Undead Ultra Box Set | Books 1-4

by Picott, Camille

  Dark circles bloom in front of my eyes, vision narrowing to a small point. My mouth works as I suck for nonexistent air. The pressure of Johnson’s fists is like a constrictor around my windpipe. I strain against his knees, trying to free my arms. I’m completely pinned, unable to move, watching the world fade and die around me.

  Kyle. His name and blue eyes flash in my mind’s eye. Frederico. I see the bob of my friend’s gray ponytail as he runs down the trail in front of me. Two of the people I love most.

  I’m on my way to join them. Just another few seconds and I’ll see them both again.

  The thought brings me peace. I stop struggling, accepting my fate.

  Johnson’s head explodes in a spray of red. I stare in dumbfounded confusion as he slumps sideways, hands sloughing away.

  Oxygen rushes back into my airway. I suck it down in long, painful gasps. Rain sheets into my face, making the world watery and indistinct.

  A figure appears above me. I blink, trying to find Carter or Jenna in the person.

  But the figure above me is dressed in military fatigues. The dark skin of his high cheekbones shimmers with the rain.

  Roberts. Recognition hits me as my wits return. I sit, coughing and sucking in air. My throat feels like it’s been scraped raw with a file. Every breath is fire.

  “I asked him to stop.” Roberts’ voice is thin and faint. “We were friends before all this started. He was a good guy. Helped me through boot camp. But something snapped. He hasn’t been right since-since—” Roberts raises a shaking hand, pointing the gun at me. My gun. “You did this. You laced the brandy and set the zombies loose in our house.”

  I stare at him. After a moment, I nod, my eyes never leaving his. I could list out my reasons. Throw them at him like bullet points on a PowerPoint presentation. But it doesn’t change the fact that I killed his friends. That I tried to kill him, even though I didn’t want to.

  “God damn it.” Roberts lowers the gun, his free hand making a surreptitious trip across his eyes. “God damn it.” This last part comes out half sob, half shout.

  Carter and Jenna materialize out of the wet darkness. Jenna helps me to my feet while Carter plants himself between us and Roberts. He holds his knife, which looks ridiculous against the gun.

  I didn’t do the things I did tonight just to watch my son get killed. I shove him aside, shaking off Jenna.

  “This was my plan,” I tell Roberts. If he wants vengeance, I have to make sure he takes it out on me. “I’m responsible for what happened tonight.”

  “I know!” Roberts shouts. “And I know why you did it!” His chest heaves. Thunder booms overhead. The frat house stands quiet in the pelting storm. “You’re a crazy bitch!”

  I don’t back down. I stand with my back straight, refusing to turn away from the murder I committed. Roberts can do what he will. There is no apologizing for what I’ve done.

  His eyes take in the lifeless body of Johnson. His shoulders slump. “Ryan and the other college kids were as bad as he was. They sold out their own friends to Johnson. If you knew the things—” He breaks off, making a choking sound. “I’d be dead with the rest of them, but I was pissed and went to bed without having any of the brandy.”

  He turns, looking back at the house. Then he looks at me. “We have to put them down.”

  “You can’t go in there,” Jenna says. “You can’t—”

  “I’ll go.” I cut her off, nodding to Roberts. This is my responsibility.

  Carter steps up beside me, armed with his knife.

  “Wait here,” I tell him.

  “No, Mom. We’re in this together.”

  “You’re not alone,” Jenna adds. “We’re family.”

  Emotion swells within me. Family. Carter and Jenna, both of them soaking wet, still stand by my side. Even after all I’ve done. I gather them both in a hug, a shudder of relief running through me.

  Family.

  49

  Clean Up

  KATE

  The interior of the frat house is a gory tomb. I lead Roberts, Jenna, and Carter inside, my shoes squelching in the blood.

  The first body I see belongs to one of the college boys. His face is scrunched in a rictus of pain. The body is on its side just inside the door, stomach and throat ripped open.

  What have I done?

  Recalling my interaction with the group this morning, my lips thin. I did what I had to do.

  I pull out my knife, crouching beside the dead boy. He hasn’t turned yet, but it’s only a matter of time. My heart thuds as I place the tip of my knife against his temple. Forcing myself to watch, I shove.

  Tears sting my eyes as the knife slides into the skull. He was just a kid. A stupid, lost kid.

  A hand rests on my shoulder. Roberts. He gives me a tight nod of approval.

  We fan out into the kitchen. There is blood and body pieces on the floor and counters. More gore is smeared on the cabinets and walls.

  In the middle of the pool table is a body. Two zombies crouch on either side, gnawing on it. They’re so busy enjoying their feast they don’t notice us.

  The dead boy on the table is Ryan.

  Jenna falls in beside me, the two of us advancing down the left side of the pool table toward the zombie feasting on Ryan’s forearm. Roberts and Carter move in on the right side, heading toward the other zombie.

  My shoe scuffs against the floor, the blood on the bottom making a soft squeak. The zombies turn their white eyes in our direction, baring bloodied teeth as they snarl.

  Jenna and I spring forward. Her screwdriver drives up through the beast’s throat while my knife finds his skull. Carter and Roberts make short work of their zombie.

  A wild howl slices the air. The last zombie leaps over a nearby sofa, charging straight at us.

  I leap out to meet the creature head on. With a shout, I swing the knife. The front of its face buckles under the blow. Blood sprays everywhere. The zombie drops without another sound.

  “You are officially the scariest woman I’ve ever met,” Roberts murmurs.

  I draw in a shaky breath. “I don’t feel very scary.”

  “You are,” Jenna and Carter assure me.

  Roberts turns his attention back to the body of Ryan. “I got this one,” he says. “Believe me when I say this motherfucker doesn’t deserve mercy, but I don’t want his sorry ass coming back to bite any of us.”

  He jams the knife through Ryan’s eye socket. The body twitches under the force of the impact, then lies still.

  I let out a shaky breath and turn my attention to the rest of the living room. The bottle of brandy lays on its side, the remnants of the brown liquid glistening on a scratched oak end table.

  I count six other bodies in various states of ruin. None of them move. All bear a myriad of grisly wounds, most on the throat and abdomen. Zombies are efficient killers.

  As I move into the sitting room, a muffled cry makes me jump. I spin around, knife raised. The rest of my companions do the same. The noise comes from behind a closed door at the back of the kitchen.

  “The bathroom,” Roberts says.

  As a group, we creep toward the bathroom. Something is most definitely moving on the other side of the door.

  “Did you hear that?” Jenna hisses. “I think someone is crying.”

  Dread makes my feet heavy. Is there a newly turned zombie behind the door? Even worse, could it be someone who’s bitten but still alive?

  “Get the door,” I tell Roberts. “Jenna, Carter, get behind me.”

  Roberts hesitates. He’s probably not used to taking orders from a middle-aged woman with bad hair.

  “The door,” I repeat, leaving no room for argument. It’s my job to take care of whatever is on the other side.

  Lips compressed, Roberts nods. I ready myself, tightening sweaty hands around my weapon. He wraps one large fist around the doorknob and yanks.

  A figure inside screams, throwing her arms over her head. She cowers inside an old-fashioned cla
w-foot tub.

  “Ash!” Roberts shoulders past me, pushing into the bathroom.

  Ash. The girl who made pancakes. I might be sick. Am I going to have to put down the girl who made me pancakes?

  “Don’t touch me!” Ash screams, cowering on the bottom of the tub.

  “Ash, it’s me, Caleb.”

  “Caleb?” She raises a face streaked with tears. “You look like a talking reindeer.”

  “That’s the acid talking.”

  “Acid?”

  “The brandy was laced with acid. Are you hurt?”

  Ash shakes her head.

  “No bites?” Roberts demands.

  Again, Ash shakes her head. My knees nearly give out in relief.

  “I-I was on the toilet when the screaming started,” she whispers. “Bugs started crawling out of the walls. Ryan kept yelling about flesh-eating turkeys.” She shudders. “I was so scared. God, I wish you didn’t look like a talking reindeer. With a green nose. Rudolf the green-nosed reindeer.” The noise that comes out of her throat is half sob, half hiccup.

  Roberts leans down, scooping Ash up into his arms. She leans her head against his chest.

  “Are they gone?” she whispers.

  Even though Ash is scared and high as a kite, it occurs to me she’s not asking about the zombies. Those were not the scariest things in this house.

  Roberts glances at me. “Yeah. They’re gone.”

  “Ryan, too?”

  “Yep.”

  Another shudder goes through her body. “Thank fucking God.”

  “It was the woman who came to have breakfast with us,” Roberts tells her. “She took care of them. She’s standing here with us.”

  “All of those dickwads? By herself?”

  “Pretty much, though she had a little help.”

  Ash squints out at us, then shakes her head. “All I see are reindeer with tie-dyed fur. Oh, and walls with trees growing out of the side.”

  Roberts responds by tightening his arms around Ash.

  “Come back with us,” I say. “Our place is safe. We have supplies.”

  “Come back with you?” Roberts stares at me with narrowed eyes. Behind me, I sense Carter and Jenna shift with unease, but neither of them contradicts my offer.

  “In case you haven’t noticed,” I reply, “there’s a shortage of good people in the world. Well, a shortage of people in general, but definitely a shortage of good people.” I glance at Jenna and Carter. “We can use good people.”

  “Caleb,” Ash says, “I want to go with the lady who got rid of Johnson and Ryan. Tell her I’ll make pancakes.”

  After a long moment of hesitation, Roberts extend one hand to me in greeting. “My name is Caleb Roberts. I’m from San Diego.”

  I grasp his hand and shake it. “My name is Kate. I’m from Sonoma County. This is my son, Carter, and his girlfriend, Jenna. It’s nice to meet you, Caleb.”

  I look at Caleb’s defeated shoulders, at the wrecked frat house looming large and bloody all around us. This could be the dumbest decision I’ve ever made. But maybe I can balance out tonight’s dark deeds with a little compassion. Caleb did save my life, and Ash made me pancakes.

  Caleb’s gaze shifts to Carter. “That’s one hell of a mom you got. She’s got balls.”

  A grin spreads across Carter’s face. “Tell me about it. She ran two hundred miles on foot to get here.”

  Caleb stares at me without blinking, absorbing this information with a long look that makes me want to squirm.

  “I definitely want to go with you,” Ash says, “even if you do look like a psychedelic reindeer.”

  A soft laugh rumbles in my chest, spreading warmth through my body. For the first time in a long time, I feel a twinge of optimism. Maybe, just maybe, everything will be okay.

  “Come on,” I say. “Let’s go home.”

  Epilogue

  Mama Bear

  KATE

  “Mama Bear, are you there? Over.”

  From my seat at the kitchen table, I pick up the ham. “Foot Soldier, this is Mama Bear. How are you? Over.”

  “I picked apples today. Can you believe it? There are seven different apple trees here. If you held a gun to my head, I couldn’t name seven different kinds of apples. I always thought there was red, yellow, green, and those other ones that are sort of a blend of all three colors.”

  I laugh. “How do they taste?”

  “Like heaven.” Alvarez lets out a moan of pleasure. “I’m so sick of fish and seagull. It’s a nice change of pace. How are things going with the track?”

  “We managed to clear it of zombies. It took us almost five days, but we managed. The fence around the bleachers is intact, so once we got rid of the zombies it’s remained clear. We’ve moved our daily workouts there.”

  “Your group isn’t afraid to venture out anymore?”

  “There’s always a healthy amount of wariness, but it’s not like before. Now that Johnson is gone, we go outside every day. Eric hooked up another two solar panels and managed to get the lights working in two of the apartments.”

  “Electricity, huh? You trying to make me jealous, Mama Bear?”

  “Is it working?”

  “We have a grain mill. Beat that.”

  I chuckle. “Yeah, but you need horses to pull it.”

  “I’m working on that. We spotted some horses on a scavenging run. The problem is no one here knows how to ride. We’ll figure it out, though. How are things going with the newcomers?”

  “They’re integrating. Things were a bit tense at first, but once I told them how Caleb saved my life, things loosened up. Oh, Carter, Jenna, and I moved out.”

  “Moved out?”

  “Just into the dorm next door,” I explain. “Things were pretty tight in the apartment. And I was tired of sleeping on the sofa. I have my own room now. So do Jenna and Carter. Caleb and Ash are rooming with us, too.” I don’t tell him my ceiling is covered with Grateful Dead posters, or that the closet smells like a gym locker. I haven’t had a chance to make the place my own yet.

  “What about the other girl?” Alvarez asks.

  “Lila? She’s better. She’s twitchy around Caleb, but at least she leaves her bedroom. She won’t leave the building yet. She’s taken over daily meal prep for us.”

  “Aw man, you have a chef?”

  “I wouldn’t call her a chef,” I reply, thinking of the cake Lila made on the barbecue, which had been more charcoal than cake. “But she’s pretty good at heating up canned food.”

  “We started a compost pile. We integrated those techniques Jenna got out of the gardening book, but none of the seeds have come up yet. I feel like we spend a lot of time staring at dirt. And fishing. And plucking seagulls. Man, I still can’t believe I eat seagulls. Those are dirty fucking birds.”

  I laugh. “Is there anything else you need us to get from the library?”

  Alvarez’s reply is cut off as the door to the dorm swings open. Carter and Jenna file inside, followed by the rest of the crew. Even Lila is with them, dirt smudged on her cheeks from her work in the garden beds. She stands a little closer than necessary to Eric.

  “Mom? I think you’d better come out here.”

  “I have to go,” I say to Alvarez. “Good luck with that garden, Foot Soldier. Let me know if you need us to find more books from the library.”

  “Good luck with the track workouts, Mama Bear. Talk in three days?”

  “Three days,” I agree. “Over and out, Foot Soldier.”

  “Over and out, Mama Bear.”

  I switch off the ham. “What’s up?” I ask my kids.

  “There’s someone here to see you,” Carter says.

  Wariness snakes through my gut. I try to read the expressions around me, but everyone looks as confused as I feel.

  “Who’s here to see me?” I ask.

  Carter shakes his head. “You need to come downstairs.”

  I grab my gun belt, slinging it around my waist. My knife and scr
ewdriver have a home in the belt alongside the firearm. Between the three pieces, I feel ready for just about anything, although the screwdriver is my preferred go-to weapon for dispatching zombies.

  Thanks to Caleb and Ash—and the enormous stash of weapons Johnson had squirreled away in the frat house—we are now the proud owners of an impressive arsenal. Johnson had been smart enough to raid all the dead military bodies after the night of the massacre, which was why we hadn’t seen any weapons among all the bodies.

  Caleb and Ash are both eager to teach us all how to shoot, but I haven’t figured out a safe way to do that. Guns might be necessary, but the the sound draws zombies. Instead, the pair has started hand-to-hand combat practice with us. We tack the training on at the end of our runs. I’m getting decent at swinging a knife.

  I push open the door to the downstairs lounge. The carpet has been pulled up and two raised garden beds erected in the center of the room. Lila and Eric have seeds started under the grow lights. A few tiny shoots poke their heads out of the soil. Reed laments that we’re growing zucchini instead of marijuana, but he’ll get over it.

  The broad wooden door we built over the entrance is shut, the security bar in place. This does nothing to ease my nerves.

  “Should I open it?” I ask them.

  Seven heads nod. Not surprisingly, Lila didn’t make the journey back downstairs with us. She only comes down with Eric to work on the garden, but whatever lies on the other side of our front door has her hiding upstairs again. Another not-so-good sign.

  I pull off the bar. I almost set it on the floor, then think better of it. Instead, I brace one end against my hip and push open the door, ready to take a swing at whoever is on the other side.

  A man in green military fatigues stands there. He looks to be in his late forties or early fifties. A dark crew cut is laced generously with gray. White stubble paints the lower half of his face. Sharp, dark eyes lance through me, drilling a quick, efficient assessment. I don’t like the feeling of being under a microscope.