Z-Boat (Book 3): Z-End

by Robb, Suzanne

  Praise for Z-End

  “Z-END is a compelling conclusion, skillfully crafted to build tension and evoke emotion. With monsters of absolute and undeniable terror, Robb serves up a mouthwatering dystopian wasteland.”

  Shana Festa, author of TIME OF DEATH:INDUCTION

  “In Robb's grand guignol masterpiece, Z-END, red human blood flows as freely as the sticky green zombie goo. Readers are treated to an ocean of blood, gore, and viscera as the Z-BOAT saga comes to a sticky, squishy, crunchy end.”

  Stephen Kozeniewski author of THE GHOUL ARCHIPELAGO: A POST APOCALYPTIC THRILLER

  “A savage and relentlessly fast-paced tale told with surprising humanity. Suzanne Robb's Z-End is a zombie lover's feast. She draws blood with her opening salvo and never lets up. Highly recommended for anybody who likes to feel the cold hand of the dead on their shoulder!”

  Joe McKinney, Bram Stoker Award-winning author of DOG DAYS and PLAGUE OF THE UNDEAD

  A PERMUTED PRESS book

  Published at Smashwords

  ISBN (Trade Paperback): 978-1-61868-335-9

  ISBN (eBook): 978-1-61868-334-2

  Z-End copyright © 2014

  by Suzanne Robb

  All Rights Reserved.

  Cover art by Dean Samed, Conzpiracy Digital Art

  This book is a work of fiction. People, places, events, and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or historical events, is purely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author and publisher.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  About the Author

  For Brandi, a best friend who will be missed.

  Chapter One

  Ally watched the decimated landscape of Washington DC roll by. Burned out shops, metal skeletons of high rises, and of course, the dead. Bodies littered sidewalks, jamming streets and parks, and everywhere else her eye roamed. Among them, hundreds still moved, jaws working, teeth clacking, limbs akimbo as they ambled together, leathery flesh hanging off some, others wearing ragged and darkly stained clothes.

  Then there were the dangerous ones.

  At the beginning of the outbreak, a Russian Firm tried to find a way to weaponize the infested with a bacteria which had been brought up from the murky depths of the ocean. While their efforts were successful, their attempts at containment were not. The original test subject escaped and a new infestation spread across the globe. Two types of zombie now existed. The first, those who were weak, and got slower as time went by, but had the capacity to work together. The second group was more problematic. Minimal decomposition, increased strength and bone density, and the ability to strategize. A faint tinge of purple in their eyes gave them away, but if they were that close, the odds of survival were low.

  In the back of the truck was a single bag of salvaged supplies. Ally had ridden out with Noah and two others. Jane and...she thought the guy might have been Ted, not that it mattered. They'd both died, like they all would.

  Ally shook her head, a feeble attempt to rid herself of morbid thoughts. She caught her reflection in the side view mirror and didn’t recognize herself. Dark hair framed a pale face with frown lines and vacant black eyes. Her cheek bones were so prominent she wondered how she hadn’t been mistaken for a skeleton.

  A thud brought her attention into focus. "What the hell was that?"

  Noah slowed the truck, but kept them moving. "I'm sorry. The damn thing came out of nowhere."

  "You sure it was a zombie? I don't see a body," Ally said looking out the back window.

  "I'm pretty sure. I mean we haven't seen a living person around here in months."

  A loud pop caused both of them to go rigid. The truck jerked. Noah fought for control as it veered to the left heading for a cement barrier.

  "Oh shit, shit, shit…"

  The car scraped against the lane divider and Ally cringed. The noise would attract every zombie within half a mile. She reached for her weapon, checking her load... eleven rounds left. The dash display lit up, alerting them that they had a broken shock absorber.

  "That is just what we need," Ally said

  Noah exhaled slowly. "What do we do? We're only a couple of miles from base."

  Ally examined their situation. If they changed the part or made a run for it they'd be dealing with zombies. If they ran for it they would lead who knows how many of the dead back to the one place they'd managed to keep safe so far.

  Only one choice.

  "We can't risk hoofing it. If we lead a group back and there are any of those smart bastards, we're responsible. Can you change it?" she asked.

  Noah tapped the display, enlarging the image of the damaged area. "Probably, but I'll need to use the hand torch and find a few scraps of metal. Won't be perfect, but we'll get home."

  Ally nodded. "Get to it, then. We don't have time to waste. Put your gear on. I'll keep watch and take out as many as I can. If we get it fixed we take the long way home, if not we run for cover. I'm not leading these things back to base."

  The hiss of the torch caught her attention. Slipping on a pair of night vision goggles, she cursed the clogged roads. Getting anywhere took twice as long because of the wrecks they had to avoid. A zombie meandered its way toward her. She unsheathed her knife and when it was within striking distance, she plunged it deep in the thing's ear. It hit the ground with a thud and three more made their way toward her.

  They formed an attack pattern, coming in on the left and right. There was no way to tell if they were of the traditional sort or one of the bastards as she liked to call the hard-headed ones. She brought up her crossbow and shoved one of the makeshift metal darts into it. Taking a breath, she squeezed the trigger and the zombie to her left fell. The one on the right tilted its head, and in that moment she hustled to it and jammed the knife into a slushy eye socket.

  Bony fingers grabbed at her ankles. "Shit," she hissed, kicking the hand away. The fingers turned to bits of bone and dust underneath her boot. In seconds, the third ghoul was on her, wrapping cold, decayed arms around her. She pulled at the flesh, and it sloughed away from the bone in sticky sheets. Teeth clacked by her ear and she shoved her elbow backward, slamming it into a sturdy ribcage.

  "Damn, you're a real bastard aren’t you?"

  The arms tightened around her. Cool zombie flesh grazed her cheek. Stomping on the foot then pulling forward, she unbalanced them enough to push back and knock them together to the
ground. She felt the dead embrace loosen and rolled out of it. Pulling another knife from its sheath, she spun around and slashed the thing's neck. Muscles and sinew snapped and a thick green substance oozed out.

  "Ally, I got one creeping up on my six," Noah called.

  "Take care of it, I'm busy," she said getting to her feet.

  Behind her she heard a groan and stole a second to see how many were behind her. She glimpsed a one-handed zombie, and knew she could handle it. A solid grip pulled her forward and she twisted her head with barely a millimeter to spare as teeth grazed her throat. She kicked out and fell onto the one-armed menace. Grinding her elbow into its skull, she felt it give way, her arm soaked in tepid brain matter.

  She exhaled, tired from the struggle, worn out from the trip, and weary of the world she was forced to live in. Part of her wanted to give up, but people depended on her. Noah screamed and she focused on the bastard in front of her. She caught sight of the one she'd killed with the crossbow. Using all her strength she tackled her new friend, both of them tumbling to the ground. It reached up and grabbed her right arm in an iron grip. She smiled and brought her hand down, the metal arrow glinting before it sunk into a purple-tinted eye.

  She staggered to her feet in time to watch Noah take down a zombie with his Ruger. "Dammit, that's going to attract attention."

  "Well, let's get the hell out of here, then."

  The two hustled into the truck in time to see dozens of zombies appear from the shadows. Noah put the truck in gear and started on the long way back to make sure they weren't followed.

  Two hours later, they parked near a pit. Inside were the remains of Rachel, Rogers, and hundreds of others she'd met and worked with when she joined ranks with the mercenaries five months before. A few of the bodies were half out, some in a nearby field. The zombies were not choosy about what they ate, and when live flesh wasn't available they turned to the dead.

  Noah stopped the car, leaving the keys in the ignition. Ally watched him, his precise movements. Together they exited and went to the small entrance of the building once known as The Pentagon. Inside they hustled down a corridor until they came to a door with several gouges on it. Ally tapped a spot on the wall next to the frame and a small section trembled and moved, revealing a cracked touchscreen.

  "God, this thing takes longer each time," Noah said.

  Ally glared at him. Noise of any kind was not a good idea topside. If those dead things caught wind of them, it would take less than a minute for a swarm to develop. She keyed in the code and a section of the wall slid sideways. She pushed Noah onto the ladder, keeping an eye out while he climbed down. Satisfied they were in the clear, she entered the code again to shut the hatch, slipping in without a second to spare.

  "This is it?" Victor tossed the bag back to her.

  Ally peeled off thick gloves, counting to ten. Victor Aubin had been a thorn in her side since she joined the patriotic wannabes. He didn't take kindly to her killing their former leader, despite the fact he wanted to bomb half the planet. Bringing back Joseph Erdman, their presidential hopeful, a jabbering idiot at times, hadn't gained her any points, either.

  "Yes, that's it. And next time you can go. When was the last time you volunteered, by the way?"

  Noah grabbed the bag. "Hey, let's calm down. We all know how this dance ends."

  Ally stood her ground, refusing to let trash like Victor make her feel bad. He tried to use his height to intimidate her, and when that failed, he bored into her with black eyes. With a mental sigh, she waited.

  "This isn't over, Lane. We're going to have a discussion, you and I."

  Ally smirked as he walked away. She looked forward to that "discussion." With no imminent threat, she went to the central area to check on the survivors. Their numbers had dwindled from seven to four thousand. The majority of their losses were the elderly, those who'd been exposed to the bacteria prior to rescue, and several cases of starvation.

  Ben Rutherford leaned against the entryway. She knew his casual stance was an act. Out in the field, she'd seen him move his six-foot-three frame with both speed and agility. No one got within ten feet without him allowing it.

  "Heard the scavenge didn't yield much."

  She stopped next to him. "Let me guess, Victor told you?"

  "Does it matter? We have a pathetic stash of ammunition and only enough food for a few days."

  Ally sighed. "How are they doing?" She motioned to the crowd with her chin.

  "Restless, scared, hungry…how do you think?"

  The room stank of sweat and morning breath, of too many people forced to live in an enclosed area. Coughs echoed every now and then, and she knew it was a matter of time before another illness rampaged through their numbers.

  "I think I need a vacation."

  Ben chuckled. "Well, how about settling for your number one fan." Ben whistled.

  A small dirty face framed by dirty blond locks looked up at her, and the smile almost made her forget her day. "Ally, you're back."

  Thin legs moved a gangly body from a group of boys playing some variation of soccer she never quite understood. She smiled, one of her real ones for the boy, as he wrapped his arms around her waist.

  "Sean, of course I'm back. I promised, didn't I?"

  The head bobbed up and down and she ruffled the greasy strands. With obvious reluctance the boy let his arms fall to his side.

  "How did it go?"

  "Not great, kiddo."

  "Time to move?"

  Ally stared at the young face in front of her. Sean's parents died in the initial outbreak. He'd survived on his own until four months ago. Ally'd found him huddled in an abandoned warehouse with half a dozen others. They were filthy, starving, and sick. Ally and her team brought them back for treatment, but Sean was the only one who'd survived. Only Noah knew about the extra food and medication she slipped the boy. One look at his brown eyes, broad shoulders yet to fill out, and puppy dog eyes and she thought of a young Marcus.

  If life were fair. If life actually went her way on occasion, she'd be married right now. She might even be thinking about kids. Instead, the love of her life lay dead among a heap of zombies, and she was struggling to stay sane. The stress of keeping a few thousand others alive was an added bonus.

  "Ally?"

  She shrugged off her morose mood. "It's been time to move for a while. No one wants to admit it and leave the safety of this place."

  "Then we'll go, and they can starve to death."

  Ally nodded. "Maybe, but for now you stay with your friends. I need to check on the radio."

  "I'll keep an eye on him," Ben offered.

  "Thanks."

  The radio room, once ground zero for all things evil when Richards was in charge, now was home to their last connection to the world. After the satellites went offline, communication stalled until a few forward-thinking folks resurrected an antiquated method of contacting others: the short wave radio.

  Over the last few months they'd received messages from over thirteen groups within a 1,000 mile radius, and they knew of other survivors. Ally wrote down everything. Locations, estimates of numbers, supplies, and zombie sightings.

  She rolled the map out in front of her. Seven red exes indicated outposts that had not checked in for over three weeks. Two spots had black exes, meaning they were in transit to a safer location and would reconnect when possible. Green circles around Chicago, Montreal, San Francisco, and Phoenix were all that remained in contact in North America.

  The chair creaked under her when she sat. Larry stirred, but didn't wake. Black greasy hair spilled over his shoulders, and his bone-white face was pockmarked from some infection he'd had as a kid. She took the microphone out of his hand and looked over his notes. Nothing. No contact with those on the move. Glancing at the clock, she debated what to say to Neal from Chicago and Susan from New York. Each week their conversations grew shorter to limit the amount of bad news shared.

  Ally flipped the switch, and static fi
lled the room. Larry fell out of his chair, groggy eyes barely open.

  "Shit, I fell asleep, sorry."

  "No worries, I don't think you were out long. Go get some sack time. I got this," Ally said at the sound of the first disembodied voice.

  "This is Neal, checking in at twenty one hundred hours. Over."

  "Hey, it's Susan."

  Ally took a moment to enjoy hearing the sound of their voices. "And I make three. Hey, guys."

  Chapter Two

  "I heard from Jerry in Phoenix, and he said the zombies there can barely walk. Only those hard to kill bastards are left," Neal said.

  "Yeah, well here in good 'ol New York City we got a goddamn infestation. We haven't been able to go out for supplies in a month. People are dropping left and right from hunger or dehydration. I got parents begging me to save their kids and jerkoffs stealing from the weak," Susan said.

  Ally tapped the pen on the table in front of her. "What are your numbers?"

  "Sixteen losses, one gain, total population in Chicago is one thousand three hundred eighty-two."

  "Twenty-eight losses, zero gains, total population for New York is six hundred seventy-one."

  Ally wrote the numbers down. She opened her mouth to ask about Phoenix.

  "I hate to say this, but over half of our losses were suicides," Neal said in a low voice.

  "Shit, most of ours were, too. Officially, I'm telling people it's from botched supply runs. I don't think they believe me."

  Ally clicked on the base of the microphone. "Susan, you keep doing what you're doing. This is a fucked up situation, no one knows how to handle it."

  Neal coughed. "Thanks, Ally, but that doesn't make this any easier. Do you have a plan yet? I need to go back to them with some good news for a change. Why can't we head down there? Must be nice to have a government installation keeping you safe at night."