his head. “We’re not Corsairs anymore. We’re the Queen’s men.” The other Corsairs were quick to see this as a winning strategy and knelt alongside of him.

  This was so surprising that the fire in Jillybean’s eyes was immediately doused. She blinked a few times before stepping forward, offering her hand to Dustin. He kissed it softly, quickly, without looking up.

  “I would ask that you pledge your sacred honor to me, but as an ex-Corsair it remains to be seen if you have any. I shall give each of you a chance to prove that you are indeed Queen’s men. Tonight, we attack Alcatraz and I’m in need of experienced sailors.”

  This jolted more than one of them to glance up, with wicked, eager gleams in their eyes. Here was their chance to escape being offered on a silver platter. Battles were always chaotic and night battles were the worst. Anything could happen. When the bullets were flying thick as rain, it was impossible to know who was firing at whom, and then there was the fickleness of the wind, on which so much depended.