Undead Ultra (Book 3): Lost Coast

by Picott, Camille

  Running.

  8

  Horde

  BEN

  Granite Avenue is the street that runs along the north side of campus where most of the college dorms are. Creekside is nestled at the very end of Granite Avenue among the towering redwoods of Northern California. To most people, it’s a beautiful, picturesque road.

  Ben hates it. It’s the place that holds the culmination of the worst moments of his life. It’s the place where he had been ordered to open fire on kids.

  Kids.

  Granted, some of them—a lot of them—had been infected. But a full-scale offensive on the college had been nothing more than mass murder.

  That wasn’t even the worst part. This had been the place where Ben disobeyed a direct order and went AWOL. He scooped up half a dozen students and hustled them to safety. Away from the gunfire, away from the infected.

  Ben had never, ever, disobeyed a direct order from a commanding officer. Sure, there had been moments when he’d had to grit his teeth and mentally cuss someone out for a stupid order, but he always followed through. It’s what a good soldier did. He’d always taken pride in being a good soldier. Of doing the right thing for his country, even when it was hard.

  All that was shattered on this godforsaken road.

  As he runs down it with Kate and the others on their foolhardy mission, it takes all his focus not to fall back to that night of gunfire and madness.

  Usually, he focuses on the swing of Kate’s ponytail. It’s a good anchor. Keeps his brain from spinning out of control.

  Now that she’d gone and hacked her hair off—which looks damn good, even though he’d fucked up trying to tell her that—he isn’t sure where to look. The natural thing to focus on is her ass in those skin-tight running pants. He’s grateful she swapped out the tiny running shorts for the mission, though in truth they aren’t much more protection. If any of the little shitheads catch him looking, he’ll never live it down. He settles for watching the sweat spot forming between her shoulder blades.

  Granite Avenue, for its part, is indifferent to his PTSD bullshit. The place had been akin to a Sandbox warzone a few months ago. Rotting corpses strewn across every conceivable surface. Feasting carrion birds. Maggots and flies everywhere. The smell of death had been inescapable.

  Then Kate got it into her head that she wanted to clean up the neighborhood. She took them all to the campus greenhouse. Goddammit if they hadn’t unearthed five wheelbarrows.

  It had taken them weeks to cart away the bodies. Jenna was the one who came up with the idea to cut a hole in the fence separating the college from the freeway—and the twenty-foot drop to the once-busy road. After that, it was only a matter of collecting the bodies and dumping them over the side.

  These days, Granite Avenue is stink-free, fly-free, maggot-free, and vulture-free. The same can’t be said for the rest of the campus, but if Kate has anything to say about it, she’ll have the entire campus cleared one day.

  He loves that she thinks she can do it. That they can do it. Where everyone else sees death, she sees hope.

  Ben keeps his focus on Kate’s shoulder blades. Her sweat spot expands from a few dots to a large, lopsided circle about the size of a fist. He exhales in relief as they hit the main road and turn south. This street is sandwiched between the western perimeter of campus and the drop-off down to the freeway. The memories aren’t so thick here.

  They soon reach the vast wrought-iron fence that surrounds the athletic field where they come for target practice. The field most definitely is not fly- or vulture-free.

  They leave campus and turn west across the bridge that takes them over the freeway and into downtown Arcata. He watches the others transform, muscles tensing and eyes scanning. They kill their fair share of zombies every time they make a trip into town, but there are always more to deal with.

  As they crest the top of the overpass, Ben glances to the freeway below. It’s a mess of cars and zombies, even more so since they started dumping bodies down there. He’d like to dump kerosene over the entire scene and drop a match to it.

  “We should run south along the freeway,” Jenna says as they exit the overpass. Her voice low so as not to attract any undead. “It’s a straight shot to Humboldt Bay.”

  Kate nods. “Good idea. Everyone, stay alert.”

  Ben maintains his position at the back as Kate takes her position at the front. He doesn’t trust anyone else to do a proper job of rear guard.

  “Bro.” Ahead of him, Jesus nudges Reed in the arm. “Remember this place?” He points to a small blue house they pass.

  Reed smirks. “Totally. That’s where we delivered the E.”

  “And scored ourselves an invite to a par-tay.”

  “That was some good E.” Reed sighs.

  “Those were some horny chicks,” Jesus adds, nostalgic.

  “Yeah, that too.”

  The conversation makes Ben want to bash their heads together. Everyone is out here putting their lives on the line, and all they can do is reminisce about fucking and doing drugs? Is it any wonder living around these kids makes him insane?

  Something crashes with a hollow thud. It sounds like a trashcan just went over.

  More than a dozen zombies shamble onto the street in front of them. They’re a mere two blocks away. There are so many they clog the road, creating a solid barrier blocking their way. Soft moans pepper the air.

  Not good.

  Kate cuts away from the frontage road, turning right at a cross street. It’s residential, lined with colorful bungalows and an auto repair shop. Several blocks ahead of them is a worn-out strip mall

  Their fast jog turns into a run. Fluorescent orange running shoes might be the most despised thing he owns, but right now he’s grateful for their quiet rubber soles.

  Kate ducks behind the corner of the auto repair shop. They pile after her, all of them breathing hard.

  Breathing hard, but not out of breath. There’s a difference. They have Kate to thank for that.

  Ben peers around the corner, looking back up the way they came The first few zombies stagger into view. Hard on their heels are more. And more.

  And more.

  “Follame,” Jesus mutters, squinting down the road beside Ben. He often defaults to Spanish when he’s stressed.

  “How many are there?” Carter whispers.

  No one answers him. Ben stares, his eyes resting on the zom that stands in the center. It’s a nondescript man in his forties, clothing torn and gray from long months of exposure. It wears a baseball cap that was once bright red, but is now a dull maroon.

  It works its jaw, letting loose a series of keens and clicking noises. The rest of the zombie swirl around it, heads cocked as they listen. They click and keen in response.

  A shiver travels down Ben’s spine. He swings around, his eyes meeting Kate’s. “We have to get the fuck out of here. It’s another alpha zoms.” The name rolls off his tongue without thought.

  Kate’s eyes widen. “Alpha zom?”

  “Yeah, like the one we saw on campus the other day. The kind that issues orders to the rest of the zombies. There’s a good two dozen of those fuckers around the alpha.”

  “Follame,” Jesus mutters again.

  Kate leads them away from the herd, pushing hard through town. They barrel past the strip mall, working their way deeper into the streets and away from the pack.

  They pass a few lone zombies, which are dispatched with knives and screwdrivers. Kate sticks to the narrower streets and alleyways. Ben spots a few other large clusters of zombies, but Kate steers wide of them.

  Fifteen minutes later, she draws to a halt on the side of a warehouse building. They clump together without speaking, everyone breathing hard.

  “Evolution,” Carter breathes. “They’re evolving.”

  “Learning to communicate with one another.” Kate bites out the words.

  Jenna rubs her arms, looking over her shoulder as if expecting to find the pack there. “Do
you think we lost them?”

  “I think so.” Jesus runs his thumb over the hilt of his gun. “Unless they can track. Then we’re fucked.”

  “We should scrap the rescue mission,” Ben says. “Fall back and regroup.”

  Kate shoots him an irritated look. “No such luck, soldier.”

  He tamps down the urge to list out all the reasons why this is a bad idea. If it’s one thing he’s learned about Kate, it’s that she’ll lay it all on the line to help people. Up until today, he thought that only applied to the residents of Creekside. Apparently, that extends to complete strangers in Arcata, too.

  “Come on,” Kate says. “It’s not far. We should be able to see the bay as soon as we get past this row of warehouses.”

  Ben resigns himself to the mission. He might think it’s idiotic, but there’s no way in hell he’ll turn his back on Kate.

  9

  Road Crossing

  KATE

  The fastest way to reach Humboldt Bay is across Samoa Highway, a four-lane country highway. Until now, there hasn’t been a reason for us to push this far south to the town’s boundary. There are cars everywhere, most of them abandoned. Many have plowed across the narrow margin between the east- and west-bound lanes to crash into other cars.

  The undead are everywhere. They meander in small circles, clogging up nearly every passable space between the vehicles.

  This must be one of the routes people took when they fled in the early days of the outbreak. Then they zombified behind the wheel and everything went sideways.

  “How are we going to get across the road?” Reed whispers.

  I study the scene. On the other side of the highway are native grass fields that transition into marshland. The marshland rings Humboldt Bay.

  I replay our run-ins with the alpha zombies, both here in town and back at the university. I can’t write them off as isolated incidents, especially since Johnny has confirmation of it happening in other locations.

  We could very well run into alphas on Samoa Highway. There are, quite literally, hundreds of zombies out here. If one or two of them step up as leader and get wind of us, we’re fucked.

  Stealth is the only way to get to the other side.

  Fifty yards up the road is an abandoned semi. Its length spans two lanes before the front end pierces the muddy margin. Several cars have plowed into its side, effectively creating a barricade against zombies. I gesture, leading my people toward it.

  “We go in groups of two,” I whisper. “Under the semi and out the other side. No one make a sound. If there’s another alpha out here ...” I leave the rest of that thought unspoken. By their expressions, they’re as rattled by the alpha zombies as I am. “Everyone understand?”

  I make eye contact with each person, waiting for nods. Unease crawls through me. Is this a mistake? Am I an idiot for risking my people to save two strangers?

  Maybe. But there aren’t all that many people left in the world. We need to help each other if we want to survive.

  I can’t help thinking about the houseful of soldiers I murdered a few months ago. Hypocrite. I’m stained by that action, even though I’d do it all over again to keep Carter and the others safe. Maybe I can diminish some of that stain by helping others—people who aren’t sadistic, rapist, murdering assholes.

  “Ash, with me,” I say. “We’re going first.” I take my screwdriver in one hand and my new zom bat in the other.

  Ben opens his mouth. I silence the argument on his face with a single shake of my head.

  “You bring up the rear,” I tell him. “Watch our backs.”

  He hesitates before nodding. “Prove me wrong out there.”

  I grunt. He wants me to prove this isn’t a suicide mission? That makes two of us.

  I steal to the edge of the roadway with Ash by my side, eyes darting left and right. She carries a military-issue knife in either hand. On a bad day, Ash looks like a poster child for CrossFit. On a good day, she looks like Xena’s little sister.

  Like now. Her eyes glow with inner ferocity. I don’t envy the zombies that come up against her.

  We slip between a narrow gap formed by two cars that collided with the semi. There are no bodies inside either of the vehicles, dead or undead, but the force of the impact left shattered glass all over the pavement.

  Our running shoes crunch on the glass. The nearest undead is two hundred yards away. It’s a thirty-something woman with long hair that had once been thick and lustrous. The months exposed to the elements have turned it grimy and lank.

  It turns in our direction, nose scenting the air like an animal. We dart underneath the semi and pause. Shade blankets us. The smell of gasoline is strong. A breeze wafts in from the ocean, carrying with it the scent of saltwater and rot.

  I scan the path on the far side of the semi. There’s an undead wedged between the front bumpers of two collided cars. Both legs are crushed, leaving the undead man splayed on the hood of one car. White eyes roll in its head as it bobs back and forth under the summer sun.

  “I’m going to stab the one on the hood,” I whisper. Better to take it out so it doesn’t alert any of its brethren. “Cover me.”

  Ash nods, knuckles tightening on her knives.

  I dash forward, my blade outstretched. The zombie crushed between the cars stirs as my feet whisper over more crushed glass. I pour on a burst of speed and slam the knife into its ear.

  Yanking it free, I keep moving. Ash comes up behind me, her eyes never ceasing their constant scan of our surroundings. We slip around the cars and into the margin.

  The eastbound lane isn’t as clear as the westbound. I search for a kink in the armor, but it’s no use. There is no clear path from one side to the other. We’re going to have to make a path.

  I sense movement behind us. Turning, I see Reed and Jesus dart through the underbelly of the semi and sprint toward us.

  “Ben sent us,” Reed whispers. “He said you’d need help to clear a path.”

  Through the corridor beneath the semi, I see Ben crouched down and watching. I nod to him in thanks. His decision was a good one.

  Jesus flips the knife in his hand. “Let’s do this, Mamita.” The guy is a pro with a blade. I’ve seen him target practice with the wooden benches on the inside of the track; he can sink his knife into them from twenty feet away.

  “See that yellow car?” I point. They lean in to hear my words. “We cut left around it. Jesus and Reed, you two take the three zombies on the left. Ash and I will take the two on the right. That will leave an opening for the others. Remember, the priority is to minimize noise.”

  We sprint forward, heading for our respective targets. My new zom bat finds the forehead of a senior citizen zombie. The skull collapses with satisfying speed beneath the force of the small bat.

  Ash, Reed, and Jesus fell their targets just as quickly. Jesus takes out the fifth one with a knife thrown expertly into the undead’s forehead.

  A thumping sound to my right makes me jump. I spin around in time to see Ash backing away from the yellow car. Inside, a woman beats her fists against the glass. Smears of blackish-red blood smear the window. The zombie lets up a keen that can be heard up and down the highway, even muffled as it is by the car.

  All around, zombies turn in our direction.

  Dammit!

  Ash yanks on the door handle. The door is unlocked. The zombie inside tumbles out. I dart forward and whip my bat against the side of her head.

  The four of us crouch in a small circle between the cars, not daring to move. All around us, the zombies moan and scent the air.

  I hold up a hand, indicating everyone to stay where they are. Any sound we make could bring them on us in a rush. I watch those zombies nearest to us, looking for sign of another alpha.

  The zombies shift and moan, shuffling about. None of them emit the combination of clicking and keening that seems to initiate an order.

  I look back and see Carter, Jenna, and Caleb still crouched on the far side of
the road, watching our progress through the gap beneath the semi. Ben is nowhere in sight. Shit. Where did he go?

  A second later, I get my answer.

  A car alarm goes off somewhere to the west. Every zombie whips toward the sound.

  Ben. He’s clearing a way for us.

  I don’t hesitate. I break into a sprint, peeling for the open grass on the far side of the eastbound lane. Reed, Jesus, and Ash run in a tight circle with me.

  We hit the grass and keep running, putting as much distance between us and Samoa Highway as possible. Ben is still nowhere in sight. Carter, Jenna, and Caleb have already made it to the eastbound lane.

  I draw up short as a pack of zombies lumbers in their direction. Their blindness will buy Carter and the others precious seconds, but not much more than that.

  Jenna leads them forward in a blind sprint. After Reed, she’s the fastest of our group. She’s the first to break past the pack and reach us. Carter is right behind her.

  Caleb brings up the rear, wielding his rifle like a club. A zombie lumbers in front of him, coming between Caleb and the rest of us.

  The young man doesn’t hesitate. He slams the butt of the rifle into the face of the zombie. Blood sprays. Caleb leaps over the body as it falls and sprints the rest of the way to us, leaving the rest of the pack behind.

  “Where’s Ben?” I hiss as he joins us. We huddle in a tight cluster five hundred yards from the highway. The car alarm still wails. Zombies bump and flounder their way through the tangle of cars, fighting to reach the noise.

  I scan up and down the highway, my chest clenching. There is no sign of Ben anywhere.

  “He left to set off the car alarm,” Caleb whispers. “Don’t worry, the guy is as tough as shoe leather. He’ll make it.”

  Tough or not, it only takes one slip out here to get you killed. And with no one to watch his back, the danger only increases.

  And what if there’s an alpha out here? Dread settles on my shoulders. The thought of something happening to Ben makes me feel sick.

  I scan the zombies amassing around the car alarm. They’re in a frenzy, pushing and shoving one another in their desperation to get to the source of the noise. More zombies stream in every second.