Undead Ultra (Book 3): Lost Coast

by Picott, Camille

  “It’s standard protocol for a grounded boat,” Susan replies.

  “That doesn’t make it any less brilliant.”

  I look down at my watch, which I set to zero just after my conversation with Alvarez. It’s already been five hours since we spoke to him. The first prisoner of Mr. Rosario will be executed in nineteen hours unless we stop her.

  “Everyone grab a seat,” Susan says. “Time to sail out of shallow waters and find some gas.”

  45

  Out of Gas

  BEN

  The Fairhaven trundles along. It’s not a fast boat by any stretch of the imagination, but after traveling exclusively on foot for over six months, it feels like they’re moving at warp speed.

  “There.” Susan raises a hand and points. “Manila. That’s where we’ll look for gas.”

  “That wouldn’t happen to be the marina where Gary got attacked, would it?” Eric asks.

  Susan’s cheerful expression evaporates. “No. The shark attack was several miles south. Sharks don’t usually come this far up in the bay. I’m hoping the waters will be clear of zombies and sharks.”

  Ben squints. The microscopic town is a brownish smudge on the horizon. It doesn’t look promising in his opinion, but he keeps his mouth shut. They’re fucked if there’s no fuel. They’re double fucked if there are zombies and sharks in the water.

  As though on cue, the Fairhaven sputters and lurches in the water.

  “Dammit.” Susan pushes the throttle. “Come on, baby,” she murmurs, urging her boat forward. “Get mama to the shore.”

  Ben lets out a breath as the boat motors on, once again pushing through the water.

  “What happened?” Leo asks from where he stands at the bow.

  “I told you we were low on fuel,” Susan replies. “I think it is now safe to say we are dangerously low.”

  “What’s the difference between low and dangerously low?” Reed asks.

  Ben snorts. It’s impossible for him to hold back his words. “It’s the difference between driving to Manila and swimming to Manila.”

  Kate frowns at him. Fuck it. He gives her a non-apologetic shrug. He’s an asshole. Everyone knows it.

  “Ben isn’t wrong.” Susan watches the growing smudge of Manila. She rubs a loving hand across the dash of the boat. “Come on, baby. Mama doesn’t want to go for a swim today.”

  Ash mutters something cross in Spanish.

  “I second whatever you just said,” Ben tells her. “It sounded cranky.”

  “I didn’t bring a swimsuit,” she replies.

  This brings a few chuckles. Ben just feels grim. He’s pretty sure no one packed a swimming suit. That means if someone goes into the water, they’re either going in fully clothed or in their underwear.

  The Fairhaven gives another lurch, stalling in the bay. Ben watches Kate and measures the mounting anxiety on her face. She starts looking this way when she’s contemplating something particularly nuts.

  It’s her concern for Alvarez. He understands it, even if Alvarez isn’t a personal friend.

  The Fairhaven coughs and spits in protest, then keeps going. Ben lets out a breath. He focuses on the approaching landmass, willing it to come closer, closer ...

  The charter boat gives one last sputter. Then another.

  Then the engine clicks off.

  Silence fills the air, so loud his eardrums feel the pressure. In the distance comes the cry of seagulls.

  “Damn.” Susan’s voice is the only sound beside that of the gulls.

  Kate’s face is pinched, her jaw set as she gazes at the shoreline of Manila. The hamlet is a solid quarter mile away. Ben already knows what she’s thinking.

  He heads her off at the pass. No way is he going to let her risk her life.

  “I’ll go.” He stands, unbuttoning the shirt of his fatigues.

  Caleb turns sharp eyes on him. “Me, too. I completed in a few triathlons. I’m a good open water swimmer.”

  Of course he is. “Fucking golden boy,” Ben mutters.

  “You guys sure about this?” Leo says as he comes around from the bow.

  “It’s not safe,” Kate says.

  “Tell me you weren’t planning to jump into the water thirty seconds ago,” Ben says to her.

  She doesn’t respond.

  He snorts and tosses his shirt aside, next going for his shoes.

  “We’ll find some gas,” Caleb says. “Then we’ll find a boat or a kayak or something and come back.”

  “I’ll go, too,” Ash says, rising. “Safety in numbers.”

  “No.” Kate stops her. “I don’t want our group fractioned any more than it already is.” Her attention turns to Ben and Caleb. “You get gas and get back here as fast as you can. In one piece. Understand?”

  Caleb gives her a somber salute as he hands his shirt to Ash. “Yes, ma’am.” There is no mock or teasing on his face this time.

  Susan studies the coastline through the binoculars. “The waters look clear,” she reports. “Zombies sink when they fall into the water. Be careful as you get closer to shore.”

  “No shark fins?” Caleb asks.

  “No shark fins.”

  “Eric, rooftop,” Ben says. “Get the rifle ready. You see a shark fin, you shoot.”

  “Got it.” Eric grabs a rifle, scrambling onto the rooftop of the Fairhaven.

  Ben removes his belt from the loops of his pants and refastens it above his waist, double checking the strap on his knife to make sure the blade won’t slip free in the water. Then he hands both of his guns to Reed. “Hold onto these until I get back.”

  “Be careful out there.” Reed takes his gun. Then he removes his knife and zom bat from his belt. “Take these. Mama Bear always tells us to have a Plan B and Plan C whenever possible.

  “Thanks, kid.”

  Ash also exchanges her spare weapons for Caleb’s firearms.

  “I’m taking notes,” Eric says, even though he doesn’t have a pen or a notebook in hand. “You both better come back. Johnny will expect precise details for his book.”

  “I meant it when I said you better come back in one piece.” Kate puts her hands on her hips as she faces Ben.

  “Only way I could possibly come back,” Ben replies. All the drama is making him edgy. Not giving himself time to think too hard on what needs to happen next, he sheds his pants.

  Ben’s never paid too much attention to his body. It’s always served him well enough and gotten the job done. And hell, he’s pushing fifty. Though he’s lean and fit, his muscles aren’t what they once were. He’s scarred and tattooed and has an uneven tan.

  One thing he’s never paid much mind to is his underwear. He always bought whatever was cheapest at Walmart, or whatever the military gave him if he was overseas. His tidy whities aren’t exactly white anymore. There may even be a few holes in them.

  He feels like a dumpy old man next to Caleb. The young man is nothing but miles of smooth dark skin and hard muscle. He wears dark red boxer briefs, which make him look like an Olympic swimmer. Fucker.

  “Dude.” Eric blinks at Ben from behind his glasses. “Those are some bad ass tattoo sleeves.”

  “Is that a fairy on your arm?” Susan asks.

  Ben doesn’t stick around any longer. Checking his belt and weapons one more time, he dives off the boat and into the frigid waters of Humboldt Bay.

  46

  Manila

  BEN

  Caleb hits the water seconds later. The younger man shifts into a perfect freestyle, long arms pulling at the water as he swims away.

  Ben took a few swim lessons as a kid. He spent long summer days at the Y staying cool at the pool with his buddies.

  As an adult, he used to take his son, Sam, fishing at Lake Barry in the summers. The two of them had often gone out for swims in the afternoon when it got hot.

  This sums up Ben’s experience in the water.

  Not wanting to look like an ass, Ben takes off after Caleb, attempting to mimic the form
of the younger man.

  He tries to recall his childhood swim lessons. He can’t even recall the name of his teacher, let alone anything she taught him. When he and Sam swam in the lake during their fishing expeditions, they had foam noodles or some sort of floatie to rely on.

  It doesn’t take long for him to realize swimming in the bay is vastly different from swimming anywhere else. Not only is the water cold as fuck, but the current wants to push him south, away from Manila. Already his muscles are burning. He takes in a mouthful of saltwater with every other stroke.

  And he thought running sucked ass. Barely five minutes in the water, and he has no illusion as to which is the more difficult of the two.

  “Ben.” He pretends not to hear the voice calling after him from the boat.

  “Ben!”

  He keeps paddling, settling for a pathetic dog paddle in lieu of the freestyle stroke he can’t do anyway. Caleb is already fifty yards ahead of him.

  A minute later, something round and white is thrown in his direction. It splashes ten feet to his right.

  A life preserver.

  It’s a knife to his pride, but fuck it. He doesn’t want to drown out here while golden boy takes all the credit for saving Kate and the others.

  He paddles over to the life preserver and grabs it. Latching onto it, he starts kicking.

  Now, this is more like it. He can almost imagine he’s back at Lake Barry with Sam. He misses the kid. He misses him a lot.

  He’s spent his whole life missing Sam. It started the minute he exited the hospital, leaving his newborn and all the rights to him in the hands of his mother.

  He never should have done it. He thought it had been the right thing for Sam, but he remembers how sick he felt when he signed the custody papers. He wanted to tell Sam’s mother that he’d resign his commission and move nearby to help raise their son.

  The sentences tried to force their way past his lips. But even back then, words had failed him.

  He was lucky Shelia never tried to keep Sam from him. She let him visit when he was on leave. She made sure Sam got all the letters Ben wrote. She even made sure the kid sent him a birthday card once a year and let Ben take him on trips during the summer.

  Ben pushes away thoughts of Sam. He knows without a doubt he’ll never see his son again. If the boy is even alive, he’s on the other side of the country.

  He shifts his focus to Caleb, who’s now a hundred yards in front of him. Gritting his teeth, Ben kicks in a vain attempt to keep up with him. He periodically dunks his head into the water to check for zoms. The salt water stings his eyes, but he’ll take stinging eyes over a zom bite anyday.

  Caleb is already out of the water by the time Ben reaches the shoreline. He stands there like a young Greek god. Ben never looked that good, not even when he was young and in the best shape of his life after boot camp.

  “Ben!” Caleb waves his arms to get his attention, his soft voice nearly swallowed by the lapping water. “Move! There are zoms in the water.”

  Ben pours on speed, kicking as hard as he can. He opens his eyes underwater. Everything is murky, but he spots two pale white forms below him in the water.

  Fuck and double fuck.

  He’s exhausted from the long paddle from the Fairhaven. His legs feel like jelly and his breath is raw fire in his throat. He kicks harder, trying to get ahead of the zombies.

  As he reaches the shoreline, he feels something tickle against his leg. He kicks harder.

  The rocks of the shore bite into his knees. He pulls his feet beneath him and starts to stand.

  Something grabs his leg.

  Before he can act, Caleb is there, knife in hand. He pounces, knife slashing through the water. The fingers around Ben’s ankle release. As Ben hurries the rest of the way to shore, he sees a zom float to the surface of the water.

  “I saw it as I swam in,” Caleb says. “It was walking along the bottom of the bay. It followed the sounds of my kicks all the way to shore.”

  Ben grunts, exhausted from the swim and pissed off that he owes one to Caleb. He sits down on a boulder to catch his breath.

  “Why did you volunteer for this mission if you can’t swim?” Caleb asks.

  “I can swim.”

  Caleb gives him an exasperated look. “You know what I mean.”

  “Not a lot of water in the Sandbox.”

  “Ben.”

  He spits out a mouthful of salty saliva, scowling up at the young man. “Because Kate was getting ready to do it, okay?”

  “And you wanted to protect her.”

  Caleb is prodding him. Fuck that. “We can’t afford to lose her,” Ben snaps. “She holds everything together. We’d all be zombie snacks if not for her.”

  Caleb tilts his head, studying Ben in a way that makes him want to sock the other man. “That’s why I did it. Well, that and the fact that I’m a good swimmer.”

  “You can brag about it when we get back to the boat.” Ben stands, wincing as rocks cut into his bare feet. Fuck.

  Looking down, he realizes how badly he is in need of new underwear. There’s a tear in one side he hadn’t noticed before. Could this day get any worse? He hopes Kate didn’t notice. He looks like a crazy old man from an asylum.

  Caleb smirks at him. “Dude, we’ll find you some better drawers before we go back. Can’t let your woman see you looking scruffy.”

  Ben feels his face heat. He flips Caleb the bird and stalks off. His destination is a dock with two small motorboats lashed in place. The boats have taken on water and are half-submerged on the shore. No one said they needed working boats, just boats with gas.

  He changes course mid-stream. Finding the boats is all well and good, but they need something to put the gas in.

  He angles away from the water. The house nearest the dock had been an elegant mansion in the 70s. The wood is peeling and worn from the saltwater. The windows are all leaking, the glass fogged from the inside. The roof looks like it endured its own private apocalypse long before the actual apocalypse.

  Off to his right, the water of Humboldt Bay laps at the shore. The coastal breeze rustles the wind-bent pine trees and thick clumps of calla lilies growing near the shore.

  He bypasses the house, heading instead for the shipping container on the south side of the house. No doubt the owners stored all sorts of shit inside. That’s just the sort of place he’ll find a gas can.

  He pulls out a knife and zom bat, keeping an eye out for undead. He’s grateful as he steps onto un-mowed lawn. Much better than moving on sharp gravel.

  Sensing movement behind him, he looks back to see Caleb following. Little fucker. Anger crawls up his spine, indignant at the other man’s simple existence.

  Focus, dumb ass, he tells himself. Getting distracted is going to get him killed.

  Reaching the container, he pauses outside to survey it. The outside has been spray-painted with graffiti. Someone went to the trouble to place baskets of fake flowers on either side of the doors, along with a doormat that says WELCOME.

  Maybe this was someone’s man cave. Or a woman’s cave. Whatever.

  He taps a hand on the shed. To his dismay, a growl comes from inside. Damn. He’d been hoping to get lucky.

  “You sure we need to go in there?” Caleb licks his lips, tightening his grip on his weapons.

  “Where else are we going to find a gas can? The master bedroom? Get ready. On three.”

  Caleb’s answering glare brings satisfaction. It’s short-lived. Turning back to the shed, Ben prepares to face whatever is on the other side.

  He grips the door latch. It lets loose an awful metallic squeal as he lifts it, rusted from exposure of the sea air. It’s like a foghorn going off.

  Two reeking zombies jerk into the sunlight. They’re dressed all in camouflage, bandoliers slung across their chests.

  Caleb and Ben raise their weapons, bracing for combat.

  But the zombies don’t advance on them. They dance in the doorway of the container, moanin
g and swiping at the air.

  “What the fuck?” Caleb frowns.

  Ben follows the younger man’s gaze. That’s when he notices the blue dog leashes wrapped around each zombie’s neck, holding them in place. The leashes are suspended from the ceiling just inside the container.

  “They must have hung themselves,” Caleb says.

  “I don’t think so. Their feet touch the ground.” Ben scans the area, the skin between his shoulder blades crawling. “I think someone strung them up inside to protect their assets.”

  He pulls a small battery-operated flashlight off his belt. It’s no longer than his palm, but the beam is bright.

  “Where did you get that?” Caleb asks.

  “Found it in a dorm room.” He always carries it on his belt, just for times like this. Good thing it still works after being dunked in saltwater.

  He shines the beam into the container. His jaw drops open.

  “Do you see what I see?” Caleb whispers. “It’s a prepper’s wet dream in there.”

  The younger man isn’t exaggerating. Inside the container are enough supplies to rival a WalMart.

  “Holy fuck,” Caleb breathes. “We’ve hit the jackpot, old man.”

  “Maybe.” Ben can’t shake the unease that crawls between his shoulder blades. “We can’t assume this place is abandoned. These zoms look like guard dogs to me.” Guard dogs Ben intends to eliminate.

  He brings the zom bat down into the forehead of the first zom. Then he whips the bat sideways and takes out the second. The undead dangle from their leashes, brain matter dripping onto the ground.

  “Come on. Let’s find a gas can and get what we came for.” Before whoever strung up the guard zoms comes back.

  Ben shoulders his way past the corpses, Caleb on his heels. He scans the interior, trying not to get caught up in the sight of all that canned food. He’s here for a gas can, not refried beans.

  “Old man, we seriously need to get you new underwear. Especially if you’re going to walk around looking like that.” Caleb hurls a small plastic package at him.

  Ben catches the package. “Looking like what?”