Undead Ultra Box Set | Books 1-4

by Picott, Camille

  Ben studies her face. He expects to see the eyes of a woman who’s set a cunning trap for softhearted idiots. Instead, he sees a woman who looks like she’s going to collapse from exhaustion. As he watches, she buries her face in both hands, shoulders shaking with sobs.

  Dammit. Maybe her husband really was attacked by a shark. Maybe she really is as desperate as she’d sounded on the ham.

  Caleb returns a few minutes later, crawling up beside him. Even the mud splashed on his face can’t diminish his pretty boy features.

  “I saw the woman,” Ben says.

  “Me, too. I think her message was real. I think she needs help.”

  Grudgingly, Ben nods his head in agreement. “We go in together. Make sure it’s all clear before signaling the others.”

  Caleb doesn’t argue. He and Ben rise out of the marsh, lifting rifles to their shoulders as they advance on the Fairhaven. They make just enough noise to alert anyone on the boat paying attention. They don’t want to board the Fairhaven in stealth mode and give the woman a heart attack. Or worse, scare her badly enough that she shoots at them.

  Their splashing pays off. Her feet echo on the deck as she rushes to the starboard railing. She lets out a cry of joy at the sight of them.

  Ben’s not sure what he thinks of a woman crying in joy at the sight of two men pointing rifles in her direction. Women make no sense. At least, not to him.

  “I need help,” she cries. “My husband, he—”

  “We received your distress call, ma’am,” Caleb says.

  The young woman practically melts at Caleb’s words. “You’re here to help?” she asks.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She stares at them, her mouth hanging open. Tears stream down her face as she drops a rope ladder over the side of the vessel, no questions asked.

  Ben trades his rifle for his handgun, making sure the woman sees the weapon. She does. And she shows no fear or trepidation. Either she’s stupid or desperate. Maybe both.

  On board the ship, Ben spots more blood. Big smears of it that could only come from a severe wound.

  “My husband is in the hold. Do either of you have first aid or medic skills?” She wrings her hands together.

  “Ma’am, we need to assess your husband.” Caleb’s voice is strong and reassuring.

  She flashes him a grateful smile and hurries first into the hold.

  They follow her down. The smell of blood hits Ben. The metallic stench of it is strong in the small, dark space.

  On the starboard side is a small table for two, a tiny sink, and counter for food prep. On the port side is a bunk and a tiny bathroom.

  On the lower bunk is an unconscious man. His legs are wrapped in bloody clothing. Wads of bloody bandages and towels are piled in one corner. It looks like the woman used every scrap of fabric in this place to staunch the bleeding.

  The man is in bad shape. Real bad shape. There is no deceit here, only miserable desperation. He finally understands why Kate made them come.

  Ben turns on his heel, heading back to the deck.

  “Where are you going?” the woman asks, voice heavy with desperation.

  “To get reinforcements. We have a trained medic with us.”

  The sob of relief that tears from her throat follows him upstairs.

  11

  Fairhaven

  KATE

  The woman’s name is Susan. Her husband is Gary. The two of them are high school sweethearts who grew up in Eureka, the aging crown jewel of the logging era of Northern California. The city is ten miles south of Arcata. They graduated from Humboldt University and took out a loan to buy their charter boat. They’ve spent the last eight years catering to the tourist industry: deep-sea fishing, kayaking, diving, and whale watching.

  “We’ve been living at sea since the beginning,” Susan tells us, eyes glassy as she watches Ash tend to Gary’s leg.

  The man looks like he was fed to a paper shredder. It’s hard to believe he’s still alive.

  “We came into the bay to siphon gas from other boats,” Susan tells us. “There were bodies floating in the water but we didn’t think much of it. They were real dead bodies, not zombies, so we didn’t worry. Gary climbed out on the rope ladder to pull us in close to another boat. He was in the water up to his knees.” She swallows, wiping tears with the back of her hand. “It all happened so fast. I saw something big moving through the water.” She gives a shaky laugh. “Have you ever seen a great white in the wild?”

  We all shake our heads. Jenna pulls a bottle of water from her backpack and passes it to Susan.

  “The one who attacked Gary was bigger than any I’ve ever seen. Like a small car. He came out of the water so fast. I was standing there with Gary. I grabbed his arm. We both went down, but I had my feet wedged against the inside of the boat.” Her eyes glow with exhausted ferocity. “No way in hell was I letting go of my husband.” She takes several gulps of the water from Jenna. “It all happened in less than thirty seconds. The shark swam away and I pulled Gary to safety.”

  Susan wraps her arms around her knees. “That was yesterday. I bandaged him up as best I could. We’re low on fuel but I was too afraid to try and get more by myself. From all the reports we’d heard, Eureka is overrun with zombies. I figured Arcata was my best chance at finding help. Besides, it was the only place I could get to with the fuel we had. So here we are.” Her laugh is shaky, tinged with the trauma of her experience.

  Jenna makes a soft sound of sympathy in the back of her throat, kneeling down to put an arm around Susan. The other woman leans into her embrace, but her eyes travel to the bunk bed.

  “Is he going to make it?” she whispers.

  Ash doesn’t look up from where she stitches one of the nasty tears in Gary’s leg. “I’m going to do my best, ma’am. Once I get him sewn up, we need to get him back to Creekside.”

  I’d known there was a high probability we’d have to transport an unconscious man through Arcata all the way back to Creekside. Which is why I brought such a large party of strong young men. But I hadn’t factored in the danger of the alphas.

  “Bro, remember that time Jason got shot in that drive-by on Seventeenth?” Jesus asks.

  Reed lets out a long whistle. “That sucked. Our car was, like, ten blocks away.”

  “But remember when we stole those shovels out of that shed and made a stretcher?”

  Reed’s eyebrows fly up. “Yeah.”

  The two of them turn to Susan. “What do you have around here that can be made in to a stretcher?” Reed asks.

  Thirty minutes later, we have a makeshift stretcher cobbled together from boat railing and rope.

  “Who would have thought first-hand experience in a drive-by shooting just might save the life of a man attacked by a shark in a zombie apocalypse?” Carter says as Reed and Jesus take the stretcher into the hold to retrieve Gary.

  “Johnny is going to have a field day with this,” I reply.

  “He’s going to be pissed he didn’t get to come,” Jenna says.

  Most likely. Johnny is always up for an outing when he thinks he has a chance to experience something exciting enough to go into the book he’s writing. Books, actually. He’s writing at least two about the apocalypse, maybe three. It’s hard to keep track.

  I stand at the railing of the Fairhaven, staring back in the direction of Arcata. “We can’t go back the way we came.” In my mind’s eye, I keep seeing the swarm of zombies we encountered with the alpha in its midst. “The risk is too great. We won’t be able to run fast with the stretcher. We could lose Gary if we get ourselves into a position where we have to sprint.”

  We could lose Gary anyway, though I keep this to myself. I’m going to do everything I can to get him safely back to Creekside.

  “You think we should head west and go the long way around?” Carter asks.

  “No.” I shake my head. “The stretcher is heavy. The shorter the distance we have to travel, the better. I think we need to try and get acro
ss Highway 101.” I try not to flinch as I say those words. “It’s a straight shot back to campus once we’re on the other side of the freeway.”

  Jenna and Carter look at each other, then at me. Neither of them says a word.

  “It’s risky,” I admit.

  Carter heaves a sigh. “We just made it across Samoa Highway. We’re practically lane jumping pros now.” Despite his attempt at levity, it falls flat. The seriousness of our situation has us all on edge.

  “Ben’s car alarm trick was a good one,” Jenna says. “He went for one of the shinier, newer cars to make sure it had one. We can do the same thing to get across 101. It’s a solid tactic.”

  I resist the urge to wring my hands. I can’t let my kids see how worried I am about this mission. It was my idea to come out here to help Gary and Susan in the first place.

  Jesus and Reed bring the stretcher out of the hold, Gary’s slack body secured in place with ropes.

  Seeing Susan’s pinched, exhausted face, I know we did the right thing. Good people are worth fighting for.

  Once everyone is assembled on the upper deck, I say, “I have a plan for getting back to Creekside.”

  As I lay out the details, I watch Ben’s mouth twist into a grimace. To my surprise, he doesn’t insult the idea or even argue. Rather, he stomps to the side of the boat and climbs over the edge.

  “We’re burning daylight,” he calls. “Let’s get moving. I’m pretty sure none of us wants to cross 101 in the dark.”

  No one has anything to say to that. We gather our belongings and exit the boat. As I swing down onto the rope ladder, Susan lightly brushes my hand.

  “Thank you,” she whispers. “I know how much you all risked coming here to help us.”

  I give her what I hope is a reassuring smile, even though my stomach is already lumpy with anxiety over the mission. “Good people need to help one another,” I reply. “It’s the only way we’re going to survive.”

  And even though I truly believe that, I wish helping good people wasn’t so damn scary and dangerous.

  12

  Highway 101

  BEN

  If there’s a crazy idea to be had, Kate’s going to find it. It’s that simple.

  Not only did she propose they cross over Highway 101—the goddamn, motherfucking road of death—but she logically pointed out that the best way to get to it was to hike all the way through the marshland and bypass the southern part of Arcata all together.

  Ben tries to imagine his old man fighting the Viet Cong. He often carries thoughts of his dad with him on missions. It helps him when things get hard and uncomfortable. He tells himself that if his old man could survive the paddies of Vietnam, he can survive the marshland of Arcata.

  The one thing going for the chill, sticky mud he currently tromps through—in his neon running shoes—is that it was uninhabited by people before the apocalypse. The powers that be had set this land aside for birds and fish. And oysters, according to Carter. All that means there are no zombies to contend with out here.

  But fucking shit, there are few things in life he hates more than wet shoes, wet socks, and wet feet. The one thing he detests even more than all that is shoes, socks, and feet that are wet and muddy. He’d had athlete’s foot more times than he could count during his years in the service. That shit itches, stings, and burns to high hell.

  “Ben, your turn.” Kate indicates the stretcher.

  Ben takes the front end from Ash, waiting as Jenna swaps out with Carter. They resume their sloshing through the marsh.

  From the angle of the sun, he judges it to be around four in the afternoon. It doesn’t get dark until nearly eight o’clock this time of year. They still have ample time to make it back to Creekside in the daylight. If things don’t get fucked up between now and then. That’s one really big if, in his opinion.

  He glances back at the unconscious Gary once or twice as he huffs along with the stretcher. Poor bastard. Fucking great white. That was just as bad as getting bitten by a zombie.

  His wet shirt and pants stick to his skin. The breeze from the bay chills the fabric. He supposes it’s better than being too hot, but all it does is reinforce how much he hates marching through marshland.

  Susan hovers beside her husband’s unconscious body, her hand reaching out at regular intervals to touch his hand, his arm, or his face. Ben wonders what it would be like to have someone to care about like that. He’s never had a relationship longer than a few months. Even his son’s mother had only been a fling between tours.

  “Is it me, or is the water getting deeper?” Ash asks.

  “We’re in the Brackish Pond,” Carter replies.

  “I can see that,” Ash says, sarcasm thick in her voice.

  “No, he means it’s called the Brackish Pond,” Jenna replies. “It’s part of the protected marshland.”

  “There’s high ground over there.” Kate points to a levee. “Let’s get out of the water.”

  Ben seconds this notion by picking up the pace. Caleb and Ash push past him, rifles up as they scan the area for threats. They signal the all-clear.

  Ben climbs the embankment, walking backward to handle the stretcher. Water streams off his fatigues in heavy rivulets. Once up on the levee, he and Carter relinquish Gary and the stretcher to Reed and Jesus.

  “I want to go ahead of the group and scout the freeway,” Ben says to Kate.

  “Good idea,” she replies. “I’ll go with you.”

  He opens his mouth, ready to insist she stay with the group. Except that Kate is a fan of the buddy system. If he pushes her off, she’ll just saddle him with someone else. Just his luck, it would be Caleb. He’d take Kate’s company over the pretty boy anytime. Besides, hasn’t he spent the last few weeks trying to work out a way to talk to her without any of the little shitheads around? This is his chance.

  “Let’s move out,” he says to Kate.

  “Make your way to the recycling center on G Street,” Kate tells the rest of the group. “Ben and I will circle back and meet you there after we check out 101.”

  A small thrill goes through him as he sets out on foot with her. He lets Kate set the brisk jog, falling into step beside her. They move faster on their own without the stretcher and soon leave the others behind. He keeps his rifle at hand, ready to bring it up at a second’s notice.

  “Am I going to have to start making us work out on the track with rifles on our backs?” Kate asks softly. Her feet barely make a sound on the hard-packed dirt of the levee.

  “In boot camp, we trained in full gear. You have us running with packs. Adding rifles isn’t a bad idea.”

  “I just worry we could end up shooting one another on accident.”

  “The rifles don’t have to be loaded.”

  “I mean when we’re not training. If we’re actually running with loaded weapons.”

  “You prefer your knife and screwdriver. Or Jesus’s zom bat.” His eyes flick to the silver club in her hand that’s currently stained with zombie gore.

  “Yeah, I do.”

  He wracks his brain, trying to think of something to say to keep the conversation going. He doesn’t want to squander this rare opportunity to talk to her.

  His mind flashes to her strange bedroom, a single dorm once occupied by a Grateful Dead fan. Posters still cover the wall and ceiling. Concert tickets are tacked over the headboard. Ben once even glimpsed clothing that belonged to the previous owner still hanging in the closet.

  There was very little about the room that spoke of Kate, but Ben had noticed a rusty railroad spike sitting on the windowsill. It was the only thing in the small space that didn’t reek of stoner college kid.

  Maybe it was the bits of dried blood stuck to it, along with the dirt and grime. Maybe it was the way it seemed to have a place of honor in the room, perched all alone in the middle of the windowsill. Whatever the reason, when he first laid eyes on the spike, he’d known it was Kate’s.

  “What about that railroad spike?” he
asks.

  Kate looks at him sharply. “What do you mean?”

  “The railroad spike on your windowsill. Why don’t you carry that? It’s as good as the screwdriver. Better. You don’t have to worry about it snapping in half.”

  Her face closes down in a way he’s never seen before. She grunts and picks up the pace.

  Ben has never been great with people, but he’s smart enough to know he just said the wrong thing. Dammit. He resolves not to speak until she does.

  So it is that they continue to run in silence.

  The longer the silence stretches, the more he agonizes over his words. Why did he ask about the railroad spike? Couldn’t he have led with something more benign?

  He’s terrible at this stuff. All the normal small talk he’d used before the apocalypse doesn’t apply to the current situation.

  Where do you live?

  What do you do for a living?

  Come here often?

  Can I buy you a drink?

  This is the extent of his skills at making conversation.

  Is it any wonder he’s a bachelor?

  “We’re almost there,” Kate says, breaking the silence.

  “Sorry if I upset you.” The words come out all by themselves. “Asking about the railroad spike, I mean.”

  She shakes her head, blowing out a long breath. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I just don’t like talking about it.”

  Now that is something he can understand. There are plenty of things he’s seen and done that he has no desire to think about, let alone speak about.

  “I won’t bring it up again.”

  She gives him a small smile, making him think that maybe he’s just said the right thing.

  Now if only he could do that more than one time in a row.

  “There’s the recycling center,” Kate says, pointing. “101 is just on the other side.”

  Technically, 101 isn’t “just on the other side” of the recycling center. Ben refrains from pointing out that another quarter-mile of open marshland lays between the recycling center and the road. The only good thing is that they have a clear view of the freeway from the front of the building.