“I have something.” Reed steps forward.
I frown at him as he unclips his pack. He rummages inside and produces a small plastic jar with a black lid. Even though the sticker on the top is ruined from the salt water, I recognize the yellowish substance inside.
“You brought that?” Eric’s jaw sags open. “That’s one of the last jars she made.”
Reed shrugs. “I thought we might need it.”
“You could have shared that around the campfire last night,” Eric snaps.
“I forgot about it. I sort of had bear on my mind, you know?”
“What is that?” John asks.
“Homemade cannabis salve.” Eric snatches the jar out of Reed’s hand. “My girlfriend made it.” He grips the jar, face contorting with emotion.
“Eric.” I rest a hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze. That jar is a piece of Lila. I don’t want to hurt him, but this is a good trade for us. “I think she’d want to do this for us.”
“She’s probably yelling at us from the afterlife to make the trade,” Susan adds. “That girl loathed the idea of running.”
Eric lets out a short, panged bark of laughter. After a beat, he holds the jar out to John. “It’s good stuff. My girlfriend spent two years refining this recipe.”
John’s eyes light up as he takes the jar. He screws off the lid and inhales. The grin he gives us is pleased.
“This will help my mom’s arthritis.” He slides the jar into his leather jacket. “Trade accepted. Come on. Blue truck. I’ll take you to Westport.”
At his words, two men peel off from the campground, heading toward a dirty Chevy Colorado. I send a silent thanks to Lila for looking out for us.
Two armed men join John in the cab. My group climbs into the back.
As the truck rolls forward, Ben scoots up beside me. I grip his hand.
I haven’t been in a vehicle for six months. Being in one now puts me on edge. Every muscle in my body is tense. My free hand grips my knife as I scan both sides of the one-lane gravel road. I keep expecting zombies to come loping out of the trees.
None do. Either John was telling the truth and this road has been cleared, or we’re getting lucky.
“Did you get a good look at their weapons?” Ben asks in a low voice.
I shake my head. “They all look the same to me.”
“Those were Barrett M107s and M110 SASS.”
“You can’t get those at your local Walmart,” Caleb adds.
“What are you saying?” I keep my voice low as the truck crunches along the gravel road.
“Home boy was probably a pot farmer before the shit hit the fan,” Reed says.
Ben nods. “It’s the only industry up here that can afford firearms like that.”
My first thought is to leap out of the truck and make a run for it. “Do you think we’re safe?”
Ben purses his lips. “I think if he wanted to kill us he would have done it. But I do think it’s a good idea to get the hell away from him as soon as possible.”
3
Trade
KATE
We exit the narrow gravel road and turn onto a paved, two-lane highway. The Chevy picks up speed, rumbling past towering redwoods interspersed with red alders.
Susan breaks the tense silence hanging over our group. “Once we get to Westport, there’s a chance we may be able to keep driving. If we can find a car, I mean.”
This statement gets nothing but incredulous stares.
“Think about it,” she says, unphased by our skepticism. “Westport, the town they’re taking us to, had a population of less than a hundred before the outbreak. All the towns in this area are tiny until you get to Braggs. There might be some legitimately safe sections of road.”
“You do know that zombies hear cars coming from miles away?” Eric says.
Susan shrugs. “It’s worth a try.”
I can’t in good conscience rule out using cars if we can do it safely. Anything that will get us to Fort Ross—and to Alvarez—has to be considered.
We pass a green road sign that reads Highway 1. This is the road that will take us to Alvarez.
Not only that, my people have already logged a lot of miles on their feet. Every last one of them is sore, chafed, blistered, and exhausted. Myself included. Alternative transportation would give us all a reprieve.
“Let’s keep it as an option,” I say to Susan.
I chew my bottom lip in thought as we continue to hum along the tree-lined road. I run through a list of possible places to find a car that might still be working. Somehow, I have a feeling John and the people of Westport might have commandeered all nearby working vehicles. Which means we’ll have to travel a ways on foot to find one. Or make another trade with John—an idea that does not sit well with me.
I squeeze Ben’s hand, drawing strength from his presence. I force myself to shift my focus back to the moment. First things first, I need to get my people to Westport and safely back on the road. We’ll figure out the rest as we go, like we always do.
“Is that the town John was telling us about?” Ash shades her eyes as the truck emerges from the tree-lined road.
A few miles away is a tiny little town perched above the ocean. Gray sky looms overhead, threatening more rain. The Pacific Ocean is almost the same gray color as the sky, stretching like a frothing blanket for as far as the eye can see.
“Yes, I think that’s Westport,” I say, answering Ash.
We watch the hamlet draw near. A half-mile out, a dozen people come into view. They wield hammers, standing in a cluster over a stack of building supplies.
Ben shades his eyes. “Are they building a wall?”
“Either that or a really long house,” Reed says.
I squint. Indeed, a line of fence posts with corrugated sheet metal panels surrounds the northern edge of the town. It currently stands seven feet tall and stretches two hundred yards to the east, away from the ocean. It might not be the strongest wall I’ve ever seen, but it will be effective in keeping out zombies that stray toward the town.
We pass the wall and its construction crew, entering Westport. Susan had been right when she said there wasn’t much to the town. We pass a series of low-roofed homes along the cliffs that overlook the ocean. I spot a bed-and-breakfast with all the front windows boarded up and an honest-to-god blacksmith shop.
“That will come in handy,” Ben remarks, taking in the tiny tourist attraction. A man and a woman glance up from their forge as we pass, studying us with suspicion.
Next to the blacksmith shop is a giant statue of a whale. At one time, it had a working spout that sprayed water. It now sits dormant, the trough below the whale filled with water that’s turned a murky green.
The rest of the town is nondescript. We pass a few more tiny motels, a few restaurants, and more homes.
Overall, Westport is mostly intact. Other than some windows and doors that have been boarded up, it looks to have weathered the apocalypse well. I can’t help but think the clearance of this town and the surrounding area must have been relatively easy.
There are people out and about, more than I’ve seen in one place since the world ended. They stare at us with the same suspicion we received from the blacksmiths, each and every one of them halting in their tracks to watch as we go by.
Among the townspeople are men and women with automatic weapons. Local security, I suppose. Between them and the beginnings of the town wall, it’s obvious to me that John doesn’t take his town’s remote location for granted.
As we near the southern outskirts of the town, I spot another crew of men and women erecting fence panels. My breath catches at the sight of a telephone pole standing sentry at the very edge of Westport.
Suspended from either side of the telephone pole are giant wooden birdcages.
Except they aren’t made for birds. Each cage is the size of a human being.
And inside those cages are people. A man and a woman, both of them slumped over and lifeless. Vultures and
crows and seagulls swarm around the cages, pecking at the bodies inside and screeching at one another.
“Holy shit,” Reed breathes. “Did that guy say his name is John?”
Ben gives him a sharp look. “Yes. What do you know?”
Reed purses his lips. “There are stories of a marijuana farmer in this area. His nickname is Medieval John.”
I look away from the bodies in the cages, feeling queasy.
“Looks like the nice man driving us through his town has a psychotic edge.” Ben’s face is set, eyes hard. “Let’s hope he keeps his word and lets us leave without any trouble.”
“Be ready to run.” I study the land beyond the hanging cages. To the west are cliffs that drop off into the ocean. To the east are rolling hills and trees.
“Head east if they start shooting,” I say. “Get to the tree line and keep moving south.”
Everyone nods, expressions tight as the truck pulls to a stop just below the cages. The people working on the wall slow in their labor, studying us.
I don’t waste any time. As soon as the truck stops, I leap to the ground. Everyone follows suit. We cluster on the east side of the truck, closest to the line of trees in case we need to make a run for it.
John swings open the driver’s side door and hops to the ground.
“Hey, MJ,” calls one of the men working on the wall. “We’re running out of fence posts.”
MJ. Medieval John. The queasiness in my stomach increases.
John shrugs. “We’ll put together another foraging run into Kibesillah. There’s plenty of wood we can pull from the big barn we found there.”
I straighten, standing tall as the man with the floppy mustache turns in my direction.
“I hope you enjoyed your tour of Westport,” he says. “We don’t have visitors very often.”
“Is that who they are?” I jerk a thumb at the bodies in the wooden cages. “Visitors?” Ben shoots me a hard look. I know I should keep my mouth shut, but I can’t help it.
“No.” John shakes his head. “Those are thieves. One of Westport’s ... neighbors thought it was okay to send some of her people to raid our food supplies.” His smile is hard as stone. “I’m a fair man. I don’t kill for fun. But I do protect my people and my town. Thieves will not be tolerated.”
I swallow, forcing myself to meet his gaze. “Thank you for the ride. We’re going now.” I gesture to my group, ushering them forward down the highway.
“I was hoping you’d stop by our trading post before you go,” John calls, motioning in the direction of a small house twenty yards from the side of the road. “Like I said, we don’t get visitors through here very often. We might have supplies you need for your journey. We’re always up for trading.” He openly eyes our backpacks.
“No thanks,” I reply, even though in my head I can tick off half a dozen things we could use for our journey. Top of the list being a car or some bicycles.
John lets his gaze rest a little too long on the large pack Caleb carries. No doubt he’s smart enough to guess there are weapons inside. “Look through our offerings. If there’s something you need, perhaps we can come to an amicable trade.”
I’m about to decline his offer. I want out of this place as quickly as possible and I don’t like the idea of negotiating with John.
Before I can speak, Susan steps forward. “How clear is the highway south of town?”
John shrugs. “It’s relatively clear up until Braggs. After that ...” He shrugs. “I couldn’t tell you. Braggs is a dead show. None of my people have been within the city limits.”
Susan flicks a quick look at me before turning back to John. “Do you have a car?”
John chuckles. “Not one that you could afford.” His gaze again strays to Caleb’s pack. “Unless you have something compelling in that bag of yours.”
Ben snarls, opening his mouth to no doubt say something rude and inflammatory. I rest my hand on his arm, stilling him.
“The contents of that pack are not for trade.”
Reed snorts. “We’re going to have a hard enough time killing Rosario with the contents of that pack.”
I elbow him in the ribs. His words are so soft I think I’m the only one who hears him.
Until John’s hard stare lands on Reed. “What did you say, young man?”
Reed casts me an uneasy glance. I shove him behind me.
I face John. It’s clear from his expression that he doesn’t intend to let his question go unanswered. “He said that if we survive Rosario, we’ll be back this way. Maybe we can trade at that time.”
John’s eyes narrow. “What’s your business with Rosario?”
My skin prickles. “She attacked our friends at Fort Ross. We’re going to help them.”
A feral grin spreads across John’s face. “Why didn’t you say so? Looks like we have a common enemy.” John jerks a thumb at the bodies in the cages. “Those are Rosario’s thieves. They were sent here to steal supplies. Before those two died, they told me Rosario lost her camp. It was overrun by the undead.”
“She had a fence line surrounded by zombies,” I say faintly. “She said they were better than guard dogs.”
My short time in that camp comes hurtling back. I taste the fear and smell the scent of the earth mixed with the cloying scent of the rotting dead.
Frederico. His wide eyes, full of fear, as the collar of bells are locked around our necks.
I shake myself free of the memory, re-focusing on John.
He studies me. “Yeah,” he says with a curt nod. “You have the look of someone who’s met that bitch face to face. She makes me look soft.”
I don’t respond. John doesn’t look soft by any stretch of the imagination. It’s not just the bodies in the cage. A person doesn’t earn the moniker of “medieval” because he likes swords and Inquisition trivia.
“I want to help you,” John says. “Make me an offer on a car. What do you have to trade besides weapons?”
I turn a helpless look to my people. Besides our salt-encrusted clothing and our running packs, what do we have to trade?
“Bear meat?” I ask.
John snorts. “Don’t insult my generosity.”
“How about a boat mechanic?” Susan asks.
“What?” I whirl on her. “Susan—”
“I saw boats anchored out there.” She jerks a thumb in the direction of the ocean. “I used to own and operate a charter boat. I can service all of them for you.”
John nods, eyes thoughtful. “They could all use a little work. Our abalone divers could cover more territory if they had trustworthy vessels.”
“Susan.” I position myself in front of her. “We can’t wait around here while you service the boats. We—”
“I’ll stay here.” Susan gives me a small, determined smile. “Look, Kate, we both know my ankle is messed up. I know you traveled over a hundred miles on a sprained ankle, but I’m not you. The only reason I came on this mission was to drive my boat, which is now at the bottom of the ocean. I can’t fight and I don’t want to run another step. Let me help in my way. When you’re finished in Fort Ross, come back and get me.”
There are so many holes in this plan I can’t even begin to list them. “No. You’re part of our family. You’re not a commodity to be traded.”
“You don’t have a choice,” Susan replies. “I’m staying here.” She turns to John. “Which car?”
“What if we don’t make it back?” The words burst out of me. I detest them as soon as they leave my mouth, but the truth is that we might not survive.
“I’ll find a way to get back to Arcata on my own,” Susan says softly.
“But it’s not safe here.” I jab a hand at the dead bodies in the cage, not caring that John can hear me.
“Susan has nothing to fear from me or anyone in Westport,” John says. “You have my word that she will be under my protection.”
Frustration wells inside me—frustration at the string of disasters that has followed
us ever since we left Arcata, frustration that I don’t have a good argument to talk Susan out of her plan.
John cocks his head at me. “Once Susan has my boats tuned up, she can stay here, trade free, until you come back. This is a one-time offer, Kate. No one stays in Westport without some sort of trade. I’m throwing you a bone since you’re going after the wicked bitch of the north.”
“Done.” Susan steps forward and shakes his hand.
John fishes a set of keys out of his pocket and tosses them in my direction. Ben snatches them out of the air.
“Silver Ford Escape parked over there.” He flicks his fingers at a nearby driveway. “It’s been nice doing business with you fine folks.”
His words are like a gavel falling. I swallow, my throat tight with shock.
Susan puts her arms around me in a hug. “I’ll be fine. Just get to Fort Ross and kick some ass, okay?”
“Don’t do this,” I reply.
“It’s the best decision and we both know it,” she whispers back. “Besides, it’s already done.”
Legs wooden and mouth dry, I force myself to walk to the silver Ford Escape we traded for our friend.
I close my eyes for a brief moment, trying not to think too hard on the fact that we might never see Susan again.
4
Barbed Wire
KATE
Salty wind blows in from the open car window, carrying with it the sharp scent of impending rain. As John had claimed, the road south of Westport is clear. We haven’t seen a single zombie and came across only two abandoned cars we had to drive around.
Ben sits at the wheel, his face a mask as we rumble down Highway 1. I sit with him in the front. In the back are Caleb, Ash, and Reed. Eric sits in the very back where, six months ago, the grocery bags would have gone.
Susan’s loss is like an empty chamber in my chest. The fact that she traded herself for a fucking car is like barbed wire in my gut. It’s so wrong.
Her lost boat, her rolled ankle—they can all be traced back to this rescue mission. My rescue mission.
A strong hand squeezes my knee. I look over at Ben. He raises an eyebrow at me and gives a small shake of his head.
Undead Ultra Box Set | Books 1-4 Page 96