GENERATION Z THE COMPLETE BOX SET: NOVELS 1-3

by Peter Meredith

  They didn’t have a week. Still, Jenn knew she’d go crazy if she sat around waiting on the inevitable. After a sigh, she said, “We all have work to do. We should get to it.” Stu grunted and went to oversee the work on their defenses. Mike gave her hand a squeeze—just about the only form of tenderness either of them had the time or energy to show to each other—and went back down to the dock.

  Jenn waited until they were gone before she stared all around for some sign to guide her. Her eyes only seemed to land on the black and silver flags of the Queen. In frustration, she crossed herself three times and turned her face to the heavens. “Please God help us and we’ll be good.”

  She had no idea if this was a proper prayer; it certainly didn’t feel like one, and yet God hadn’t answered any of her other, much longer prayers. She’d been sending out prayers as part of a multi-layered, quasi-religious approach that had her searching for signs in every cloud, throwing salt over her shoulders and bedecking herself in crosses, amulets, sachets and even a little golden Buddha, which she mistook for a god of happiness since he was always smiling.

  Nothing seemed to help the aura of foreboding that had filled the air around her for the last three days. That feeling had intensified the moment she had climbed out of bed an hour before.

  It remained with her as she made her way down to the clinic, where one of her patients was fighting pneumonia and losing. Claudia Stevens had taken too great of a beating and breathed in too much sea water during the battle to win back Alcatraz five days earlier.

  She hadn’t come to Jenn until the day before, when her fever had spiked and she could feel her heart’s pulse thud in her eyeballs. Without antibiotics, Jenn could only manage her fever, which was now so great that she was slipping in and out of consciousness. When she was conscious, she was frequently delirious.

  Aaron Altman hovered nearby; Jenn pulled him aside. “I’m gonna need some restraints and a bottle of alcohol.”

  “For Mr. Smalls?” he asked, leaning in close. “I don’t like the way his eyes are. There’s something wrong with him.”

  “Mr. Smalls?” She looked over the top of Aaron’s head at Dave Smalls. The man had run off with Manny Lopez a couple of days earlier. Well, paddled off was closer to the truth. They had slapped together a pair of rafts from floating piles of debris and made their escape in the dead of night. “When did he get back?”

  Aaron pulled her down so he could whisper in her ear. “A few hours ago. He came in all cold and pale, saying he just climbed out of the bay. He said Manny had gotten away, but his own raft had sunk beneath the Bridge. He said Manny wouldn’t come back for him and he had spent the last two days clinging to a buoy hiding from the zombies.”

  “Two days in the bay with this cold? No wonder he’s sick.” Smalls was flushed to the point of being crimson and his eyes were only squints against the light streaming in through the eastern windows.

  “You okay, Mr. Smalls?” Jenn asked, hurrying over.

  “Shhh, not so loud,” he hissed, grabbing his head.

  She put her hands out to calm him. “Sure. I can whisper. What’s wrong? Do you think you got the flu?”

  Unexpectedly he let out a bark of hyena laughter. “I-I wish! Damn my head! Just take it off. Cut it off.”

  As he was grabbing his head, Jenn saw there were scratches going up one arm. They didn’t look normal, but at the same time they reminded her of something.

  “Let’s see those scratches, Mr. Smalls. I have to check them out. Okay?” Reluctantly, he held an arm to her while at the same time burying his face in his pillow. Gently, she pulled up his sleeve to reveal three long, deep scratches. The flesh along the edges was already black and stunk badly. She would have to cut all of it away as quickly as possible.

  “This might hurt,” she told him as she took a scalpel and sliced quickly and neatly along one edge of the wound. Although her touch with the knife was getting better, she was surprised when he failed to cry out. He didn’t even twitch.

  Emboldened by his toughness, she cut further and still, not even a wince on his part.

  The only thing he said was, “It’s my head that hurts, Cindy. Ah, it hurts so bad. Cindy, are you listening? It’s my head that’s the problem, damn it.”

  Jenn looked up to see that his eyes were wider now. Wide enough to see that they were very dark.

  “I’d get away from him if I was you,” Claudia said, from the next bed. Where Dave Smalls was bone dry and baking like an oven, Claudia sweltered in her sheets as if she were sitting in some third world jungle. Beads of sweat clung to her forehead and formed tiny rivers in the wrinkles around her eyes. “He’s not one of us anymore.”

  “Not one of us? I don’t…” Jenn sucked in her breath as she realized where the scratches had come from. “O-Okay, Mr. Smalls, you can put your arm down. Aaron? Let’s forget the restraints. Go and get Stu. Quickly! And tell him we’re going to need a…” She formed her index finger and thumb in the shape of a gun.

  Lines of confusion wrinkled Aaron’s forehead for a moment before his body jerked—with zombies so enormous, succumbing to a scratch or a bite had become an exceedingly rare event. He backed away a few steps and then ran for the door.

  “Just lie still, Mr. Smalls,” Jenn said, never taking her eyes from him as she started evacuating the other three patients. Smalls seemed as though he could cross over at any second and when he did the patients would be sitting ducks.

  Thankfully Stu arrived just after she got Claudia into the hallway. Stu glanced inside and then swore, “Damn! Not Smalls, too.” He turned to stare at the crumbling, grey walls of the hall as he whispered, “How many of us are there really left?”

  “There’ll be less of us if you don’t do something,” Jenn said. He looked over his shoulder, an eyebrow cocked as if in question. “We don’t have a choice. He has to be put down now. It’s for the…” She bit back the hated words.

  Stu nodded and pulled a pistol from his coat. Jenn hurried away, at first not realizing that she was heading to the roof once again. It was only when she was standing in the cold, dismal morning where a fine mist formed a silken, silvery shimmer on her dark auburn hair that she became conscious of her surroundings.

  She stiffened at the muted sound of a gunshot and turned away, seeing for the first time that the southern bay was filled with black sails and black and silver flags.

  If there was ever a sign, she was staring at it. And it was not lost on her that she had seen the Queen’s deadly armada at the exact same time her ordered execution had been carried out. An icy dread spread through her. Death was coming, borne on a wintery wind. She wanted to run away as fast as she could, but to where? And how would she get there? The Captain Jack? Anyone foolish enough to try to take the boat out now would only ride her to the bottom of the ocean.

  Word spread of the approaching fleet and in minutes, the entire population of the island stood upon the prison’s roof, watching as the ships came on with aching slowness, fighting the wind. It was hours before the ships slipped noiselessly around the island, much like a noose around a condemned man’s neck.

  Although Jillybean had overwhelming force and could have attacked from every direction at once, only a single fifty-foot boat approached the dock. On it, the Queen with her wild, whipping hair and her flapping three-quarter length black coat, stood out. To Jenn, she looked ten-feet tall.

  It was well past mid-day before the Queen stepped off the boat. She was the first to come ashore, though not the last. Followed by a platoon of Corsair captains, she strode fearlessly up the hill to the front gates of the prison. Jenn came down, her people crowding around; close but not too close. They looked like they would stampede away in fear if the Queen so much as sneezed.

  The two young women stared hard into each other’s eyes. Jillybean’s were frosty, devoid of any feelings whatsoever. Jenn had seen her studiously regal before when needed, but this was something else. Jillybean looked empty, as if Eve wasn’t in there somewhere sparri
ng for control. As if Sadie was no longer around to makes jokes. As if a dozen voices weren’t gibbering in the background of her mind.

  Amazingly, Jillybean looked sane—cold, haughty, overbearingly contemptuous, but still sane.

  Jenn was her usual self and her eyes kept brimming with angry tears. “I was right about you,” Jenn said. “When you said you started this for the ‘greater good’ you meant your greater good.”

  “I agree,” Gerry the Greek said, scowling beneath his bushy dark brows. “Why didn’t you use them before? The torpedoes, I mean. They’re a game-changer. They’re freakin’ decisive. This whole war could have been won right off the bat if you had used them days ago. But you held back and I want to know why if it wasn’t to get us to kill each other.”

  The Queen gazed at him as if he was a particularly dull example of an earthworm. “Forgive me for being redundant, but a weapon is only decisive if it’s used decisively at a decisive time. History is replete with break-through weapons which have had their effectiveness squandered by a lack of timing. The tank, the machine gun, and poison gas were all disasters in their debuts.”

  “But torpedoes would have been unstoppable,” Mike insisted, coming to stand next to Jenn, defiantly jutting his chin.

  “If ignorance is bliss, you must spend your days in heaven,” the Queen drawled. “Any torpedo can be stopped with something as simple as netting, while my torpedoes are also particularly vulnerable to surface fire. Besides, what ships would we have fired them from? At the time of the battle, we had one boat and only a small handful of bombs. Had we used them, the Corsairs would’ve been checked, but not defeated.”

  She paused, pulling her eyes from Jenn’s to look through the crowd until she found Stu. It was only then that she jerked and her lips came open. It was almost as if she felt an emotion. It was only for a moment, then it was like a door slamming shut.

  “I’m not here to answer for my decisions,” she explained. “I’m here to accept your surrender, your apologies, and your oaths of loyalty.”

  Jenn had expected this and was prepared. Stu had taken down the white and gold flag that had once been Jillybean’s own flag. “We were never at war with you,” Jenn said. “You were only at war with us…and yourself.” This should have brought Eve out. Jillybean didn’t even blink.

  “Surrender, apologize, swear your oaths of loyalty. Right now these are the only things I want to hear from you.”

  “As Queen I surrender,” Jenn replied, stiffly. She paused to allow Stu to step forward and hand the flag to Jillybean. The two locked eyes and again there was a flicker of humanity in Jillybean’s face. It didn’t last.

  Stu handed the flag over, saying, “I have nothing to apologize for. The only one who should be apologizing is you. For my part, I would rather be banished than apologize.”

  Jenn, her shoulders back, her neck stiff, agreed, adding, “And we won’t kneel again. We knelt once only to be stabbed in the back. Banish us if you have to.” Next to her, Mike nodded, though his eyes flicked uncertainly around first.

  Save for a slight twitch, the Queen stood impassively, her lamp-like blue eyes fixed on Jenn. “Who says banishment is even an option? You will swear allegiance or I will have you strung up by the neck from the lighthouse and let your corpses dangle there until they rot away.”

  There wasn’t the least note of compassion in her eyes. She would kill all three of them without a single qualm.

  Chapter 37

  Jillybean/The other Jillybean

  The words rang in Jillybean’s mind with terrifying truthfulness. It wasn’t a bluff. The Queen would execute all three of them: her best friend, the man she loved, and the boy who had risked his own life to save hers.

  You can’t do this! Jillybean cried, rushing up to the Queen and staring into her own blue eyes. Banish them if you have to, or better yet, jail them until…Until I can figure out how to stop you—this really wasn’t the most persuasive argument and Jillybean bit back on it.

  Before Jillybean could think of anything better, the Queen began to address the others gathered behind Jenn. “I have accepted your surrender and will grant each of you a pardon in exchange for a renewed vow of loyalty.”

  Jillybean expected some hesitation, so was disappointed.

  Aaron Altman, his cheeks rosy from the cold, quickly broke from the defenders gathered behind Jenn. He dropped to one knee. “My staunchest defender,” the Queen said. “I will not forget this.”

  His mother, Miss Shay started forward next, but she was beaten by Donna Polston. “I voted for you to be queen,” she said, from her knee.

  “Ah, the pragmatist.” Donna was just reaching for the Queen’s hand, but at this her hand stopped. The Queen smirked, though not unkindly. “In perhaps the most bizarre way you will be a vital asset. While I have you with me, I will always know the will of the people because you were never a leader, you were only a reflection of the popular mood.”

  It was not a compliment as far as Jillybean read it, however, Donna took it as such and hurried to stand with Aaron Altman. Then it was Miss Shay’s turn. She received neither a smile nor a smirk; she was given only a nod of acceptance by the Queen.

  Most everyone else received some sort of cordial acknowledgment. Gerry the Greek was asked about his wound. Rebecca Haigh’s courage was praised as “Exemplary.” William Trafny was described as the Queen’s “old friend.”

  The words were all kind and yet the Queen spoke them as if they were part of a ceremony and not her true feelings. Jillybean guessed that she was incapable of actual feelings.

  Last to come stand with the Queen was Colleen White. She came reluctantly after begging Mike to kneel with her. She even tried to drag him over to the Queen.

  “I believe he has made his choice, Colleen,” the Queen said, shaking her head, sadly. “I wish there could be another way.”

  “There is another choice,” Jenn said. “I think we may consider apologizing if you apologize first.” A number of the Corsairs snorted laughter, while the Queen only stared stonily. “She owes us all an apology.”

  This was almost the worst thing she could have said. The Queen’s eyes were narrowed to slits and her jaw was tight as she said, “Because of our friendship I am giving you this warning. You are on dangerous ground. Apologize now. Death is your only other option.”

  Please listen to her! Jillybean implored, rushing to Jenn. She’s not lying. Unfortunately, the Queen had set a precedent that would be impossible to break. The Corsairs had all been faced with this very same ultimatum and if the Queen showed any weakness whatsoever, the oaths of loyalty that held her army together would crumble.

  There was no way the Queen would let that happen.

  “I will not apologize for doing the right thing,” Stu declared.

  “Neither will I,” Mike said. “I’m not even sure it would be a true apology since I’m not sorry.”

  Jenn stuck her hands on her hips. “I agree with them. And I know the real Jillybean would not kill us. Not for this. Show me the real Jillybean and then I will apologize.”

  “You are looking at her,” the Queen said. “This is the real me. I have exorcized my demons. There is no one else in here but me.”

  Jillybean was proof of the exorcism. Somehow, she’d been kicked out of her own body. Everyone else had as well. As far as she could tell, Eve was gone, as was Ipes, Sadie, Chris, and her father. Even the army of black, shadow-creatures that claimed to be her many thousands of victims was gone.

  This soulless version of her was, in a way, even worse than Eve. Eve had a fiery evil about her that was at least rooted in emotion. The Queen was so cold that Jillybean feared executions would become the norm. There’d be no screaming, no fierce anger, just cold injustice, all in the name of the greater good—for her greater good.

  Jillybean had already caught a glimpse of this frightening future when the Queen had burned Kimberley Weatherly alive, and when she had stabbed Gloom, and hung the leader of the Corsairs defen
ding Horseshoe Bay. The killings had been carried out without a single moral twitch and that same complete apathy was on display right then as Jenn stated, forcefully, “I will not apologize.”

  The Queen turned her now reptilian eyes on Mike and Stu, who both shook their heads. “That’s unfortunate. You leave me no choice…”

  No! Don’t do it! Jillybean screamed at the top of her lungs, causing a small line of frustration to crease the Queen’s forehead. I know you can hear me. Let them live! Banish them! Jillybean paused, waiting to see if the Queen would listen to her.

  “Kill them,” the Queen said to Leney. “Hang them from the lighthouse.”

  A long stretch of silence greeted the edict. The wind died to nothing and the gulls ceased their tireless screeching. It almost seemed as though all of nature was stunned. Jenn’s mouth fell open, but no sound came out, while Stu’s glare became steel. Mike looked as though he were choking on his own tongue. He began to gag as he stepped forward and fell on his knees in front of the Queen.

  Groveling, he begged, “I-I apologize. I’m s-sorry for everything I’ve done and I swear my undying loyalty, just don’t hurt Jenn, please. Okay? I’ll captain your ships. I’ll clean your toilets, I’ll do anything, just don’t hurt her, please. Please.”

  “I’m sorry,” the Queen answered, still without a hint of emotion beyond the little line Jillybean had caused, “but you three had your chance and you threw it in my face. I have made my decision.” She pulled the hem of her black coat from his weak hands and turned to Leney. “Fetch me three lengths of rope.”

  “You…aren’t…kidding,” Jenn finally said, breathing in huge gusts, looking as though she were gulping in gallons of air at a time. “You…you’re really…going to do this?”

  She really was. Jillybean knew it. The Queen opened her mouth to answer, but before she could, Jillybean screamed. It wasn’t a normal scream, one limited by lung capacity. She was a ghost; she didn’t have lungs and thus wasn’t limited at all. The scream came from the deepest part of her. It built and built, growing ever louder, ever stronger as she channeled her raw emotions. There weren’t words or even meaning to the scream. There was only a powerful mixture of hate, anger, sorrow, frustration and love.