Elements of the Undead: Fire (Book One)

by Esmont, William

  The breech. He couldn’t have planned it better if he had tried. Unfortunately, he had had no hand in the event. It was just one of those things. Still, it had worked out well for him...sort of.

  Putting a bullet through the infected man’s head, well, that had been a stroke of pure genius. He had always felt that letting the infected choose their own death was ridiculous, a stupid bow to a civilization that no longer existed. You get bit, it’s over. He just hoped someone would have the balls to do the same for him if he was ever in that situation. Coming back as one of the undead was the worst fate he could imagine.

  That won’t be a problem, he decided with a devious smile. There’s a whole camp full of people itching to put a bullet in my head now. The thought calmed him. This new world needed people like him, even if they didn’t know it yet. Someone had to make the hard decisions, and they had to make them without hesitation. Or they would all die.

  There was another reason for Pringle’s anger, one he loathed to admit—Megan’s repeated rejection in the face of his most charming advances. It was obvious, he thought, that they should be together, yet no matter what he did, or how much he turned on the charm, she wouldn’t give him the time of the day. And now… now, this new guy Jack showed up. It was obvious Megan had something for him. The way she looked at him… the way her eyes lingered on his. Any moron could see she wanted to fuck him.

  Every time he saw them together, he wanted to reach out and grab her by the shoulders, shake her and scream, “Can’t you see? I’m right here in front of you!” But it was no use. She would have none of it.

  With an angry sigh, Pringle gave up on sleep and pulled a ragged copy of Sun Tzu’s The Art of War and a flashlight from beside his bed, thumbed to the dog-eared page in the middle, and resumed reading. Never a big reader before the uprising, Pringle had been surprised to discover he had a voracious appetite for the written word. He was in the middle of four separate books at the moment, a combination of management and military strategy as well as law enforcement guides, all acquired during supply raids. It was the words in those books that had finally convinced him to make his play on Megan, along with a deep-rooted sense that he could do it better if given an opportunity. The books would fill that gap, he figured, provide the details on how to achieve his goal.

  The simplest solution was to kill her, just make her go away once and for all. The problem was, so far, he had been unable to figure out how. He had come close after the breech, and if it weren’t for that bastard Jack, he would have finished her off in the courtyard, taken control, and turned things around in a hurry. In hindsight, he was glad that hadn’t happened. If there was one thing he had learned from Sun Tzu, it was the value of patience. He was close. It was only a matter of time.

  The main problem was perception. If he killed Megan and was discovered, he would be cast from the community at best, and at worst, killed on the spot. Despite his reservations about her leadership abilities, she had a loyal following, people who would die for her. That, he could not afford to ignore. He sighed and tried to focus on his book.

  As he turned the page, there was a knock at his door. Cocking his head, he listened to see if it was repeated. It came again. Who? He had a vision of Megan coming to his room in the middle of the night to relinquish her power. He dismissed it. Unrealistic. There was another knock, more insistent. It wasn’t a woman’s knock.

  “Hold on, hold on,” he said as he crossed the room. “Who’s there?”

  “Woo,” came the answer.

  Pringle opened the door a few inches and peered through. “What do you want? It’s late.”

  Woo looked up and down the hall, as if he expected someone to come along at any moment. “Can I come in? It’s important.”

  What the hell? He couldn’t sleep. He figured he might as well see what the kid wanted. He opened the door wide, and Woo entered, glancing over his shoulder one last time.

  Pringle motioned him to a chair on the far side of the room. “Drink? I’ve got tequila and water.”

  Woo considered the offer. “Tequila.” From a half-empty bottle of Patrón, Pringle poured out two healthy shots and handed one to Woo. Drinking with the kid certainly wasn’t what he had planned for the evening, but why not? He had nothing better to do until morning. And maybe the tequila would help him sleep. He had a fleeting thought, What if the kid is coming on to me? He took a step back, putting some distance between himself and the young man.

  Woo sensed his discomfort and laughed. “Shit. Sorry. Don’t worry. I’m not here for that. Not at all,” he said, shaking his head emphatically.

  “Then why are you here?” Pringle’s curiosity was piqued. “It’s late.”

  “I saw you and that woman Megan arguing earlier.”

  Pringle let out a sharp laugh. “Yeah? So did a lot of people. It happens.”

  Woo smiled. “I think I may have an answer to your problem.”

  Pringle downed his tequila in one gulp and refilled. “I’m listening.”

  A conspiratorial smile blossomed on Woo’s lips. “I need your assurance—”

  Pringle cut him off with a chop of his hand. “No assurances. Tell me what you came to say or get out.”

  Woo looked back at the door, as if reconsidering his decision. Then he turned back to Pringle and started talking. The next half hour flew by as Woo gave him the details on Hollister’s group, painting a picture that filled in all of the holes Pringle saw in his current life, from the no-bullshit approach to community relations to her plans for expansion across the Southwest. Pringle peppered him with questions throughout, growing increasingly excited as Woo had answers for everything. Either this kid is a master bullshit artist, or these guys have already figured things out. Finally, he ran out of questions. He poured them each another shot of tequila, and then reclined in his chair, drumming his fingers on the arm.

  Woo had revolutionized his understanding of the new world, provided the answers to his most vexing questions, and most importantly, given him hope, a new lease on life. His head reeled from the potential. Just forty miles away was a group of people who shared his approach to the world. He struggled to maintain a poker face, to keep his excitement from the teen.

  “So what do you need from me?” he asked cautiously.

  Woo grinned. “I’m glad you asked...”

  Pringle leaned forward, unable to contain his excitement anymore as Woo laid out a plan so simple, so devious, he wondered why he hadn’t thought of it himself.

  Thirty

  Megan awoke slowly, her semiconscious already sifting through the events of the previous day. The conflict with Pringle weighed heavily on her. She knew she would have to do something soon, make some movement toward a compromise; otherwise, they were all doomed.

  Her thoughts turned to Jack. He intrigued her. She replayed their exchange after the zombie incursion. It had triggered something lurking deep within. It made no sense, yet somehow his presence felt right at a primal level, his quiet strength, the way he held his ground against Pringle’s challenge, the casual manner in which he met her gaze, his eyes filled with a lingering sadness. She wanted to be close to him. No. She needed to be close to him. To be with him.

  Her face grew hot; she blushed. A devious smile blossomed on her lips. Almost without thinking, she slipped a hand beneath the covers, tracing her fingers along the plane of her belly, then pressing them to the warmth building between her legs. She closed her eyes, imagining Jack above her. For the briefest instant, some small part of her attempted to dismiss the fantasy, to relegate it to a simple infatuation. But it was no use. Her desire triumphed, and she abandoned all pretense at control, succumbing to the rush of the moment. She began to touch herself, slowly at first, then increasing the tempo. Her breath came in ragged gasps. Sweat broke out on her forehead. Her vision dimmed, pinpricks of light flashed at the edges, and then it snapped back into stark clarity as she reached climax. A small moan escaped her lips. She shuddered. “Jack…”

  Megan
lay still for what seemed an eternity. She panted softly, basking in the afterglow with her eyes closed and a contented smile lingering on her lips. As her euphoria began to fade, she found herself wondering ‘what if’? What if Jack feels the same way? How would it work? Could it work? She opened her eyes, her smile crumbling. It’s impossible. Or is it? She chewed her lip, considering her predicament. Everything was different now. We’ve all done things we never would have done before. All of us. Some worse than others. Regardless, she could easily imagine the look of disgust on his face when she told him of her past. Revulsion. Condemnation.

  She shook her head and tried to dismiss the image. There’s nothing I can do about that now. It’s part of who I am. Who I was.

  With a dismayed groan, Megan kicked the sheets from her feet and sat up. She shivered, chilled as the light sheen of sweat evaporated. I’ll deal with this later, she told herself as she got up. Right now I have work to do.

  Today’s job was a supply run into the center of town. They were planning to loot a construction tool rental company in hopes of finding a trailer-mounted diesel generator. Up until now, the community had survived without electricity, taking water from the stream in the canyon and using candles for light. A generator would give them flexibility to draw from the well as well as the ability to use power tools and the equipment necessary to maintain the vehicles. She even held out hope that they could power up the bank of dark computers in the back of the ranger station and use the satellite dish on the roof to connect to the internet, if it still existed. It would be nice to see if there was anything left of the outside world.

  With a renewed sense of purpose, Megan sprang from her bed and began to dress—thick, canvas cargo pants and a cotton tank top. She laced up a pair of heavy hiking boots as well to protect against broken glass. After a quick scan of the room, she decided she was ready to go.

  Despite the new complications in her life, Megan found herself whistling as she strapped on her guns and hefted her armored jacket from the chair beside the bed. This is going to get interesting.

  Thirty-One

  Keep your friends close and your enemies even closer…

  Megan repeated this mantra to herself as she drove the old white Park Service truck through the ruins of downtown Tucson. She had been tempted to remain in camp and send Pringle off by himself, but at the last minute she had decided it was best to come along, to attempt some sort of reconciliation through shared sacrifice. It had sounded good back at camp. Now she wasn’t so sure.

  In addition to herself and Pringle, Kevin was on his motorcycle serving as a forward scout. He stayed a block ahead of them the entire time, searching for traffic blockages, clusters of undead, anything that could slow them down. Twice so far, he had come roaring back to the convoy, adjusted their course, and sent them down a different combination of streets to avoid an unseen threat.

  Megan rode with Pringle, an icy silence wedged between them the entire way. Jack drove the second truck with Beth Fontaine and her boyfriend Marty Jackson, both out of Wilcox. The rental center parking lot was empty, a locked gate serving to keep it free of the undead. Kevin popped the lock in no time, waved them in, and pulled the gate shut behind them. They waited in silence for three full minutes, the clock on the dash ticking as they prepared for the incursion.

  The plan was simple. Megan, along with Kevin and Pringle, would go in and clear the building while the others remained on lookout. At the front doors, Megan reviewed the plan one more time. One by one, she stared each person in the eye, reaffirming their interdependence. It was an old trick she had learned right after the 9/11 attacks. She and her sister had been on the way to a vacation in Cancun with their parents. Soon after the cabin doors closed, the pilot had appeared at the front of the cabin. For ten minutes, he walked through the aircraft making eye contact with each and every passenger, reassuring them that he was in control, that they had nothing to worry about. Both she and her sister had been terrified to fly at the time, but the pilot’s actions had put her at ease, allowed her to relax and even enjoy her flight.

  She saved Jack for last. It took everything she had not to smile like a stupid kid when she met his eyes. Her face burned. She made it quick, and then turned away.

  The front door was already unlocked. They stepped inside. The store appeared untouched, as if the owners had stepped out for lunch only minutes before. The air smelled of grease and gasoline. Lawnmowers, dirt, and something else, an undercurrent, sickly-sweet, slightly cloying, with hints of cinnamon and dried beef. A zombie.

  Kevin reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of ball bearings. With a quick glance at Megan and Pringle, he tossed them deep into the shop, up and over the tall, steel equipment racks. The steel balls shattered the silence of the store as they ricocheted off counters and shelves at the rear. The zombie moaned.

  “Damn it,” Kevin muttered. “I hate the ones that have been closed up. They smell the worst.”

  Megan grimaced. She hated the indoor ones as well. For some reason, they seemed moister, fleshy bags of putrefying rot that tended to explode into chunks of slimy, decaying flesh at the slightest impact, a far cry from their outdoor brethren who toughened up like an old leather belt under the desert sun.

  “Here we go,” she said.

  They fanned out. Megan stayed in the center while Pringle went right and Kevin headed left.

  “It sounds like only one,” Kevin whispered. Footsteps. Coming closer. The creature moaned again. It was straight ahead. Megan choked down on the grip of her three-pound splitting maul, readying her muscles for action. She glanced to the right, looking for Pringle. He was gone.

  What the fuck? “Where’s Pringle?” she hissed at Kevin. Before he could answer, the creature stumbled from the gloom. Morbidly obese in its former life, and standing somewhere north of six-and-a-half-feet tall, it shuffled toward her, ignoring Kevin entirely. The name on the patch over the creature’s breast pocket was “Rod.”

  As it came within range, Megan put her weight on her back foot and swung down with her maul, letting loose a blood-curdling scream of rage and frustration in the process. Her swing hit home, plunging into the side of the creature’s head, splitting it open like a melon.

  She took a step back and yanked her tool from the creature’s head with a wet sucking sound, wrenching with all of her might. The zombie kept coming. For a terrifying moment, she thought she had missed, that the creature was still attacking, and then, like a tree blowing over in the wind, it pitched forward and crashed to the ground where she had just been standing.

  “Nice!” Kevin exclaimed.

  Megan allowed herself a brief smile, and turned to scan the front of the store again. “Now where the hell did Mike go?”

  Kevin shrugged. “Shit, I don’t know. I wasn’t paying attention.” He took a step into the rear of the store, disappearing into the shadows.

  “Light,” Megan reminded him.

  “Oh, yeah.” He unclipped an LED Maglite from his belt and flicked it on. She did the same. They played their beams along the aisles leading to the rear where the generators would be stored. There was no sign of Pringle.

  “Mike,” she called out softly, then again more forcefully. “This isn’t funny.” Pringle was known for his practical jokes, although why he would pick this moment to play one was beyond her. She stalked over to the front door and opened it. “Did Mike come out here?”

  “No,” Jack answered with a concerned frown. “He’s not with you?”

  She shook her head. “No. He disappeared.”

  “Do you want me to come in? Look for him?”

  Megan looked over his shoulder at the street beyond, weighing the risks. She wanted at least three people outside, just in case. “No. Better you stay here.” Jack didn’t look convinced, but he agreed.

  “Back in a minute,” Megan said, letting the door swing closed.

  Wait...Where’s Kevin?

  She took a step toward the rear. “Kevin?” There was a mu
ffled coughing from somewhere in the back. “Kevin?” she cried again, getting worried. “Is that you?”

  She stood stock still for a few moments, trying to decipher the sound. It wasn’t a zombie. They didn’t make that noise. No. It sounded like someone had sucked a drink down the wrong pipe and was trying to clear their throat. Like they were choking.

  She took off at a run, straight down the center aisle. It was a bad idea, she knew, but she had no choice. As she reached the rental counter stretching across the rear of the building, she saw movement out of the corner of her eye, a door swinging shut. The storage room.

  “Mike?” she called out in barely a whisper. “Kevin?” She was answered by a deathly silence. Megan took a deep breath, steeled her nerves, and stepped to the door. She listened carefully. There was someone, or something, inside moving around, faintly scratching. Shuffling. Another zombie? She drew her pistol and thumbed off the safety. She wished she hadn’t told Jack to wait outside; she considered, just for a moment, turning around and getting him. There’s no time. Mike and Kevin may be in trouble… As quietly as possible, she pushed on the door, cringing as the hinges squealed.

  The room beyond was as dark as a moonless night. She played her flashlight across the far wall. A figure, coming fast from her right. Too fast to be a zombie.

  “What—” Before she could finish, her assailant crashed headlong into her, sending her tumbling to the floor in an ungraceful heap. Her gun discharged with a blinding flash, and her flashlight flew from her hands to clatter away into the darkness, throwing crazy patterns on the walls as it spun. Crack! A powerful blow connected with her jaw, snapping her mouth closed, driving her teeth through the tip of her tongue. Blood exploded into her mouth.

  In the time it took her to realize what was going on, her attacker snatched her pistol from her hand and tossed it away on the cool concrete. He straddled her and pinned her hands behind her head, digging a knee in to her stomach to keep her pinned to the floor. Megan squirmed and bucked, trying to break free, and was rewarded with another vicious blow to the face.