Zombie Ocean (Book 2): The Lost

by Michael John Grist

  The RV was waiting for her outside. Somewhere two thousand miles away, Amo and Cerulean and Ravi and all the others would be waiting too.

  She couldn't wait to see them. Others were going to come. In that moment she knew it with certainty. The cairns were out there and the rules had shifted. She'd go join Ravi and they'd have children, and their children would marry children from Russia or China or France, and so on and so on until the world was full again, and all these old grave sites would come back into use as cities and parks and homes for their children to grow up in.

  They were going to be all right.

  25. CERULEAN

  She came upon the Chinese Theater slowly.

  Passing through the west had felt like waking from a long dream; four slogging days of endless straight roads stretching across the desert. The figure on the UFO in Las Vegas made her smile. She augmented every cairn to date with fresh SEEDS.

  Then she was there, in Los Angeles and rolling down the streets most familiar to her. Before hitting Hollywood Boulevard she stopped off at Venice beach. It was silent and still but for the waves lapping on the shore.

  The past was a closed chapter. Looking out over the steady ebb and flow of tides, she could almost imagine each gray-white breaker was a single head bobbing above the surface for a moment only, before sinking below.

  People were deep and vast, like the ocean. There were depths she would never know. She'd plumbed a few, but never fallen so deep as people like Julio or the mad woman on her trimaran. She'd never lost all hope like Amo and actually tried to die, though she'd come close.

  The RV trundled peaceably down Hollywood Boulevard. The stars on the sidewalk glinted like they'd been polished. This was home. In the courtyard she pulled up to join the motor pool in front of the Chinese Theater.

  She cut the RV's engine and looked around. There was no one in sight, probably they were all at work somewhere; Ravi would be helping build up and maintain their housing infrastructure and security, Amo and Lara would be at school in one of the cinema theaters, Jake, Salman and a few others might be up at UCLA working with the ultra-microtome and electron microscope researching further, Masako and a handful in her crew would be out at the Chino Hills State Park farms harvesting potatoes, wheat and corn. Probably Cerulean would be at the satellite phone receiver in the radio room at the Pacific Television Center, working shifts with a few others while they waited for transmissions from her or anyone else around the world to come in.

  She climbed out of the RV. The Theater looked the same. A few large pennants still hung from its eaves, boasting about the latest IMAX movies coming out ten years ago. They ought to replace those with a new flag, she wondered, probably something better than her stop sign. Amo could think about that, a really catchy brand. It had to be bigger than single nations, big enough to encompass the world, as the first truly global civilization. Perhaps a circle for the Earth with a sun and moon circling? That might look like a credit card symbol… They could fine-tune the details later.

  She wondered if anyone had come in yet from Asia. It was possible, if they'd seen her cairn in Japan.

  She started toward the entrance.

  "Don't move," a loud voice called out, enhanced by a megaphone. "Raise your hands."

  That was new. She did as she was told, studying the Theater's roofline. There'd once been a plan to make it a secure battlement, and yes, there were two turrets up there now, fresh constructions since she'd left. They looked like World War 2 pillboxes, reinforced with sandbags. Were those machine gun barrels sticking out? Something glinted in the one on the left, giving away a pair of binoculars.

  She looked around the rest of the open courtyard but nobody was there.

  "Step away from the vehicle slowly," the amplified voice called. "Keep your hands up."

  She did just that.

  "It's me," she shouted up at the glinting turret. "Anna. I'm back."

  "Anna?" the voice said, and in that second she recognized it. A door in the side of the turret opened and out popped the lanky, tousle-headed figure of Jake. A loudspeaker hung slack in his hand, so she barely heard his voice as he went on. "You're back! Oh my god! Sorry, come on in!"

  She laughed.

  "What's with the security?" she shouted up at him, but he didn't hear, he was talking animatedly into a walkie-talkie. He grinned and gestured for her to enter the building.

  She walked on, into the dark of the Theater and called out.

  "Hello, anybody home?"

  There was a rustling sound from a nearby theater, then stamping feet and the door to screen seven thumped open. It was Lara, and she stood there wide-eyed for a second staring at Anna, taking in her sun-dark face and smile.

  "Oh my lord, Anna!" she shouted.

  She ran over and hugged her. She held her away and looked at her. "I can't believe you're really here!" She ran her hands through Anna's hair wildly then over her cheeks and shoulders as if checking everything was in the right place. "We've been so worried, and after Mongolia, but you're all right? You look amazing."

  Anna laughed and tried to talk but her voice came out choked. "I'm fine, Lara. Really."

  She hadn't expect to feel this. She'd always fought Lara but now she was so happy just to see her. She wanted to wrap her up and hold her tight.

  "Gods we have to tell the others," Lara hooted. She pulled out her walkie-talkie and buzzed it. "All stations, this is Lara, I have amazing news; Anna's home! We're in the theater, everyone get over here now!"

  A stream of kids came trundling out of the theater, trailing after Lara. First came Talia, Amo and Lara's daughter, and when she saw Anna her face lit up in the dark of the lobby.

  "Auntie Anna," she cried. "Ravi says you're going to teach me how to yacht!" She ran over and hugged her. "But you got so fat."

  Anna laughed. Lara stroked Talia's soft brown hair. "We've got so much to talk about! You and Ravi? I never thought you saw anything in him."

  Anna turned red. She looked down at little Talia, that being an easier conversation to handle. "I got so fat because I ate up a whole candy factory! Can you imagine that?"

  Talia jumped up and down. "How did it taste?"

  "Amazing. I can still taste it now. You should try it sometime."

  "Mommy I want to eat a candy factory too!" Talia demanded, and Lara gave Anna the old frown, then the others kids were hustling around them as well; Jenna and Max and Grace and Hartford, all of them different ages but taking their classes together.

  Last of all came Amo. He stood in the dark hall grinning and watching the hallway revelry.

  "Get over here," Lara called.

  "I'm just admiring this scene," he said. He looked fit to burst with pride, and his voice was tight. "I'm so glad you're back safe, Anna."

  "Get in this hug!" Lara ordered.

  He came over and duly joined in the hugging. Moments later the walkie-talkie at Lara's waist fuzzed to life. "She's here? Anna's back?"

  It was Ravi's voice. Lara held the receiver out to Anna.

  "I'm here, Ravi. I'm back."

  On the other end Ravi whooped. "I'm coming," he shouted.

  "Drive safe, OK," Anna said. "No sense you getting hurt coming over here."

  "You've been round the world," he shouted. "I'll drive home how I damn well please!"

  They laughed. They talked. Fresh tea was produced, and snacks, and throughout there was only one thing missing while Ravi came in and held to her arm and wouldn't stop crying and laughing, while Jake and Salman came in and told her about the great strides they'd made in understanding the T4, especially with her guidance from Mongolia and her thoughts from the Atlantic crossing.

  "This thing was made," Jake said. "We're spotting signature loops in the DNA, breaking them down as best we can and mapping them to known splices. We may even be able to isolate who did it, and where, and what for. You sure you haven't got a sample of the big red one?"

  She laughed and told them no. She patted Ravi's arm and tolerated hi
m gazing at her, and the kids dancing round her feet, because this was what she'd come back for anyway. This was why she was here.

  At last though she couldn't wait any longer.

  "Where's Cerulean" she asked Amo.

  His face fell at once. The hubbub died down and the mood shifted.

  Amo put his hand on her shoulder. "Something happened while you were away, Anna."

  She blinked. "What?"

  He looked into her eyes. "Cerulean's gone."

  Involuntarily she shook her head. This was too sudden a change. The image of Cerulean buried in the dirt with only his wheelchair as a grave marker flashed through her mind. "What do you mean, gone? Gone where? Did he follow after me?"

  "No," Amo said. "He would have told me. And the answer is, we don't know where. We don't know what's happened to him. A month back he just disappeared and we haven't seen him since."

  It felt like the bottom falling out of her world.

  It had been wonderful to find her father and her home. It was wonderful to circle the world and decide what kind of person she wanted to be, but to do all of those things and not have Cerulean to tell about it? It all began to seem empty. She hadn't realized it but now she did; Cerulean was the firm ground her new life was based on. He'd been like a father to her, but no that wasn't quite right. He'd been her father.

  "I don't understand. Where would he go? Why?"

  Amo took a long moment. He looked at Lara and at the others gathered around, then he spoke in a heavy, final tone.

  "I'm sorry, Anna. I don't know why or where. We think he was taken."

  Thank you for reading The Lost!

  If you enjoyed it, I sincerely hope you'll consider leaving a review on Amazon. Thank you!

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  Newsletter

  Thank you again for reading The Lost, and look out for Book 3 in the series, coming soon!

  Michael John Grist.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  A dedicated team of advance readers helped me no end in editing, proofing, and improving this book, and to them I am immensely grateful. Rob Nugen offered his customary line by line edit, complete with in-jokes and gentle reminders of grammar points I really should know better about.

  Mark Stone picked out a host of essential typos and logical errors that I'd somehow missed, as did Katy Page- thank you both. Ray Ferguson kept me on point with Britishisms, helping the text read smoothly to American eyes. Without his help you'd have been reading about 'trolleys' and 'car parks' rather than 'carts' and 'parking lots'.

  Also thanks to my Dad, Tony Grist, who pointed out how close to a simple travelogue the latter half of the book was getting, encouraging me to go back to the original drawing board and incorporate the mad woman in the trimaran. Also thanks to Matt Finn, whose thoughts on plot really helped bring about the same conclusion.

  Thanks to all.

  In addition, I welcome any feedback you the reader may have. If you'd like to get in touch, please feel free to email me at michaeljohngrist@hotmail.com. I absolutely do not bite, being neither a zombie nor a dog.

  - Michael

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Michael John Grist is a British writer and ruins photographer who lived in Tokyo, Japan for 11 years, and now lives in London, England.

  He writes dark surreal science fiction and fantasy, and used to explore and photographs abandoned places around the world, such as ruined theme parks, military bases, underground bunkers, and ghost towns. These explores have drawn millions of visitors to his website michaeljohngrist.com, and often provide inspiration for his fiction.

  OTHER WORKS

  Zombie Ocean (zombie apocalypse)

  #1 The Last

  #2 The Lost

  Ruins War (science fiction)

  #1 Mr. Ruins

  #2 King Ruin

  #3 God of Ruin

  Ignifer Cycle (fantasy)

  #1 Ignifer's Rise

  #2 Ignifer's War

  Ignifer Tales - 7 short stories

  Short fiction

  The Bells of Subsidence - 9 science fiction stories

  Bone Diamond - 9 weird fiction stories

  Non-fiction

  Into The Ruins - Adventures in Abandoned Japan

  EXTRAS

  If you enjoyed The Lost,

  look out for battles with the devil

  in the sci-fi technothriller

  Mr. Ruins.

  An EXCERPT follows.

  MR. RUINS

  Book 1 of the Ruins Sonata

  Give the devil his due.

  Ritry Goligh is a former Arctic marine living in a tsunami-wrecked future. Scarred by the Arctic war, he leads a directionless life of alcohol, violence, and sex, until the psychopathic Mr. Ruins offers him a devil's bargain: unlimited power, but at a terrible price- the souls of everyone Ritry ever loved.

  And Mr. Ruins won't take no for an answer.

  MR. RUINS (EXCERPT)

  The needle enters Mei-An's eye socket smoothly, nestling beside her bright white eyeball and passing back into the brain. There I inject the engrams, a tailored combination of off-the-shelf language packs and vocational skills encapsulated in a silvery liquid.

  The needle comes out and I lean back, giving her a moment to blink away the discomfort.

  "How do you feel?" I ask.

  "Shivery," she says. As her mouth opens I see the tattoo on her tongue, an abstract DZ pattern I recognize as the brand of Don Zachary. "It's cold, like brain freeze."

  I smile. I study her. Her name is Mei-An, a sweet-looking meta-Asiat with steely resolve and black face-framing bangs to die for. Soon her brain will be in my hands. She came in to my graysmithy building an hour ago asking for the inject, for what purpose I have no idea, though it's plain she's running from something. I didn't question her. I'm Ritry Goligh, a graysmith for the gray matter of the mind, and it isn't my job to ask questions.

  A silvery tear beads from her eye and I dab it away with a surgical cloth.

  "Let them settle for a few moments," I say, "then we'll dive."

  She nods. "He may come looking for me, afterward. I want to be honest. You'll see it in me anyway."

  I shrug. Of course I know. Don Zachary is the boss of proto-Calico, and by all accounts he's a bastard. "Just try to be calm."

  "I'm calm."

  I leave her, exiting the spartan, gray-walled dive room to stand in the polished steel corridor with my assistant Carrolla.

  Carrolla's tall and shaven-headed, with features just shy of model-worthy. I think he must have had marine training, but he never fought in the skirmishes. Working here in the lawless dog-end of the skulks is his skirmish. He raises one eyebrow, and I know what he's thinking.

  "She wants a dive," I say by way of explanation.

  He snorts. "I heard the Don crucified the last guy who crossed him, Rit. He nailed him to the fucking tsunami wall. Does that sound like fun to you?"

  I chuckle. There are no shortage of legends about the Don. "Not really, but I'm not turning her away."

  "Don fucking Zachary," he mutters under his breath. "Could you not have at least charged her more?"

  "It's a set rate," I say, "and a big enough haul already. It's a big dive."

  He grunts, and we stand quietly for a moment, each in our thoughts. In Mei-An's brain the inject will be spreading, beginning to swamp her neurons. I speak. "I need you tight on me for this. It's a bigger inject than usual."

  Carrolla nods sharply, like a marine. He's not though, I'm not anymore, the skirmishes have been over for ten long years but still we're both here, acting like it's a war. It's not a fucking war.

  We go back into the dive room together. Mei-An is still sitting there, perched
like a doll on the input tray of the Electro Magnetic Resonance machine; a blocky off-white oblong of hollow plastic and metal, retro-fitted and bolted to the floor. It's an ancient piece of kit the graysmith before me must have lifted off one of the commodium barges, tossed up in the last big wave;

  Her thin legs dangle down its scarred and discolored side like a child's, though she must be at least twenty-eight. I have no doubt she's seen some awful shit. You have to be strong to make it in the skulks, and Don Zachary is not known as a charitable man.

  I sit on the stool and look into her artificially widened eyes. "You know this is dangerous," I say. "Permanent brain damage is possible, and it gets more likely with the size of the inject. I'm good, but there's always a risk. Are you sure?"

  She nods. "I'm sure. I have to do this now." I can feel the fear underlying her calm demeanor.

  "Lie down on your side," I tell her.

  She does. I walk around the EMR, past Carrolla at the control panel, then climb onto the tray and lie down beside her so we're face to face.

  "It'll be OK," I say.

  The EMR begins to thump as Carrolla fires it up. Inside electromagnets are whirring, phasing with the transponders implanted deep in my cerebellum. I can feel the tide rising. The input tray jerks into motion, and together we slide into the machine's hollow middle. Electromagnetic waves wash over us, beginning the synchronization of our thought patterns. Dimly I start to sense the outline of her mind, a hazy sphere of heat barely glimpsed through murky waters, transposed atop her face. I focus closer, striving for a resonant bridge across which I'll be able to pass into the outer reaches of her mind, then-