Undead Ultra Box Set | Books 1-4

by Picott, Camille

  The old Russian fort was impressive before the apocalypse. In this new landscape, it seems too good to be true. Towering wooden walls of redwood rise twelve feet high, surrounding the fort in a perfect square. Each fence post is topped with a wooden spike. The walls are six inches thick, built oh-so-long ago to hold off Native American attacks.

  Inside the fort are five large structures. Like the fences, they are constructed of thick redwood plants. A lookout tower stands at the southwest and northeast corners, both of them slotted with openings for cannons. I recall the fort having real cannons inside the walls.

  Besides the original wooden structures, inside the walls are also motorhomes and a scattering of tents. All in all, it’s a great set-up. I can see why Rosario wanted the compound for her people. With the gardens, grazing land for cattle, and proximity to the sea for fishing, it’s an ideal location.

  “Time to split up. The mile eighty-six marker will be our rendezvous point.” I point back up the road to the small green-and-white road sign sticking out of the dirt. There are a lot of trees and shrubs there for cover. “Meet there in two hours.”

  Five heads nod. I gather everyone close for one last group hug. Not even Ben complains about this. I grip his hand hard, hoping to convey all my feelings for him in that single touch.

  Then we break into two pre-designated groups. Ben, Eric, and Ash sweep southeast. Reed and Caleb are with me. We sweep southwest toward the ocean as the sky brightens with the dawn.

  26

  Duct Tape

  JESSICA

  I sit in the pale light of dawn on the floor of the RV. All the curtains are drawn, but the windows are wide open so I can hear if anyone approaches.

  In my lap is the tennis racket from Shaun. On the floor next to my knee is the pile of nails from Alvarez. I slide the nails through the slots in the top of the racket, securing them in place with duct tape.

  I imagine Shaun’s expression if he knew what I was up to. He’d love to see me making use of his duct tape, most especially because I’m making a weapon. Among other things, Shaun had been known to fix ballet slippers, a loose exhaust pipe, and a broken suitcase handle with duct tape.

  When I finish, I hold up the racket and admire it. The dozen fat, rusty nails fan around the curve of the tennis racket like a mohawk. Looking at the weapon makes my blood sing. I am going to kill people today.

  I slide the racket between the bed and the wall, making sure it’s completely concealed.

  There’s nothing to do now but wait.

  27

  Recon

  ERIC

  Ben leads us off the road into the tall meadow grass covering the land. We run in a crouch, doing our best to stay out of sight. We skim over the ground, passing the official Fort Ross visitor’s center. The entrance to the property is blocked by two cars, both of them with their tires deflated.

  My back aches and my quads burn from the hunched position. The coastal breeze whips across my back, chilling my damp clothes. I grip my rifle with two hands, holding onto it like a lifeline.

  Just past the visitor’s center, Ben leads us into a shallow ditch that runs along the highway. I breathe heavily, gripping my sore thighs as I kneel in the mud. Dampness soaks through my pants. I shift the rifle, positioning it across my back to keep it from getting wet.

  I take in the enormity of Fort Ross. If I ever imagined a fort from a western movie, this would be it. It looks like someone magically transported the massive structure through a time machine. The thick timber walls are topped with spikes. The guard towers have cannon slots.

  A loud creaking sound echoes up to the road. The giant gate swings open. A dozen people, surrounded by well-armed men, are herded out into the dawn. The guards are each armed with a leashed zombie. The monsters are secured around the neck with leashes that are attached to long poles carried by the guards.

  The Fort Ross residents are escorted toward a large enclosure surrounded by a tall deer fence. I adjust the binoculars and pick out tilled earth dotted with green shoots. That must be the community garden.

  Once inside the enclosure, the men and women gather up tools: hoes, shovels, and buckets. Around the perimeter of the garden are large plastic trash cans. Those with buckets dip them into the cans. They come up dripping with water.

  Rain basins, I realize. There are some benefits to living in Northern California. There’s always plenty of rain water to go around.

  “We need to scout the south side of the fort,” Ben whispers. “Follow me. Stay alert.”

  He army crawls through the ditch. Ash follows behind him and I bring up the rear.

  The earth is muddy from yesterday’s rainstorm. My elbows and knees dig into chilly muck. Tom wouldn’t recognize the person crawling through a trench with guns and grenades.

  Ben draws to a halt when we reach the south side of the fort. It looks much the same as the north side; a long wooden wall with zombies chained to it.

  Another group of people exits the fort, this one headed toward the ocean. The Fort Ross people carry fishing poles, nets, buckets, and tackle boxes. Like the first group we saw, the guards have leashed zombies. They laugh as they herd the fisherman toward the path leading down to the water, passing a cigarette amongst themselves.

  “I think it’s safe to say Fort Ross has fallen,” Ben murmurs. “Security is low. They have the zombies, but there are only two guard towers. We have to assume they have watchmen in both of them. As far as I can tell, there are no other watch points around the wall.”

  I peer through the grass, studying the fort. Ben is right. We have the high ground on the fort. I can see enough to know there are no guards stationed on top of any of the motorhomes inside. There is no scaffolding along the interior fence for other watch stations.

  “She’s relying on the zombies,” Ash says.

  “Lazy, but somewhat effective,” Ben replies. “It gives us a loop hole to work with. We’ve seen enough. Let’s get back to the rendezvous.”

  We turn around in the ditch. This time, I lead the way as we army crawl back through the mud. The morning sun above us streaks the sky with pale blue and yellow. I keep my head down as I crawl, not wanting to be spotted by any of the guards in the garden enclosure.

  Then I hear the laughter. It’s a cruel sound that carries across the open grassland.

  Before I can think better of it, I raise my head just enough to peer through the grass.

  Bile rises in my throat at what I see. The guards are using the zombies to taunt the garden workers. They push the monsters close to the people, laughing as people dodge out of the way as they desperately continue to work.

  “Hijos de puta,” Ash growls.

  I can’t peel my eyes from the scene.

  A guard pushes a zombie in the direction of a teenage girl. She leaps out of the way. He laughs, pursuing her with dark glee down a row of tomato bushes. She scrambles backward.

  The guards chortle. The rest of the people look on in horror, all of them too afraid to speak.

  The man with the zombie chases the girl to the far side of the garden—straight into the hands of another guard. He flips her onto the ground, passing his zombie pole off to his friend.

  That’s when the screaming starts. One guard stands over the scene with two zombies, laughing as his friend tears at the girl’s clothing.

  My stomach churns. All the aches and pains and fear I’ve endured over the last two days fall away, seeming insubstantial to what this girl is experiencing.

  You’re such a con, Eric.

  I grit my teeth. Lila was right. I had been a con. I had been content to let the world pass me by without any discernible effort to participate in it.

  Not anymore. That was the old Eric.

  Before I can think better of it, I swing my rifle around. I reposition my body, leaning up against the side of the drainage ditch. I’m the best shot in Creekside. Everyone says so. Time for me to put that skill to use.

  I prop my elbows in the mud and raise t
he scope to my eye, sighting on the bastard terrorizing the girl.

  Ben pushes aside the muzzle of my gun. “Not now, Eric.”

  “But—!”

  “Don’t be short sighted.” Ben leans forward. “I get it, Eric. I understand where you’re coming from. But trust me when I say that saving that girl right now will cost a lot more lives in the long run. We can’t go off half-cocked. We need to find Kate and come up with a solid plan.”

  A low, long cry ripples through the air. The terror and anguish in that sound is a gut punch.

  Ben rests a hand on my shoulder. When he looks at me, I see something in his eyes I’ve never seen before.

  Compassion. Understanding.

  “We’ll get those fuckers, Eric. I promise.

  My throat tight, I nod. Turning away is the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

  Ash leads us north, crawling through the ditch in the lead. Ben is right behind her. I follow in the back, the rifle heavy across my shoulders.

  And then I hear it again. That long, low cry.

  Something in me snaps.

  Pivoting on my knees, I bring the rifle around.

  28

  Red Flower

  ERIC

  I narrow my focus, throwing everything through the AR-15 and down the scope. I line up the crosshairs on the man who stands with the two pet zombies, bent double with laughter as his friend continues to tear at the girl’s clothing. She puts up a ferocious fight, but the man is bigger and stronger

  The crashing of the ocean fades to nothingness. All physical sensation disappears, sucked away as I hone in on the asshole with the zombie pets.

  You’ve got this, Eric. Lila’s voice rings through my mind, so clear and vehement that my skin shivers.

  I exhale and pull the trigger.

  The rifle cracks, kicking hard against my shoulder.

  The first guard falls. The rapist leaps to his feet, dick hanging out of his pants.

  The AR-15 automatically kicks another round into the chamber.

  Exhale. Fire.

  Another kick from the rifle. Another asshole drops. A thrill shoots through my bloodstream.

  “Eric!” Ben hisses. “What the fuck? You’re going to bring holy hell down on our heads!”

  I ignore him.

  The teenage girl turns, scrambling away from the fallen guards.

  She isn’t fast enough.

  One of the pet zombies, no longer restrained, pounces on her. Her screams tear into me as the zombie tears into her.

  No.

  No-no-no-no.

  This wasn’t supposed to happen. I was supposed to save that girl.

  Her screams rake at me as a zombie sinks its teeth into her abdomen. An echo of a scream from the past blasts through me: Lila.

  Instinct takes over. I raise the rifle and sight down it. This is what I should have done for Lila.

  Sight. Exhale. Fire.

  The girl falls. Her face turns into a red flower.

  I drop the rifle, hands shaking. The trembling spreads up my arms like a wildfire.

  Chaos envelopes the garden. The workers turn upon their captives. It’s mayhem. Shots are fired. More screams erupt. I can’t see anything beyond the mass of churning bodies. The shaking in my arms travels up my neck, making my teeth chatter.

  I close my eyes, trying to block it all out. All I see is the girl as my bullet turns her face into a flower of death.

  I killed her.

  No, I amend, thinking of Lila. I released her.

  I should have released Lila. She shouldn’t have had to do it to herself. I did the right thing for that girl.

  “Dammit, kid,” Ben says. “Time to go.” His voice cracks like a whip as he jerks me to my feet.

  Ben breaks into a sprint, tearing out of the ditch and back onto the road. I sling the rifle over my back and sprint after him, grateful to be moving.

  Bloody red flowers bloom all around me. I see Lila and Tom in my periphery, the two of them pumping their arms as they sprint beside me.

  Run, Eric.

  Don’t let up, little brother.

  You did the right thing, Eric.

  Justice was served, little brother.

  I’m fucking losing it. That’s all there is to it. I’m hearing and seeing my brother and my dead girlfriend.

  Hallucinations. Kate told us a horned rabbit visits her on long runs. Her imaginary friend.

  That must be what’s happening to me. I’m hallucinating. I’m a real ultrarunner.

  I’m also a failure. I tried to save that girl and I got her killed. And I’ve given up our location and revealed us to Rosario.

  Maybe there’s always some part of me that will be a con.

  Just as we reach the entrance kiosk, the fort gates are thrown open. Men and women on dirt bikes pedal out, riding two to a bike. The ones on the back fire guns while the people on the front of the bikes pedal. I count six bikes.

  The zombies around the fort go ballistic. They keen, howl, and scratch at the open air, yanking against the chains restraining them.

  Shouts of warning erupt from the garden. People scream, stampeding toward the gate. The zombies and the guards are left lying on the ground, their bodies unmoving.

  Shots ring out from the bikes. Several people in the garden drop, felled by bullets.

  “Fuck.” Ben drops to his knees, bringing his rifle up to take aim. “You guys get the hell out of here. I’ve got this.”

  “Fuck that.” Ash brings up her Glock. “I might not be as good a shot as Eric, but I can still take down assholes.”

  “This is my fault. I’m not leaving, either.” No way am I going to leave those people to be slaughtered. Not when I can do something about it.

  “For what it’s worth, Eric, I’m glad you tried.” Ash’s grip is rock steady on her gun. “It was the humane thing to do.”

  I set my stance and raise my AR-15. We’re much closer than we were before, no more than two hundred yards from the guards who advance on them. I stare down the scope, zeroing in on the first of the dirt bikes. My shaking hands miraculously still.

  I’ve never had to take out a target moving at high speed. Sweat breaks out along my forehead and upper lip. With the bikes shooting across the open landscape, there’s no time to set up the shot. Dammit.

  I fire. The shot goes wide, sending up a puff of soil as the bike races forward.

  Cracks ring out on either side of me as Ash and Ben open fire. One of the bikes flips over as the tire is shot. Five others keep coming.

  The prisoners are in a tight group. One man yells at them, herding them along. He falls in at the back of the group, shouting at them as they head for the trees growing in a thick clump along the north side of the meadow.

  That’s where Kate and her team will be. With any luck, she’ll find them and get them to safety. All we have to do is buy them enough time to escape.

  This is no leisurely target practice. I don’t have time to sight, exhale, and fire. I have to act right fucking now, or those bikes are going to overtake those innocent people.

  I zero in on one bike, the one at the foremost of the pack. I open fire, cranking off round after round. I pepper the site with bullets, hoping to God one of them finds its way into the assholes riding it. Ben and Ash do the same, bullets leaping from their guns.

  My bike veers without warning, going straight for the cliff overlooking the ocean. Before it reaches the edge, it crashes onto its side and skids through the dirt. One wheel spins, the other hangs broken on its axis.

  I wait, finger poised on the trigger.

  The two people on it struggle to extract themselves from the bike. I don’t give them a chance to get up. A woman takes a bullet through the head. The man riding behind her takes two in the chest.

  Ash and Ben have disabled another two of the bikes. The remaining two have veered away from the prisoners and are instead riding in our direction. They open fire on us. Good. If they’re focused on us, the Fort Ross people will have a better
chance to escape.

  Ben lobs a grenade. His throw is short, but the explosion sends the bike into a spin. I hit the stem of the remaining bike. The handlebars snap off. The front tire hits a divot in the land and tips over, wheel spinning.

  All the bikes are down. I have no time to congratulate myself. There are still enemies out there. Three of them race across the open field on foot, chasing down the prisoners who have disappeared into the cypress trees.

  Another four head our way, opening fire as they charge at us. Another half a dozen sprint out of Fort Ross on foot, also storming in our direction.

  “Down!” Ben yells.

  I throw myself to the ground. Rosario’s people charge at us, guns blazing. Ben and Ash throw more grenades. Bodies fly up into the air. I dig in and continue to fire my rifle.

  Ash screams, rolling sideways. At the same moment, another grenade goes off. Another body flies across the ground.

  I’m aware of Ash panting on the ground beside me, squashing her hand over a wound in her shoulder. I’m aware of Ben on the other side of her, lying in the grass like a lion awaiting its prey.

  Mostly, my focus is on the remaining enemies sprinting straight at us. I raise my rifle and train it on the man closest to me. This motherfucker is toast.

  I pull the trigger.

  The rifle clicks empty.

  “Fuck!”

  I yank out the magazine, checking for bullets. Empty. My brain stops working. “Fuck. Ben, I’m out!”

  “Grenades,” Ben yells.

  I fumble at the elastic pull cord on the front of my running pack. I’m so frantic I can barely hold onto the tie. The whole point of sticking them in the front pockets was to keep them secure. I hadn’t considered I’d be pinch hitting.

  I hear another click. Another empty cartridge.

  “Motherfucker!” Ben leaps to his feet, lips pulled back in a snarl of rage. He snatches Ash’s gun off the ground. Two more shots rip through the air before that gun clicks empty, too. Another two enemies fall, but there are still more coming at us.