Undead Ultra Box Set | Books 1-4

by Picott, Camille

  “This her?” His voice comes out raspy, like he hasn’t used it in a long time.

  “This is Kate,” Caleb replies. The tall, dark-skinned boy wears a grim expression. “Kate, this is Ben Wheaton.”

  Wheaton and Caleb stare at each other over the sea of heads that separates them. The mutual hostility is palpable.

  Wheaton looks away first. Somehow, he makes it seem more like a dismissal than a retreat. His gaze shifts to me, once again assessing me from my toes to my head.

  “Like what you see?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at him. I know perfectly well how I look. I’m the skinniest I’ve ever been, my face and arms tan from the long track workouts under the sun. My gray roots have grown out another inch.

  “You don’t recognize me,” Wheaton replies. “I was too far away for you to see the first time we met. But I know you, Kate.”

  My hackles rise. I know who this guy is. “You’re the gunman from College Creek.”

  “I’m flattered you remember me.”

  “We thought you were dead,” I reply. “We’ve been back to College Creek many times and never seen you.”

  Wheaton shrugs. “I moved weeks ago when I tracked Johnson and his crew back to their nest. I cleared out an apartment that overlooked the backyard of that motherfucker’s den. I had a plan. I was going to go in while they all slept. The night I was going to attack, I saw you crawl under the porch. I decided to wait until you were clear so you didn’t get shot in the crossfire.” His eyes flick to Caleb. “I was going to kill every one of those motherfuckers for what they did.”

  “Caleb didn’t kill any of those College Creek kids,” Ash says.

  “He didn’t pull the trigger,” Wheaton replies. “But when push came to shove, he went with Johnson and Ryan.”

  Caleb pales. There is shame in his eyes. He looks away under the scorn that radiates from Wheaton.

  “Caleb saved my life.” I plant myself between this cranky old man and my soldier. “Johnson would have killed me if not for Caleb. If you have a problem with him, you can turn the fuck around and march yourself back to wherever you came from.”

  Wheaton barks a laugh. “I knew I’d like you.” He grins, but his dark eyes don’t blink as they look into mine. His intensity is unnerving.

  I stare right back at him, refusing to back down. “Tell me what you want.”

  “Like I was saying, I postponed my attack until you were clear. I made plans to go in the next night. As I strapped on my gear, I looked out the window, and what did I see?” He points a finger at me. “I saw you shoving zombies through the back door of the frat house. After that, all I had to do was pull up a chair and watch the show. Their screaming was pure poetry. For that, I salute you.”

  And he does salute me. Right there in the doorway. His hand snaps up and out from his brow in a perfect military salute.

  “But you only had three zombies,” Wheaton continues. “That shouldn’t have been enough to get rid of that viper’s nest. I want to know how you did it. How did you get rid of those fuckers?”

  I consider slamming the door in this whack job’s face, except he’s somehow maneuvered himself between the door and me.

  “Acid,” I say. “I laced a bottle of booze with acid.”

  Wheaton blinks. Stares. Then throws back his head and roars with laughter. He laughs so hard he doubles over. The sound is razor sharp, grating at my ears. He puts one hand out on the doorway to support himself. To my shock, a few tears of mirth slide down his cheeks.

  He laughs, and laughs, and laughs. The sound takes on a maniacal edge. My hand inches toward my knife.

  “And I thought he was scary when he was mad,” Caleb mutters behind me. “This is way scarier.” He’s inched his way forward and planted himself directly to my left. His free hand rests on his gun in a stance that is pure protectiveness.

  “Is he alone?” I whisper to Caleb.

  “Yeah,” Caleb replies. “Johnson killed all the other soldiers who opposed him. He would have killed Wheaton, too, if he hadn’t run.”

  I recall the soldiers we’d seen staked to doors and trees. More of Johnson’s handiwork.

  “Ma’am,” Wheaton says, finally straightening. He huffs a few more times, trying to control his mirth. A few more maniacal laughs bubble up. “Ma’am,” he says again, “I salute you. I. Salute. You.” He rips off another three salutes in my direction.

  “Are we done here?” I ask coldly. I’m ready for this fucker to take a hike.

  “I hope not,” Wheaton replies. “I was hoping you would be so kind as to let me join your band of merry men.”

  “No—” I begin, but he cuts me off.

  “I don’t come empty-handed.” Wheaton steps to the side.

  Next to the door is a giant tarp. I hadn’t seen it before because of its angle to the door. Wheaton tugs on a string holding the tarp closed. The material crinkles as it falls away.

  In the center of the tarp is a huge pile of food and guns. Wheaton grins at me as he takes in my shock.

  “I’ve been busy,” he replies. “I have three more bundles like this one. My contribution to the band, if you’ll let me join.”

  I might be a newbie when it comes to guns, but I’ve seen enough of them with Caleb and Ash to have a newfound appreciation for firearms. I know a treasure trove when I see one.

  To put off from answering, I ask, “Where did you get all that?”

  Wheaton’s grin broadens. “I may have raided a few military caches. I wanted to make a good first impression when I came calling. This is my way of showing you I’m ready to be a useful member of your tribe. I’ll pull my weight. I’ll cook. Keep watch. Clean up shit. Whatever. But I want to follow the woman who had the balls to take on those little prepubescent fuckers with three zombies and a bottle of acid.”

  I suppose I should be flattered. The guy is paying me a compliment, after all. His intensity is unnerving. He won’t quit staring at me, which makes me wish I’d dyed my roots. Which is stupid. When did I start caring about my bad hair?

  I’m about to turn him away when Caleb edges closer to me. He bumps me with his elbow.

  “He’s good people, Kate,” he murmurs. “He stood up to Johnson. He tried to defend the College Creek kids before things went sideways.”

  Wheaton listens to every word, mouth twisting in distaste.

  I look to Ash, who has shouldered up on my right side. “What’s your opinion of him?” I ask, not bothering to whisper or be discreet. This Wheaton guy needs to know he’s under assessment.

  “He’s a grouchy fucker,” Ash says, “but Caleb is right. He works hard and his compass always points north. He might be an irritating old fuck, but he’ll be a contributing member of our group.” Based on the heat in Ash’s words, I get the feeling she’s wanted to say them for a long time.

  “You’d be grouchy too if you’d spent the last thirty years of your life killing in the name of democracy,” Wheaton replies. “This war is refreshing that way. It’s the first time I’ve killed in the name of humanity. Brings it all home.” He smacks a closed fist over his heart.

  “Can we trust him?” I ask Ash and Caleb. When they both nod, I sigh inwardly.

  I like the little family I’ve collected. We have good synchronicity. I don’t want to change it by adding a new member.

  But Ash and Caleb respect this guy. As much as they dislike him, both think he’ll be a good addition to our group. I can’t deny that we could use a trained military veteran in our midst.

  “You can join us,” I say, “but you fall in line with our routine. Endurance is an essential part of our survival plan. We work out every morning for two to four hours. We spend the rest of our time scavenging and fortifying our home. Sunday is our day of rest.”

  “When we’re not undergoing sleep deprivation training,” Reed adds.

  “When we’re not undergoing sleep deprivation training,” I amend.

  Wheaton’s eyes take on an eerie brightness. If I didn’t know better, I�
��d say he just perked up at the idea of sleep deprivation training. He’s a little weird, I conclude.

  “If you don’t like the way that sounds, turn around now,” I say, hoping he’ll do just that.

  No such luck.

  “Whatever you say, ma’am,” Wheaton replies. “You have my word that I will follow your orders.”

  “Welcome to Creekside, Ben Wheaton.”

  The kids shift behind me, forming a tunnel so Ben can enter Creekside. Ben laces up his tarp, slinging the rope over one shoulder to haul it inside.

  “Reed!” a new voice rings out.

  The tarp and its contents clatter to the ground. Every person, including Ben, draws a weapon as a dark-haired man scrambles out from behind a clump of bushes and dead bodies.

  “Reed!” He runs forward and throws himself to his knees before us.

  I realize in shock that this is one of the bastards who locked up Carter, Reed, and Jenna in the rock shop. The guy I beat over the head with a chair. There’s a dent in his forehead, a ripple of skin and bone where I struck him. I can’t believe he’s still alive.

  “Jesus!” Reed pushes his way forward. “I thought you were dead.”

  “Take me in!” Jesus wails. “Tell your Mamita that I’m loyal. I’m handy in a fight and I never, ever turn my back on my people.”

  Mamita. I suppose that’s me. I glare down at the drug dealer. “That’s a bit hard to believe when you pointed a gun at Reed and locked him and his friends up in a closet,” I say coldly.

  “You’ve got it all wrong,” Reed says. “Jesus is my friend.”

  “He tried to protect us when Rosario’s men started shooting,” Jenna adds.

  “He held you guys at gunpoint,” I argue. “I saw him.”

  Reed waves a hand, moving to stand beside Jesus. “He was just fucking with us. He didn’t mean anything by it.”

  “You have an interesting definition of friend,” Ben remarks.

  “Jesus went outside to hunt Rosario’s men while we stayed inside,” Carter says. “He tried to protect us.”

  The man clasps both hands before him like he’s praying. Could this day get any weirder?

  “I’ve been on my own out here for weeks,” Jesus says. “I can’t do it anymore. I knew I needed Reed’s Mamita. I came to the campus looking for you.” He turns imploring eyes to Reed. “I need you, brother. Tell her we’re brothers!”

  “We’re brothers,” Reed says, turning an earnest expression to me. “Mama, Jesus is my friend.”

  “This she-wolf nearly beat me to death with a chair to rescue you,” Jesus replies. “She inspires loyalty.” He looks to me again. “I will follow you anywhere, do anything for you. I am your man, Mamita.”

  “You beat this fucker with a chair?” Ben asks.

  “Yeah,” Johnny says. “After she set a building on fire to rescue these guys.” He jerks a thumb in Carter’s direction.

  “That’s not exactly what—” I begin.

  “You have a dent in your forehead,” Reed interrupts, peering at Jesus’s head. “That wasn’t there the last time I saw you.”

  “This is from Mamita.” Jesus reverently touches his scalp.

  “That’s nothing,” Jenna says. “You should see the guys she hit in the face with a cast iron skillet.”

  “Those guys didn’t make it,” Johnny adds.

  Ben’s eyebrows climb his forehead. He gives me another head-to-toe appraisal that makes me feel naked.

  This is all more than I can take. I need to go for a run. A long one.

  “Fuck it,” I say. “Jesus, you can join us. But you play by my rules. You run your ass off every day. You scavenge. You clean. You be a functioning, committed member of our group. If you don’t fall in line, your ass is out. Do you understand?” I feel like a mom grilling a teenager who wants to stay out past curfew for the first time.

  “Just promise you’ll beat someone with a chair for me,” Jesus replies.

  I let out a huff. “If some fucker drags your ass off the street at gunpoint, locks you in a closet, then proceeds to get in a shooting match over a turf war that doesn’t matter anymore, then yes, I will beat someone with a chair for you.”

  “Thank you, Mamita.” Jesus gets to his feet. I’m unnerved to see tears glittering on the edges of his lashes.

  “You might throw up,” Reed says. “I threw up, like, at least five times when I started running. She isn’t joking about the running thing.”

  “I follow Mamita,” Jesus says.

  “I reserve the right to throw chairs at each of you,” I say, pointing to Ben and Jesus in irritation.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Ben says, while Jesus says, “Yes, Mamita.”

  “We call her Mama Bear,” Reed says. “You guys need to get used to that.”

  “This is going in the notebook,” Johnny says. “I’m starting a new one. It’s called Dorm Life.”

  “Whatever, dude,” Eric says. “Not like anyone is going to read it.”

  “Dude,” Johnny replies, “you never know. Two hundred years from now an archeology team could come through here to document the outbreak. My notebook could end up in a museum. It could be an international bestseller, like the Diary of Anne Frank.”

  “Now you’re definitely giving yourself too much credit,” Carter says.

  I step to the side, gesturing to Jesus and Ben. “Welcome to Creekside,” I say, hoping I’m not making a mistake. “I hope you’re both ready to be immortalized.”

  Acknowledgments

  Many thanks to those who shared in the journey of Dorm Life!

  Dani Crabtree

  Victoria DeLuis

  Chris Picott

  Saundra Wright

  Lost Coast

  Undead Ultra

  Book 3

  By

  Camille Picott

  www.camillepicott.com

  Copyright 2019 Camille Picott

  Prologue

  Massacre

  BEN

  Six months ago ...

  That rat bastard Johnson was up to something. Johnson and his little weasel, Ryan. Ben was certain. Those boys had a charisma inherent to high school bullies.

  Ben was convinced they were going to go for the food. For the past week, Johnson’s lackeys had been sneaking off in the middle of the night in pairs. He suspected they were setting up a new headquarters and planned to steal all the supplies for themselves.

  Ben saw the way Johnson looked over the rations, at the way he leveraged the best food for himself and the soldiers. He liked having power over people.

  Just last week, he’d bullied the college kids into smaller rations.

  “Who’s going to keep you safe?” Johnson had reasoned. “If you don’t have us to protect you, the zoms will get you.”

  The rest of the soldiers were just as bad. They were all obnoxious pricks who subscribed to pack mentality. And Johnson was the leader.

  Ben was going to make sure the college kids weren’t left high and dry when Johnson made his move. In fact, if everything went according to plan, Ben didn’t intend for any of them to be around come tomorrow night.

  He made his way through the dark hallway and slipped into the dorm that had been converted to a stores room. He looked for things that could be carried easily. Powdered soup mixes and packets of Top Ramen. Bottles of aspirin. He scribbled a list with a broken pencil on a Post-It Note, making note of everything he planned to steal.

  He’d lead the kids away tomorrow night. Sneak out all the ones who hadn’t thrown their lot in with Johnson. Five miles north of here was a town. McKinleyville. He didn’t think Johnson would follow them all that way. Ben just needed to make sure they had enough supplies to hold them over a few days until they found a new home base.

  He considered recruiting other soldiers to join him. There were two on the outside of Johnson’s gang. The first was Ash. The fact that she was female put her at a disadvantage with Johnson. He respected her because she was tough, but she wasn’t part of the in
ner circle.

  The other was Caleb. The young man was close to Johnson for reasons Ben couldn’t fathom, but he wasn’t like the rest of the soldiers. He knew the way they bullied the college kids was wrong. But he didn’t do a damn thing about it, which in Ben’s mind made him as guilty as the rest.

  In the end, Ben decided it was too risky to trust Ash and Caleb. They spent too much time with Johnson. Ben had to pull this off on his own. He—

  “Stop!” someone yelled. It sounded like Caleb. “Don’t do this! Johnson, stop!”

  The sound of shattering glass sent a spike of adrenaline through him. Ben jumped to his feet just as gunfire peppered the air.

  No.

  He tore out of the room and sprinted to the stairwell, taking the steps two at a time.

  No.

  He flung open the door, running full tilt toward the sound of battle. Screams clawed at him, urging him onward.

  It wasn’t the screams of zombies. It was the screams of people. Of college kids.

  The double glass doors leading out into the courtyard were shattered. Ben threw himself through the opening, not feeling the shards that tore right through his clothes and his flesh.

  He burst into the courtyard, confronted by the sight of blood. So much blood. It ran toward the large drain near the center of the open area, bright red slashes against the gray pavement.

  His brain flashed through a sequence of scenes. Blood on the hard-packed ground in an Iranian village. Blood spurting through his fingers as he tried to staunch a bleeding friend on the desert ground. Blood spraying like a popped soda can when the grenade went off near the meat shop in Somalia.

  His life could be painted in a series of blood patterns.

  It took him several heartbeats to wrench himself free of the memories. He careened back into the present just as a bullet grazed the tip of his ear, sending a burn up and across his scalp.

  Ben leaped for cover in the doorway’s alcove. He gripped his Sig and peered around the corner.