Zombie Attack! Box Set (Books 1-3)

by Devan Sagliani

  “You talked about being able to see trouble coming,” Felicity interjected. “Have you had problems? Have you been attacked?”

  “We'd had some issues in the past,” Hudson sighed, his eyes misting over like he was remembering things he wished to forget forever. “But it's been a good while since then.”

  “Issues with zombies, or people?” The words were out of my mouth before I had a chance to think.

  “Both,” Hudson admitted. “It hasn't been easy living up here, but we've made it work. Warding off biters was as simple as putting up the fencing you saw. The other trouble, well, let's just say it took more direct measures to resolve.”

  Hudson and Harry shot dark looks at one another. Harry looked away first, glancing down at his turquoise studded cowboy boots, which were now covered in a thin sheen of desert dust.

  “What exactly does that mean?” Felicity looked alarmed.

  “I don't want to talk about it,” Hudson said forcefully. “We've all had to do things since the world ended that we aren't proud of. I'm sure it's no different with you. What's important is that we've created something here, something worth keeping, something worth fighting for.”

  “We can't begin to thank you for what you did for us,” I gratefully added, breaking the tangible tension in the room. “We'd have died back on that train if you hadn't come along and saved us. At least I know I would have for sure. So thank you.”

  “You are welcome,” the Marshal said, a look of relief washing over him as the previous topic seemed to die. “Just glad we were rustling when it all went down. Otherwise, we'd have never known.”

  “What he means is, you're lucky ducks,” Harry said with a wink. “You could be just part of the biting bastards now. Instead you're up here with us, and on a festival night.”

  “A festival night?”

  “That's right,” Hudson smiled, happy to have something new to talk about. “We like to keep alive as many of the traditions that we used to have as possible. This week is officially Gold Strike City Days. The fun kicks off tonight with a town festival and a dance in the old saloon. There are games, prizes, and loads of activities to keep you busy. The rest of the week, we’ll announce the winners of the best grow, the livestock awards, and horsemanship.”

  “All that's fine and dandy,” Harry croaked, “but the dance is the real heart of the festivities and everyone knows it. It's the one time a year we get to cut loose and not catch hell for it.”

  “He's right,” Hudson declared. “Illegal behavior is not condoned, but we look the other way on a lot of small infractions – including his imbibing problem. Right Harry?”

  “Ain't no problem from where I'm sitting,” Harry shot back. “Besides, it was the white man who introduced my people to fire water in the first place, so you've got no one but yourselves to blame from where I'm sitting.”

  “Now who's perpetuating racial stereotypes?!” Hudson bellowed at him.

  “It's different when you're talking about your own race,” Harry growled back. There was a comical element to their tense back and forth, like it was part of some practiced skit they'd done a million times in a row, some forgotten episode of Laurel and Hardy.

  “While that all sounds great, we have to be moving on,” I said quickly, trying to sound as grateful as I could manage. “It's a long way back to Hueneme, and the sooner we get moving the better off we'll be.”

  “Nonsense,” Hudson replied. “You've been through a terrible ordeal. You're tired and confused. You could use a little unwinding time to sort things out. That goes for all of you.”

  “I appreciate your hospitality,” I argued. “We all do, but you don't understand. Someone is waiting for us back in Hueneme. Someone important to me.”

  “What's your hurry, son?” Harry fixed a stare on me. I looked around to see the others giving us the same cryptic look. What did they want from us? Why were they so concerned that we wanted to leave right away?

  You're being paranoid, I thought. They are just trying to help you. You're overly tired. You haven't slept in days, and you've been through a nightmare. Just relax and explain it to them.

  “It's my brother, Moto,” I shrugged, trying to sound casual and not defensive. “He'll want to know that we're alive, that we didn't die out there on those tracks. The longer we wait, the more he'll worry. There's just a whole lot more going on than we have time to get into, but…trust me.”

  “I understand,” Hudson said at once. “Now listen to what I am telling you. It would be a mistake to leave now, before we know what's going on out there. We've never seen a horde of zombies that size, and we don't know where they came from to be honest. You've been through an ordeal, kid, one I wouldn't wish on any man – friend or foe. I think the best thing you can do at this point is to rest up for the night.”

  “It's just that…” I began, but he cut me off.

  “If you still feel this strongly about leaving in the morning, then we'll ride you back to the tracks and point you on your way,” Hudson insisted. “We just don't need to be taking any chances at night, is all. We don't want to draw any unwanted attention to ourselves. Got it?”

  I was ready to explode at him. I had a list of well thought out remarks planned for him, explaining that I didn't need permission to do anything and how we weren't going to be his prisoners, but before I could get to any of them Felicity jumped in.

  “We understand,” she decided. “My husband, Xander, has been through a lot in the last couple of days. He just needs to sleep for a while and clean up. We could all use a little break. Could you be so kind as to show us to your guest quarters and give us some time?”

  “Of course,” the Marshal hurriedly replied. “We've got a row of guest rooms back at the edge of town. I was hoping to escort you along the way and show you some of the finer points of Gold Strike, if you'd be so kind as to let me. I'd also like to swing by the blacksmith, Frank, and see if he can't get those shackles taken off you both.”

  “Sure,” she agreed again. “We'd love that. Thank you so much for all your help.”

  I started to open my mouth to argue, but Felicity put her hand on mine and shut me up quick. She understood what I couldn't seem to grasp in the moment. I trusted her to lead us to safety. She was right. I was totally exhausted. More than anything I wanted to sleep, now that we were out of immediate danger.

  “Great,” Hudson roared with excitement, smacking his fist down on his desk. “Well then, let me give you all the grand tour. Follow me.”

  He sprang up and moved briskly to the front door, not waiting to see if we were following. The crowd outside had dispersed some, but there were still plenty of women left, whispering back and forth with cupped hands attached to each other’s ears, while small children clung to their legs and hid behind their long prairie skirts. It was clear that Sonya, and not either of us, was their intended target. Hudson parted them like Moses parting the Red Sea, and kept on walking. Sonya followed after him at a fair pace, a knowing smile the only recognition she'd offer the gawking women.

  “She's got nothing on more than her underwear,” one hissed in a gasp.

  “She's got no shame,” the other replied, just loud enough for all of us to hear. “None at all.”

  “And in front of the children.”

  “Never mind the children. Just look at the effect she's having on the men!”

  The thin undershirt she'd been wearing was now clinging to her body with sweat from the hot desert air, leaving little to the imagination. Looking ahead I saw a line of men stopped dead in their tracks as Hudson strode past them, all heads turning to watch Sonya as she walked along behind him. It was like an alien had come down and was now walking among them.

  I wonder if this was how Cortez felt when he first encountered the native peoples of Latin America? At least Felicity isn't alone in her distrust of her, I thought. Looks like she has this effect on women wherever she goes.

  I felt Felicity squeeze my hand and I turned toward her. We were wal
king ahead of Harry and his band of wild Indians, hand in hand, taking in everything around us. Felicity motioned with her head toward an approaching cloud of dust on the horizon heading our way. Within seconds I could make out a dark form coming from the middle, a man all in black. Behind him two other riders came into focus, all looking ominous with dark clothes and unshaven faces. Within a few minutes they were upon us. Three unkempt men with black outfits and red sashes sitting on tired-looking horses. The leader stepped down off his horse in front of the Marshal, and gave him a dirty look.

  “What's all this commotion about?” Hudson demanded, looking cross.

  “I was just about to ask you the same thing, Marshal,” he shot back. He was much bigger than I'd expected once he was on his own two feet. He stood well over six feet tall with a barrel chest and broad shoulders. He was nearly a foot taller than the Marshal, but Hudson didn't back down an inch as he menacingly cantered toward him.

  “We don't need any trouble here today, Bad Bart,” Hudson warned him. “Not from you or anyone in your gang. Not before the festival.”

  Bad Bart gave a small wink to Hudson before letting his features blossom into an angry scowl.

  “Well that's just too bad for you, Marshal,” he huffed, “because you've got trouble now. Lots of trouble. Nobody tells my men and me what we can or can't do. Hell, without us there ain't gonna be no damn festival at all.”

  “You watch your mouth, mister,” Hudson barked back, still frozen in place. “There are women and children here. We don't tolerate no sass talk, you hear?”

  “Oh yeah? And just what in tarnation are you gonna do about it, ya yellow bellied cur?”

  Bad Bart puffed his chest up and began inching toward Hudson, who quickly drew his gun.

  “We're not afraid of you,” the Marshal shouted theatrically. “That goes for your men too. Now if you don't want to be resting in a pine box before sundown, I suggest you either play nice or take your men and leave. You got that?”

  Bad Bart froze in place, staring at the gun in Hudson's hand now pointed at his face. He raised his hands slowly to show he was unarmed and not spoiling for a fight. Then, without warning, the two men sprang toward one another and embraced, laughing and slapping each other on the back.

  “You son of a gun,” Hudson cried out. “What took you so long? Where the hell have you been?”

  “We ran into some trouble along the way,” Bad Bart informed him, dropping his ridiculous accent. He stepped back and stared jovially at his friend. “This whole area is crawling with fresh zombies now. I don't know what's driving them up this way, but small groups of them are everywhere.”

  “And not so small groups, too,” Hudson said, turning his head to stare at me. “We pulled this lot out of a biting frenzy that stopped a military convoy dead in its tracks down by the canyons – literally.”

  Bad Bart looked over at us and his eyes went wide with shock. A look of joy and disbelief spread across his face. I barely had time to wonder why before he was charging straight for us.

  “Well dip me in holy water and call me one of the chosen,” he mumbled as he came stumbling forward, eyes locked on Felicity. “It's really you.”

  Here we go again, I thought, rolling my eyes and letting out a small sigh.

  Felicity squeezed my hand tight as he came closer, and I felt myself tensing up considerably. It was always the same. Felicity was a celebrity, once upon a time in a world far, far away – before the living dead roamed the Earth and threatened to kill us all. It seemed like almost everyone we came across knew exactly who she was. Most of them had at least seen her on the front cover of tabloids at some point in the grocery stores, and the rest knew her from her popular movies. A few were fans simply because they'd seen the reality television show clips of her on the Internet that featured celebrities dancing against each other. The star judge had gone full zom halfway into an episode on live television, and eaten one of the contestants. The clip instantly went viral on the web, showing Felicity fleeing in terror; black tears streaking down her face as she cried off her mascara. Everywhere we went people made comments to her. Most of the time the fact that she was famous actually ended up helping us out of sticky situations, but often it came with a heavy price – putting up with other guys drooling over my wife and making inappropriate comments. I'd never had a serious girlfriend before her, but something told me nothing would have prepared me for the kind of pressure I'd be facing for marrying a celebrity. I found myself wishing more and more that she'd just been a normal girl I'd met when she moved in next door, rather than attracting all this unwanted attention.

  Don't forget, a tiny voice in my head whispered, you were once a fan too. You even had a poster of her on your wall.

  “Miss Felicity Jane,” Bad Bart said, taking his hat off in respect and clutching it to his vest. “It is an honor to meet you again.”

  “It's Mrs. Felicity Jane Macnamara now,” she corrected him lightly, “and thank you. This is my husband, Xander.”

  “Nice to meet you,” I said, sticking my hand out. He ignored me completely, his eyes still locked on her like a man dying of thirst in the desert staring at an oasis and wondering if it's just a mirage.

  “What in the hell is an angel like you doing out here?”

  I felt a twinge of anger flush through me at the insult as I let my hand drop back to my side. I became acutely aware of my sword now, dangling over my shoulder. My fingers were ready to pull the blade free and let it sing at the first sign of trouble.

  Remember what happened in Freedom Town, the voice inside me cried out. Remember what happened with Jamie Friendly. Remember how bad you felt for not trusting her before, when you saw her shackled in the train?

  More than anything, I wanted to strike him down right where he stood for the insult. He was easily as big as Tank had been, but something told me I could still take him.

  You made a promise to trust her, the voice inside me sang. You have to keep control. You cannot let your emotions get the better of you and make you sloppy. Remember your training!

  What had Moto taught me about controlling my fear? I thought back to those lazy afternoons when we'd go out in the field near our house, and he'd teach me simple lessons he'd learned as a child in Japan.

  “The world is always going to push you,” he'd said, easily shoving me off my feet. “It's your job to learn how and when to react to it. For most, the first reaction to danger is fear. Fear is good. Fear is healthy. Fear lets you know that you are alive. But fear can lead people to make terrible decisions if they don't learn to control it. Then fear can end up costing you the battle, or worse, your life.”

  “So how do I learn not to be afraid?”

  “You don't,” he said, wheeling around on me. “You will never in your life stop feeling fear in the presence of danger. Great warriors don't try to run from their fears. Instead they turn and face them, leaning into that which they fear most, and learning to use it to their advantage. When you stare into your fears without flinching, you will see them shrink in size and intensity. You will be able to master them and make them your weapons. Then you will know that fear is your friend.”

  Afterward we had gone over several techniques for learning to subdue fear, mostly meditations he'd been taught as a kid. Then Moto spent the rest of the day trying to scare me, and laughing when I overreacted every single time. In the end I was just too young to fully grasp what he'd been trying to teach me, but I never forgot it either. Some lessons are meant to be carried with us, so we can rise to the challenge when the right moment comes, like seeds bursting open at the right moment and growing up through perfect soil toward the light.

  If it works for fear, then why not jealousy and anger? I thought. It's worth a try.

  I shifted my focus to my breathing, and imagined my head becoming a solid block of wood.

  Don't act, I thought. Just observe and be ready.

  It helped, but I still felt a small flame of anger smoldering inside me.

&nb
sp; “Holding on to anger is like holding on to a hot coal,” Moto had told me once long ago. “You are the only one who gets burned.”

  “So I'm never supposed to feel anything?”

  “On the contrary,” Moto replied. “You feel everything, one hundred percent, but you let it pass through you without holding on to it! You don't allow it to control you.”

  I won't allow this anger to control me, I told myself. Instead, I will transform and use it to my advantage. I smiled as I realized I could actually do just that. I wasn't a helpless victim being tossed around by my emotions and only reacting to life. I was able to decide how I felt and how I reacted. I was still in control of myself.

  I focused on the sick feelings of anger and jealousy inside, until it was crystal clear in my mind. I imagined that all of the hurt and insecurity and fear were transformed into a brilliant candle flame glowing brightly inside of a heavy darkness. Then, almost as if I was standing outside of myself, I imagined pouring a pitcher of cool, clear, pure water over the dancing flame. It went out immediately, leaving behind a calm, refreshed feeling. The whole process took only seconds to accomplish. Instead of being a puppet to my fear and anxiety I now felt calm and relaxed, ready to take on whatever this encounter brought me with a clear mind. It was amazing!

  It was obvious that Felicity felt uncomfortable by the situation; she didn't ask for this kind of constant attention, and suddenly I felt sad for her.

  She doesn't have a choice, I thought. No wonder she said she wished she could leave all this behind. Poor girl can't escape her past.

  Instead of thinking about how Bad Bart had insulted me and what I was going through, I now thought only of Felicity and how she suffered nearly every time this very situation arose. More than anything she wanted to be a good wife, to show me she cared, to leave how and what she had been before Z Day behind her, but the world wouldn't let her. A feeling of love and compassion for her came over me, and I squeezed her hand reassuringly to let her know I was still by her side.