The creature swipes. Dirty fingers latch onto the front of Shaun’s shirt.
Up until this moment, Shaun has been stoic. As the zombie claws at his chest, pulling itself closer, he breaks. He lets up a shout, twisting in an effort to get free. Rosario’s minions laugh and hold him in place.
I can only see the profile of the two men restraining Shaun. Gleeful grins split the side of each face like broken half moons.
Shaun groans as the creature sinks its teeth into his clavicle. He doesn’t fight. He doesn’t try to get away. He remains upright, his captors anchoring him on either side as the zombie tears a bloody chunk of flesh from his shoulder.
Something happens inside me.
I shriek. My cry slices across the horrified silence like a scythe.
It’s not the sound of grief or despair or fear. It’s the sound of fury.
“You asshole!” I tear free of my captor.
The man, whose attention had been on Shaun and the zombie, stumbles as I rip free. His gun fires behind me as I tear across the open space.
“How could you?” I scream at Shaun. “How could you, you selfish asshole?”
Most of the onlookers likely think I’m screaming at Rosario. But Shaun knows the truth. I see my words hit him like a slap across the face.
I’ve nearly reached Rosario, a plan to scratch out her eyeballs with my fingernails half formed in my mind. Jeanie steps forward, her pet zombie in hand. Her foot lashes out, delivering a kick to my gut.
I sprawl across the ground, cheek skidding in the dirt.
Jeanie swings the zombie around, holding it over me. “Say the word, boss,” she drawls.
I flip over, glaring up at Jeanie and Rosario. Daring them.
Rosario chuckles. “We’ve got a fighter. I like her, Jeanie.”
I turn my glare on Shaun. In less than a second, all the years pass between us—the love, the loss, and everything in between.
Shaun grasps his bleeding shoulder as blood pours down his chest. “I’m sorry, Jessie.” He sways. His captives are the only things keeping him upright.
“You’re not supposed to be the one who gets to die,” I grit. “It was supposed to be me.”
“Life’s not fair, honey,” Rosario says. “Rufus, Scooby, string him up. Everyone else, let’s go.”
My captor catches up to me. I don’t resist as he twists my arms behind my back.
Shaun is half dragged, half carried into the fort. Rosario follows in her fat, wallowing gait. Her people fan out behind her, their automatic rifles trained on the crowd.
I spot Alvarez near the front of our people. He flicks his hands. His people take their cue, all of them falling back. They cluster in a tight circle, crowding up against the redwood fence that has, until this moment, kept them safe.
Inside the fort are three large buildings that housed the original Russian residents, along with a tiny wooden chapel. In the center of the fort is a large open area of hard-packed dirt and an old well. Surrounding the well are tents and RVs, all homes to various residents of Fort Ross.
Around the well is a scattering of fire pits and laundry lines. The area has become a default gathering center for Fort Ross residents.
Rosario’s people tear off the laundry. Clean clothing is ground into the dirt.
The pet zombies are frenzied. They let up long, ululating keens.
Shaun is dragged through the dirt and tied to one of the laundry poles. I have a sick fear that he’s going to be burned alive like a Salem would-be witch.
His beautiful face and pale blond hair are stained bright red in places. Blood gushes from the gaping wound on his clavicle. Rosario’s people are ruthless as they lash his body in place.
Rosario’s rumpled dress drags in the dirt as she crosses the compound and comes to stand before Shaun. She looks him up and down before turning to address the crowd.
“This asshole made me wait outside my home for twenty-four fucking hours,” she says. “Twenty-four hours and thirteen seconds, to be exact. And for what? Just to be ornery. Just because he could.” She delivers a stinging slap to Shaun’s face. He grunts, chin rolling against his chest. “Your pathetic resistance was for nothing.”
As soon as she finishes speaking, a series of thuds ring across the compound. Half a dozen grappling hooks bite into the southern fence of the fort. Seconds later, men and women swarm over the top. They drop another set of rope ladders down the interior side of the wooden wall and descend into the fort. In less than two minutes, another fifteen of Rosario’s minions are within our home.
Fifteen assholes we never saw coming.
Rosario had the means and the manpower to take Fort Ross anytime. She only let us think we had a choice. This realization takes the breath out of me.
This was all a game. A show of power to put us in our place.
“You see,” Rosario drawls, “Fort Ross was pre-ordained to be mine. I let you enjoy the illusion that you could think or fight your way out of your fate. I hope now you see how pointless that would have been. This will be your first and only warning. As for this asshole.” Her attention rivets back onto Shaun. “Let him be an example to all of you. Follow orders and you will be kept alive. Cause trouble and I won’t hesitate to string you up beside your leader.”
Something happens when I take in Shaun’s bleeding body tied to the laundry pole. I don’t feel grief. I don’t feel crippling sadness. These things can’t touch me through the ice that has grown around me.
What I feel is a doubling of my outrage. Rage that this man who served my heart up on a platter doesn’t have the decency to let me die first.
He’s leaving me. Again.
Asshole.
I don’t want to rail against the monsters who did this to him. All I want is to pound on the chest of my ex-husband as his life drips out of his body.
A hand comes down on my shoulder. I hadn’t even realized I was on my knees in the dirt. I pry my eyes away from Shaun, expecting to find one of the pricks responsible for his death.
The dark eyes of Jorge Alvarez find mine. Shaun, the selfish bastard, had to know what this would cost him. The pain it would cause him. Shaun is one of Alvarez’s few confidants and close friends. On top of that, Alvarez carries the life of every person in Fort Ross on his shoulders. He takes every death personally, even when it’s not his fault.
I should share Alvarez’s grief. I’m too broken and fucked up inside to feel sadness. Every drop of sadness held in my soul drained out of me when the girls died. I don’t think I have the capacity to feel sorrow anymore.
“I’m sorry.” The word falls from Alvarez in a broken whisper.
I have no words for this man with a heart of gold. This man who gives all of himself to the caretaking of others. He doesn’t want to hear my thoughts. He’s too good for them. I can barely stand them.
The new monarch always cleans house.
This was something Shaun used to say. In his corporate world of wine sales, there was an ever-revolving door of upper management. Every time a new executive swept in, Shaun would say, The new monarch is going to clean house.
“He knew.” My words come out low and guttural, like an animal.
The bastard knew. He knew what would happen when he threw open the gates.
Somehow, he’d convinced Alvarez to trade places with him.
I can’t imagine what he said to convince Alvarez to let him be the one to do it, but somehow, he’d done it. There was a reason he’d been number one in sales for his wine company four years in a row.
There’s a reason he’d buried his sexuality. The man could sell anything. Even a lie to himself.
This thought brings another burst of anger bubbling forth. Part of me wants to claw out Shaun’s eyes. Or maybe turn a zombie loose on him and let it finish the job.
My gaze shifts to Alvarez, who is once again staring at Shaun with open grief. The man is a bottomless pit of love. I’ve never met anyone like him. Sometimes I think that if I could bottle up even
an ounce of his good will and optimism, I’d be a new person. A whole person, instead of the broken mess I am now.
Anger rolls through me in a hot wave—anger that Rosario has hurt Alvarez by killing Shaun.
Somehow, someway, I’m going to make every one of these fucking bastards pay for hurting him.
For hurting both of them.
Somehow.
2
New Currency
KATE
“I only have two things to say.”
Eric greets me and Ben as we jog down the Lost Coast trail. I read tension in his pursed lips and hunched shoulders.
“What is it?” With Ben at my side, I join Eric and the rest of our companions, Caleb, Ash, Reed, and Susan.
“First of all, I just finished my first ultramarathon. That means I’m officially no longer a fat bastard.” The grin on Eric’s face is huge. You wouldn’t know he’d spent the last several hours slogging through the dark on a cold, muddy trail.
“Second of all, there are people up ahead” Eric jerks a thumb to the south, in the direction of Usal Campground. “Live ones. They haven’t seen us yet.”
The seven of us cluster behind the low-hanging branches of a large cypress tree. I peer down the trail, searching for a campground I’ve only seen on a map.
Five hundred yards away, I spot the people. There are several vehicles and perhaps a dozen or so people. It’s a mix of adult men and women, no children among them.
“Are they wearing wet suits?” I ask, relying on the sharp vision of my younger companions.
“Some of them,” Reed confirms. “The rest are in hunting gear. I see rifles and fishing poles.”
“Who would want to swim out there?” Ash shivers, casting a look of loathing at the ocean.
“Maybe they’re spearfishing?” Caleb suggests.
“No.” I shake my head. “I bet they’re diving for abalone.” That was a popular sport in Northern California before the apocalypse.
“Hunting, fishing, and abalone.” Ben nods in approval. “That’s a good way to live.”
Eric attempts to clean the mud from his glasses on the sleeve of his shirt. “What should we do? Wait here until they pack up and leave? Try to go around them?”
Ben snorts. “Ever try to sneak around men with hunting rifles? That’s a good way to get mistaken for a deer and get your head blown off.”
“We’re not sneaking around.”
I weigh our options. We could wait them out, find a place to rest until they pack up and leave. The problem with that plan is I have no idea how long they plan to be out here. It could be hours.
Alvarez and Fort Ross don’t have hours.
On top of that, these people have vehicles. I don’t know exactly how far away Fort Ross is, but I do know the Lost Coast has thoroughly kicked all of our asses. If there’s any chance of getting a ride in one of those vehicles, even for a short distance, it’s worth a shot.
I swallow, making up my mind. “We introduce ourselves. See if we can get a ride south with them.”
Six pairs of eyes turn to me in astonishment.
“Did you just say you want to ride in a car?” Reed demands.
“I think I must have a rock lodged in my ear.” Eric makes a show of cleaning out his ears. “The words coming out of our mom’s mouth aren’t making sense.”
I huff in exasperation. “You all know how I feel about vehicles. In general, they aren’t safe. But it’s deserted out here. We haven’t seen a single zombie since we crashed on the Lost Coast.”
“If it wasn’t safe to drive, those guys would already be dead.” Ben gives me a curt nod of agreement. “It’s a good plan. I don’t know about all you assholes, but my feet are killing me.”
“I have blisters under eight toenails,” Caleb says.
“The lady with the fucked-up ankle votes for Kate’s plan.” Susan raises her hand into the air.
I lead the way, moving at a brisk walk down the trail. As we near the campground, I wave my arms to get the attention of the people, hoping to convey friendliness.
There’s a flurry of activity as they notice us. They fall into a tight group, several of them raising the rifles in our direction.
My stomach flips.
You’d think seeing other humans would be a cause for celebration. After all, this world is sorely short on humanity right now. But nope, these people go straight to suspicious.
I was guilty of the same thing when Leo and his people arrived at Creekside. It’s the new norm.
“Don’t.” I reach out a hand, resting it on Ben’s wrist.
He scowls in response, but releases the hold on his Sig.
“You, too, Caleb. Ash. We’re trying to hitchhike, remember? We need to appear friendly.”
The two younger soldiers also release their firearms. Neither looks happy about it.
As we draw closer to the campground, a ratty brown dog bursts forth. Tail wagging, tongue lolling from his mouth, he streaks up the trail in our direction. He barrels into our group, attempting to sniff everyone’s crotch. I push the wet nose away with a hand, not taking my eyes from the people.
A man breaks away from the group, a rifle gripped between his hands as he approaches. He’s small and lithe, no more than five-foot-eight. He has bright eyes and a big mustache.
He halts twenty feet away.
“Brando,” he says. “Come here, boy.”
The ratty brown dog barks, running to his master. He runs in a circle around the man, then lays down at his feet. One ear cocks in our direction as the dog regards us.
“Hello,” I call, doing my best to put on a friendly smile. “My name is Kate. We’re not here to make trouble. We’re just passing through.”
“Hello, Kate.” The man sounds pleasant enough, even if he is still pointing a gun at me. “My name is John. You’ll have to excuse me if I don’t buy your story. We’re in the middle of fucking nowhere. No one just passes through this place.”
My people tense. I take another step forward, trying to keep John’s attention on me.
“We’re from Arcata. We need to get to the highway and go south.”
John snorts. “Lady, you aren’t anywhere near Arcata. You should look at a map and get a better story.”
I shake my head. “We’re from Arcata,” I repeat. “We took a boat out of Humboldt Bay, but it sank off the Lost Coast. We’re headed to Fort Ross.”
John looks me up and down, assessing. Every last one of us is rumpled and dirty. We smell like a locker room that’s never been cleaned. Our clothes and skin are encrusted with salt and mud.
“What’s at Fort Ross?” John says at last.
“Friends. They need our help. Some people are trying to take the fort from them.”
“Let me get this straight,” John says. “You say you’re from Arcata. Your friends in Fort Ross are under attack, so you get in a boat to sail down the coast to help them. On the way, your boat sinks. Then you hike the Lost Coast and show up here.”
“We ran it, actually,” Reed says from the back of the group. “We ran the Lost Coast. We got caught in one of the impassable zones and almost died. Then our friend got hypothermia and—”
“Reed.”
“Sorry, Mama.”
I draw in a long breath and force a smile. “We’re just trying to get to Fort Ross. We don’t want any trouble and we don’t plan to cause any trouble. Like I said, we’re just passing through.”
John continues to study us. “You the one who got hypothermia?” He gestures to Ash with his chin.
She nods.
“The Lost Coast isn’t a place for amateurs,” John says. “Every year, it kills experienced backpackers.”
“Our mom isn’t an amateur.” This time, it’s Eric who speaks up. “She’s an ultrarunner.”
“All these kids call you mom?” John asks me.
“Yes.”
“That’s a lot of fucking kids.”
“Sometimes, yes.”
“What about yo
u?” This question is directed at Ben.
Ben flicks a questioning glance at me. “I’m her ...”
“They’re boyfriend and girlfriend,” Reed supplies. The others snicker.
“She’s your girlfriend, huh?” John eyes us.
“Yeah.”
My belly wriggles with emotion. Whatever runs between me and Ben is admittedly deeper than the adolescent terms of boyfriend and girlfriend. But I’m not going to debate the finer points of the English language with a stranger who’s pointing a rifle at us.
“Will you let us pass?” I ask.
“I’ll do one better,” John replies. “I’ll give you a ride. Not all the way to Fort Ross. But I can give you a ride to Westport. It’s the closest town, about twenty miles from here.”
Even though this is the very thing I had hoped to secure, the offer comes too fast and too easily. I don’t get a warm fuzzy feeling from John. There’s something else at play here. I need to figure out what it is before I put the safety of my people in his hands.
“What’s the catch?” I look him straight in the eye, a silent warning not to bullshit me.
A feral smile splits his face. “A trade. You give me something interesting out of your packs and I’ll give you a ride to the south side of Westport. You go on your merry way from there.”
“Cars aren’t safe where we come from,” I reply, still testing him.
John meets my eye. “Yeah. They’re not safe far outside of Westport, either. We cleared the town, the campground, and the road between here and there. My people come here to hunt and fish. We even bagged a seal last week.” John shrugs nonchalantly. “I could take your packs and everything in them. We have you outgunned and outnumbered.” At his words, his people take a few menacing steps in our direction. “I’m trying to be civil. I’m a fair man. Trade is the new currency of the apocalypse.”
My mind races as I think of all the precious firearms we have in the pack on Caleb’s back. We need those supplies. There’s no way we can help Alvarez if we don’t have weapons.
What do I want to offer them? Bear meat? We all have a fair amount of it in our packs.
Undead Ultra Box Set | Books 1-4 Page 95