Undead Ultra Box Set | Books 1-4

by Picott, Camille

  I kick a second time, driving the heel of my shoe toward the face. The crack of its nose is audible, the soft cartilage crumpling under my blow. But it wasn’t strong enough to bash through the skull.

  “Shit!” I hiss, floundering around for any sort of weapon. I plant my free foot right in the face of the undead fucker, pushing hard to block its mouth. The remaining gun from Rosario’s man is in my pocket, but if I use it, I risk alerting Johnson to my presence. Johnson, and every zombie within hearing range.

  Its second hand appears out of nowhere, clamping around my other ankle.

  “Motherfucker!”

  It keens again, struggling to draw me closer. The thing appears to be pinned, unable to do anything more than pull me. I lock my legs, desperate to keep my ankles away from its snapping teeth.

  Something glints off to my right. A silver-white rectangular object.

  A laptop computer. I roll, reaching for it. The monster howls, yanking on me.

  My hands close on the computer. I sit up, whipping it around. The brief shift breaks my leg lock. The creature’s teeth snap and it jerks me forward.

  The corner of the computer smashes into the zombie’s skull. Black blood spills out in a languid gush. The monster goes still.

  Breathing hard, I scramble back—only to run into the corpse I fell into earlier. Fuck and double fuck. I scramble to my feet and retrieve the flashlight with shaking hands.

  That was a close call. Too close. The list of my mistakes tallies in my head.

  Idiot. This is what I get for trying to rid the world of assholes by myself.

  The flashlight beam catches the figure with the laptop buried in its skull. The sight makes me gag. It’s not the ruined skull, but the bloody stump of a torso missing both its legs that hits me like a sucker punch. The poor kid’s legs were blown off.

  “Pillowcases,” I mutter, searching about for my knife. I find the blade on a pile of dead bodies. “Pillowcases and string.”

  Outside comes a long, loud keen. Shit. The dead boy called his friends before he died. How many are out there?

  “Mom?”

  Carter’s voice freezes me in my tracks. I flick the flashlight, illuminating Carter and Jenna inside the doorway.

  “Are you bit?” Carter’s voice spikes with panic.

  “I’m fine. I ... fell.” Going into the details of my stupidity seems pointless. I take stock of myself, of the gore coating my back, hands, and arms. At least I can’t smell myself, since everything around me stinks just as bad.

  Carter and Jenna pick their way inside, both wearing the headlights we took from Trading Post.

  “Mom, what are you doing out here?”

  I shake my head. “Go back.” I can’t drag them into this.

  “Not without you,” Jenna says.

  The vehemence in her words warms me, but I stand my ground. “Look, you guys don’t want to be a part of this. Just go back.”

  “No way,” Carter says. “We’re not leaving you here alone.”

  I consider my close call. It is stupid to be out here alone. “How did you find me?”

  Jenna opens her mouth, but Carter speaks first. “We were awake and heard you leave.”

  “Okay,” I amend. “I could use your help.”

  “What are you planning?” Carter asks.

  I shake my head, unwilling to put words to my plan. “Just help me find some pillowcases and string.”

  47

  Zombie Catchers

  JENNA

  I don’t ask any questions when Kate tells us to help find pillowcases and string. I have a sick feeling I know what her plan is. It’s too horrifying to put into words.

  “Now what?” I ask, staring at the pile of pillowcases we pilfered from a deserted bedroom.

  “Now, we catch some zombies,” Kate replies, tossing a spool of string onto the pile.

  “There are some gathered outside.” Carter hasn’t said much during our search. I suspect he also knows what his mom has planned.

  Kate nods. She looks like an extra from a zombie slasher movie. More precisely, she looks like she rolled in a dead person.

  We peer outside. The moon is up. The stars are bright beads in the sky. Five zombies mill around, called by the keening of the one Kate killed inside.

  “What’s your plan for catching them?” Carter asks.

  “Pillowcases and slipknots.” Kate unrolls a length of string, snaps it with her knife, and ties a slipknot. In a few minutes, there are five nooses next to the pillowcases.

  “I’ll be the bait,” Kate says. “Carter, you’re in charge of the pillowcases. Throw them over the head of the zombies. Jenna, you put the noose on and cinch it tight.”

  Carter hesitates. I know he doesn’t want his mother to be the bait. I also see by the steely set of Kate’s jaw that she’s dedicated to her course.

  Johnson’s face flashes in my mind. The memory of Lila’s weeping sets my teeth on edge. I’m with Kate on this. I might not know her exact plan, but I know she’s out here because of Johnson. Because of what he did. Because of what he wants to do. Living under his thumb is a bad place to live.

  “Okay,” I say, picking up the string. “Let’s do this.” I march toward the door, hoping to quell any objections from Carter.

  Kate strides after me. Carter has no choice but to follow us.

  Kate positions herself next to an abandoned car. “We use this for a barrier.” She rests a hand on the hood. “We draw them to us. Bag them and move onto the next. Don’t let them clump up. We move back around the car and keep them strung out.” She looks to each of us, waiting for confirmation that we understand the plan.

  I flex my hands around the nooses. Carter, adjusting the first pillowcase in his hand, nods.

  Kate raps with her knuckles on the car. The zombies moan in response. They rotate, their aimless milling becoming a focused march.

  The foremost of them runs straight into a pile of bodies and goes down. The second one passes him, nose lifting to scent the air. Kate keeps up her insistent knocking. She grips her knife in one hand, jaw set.

  The first of the creatures reaches us. Kate grabs it by the front of the shirt and spins it up against the side of the car. It hisses, fingers clawing at the car.

  Carter pounces, yanking the pillowcase over the zombie’s head. I’m a heartbeat after him, dropping the noose and cinching it tight.

  It all happens in less than thirty seconds. We don’t have time to bask in our brilliantly executed zombie-catching plan. The second undead is hard on the heels of the first.

  We fall back, trying to put space between us and the advancing monster.

  I stumble on shell casings, almost losing my footing. Carter grabs me to keep me from going down.

  And then the zombie is there, teeth bared as it lunges. Kate kicks, aiming at the knees. The creature falls with a howl. Kate slams her foot onto its back while Carter and I rush in and bag it.

  I breathe hard as the third zombie approaches. The first two thrash angrily, biting and clawing at the pillowcases but unable to figure out how to get them off. They weave and twist like erratic pinballs as they struggle against the fabric that stands between them and their next meal.

  Just as Kate lures the third zombie closer, one of the bagged creatures knocks into her. She tries to shove it away, but it grabs at her. They both go down right as the third zombie reaches them.

  Carter yelps as the third beast lands on his mom. I lunge forward. Snatching my knife from my belt, I swing. The hilt cracks the zombie across the face, turning his teeth away from Kate.

  Carter leaps into the fray, pinning the squirming creature as he wrestles the pillowcase over its head.

  “String, Jenna!” he hisses.

  I dart forward, cinching the noose tight around the zombie’s neck. It thrashes and writhes, moaning.

  Carter extricates himself and kicks the creature off Kate. As he does, another zombie staggers around the car.

  Fuck this. I don’t know
what Kate has planned, but hopefully, she can do it with three zombies. I’m not leaving our lives to chance.

  I intercept the undead and drive my knife through its forehead. When the fifth one comes around the car, I do the same thing to it.

  “It seemed like a solid plan,” Kate mutters as she extricates herself from the pile of squirming zombies.

  “It was semi-solid,” Carter tells her. To me, he says, “Babe, maybe this can be our new profession.”

  “What?” I ask, sucking in air.

  “You know, since we can’t have our mobile brewery. Maybe we can be a mobile zombie catcher service.”

  I stare at him, then smother a giggle. I love the fact that when Carter talks about the future, he talks about us being together. Even if he is being a goofball.

  “Maybe we can find rogue scientists working on a cure for the zombie plague,” I say. “We’ll be their go-to team for bagging undead lab rats.”

  “Mom, hope you like being bait,” Carter says.

  “Fuck that,” she says. “I’ll drive Skip. The two of you can do the hard labor. I’m getting too old for this shit.”

  As soon as she says the words, the mood sobers. All of us are thinking about whatever it is that Kate won’t talk about. About Johnson and his lackeys.

  “Now what?” I ask, flicking blood off the end of my knife.

  “Now?” Kate kicks a thrashing zombie as it rolls too close. “Now we round up our new pets and put them out to pasture.”

  48

  Pasture

  KATE

  I can only conclude that Carter and Jenna have figured out the general details of my plan. Neither questioned me hard when I told them I wanted to catch zombies. Now, as we drag them along by the long cords wrapped around their necks, they’re silent.

  When we reach the frat house, I turn to them. “Go back to Creekside.”

  They shake their heads.

  “This is our fight, too,” Carter says.

  I consider my next words. “Johnson and his crew are in that house. They stole from us. They threatened us. I intend to make sure they don’t do any of that again.” I pause, feeling my heart swell as I take in Carter and Jenna, standing side by side with their fingers laced. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do to keep them safe.

  “We’re with you, Kate,” Jenna says. “Tell us your plan.”

  I shake my head. Part of it is because I really don’t want to involve Carter and Jenna anymore. But mostly, I can’t bring myself to voice the plan I’ve put into motion over the last few days.

  “You’ve done enough,” I say. “I can take it from here.

  “Good try, Mom,” Carter says. “We’re not leaving.”

  Jenna folds her arms across her chest, adding her resolve to Carter’s.

  “You guys sure about this?” I ask. “There’s no going back.”

  “We’re sure,” Carter and Jenna say in unison.

  So be it.

  I force myself to form the words, to spell out exactly what I plan to do. I feel sick as the details of my plan fall from my tongue.

  This is self-defense, I remind myself. Sooner or later, Johnson will hurt Lila. Ryan will hurt Jenna. One or more of us will be killed by those boys.

  Jenna and Carter are pale by the time I’m finished. To my surprise, neither of them looks at me like I’m a monster. Neither of them tries to talk me out of my plan or proposes an alternate, less brutal one.

  They disappear to secure the front door of the frat house while I lead the three moaning zombies by their leashes. The undead are so preoccupied trying to claw the pillowcase away from their mouths that they don’t try to grab me. They stumble as I lead them around the back of the house, yanking at the fabric the whole time.

  I take them up the porch. It’s slow going because they trip on the steps. They make more racket as they hit the wooden planks with their knees, moaning all the while.

  I’m not worried about being heard. Based on the sounds coming from inside the house, no one is in a state to notice something as mundane as tripping and moaning zombies.

  I reach the back door and turn the handle. It’s unlocked. Laughter comes from inside. I tug the zombies forward, positioning myself behind them.

  Then I move fast. I yank the pillowcase off the first one, simultaneously planting my foot in his backside. I shove hard, sending him sprawling into the kitchen. He lands on his stomach, moaning.

  I repeat the same procedure with the second zombie, kicking him harder than the first. They end up in a pile of rotting flesh on the chipped linoleum.

  “Hey, guys, did someone let pigs in here?

  “Those aren’t pigs, brother. They’re turkeys. We should go turkey hunting!”

  “Are you sure those are turkeys? They look like pigs. Smell like pigs, too.”

  “If I say they’re turkeys, they’re turkeys, motherfuck—ouch! Fucking thing just—ouch!” A bellow splits the air. “Guys, the turkeys are biting me!”

  Someone laughs. “Johnson is afraid of turkeys! The big bad Johnson is—ouch! What the fuck—!” A second voice dissolves into screaming.

  Heart pounding, I rip off the third pillowcase and kick the last zombie inside, then slam the door. I rush around the side of the refrigerator that stands next to the door. No doubt it’s a beer fridge from the frat party days. I drive my shoulder into the side of it. It hits the porch with a boom that reverberates in my ears.

  More shouts erupt from the frat house. Backing down the steps, I crouch in the shadows and wait, gun in hand. I need to make sure they’re all dead. No loose ends. No stragglers to come seeking vengeance at Creekside.

  A flash of movement catches my eye. Jenna and Carter scurry down the driveway to the backyard.

  “Is it secure?” I whisper as they join me.

  Carter nods. “We moved the sofa on the porch in front of the door. They won’t be getting past that anytime soon.”

  I nod, embracing the sick sensation that sends gooseflesh over my body. I’m killing all those people inside the house. My action is cold blooded. Premeditated.

  “Mom, I’m not sure this is going to work. Three zombies against—how many did you say were in there?”

  “Ten.” I signed the death warrant on ten people, Roberts included. The last part makes me ache the most. There wasn’t a way to spare him without jeopardizing the entire plan.

  “I think it’s going to take more than three zombies,” Jenna says.

  “Not when they’re all high on acid.” I meet their eyes.

  Carter’s mouth falls open. Jenna blinks at me with wide eyes.

  “Reed’s acid,” she whispers. “You laced the brandy with it.”

  I nod.

  “You were never on a peace mission,” Carter says. “You went there to plant the brandy.”

  “No.” I shake my head. “The brandy was my backup plan. If Johnson had agreed to my proposal, there would be no zombies in there right now.”

  The shouting within the house escalates, followed by screaming. High-pitched keening punctuates the human voices. A second later, someone tackles the back door. The refrigerator shudders but stands fast.

  “What the fuck!” a voice hollers. “What the fuck! Guys, the turkeys!”

  The refrigerator vibrates again as the person on the other side tries to throw open the door. Gunshots rend the air, followed by more screaming and shouting.

  I absorb the sight of Carter and Jenna, their entwined hands white-knuckled as they stare at the house. I know the decision was the right one. Whatever bad karma I bestow on myself for this act, it’s worth it to keep them safe.

  “This was my plan,” I whisper to them. “My choice. This is on my conscious, not yours.”

  Several more gunshots go off, followed by the sound of shattering glass. A boot kicks out the remains of a second-story window. One of the soldiers crawls out.

  I squint, trying to see who it is, hoping against hope that it might be Roberts.

  “Stay here,” I his
s to Carter and Jenna, pushing them behind one of the faded frat sofas sitting outside in the yard. “Stay down. Don’t come out until I tell you it’s safe.”

  “Mom—”

  “Damn it, Carter,” I snap. “Shut up and listen to your mother.”

  I turn my back on his stunned expression, putting an end to the discussion. I hurry toward the house, relieved when Jenna and Carter don’t try to follow.

  My hand is sweaty around the gun. My resolve falters, mingling with fear and revulsion.

  Ducking behind a barbecue, I stare up at the roofline. Even in the darkness, I recognize the profile of Johnson. The square jawline. The hard, Romanesque nose.

  Fuck. Of all the ones in there, he’s the most dangerous.

  That should make him the easiest to kill. Maybe at some point, killing will feel easy for me.

  Amid the shouting, moaning, and screaming from inside, Johnson shimmies on a downspout. He’s naturally agile, making the trip to the ground look easy.

  I sprint across the shabby lawn, gritting my teeth. Now isn’t the time to second-guess my decision.

  I raise the gun and take aim. Johnson, hearing my approach, spins around to meet my attack. I squeeze the trigger, but not before Johnson knocks it from my hand. He delivers a vicious punch to my jaw.

  I’m thrown off my feet, pain exploding along the side of my face and neck. When I hit the ground, my breath leaves my body.

  Before I can gather myself, Johnson is on me, pinning me flat. His knees land on either of my arms, grinding them into the damp earth. His hands lock around my throat, eyes bulging with rage as he looks down at me.

  There are bite marks all up and down his arms. His eyes are glazed and bloodshot.

  The clouds open up without warning, dumping down on us in a chilly flood. My world narrows to the cold wetness, the crazed fury of Johnson, and the pair of hands squeezing the breath out of me.

  “I can’t tell if you’re the bitch from Creekside or a pink leprechaun,” Johnson snarls. “Whoever you are, this is your doing.”

  I don’t try to deny it.

  “I knew I was gonna have to get rid of you,” he snarls. “I saw it this morning when you looked at me. I was planning to hunt you down. I was going to make it fun. Then you ruined it all, you sneaky bitch. You know, you have rainbows coming out of your head right now.” He laughs, a wild, desperate sound. His grip on my neck never loosens.