Meanwhile, Frederico is undergoing the same treatment. Our blister pack is tossed aside, followed by his headlamp, food, hammer, and Luggy the lug nut wrench.
I watch the proceedings, heart sinking into my stomach. We’re already running on bare essentials, much less than what we need for a run of this magnitude. By the time these assholes are done with us, we’ll be lucky to have our underwear. Hell, we’ll be lucky to be alive.
The man frisking Frederico pulls out the small pocketknife he’d lifted from the zombies outside Willits. I glance away, distracted by the contents of my pack scattered on the ground.
“Where the fuck did you get this?”
The hostility in the young man’s voice jerks my head up.
He stands in front of Frederico, holding the knife between them. The mother-of-pearl inlaid handle flashes, and that’s when I see it: the rose.
The rose.
The same rose that’s on the crates, Granola Bitch’s tattoo, and Mr. Rosario’s house.
Oh, fuck. Fuck-fuck-fuck. How did we miss this?
A murmur of recognition and anger ripples through the crowd.
Frederico doesn’t flinch. “I lifted it off a zombie corpse just south of Willits.”
“This is Greg’s knife.” The young man turns toward Mr. Rosario, eyes bulging with grief and rage. “These fuckers did something to Greg. He never would have parted with this knife.”
“Let me see it.” Mr. Rosario holds out her hand.
The man drops it into her palm before turning a steely-eyed gaze back to Frederico.
My heart starts to pound, adrenaline pumping through me. We are so very, very fucked.
“This is Greg’s,” Mr. Rosario confirms. “Never went anywhere without it. Care to explain?” She levels a hard look at the two of us.
“The owner of this knife was a zombie when we came across him,” Frederico says. “He heard us coming and attacked. We defended ourselves.”
“You killed and robbed him,” Granola Bitch says, a dangerous glint in her eye.
She’s not completely wrong, but we can’t let her know that.
“He was already dead,” I reply, cold sweat breaking out over my body. “We didn’t mean any disrespect. We were so hungry. After he attacked, we took the food he had on him. Just the food and the knife. That’s all.”
“So you say.” Mr. Rosario narrows her eyes at us. “And yet Jeanie found you in the tunnel with our goods. Somehow I find it hard to believe this is all just a coincidence. I will give you one last chance to tell me the truth. Who do you work for, and who sent you?”
Frederico and I exchange anguished looks. What can we say to appease this pack of hippie whackjobs?
“Mr. Rosario,” Frederico says, “I know our story sounds bizarre. I wish we had some other truth to share with you. But my friend and I are nothing more than two runners trying to get to Laytonville and Arcata. It was never our intent to disrespect one of your fallen or to trespass on your tunnel. Please, let us go.”
It’s an honest plea. It’s the only plea we have. But I can see from the hardening lines around Mr. Rosario’s mouth and eyes that it isn’t enough.
“Runners, huh? That’s the story you’re sticking with?” Her dark eyes glitter. “Well, all right then. What’s the phrase you used a few minutes ago? Fun run?” She hands Greg’s knife to Granola Bitch. “You two are about to go on a little fun run, Rosario style. Jeanie, go get the jingle bells.”
32
Jingle Bells
FREDERICO AND I ARE dragged toward the zombies corralled in the dog run. The hippies flock around us, strangely subdued. A few of them murmur darkly in our direction.
Behind us comes a loud jingling. The zombies perk up at the sound of the bells. They groan, mashing themselves up against the fence.
My legs feel weak and my mouth goes dry. Are they going to throw us into the dog run with the zombies? Feed us to the monsters like they did their dogs? And what the hell is up with the jingle bells? If I believed in Santa Claus, I’d say he was behind us.
We draw to a collective halt just outside the compound gates. Mr. Rosario stands to our left, hands on her hips. There’s a cold, unyielding gleam in her eyes. That look confirms my suspicion that I’m not going to like what comes next.
The crowd parts. Granola Bitch makes her way forward, grinning wickedly. Her hands carry two lengths of chain, the sort used to lock up a bike, only shorter. Large, shiny jingle bells are woven through the links on a thick silver wire. On one end of each chain is a small padlock.
My breath leaves me in the rush. My arm jerks as I instinctively reach for Frederico. The zip tie cuts painfully into my skin.
Don’t be a wimp, I tell myself as Granola Bitch approaches.
Cold sweat bathes my body. My fingers tremble. I bite my lip to stop myself from begging. I will not beg.
Granola Bitch, still grinning, wraps the chain of bells snugly around my neck and clicks the padlock shut. She then does the same thing to Frederico. I swallow, feeling the chain move against my flesh. The bells jingle softly with the movement.
“You two claim to be runners?” Mr. Rosario says. “Let’s see you run. We’ll give you a sixty-second head start.” She flicks her hands toward the gate.
A man in a flannel shirt and ripped jeans steps forward and keys in the code.
I swallow again, turning toward the gates as they open. I don’t need to ask what Mr. Rosario intends.
I thought she was going to throw us into the dog run with the zombies, but that’s not her plan. She’s going to free us. With bells chained to our necks. And then let the zombies out after us.
“Will you cut our hands free?”
Frederico’s voice brings my head around. His words are steady, devoid of the fear quavering in my belly.
“Please, free our hands,” he says.
Mr. Rosario gazes at Frederico, head cocked, then shrugs. “Cut them loose,” she says.
A woman steps forward with a box cutter and saws through our zip ties. I rub my wrists, turning once again to the open gates.
I lick my lips, eyes flicking to the people gathered around us. Time slows. I see an ankle-length blue skirt; a tie-dyed shirt; a dark blue headscarf. My heart pounds in my chest and thumps in my ear.
“The clocks starts now.” Mr. Rosario glances down at the watch on her wrist. “You have sixty seconds.”
Reality snaps in around me, making my ears ring.
Crazy drug queen doesn’t have to tell me twice. I dash through the gates, adrenaline powering me into an all-out sprint. Frederico is right by my side. Our bells clang, loud as pots and pans in an earthquake. Behind us, a collective moan rises from the zombies.
I have no plan other than to run as far as I can, as fast as I can.
I give in to the pull of gravity, letting it pull me down the narrow dirt road. It’s less of a road and more of a path forcibly forged by the ATVs. It’s uneven and littered with a slippery layer of leaves, pine needles, and twigs. I keep my eyes on the ground, calculating each step as I fly down the path beside Frederico.
Tendrils of morning fog snake through the forest. The rising sun tinges the sky with pale yellow and gray, giving us just enough light to see.
I sidestep a slight divot that could roll my ankle. Next I extend my stride, flying over a thick clump of slippery leaves. A small stream cuts through the path; I splash through it without a second thought, not caring that my shoes and socks get soaked.
Each second brings dozens of minute details crashing through my brain. I absorb them with each stride, my mind and body merging to pick the safest and quickest trail.
Behind us, I hear it: the frenzied howl of the zombies as they’re released. Their footsteps trample the ground as they come after us.
And our bells. Our fucking jingle bells are like a lighthouse in a storm, a beacon to the blind monsters on our heels. The chain rubs against my sweaty neck, promising nasty chafing in the near future. Where did that psychotic bitch eve
n get bells?
“Keep heading downhill,” I pant to Frederico. “We can lose them on the railroad tracks.”
“We—” Frederico trips, sprawling forward and sliding roughly against the ground.
I bite back a yelp and rush to his side, grabbing his arm and hauling him up.
“We have to find a way to mute the bells,” he says, scrambling back to his feet.
“Later,” I reply. “We need to get a mile between us and those monsters.”
“We’re never going to get a mile between us as long as we have these fucking bells on.” Panic makes his eyes round, the whites showing all the way around.
I grit my teeth, yanking on his arm and pulling him down the trail. We can’t waste time arguing. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him digging at the collar. I ignore mine, focusing instead on the path.
The ATV trail ends fifty yards ahead of us. Just past it is crushed foliage, hinting at the diverse paths taken by the vehicles, none of them used with any frequency.
I crash straight into the foliage, keeping my steps aimed in a downhill direction. I may not recognize where we are, but I know we drove steadily uphill to get to the campground. Sooner or later—hopefully sooner—we’ll hit the tracks.
A moan sounds behind me. I take my eyes off the trail for a bare second, glancing over my shoulder. Zombies plow down the open ATV trail, hands outstretched. Their white eyes almost seem to glow in the eerie, fog-lit morning.
Many of them trip, stumble, slide, or fall on the treacherous ground. A few of them stay down with a broken leg or ankle, but most get right back up and keep coming for us.
My foot catches on something. I grunt as I go down, bells abruptly muffled as I slam against the ground. Pain shoots up my right side.
Fuck. I know better than to take my eyes off the trail.
Frederico is there for me. He grabs my elbow, pulling me up. A slight jingling sounds underneath me. It takes a moment for me to realize the jingling isn’t from me or Frederico. It’s from a partially eaten body.
I squeak in surprise, leaping sideways away from the corpse. I have just enough time to take in a twenty-something woman in a tie-dyed sundress. She has a bell collar identical to ours. Her skull has been crushed, most of her brains eaten.
We aren’t the first ones who’ve drawn Mr. Rosario’s wrath since the start of the apocalypse.
“Look out!” Frederico hisses.
A zombie stomps through the underbrush, swiping at me. I stumble back, trying to keep my footing on the slope. Frederico picks up a large branch and swings it like a bat. It connects with the zombie’s skull, spraying blood through the air. Droplets spatter Frederico’s face.
He drops the branch and turns. Together, we keep running.
The forest thickens around us, dense foliage rising to tangle our legs. The good news is that it slows the zombies down; I hear them crashing and falling behind us. The bad news is that it slows us down, too.
Off to our left, I spot a fallen tree. I dart toward it.
“Where are you going?” Frederico pants. “They’re gaining on us.”
“I know.” I circle around the tree trunk, positioning it between us and the zombies. Half a dozen of them bash though the undergrowth, searching for us. One of them impales herself on a pointed tree stump, mouth opening in a howl of frustration.
Extending my arms to either side of me, I shake myself violently. The bell collar jingles, echoing through the trees. The zombies pause, every head swiveling in our direction. The impaled zombie hisses.
Frederico, understanding my plan, joins me. He shakes his whole body, jingling the bells with all his might.
A high keening goes up from the zombies. They turn like a pack of hunting hounds and rush straight at us—and the fallen tree.
The first of them—a plain woman in jeans and a blood-soaked T-shirt—hits the giant log. She trips and goes down, chin connecting loudly with the trunk. Behind her, more zombies converge. They run straight into the trunk, falling atop one another in a blind dog pile.
Frederico and I don’t wait to see what happens next. We turn and keep running.
33
Dead End
WE PLOW ON THROUGH the forest. Breath burns in my lungs. My right arm throbs from the fall and my injured knee burns, but the pain is distant in comparison to the fear thrumming in my veins.
Behind us, moans and grunts escalate as more zombies get caught in the traffic jam we created. The bells overpower everything, jangling relentlessly around our necks.
Frederico puts out a hand, resting it briefly on my shoulder. “Stop for a minute,” he rasps.
“We have to keep going.”
“We have to deal with these fucking bells,” he snaps.
His tone brings me up short. I skid to a halt, sliding in the leaves. Frederico jams his hand into the soft, damp earth and brings up a handful.
“Cover your bells with dirt,” he says. “It will help mute the sound.”
I immediately drop into a crouch, slathering dirt around the bells. Though the earth is wet, it’s not saturated enough to stick as well as I’d like. After a moment’s thought, I tear off my hydration pack and drop it to the ground.
“Wrap your shirt around the dirt and bells,” I say.
Yanking up my shirt, I tuck it in around my neck. The chain was uncomfortable enough; the added padding of the shirt and the bulk of the soil makes me feel like someone is trying to slowly choke me to death. But the fabric does dull the ring of the bells. The clackers still rattle inside the metal balls, but they’re not wringing like a Catholic Church tower anymore. We’re going to make the zombies work a little harder for their meal.
Cool morning fog chills my bare stomach. We pull our packs back on. Fatigue pinches the corners of Frederico’s mouth and eyes.
There’s a crash somewhere behind us, followed by several moans. Exchanging a brief look, we set out again at a run.
I wish I could say Frederico and I were like wood sprites, gliding soundlessly through the underbrush. The clanging of our bells might be muted, but we still make a considerable amount noise as we thrash through the forest.
Branches and twigs snap beneath our shoes. Leaves crackle and bushes rustle as we barrel through them. In all honesty, we still make enough racket to wake the dead. Or in this case, bring the undead down on us.
The zombies follow us like hounds on the hunt. I glimpse one off to my right, moving at a trot down the slope. It’s a middle-aged man in plain jeans and a polo shirt. He crashes into a tree, falls down, and gets right back up again.
“Should we try to hide?” I wheeze. “Climb a tree?”
“Too risky,” Frederico replies. “If we get surrounded we’ll have to fight our way free. I have more faith in my running skills than my fighting skills.”
I can’t argue with that.
“We have to get to the railroad,” Frederico continues. “We can move faster and might be able to lose them there.”
Gritting my teeth, I throw all my focus and energy into the forest before me. I am not going to die out here. I am not.
I jump over a branch, landing on a patch of leaves. My feet slide on the humus. Rather than fight the slide, I lean forward and push off. I barrel down the incline, riding the pull of gravity and relying on the tread of my shoes. I land lightly on my toes, barely touching the ground before pushing off again.
My quads burn and my chest heaves. I swing my left forearm, knocking aside low-hanging branches. A cluster of thistles springs up before me. I lift my arms, raising them above the bristles while my legs slice through them. Prickles snag at my clothing and cut at the skin beneath. Frederico curses softly under his breath as he tears through the thistles beside me.
We cut sideways, veering around a thick clump of pine trees. A zombie, only ten feet to our right, thunks into a boulder at a dead run. I hear the crunch of bone. The beast snarls, struggling to get to its knees, but it’s clear he’s broken one of his legs. We dash on, swerving a
round several more trees.
Snagging the straw on my pack, I take several quick drinks between gasps for air. I leap over a rock, crash through waist-high poison oak, and duck a low-hanging branch.
Another zombie comes through the trees to our right, holding out her arms as she runs. It’s a thirty-something woman in a loose sundress.
I scoop up a rock as I run and lob it with all my might, aiming for the head. The throw falls short. Fuck. I throw like a girl.
Frederico lobs his own rock. It clocks the zombie right in the chest. The unexpected blow causes her to reel backward in surprise. Her foot catches on a fallen branch.
She goes down, impaling herself on a fallen tree limb. The wood pierces her through the chest, though of course she doesn’t die. It does make it difficult for her to move, which pisses her off. As she struggles to right herself, she lets loose a high-pitched keen that raises all the hairs along my neck.
We speed away as answering keens fill the air around us. Most are behind us and on our flanks, but at least one is somewhere downhill of us.
“Shit,” Frederico murmurs.
I bend down and pick up a thick branch. “We have to shut her up,” I say. “She’s going to bring the whole horde down on us.”
The sundress zombie has managed to get onto all fours. She crawls in our direction, keening as she drags the branch with her.
Instead of running away, I run back uphill. The zombie, hearing my approach, manages a quick and eerie spider-like crawl with the branch hanging out of her body. She lets out another high-pitched keen, which is again echoed by her fellow undead.
I swing the branch with all my might. I might throw like a girl, but I have a decent swing. The wood crushes a hole in the side of her head. Blood sprays across my legs as her body smacks into me.
I fall backward, instinctively curling my neck to protect the back of my head. A rock digs painfully into my right ass cheek. The zombie woman lands heavily across my shins. Blood from her crushed skull drizzles onto my pants.
I bite back a scream, kicking and shoving at the zombie body. Frederico grabs her ponytail and hauls her off, then pulls me to my feet.
Undead Ultra Box Set | Books 1-4 Page 19