Ultimate Undead Collection: The Zombie Apocalypse Best Sellers Boxed Set (10 Books)

by Joe McKinney

  And yet Brighton continued to employ him.

  It was a shame, really, but the township was in no position to deny assistance. As long as demons roamed the countryside, the township would need the help of the Wardens to slay them. Each scalp netted a Warden five bits of silver—enough to fund a few decent meals.

  Or in Jeremiah’s case, a few more jugs of snowberry.

  Goddamn louse.

  Bray’s anger simmered as he stared at the sleeping man. Jeremiah was a waste, really. No one would miss him if he were gone. But killing him wasn’t Bray’s style. He’d rather let the man live and quietly leech off his earnings.

  Killing the man would be a poor investment.

  Bray crept across the campsite, stepping over several loose twigs and leaves, doing his best to mask his presence. He held his knife at the ready, even though he was confident he wouldn’t need it. He kept his sword in his scabbard.

  In the event the man awakened, Bray had a backup plan. He’d tell Jeremiah that he’d been chasing a demon, and that he’d stumbled on the campsite. In all likelihood, Jeremiah would be too drunk and disoriented to care.

  He’d probably even fall back asleep.

  Bray circled the doused fire, watching the sleeping man through the thin veil of smoke. He stopped to examine the smoldering squirrel. There was still some unclaimed meat on its bones. He reached out and poked the animal. Still warm. Smiling, he plucked the leftover meat and stuffed it into his mouth, pausing for a second to chew. He’d been so busy stalking Jeremiah that he hadn’t had a chance to eat.

  Free food and a demon scalp. What a take.

  After he scavenged the rest of the man’s meal, he continued over to Jeremiah. The drunken man was still snoring, with his pack looped over one shoulder. He was clutching the strap to his chest, as if it were the pale arm of a woman instead of a dirt-stained piece of fabric. The pack was tied shut.

  Damn.

  That would make things more difficult.

  He’d do what he had to do, and then he’d flee the area. When Jeremiah woke up, he probably wouldn’t even remember he’d had a fresh scalp in his pack. Bray smirked at the thought.

  He knelt down, paying close attention to the man’s breathing. Up close, the snoring was even louder than he’d anticipated, which gave him ample cover to do his business. He set his knife in the dirt and reached for the strings on the pack. As he’d expected, the knot was loosely tied. After a few pulls, he tugged the pack open.

  Jeremiah snorted.

  He released the pack and went still. Nerves crawled through his body; his pulse raced. Jeremiah readjusted, pulling the bag over his side and out of Bray’s reach. After a few seconds, he resumed snoring.

  Bastard. Bray shook his head.

  He’d wait another minute, just to make sure the man was asleep, and then he’d try again. His plan was to take the scalp to Davenport, where he’d hopefully trade it in for more silver than he’d get in Brighton. He already had a pack full, but another scalp would mean at least another five silver. He’d add it to his stockpile in the ruins once he got paid.

  Bray shimmied closer. The pack was resting on Jeremiah’s side, and it moved up and down with each alcohol-tainted breath. Bray could smell the man’s body odor—a mixture of dried demon blood and unwashed sweat—and he fought the urge to vomit.

  Rather than spending all his money on snowberry, the man should’ve bought himself a bath.

  Bray reached inside the pack again, weaving his way through the fabric, grazing a few items of clothing. A shirt. Pants. He searched for anything else of value. Maybe he’d find a few bits of silver. Eventually his hand closed around the scalp. Got it. He smiled and withdrew his hand.

  Before he could get it out of the pack, a large, calloused hand enveloped his wrist.

  “You son of a bitch!”

  Jeremiah was awake, and he wasn’t happy. Bray tried to leap back, but the hand had a firm grip, and Bray lost his balance. He grabbed for his knife, but it was just out of reach.

  “Jeremiah! I was just—”

  “I know exactly what you were just trying to do, you goddamn thief!”

  Before Bray could retort, Jeremiah punched him. The blow was sloppy, but it was powerful enough to send Bray sprawling to the ground.

  Jeremiah was on his feet, advancing, eyes blazing. Bray scooted backward, crawling on hands and knees. His sword was still in his scabbard. If he could get clear of the angered man, he might be able to pull it.

  Before he could make a move, Jeremiah charged him. The large man knocked into his shoulders, heaving him back to the dirt, and Bray landed hard on his tailbone. His body stung from the impact.

  Jeremiah unsheathed his sword.

  The last thing Bray had expected was a fight. At the same time, he’d never backed away from one, either. Before Jeremiah could descend on him, Bray lashed out with his leg, hitting the man in the ankle. Jeremiah grunted, lost his balance and tumbled.

  Bray leapt to his feet.

  As Jeremiah tried to recover, Bray delivered a right hook to his jaw. The man cried out in pain. Bray scooted backward. He realized he was still clutching the scalp. That was what he had come for, not a fight with a bear-sized man.

  It was time to leave.

  He plucked his knife from the ground and skirted toward the woods.

  He dashed through the trees, listening to the intoxicated man roar behind him. Jeremiah was on his feet and was lumbering through the woods. Bray continued fleeing until Jeremiah’s shouts were nothing more than complaints to an empty forest. When the man was out of earshot, Bray stopped to inspect the scalp he’d stolen.

  Judging by the size and contour, the demon had been a middle-aged male. The cut was uneven, suggesting that Jeremiah had still been shaky from the fight with it. Either that or he’d already been inebriated.

  Bray shrugged. A scalp is a scalp.

  He opened his bag and stuffed the demon skin inside, then continued through the forest. Unlike Jeremiah, he’d been navigating the woods for most of his life, and he knew paths and shortcuts that others rarely traveled. He’d be out of harm’s way before the man found him. He’d have to deal with the angered Warden later.

  In front of Bray was a legion of small pines, and he weaved among them, trying to blend with the forest. He traveled softly, as usual. He varied his path slightly each time he took it, preventing a trail from forming. From the north, he could hear the faint hiss of rushing water. From the south he could hear the chatter of woodland animals. He glided in the direction of the river, intent on following it all the way to Davenport.

  It was then that he heard a woman’s scream.

  Bray perked his ears, certain that he was hearing things. There weren’t many unguided travelers in the forest, and there certainly weren’t many women. Was he mistaken?

  He stopped short, trying to block out the faint rush of water. After a few seconds, another scream followed. It was coming from the direction of the river. Perhaps a man was laying into his wife, or a traveler had been separated from her guide.

  But something about the scream seemed different.

  Although he usually didn’t get involved in local disputes, the scream piqued his curiosity. He’d get close enough to see what was going on before continuing to Davenport.

  Bray broke from the pines, heading toward the source of the noise.

  Chapter 14

  Ella

  With a night’s rest behind them, Ella and William took to the river with renewed strength. Although Ella’s body was sore, her stomach was full, and her night in the wild had given her confidence. She’d been able to provide for William without the safety and amenities of Brighton, and that gave her hope that they’d make it a while longer. Each passing minute was a triumph in itself, and each step brought them closer to Davenport.

  After walking awhile, she motioned for William to stop at the river so they could refill their flasks. He bent beside her and they untied their bags. Ella dipped her hands in the riv
er and washed her face, letting the cool water soak her skin. Aside from the rush of the water, the forest around them was quiet.

  For as long as she could remember, she’d lived among the commotion of villages and towns. Even at night, when she lay in bed, she could hear the hushed chatter of merchants or the squeak of a pushcart. This silence felt unnatural.

  It took her a minute to determine the reason.

  Ella smelled the creature before she saw it. If it wasn’t for the breeze gusting through the trees, masking its scent with moss and mildew, she would’ve smelled it sooner. The sound of feet trampling brush came next. Though she was poised to flee, she feared attack was inevitable.

  The monsters were fast.

  She withdrew her knife.

  “William, stay with me!” She grabbed the boy’s arm.

  William scrambled behind her, and together they crept along the riverbank, Ella clutching the blade so tightly that her hand became numb. Movement flashed through the nearby trees. A misshapen head. A wart-covered arm. It was as if the thing had decided to reveal itself in pieces, hoping to distill their fear until it could pounce.

  They’d made it twenty feet further when the thing peered around a tree.

  William stifled a cry when he caught sight of the monster. Ella stopped and clamped a hand over his mouth. Even though the thing was looking right at them, she had the panic-inspired thought that if they kept quiet, maybe it would move past.

  Emotionless red eyes looked right at them.

  The beast advanced. It tilted its head, sizing them up. Was this one of the smarter ones? Were others waiting in the trees?

  Ella let go of William’s mouth and tugged him along, side-stepping down the bank of the river, praying they didn’t fall in the mud. To fall was to die.

  She locked eyes with the beast. She could feel William shaking. She’d heard so many stories of the monsters over the years—how they moved, how they tracked, how they killed—but now that she was face-to-face with one, the stories all blurred together. Fighting it was dangerous, even if she did have a knife. She worked on gaining distance from it, stepping her way over slippery moss-covered stones to get away.

  The creature stalked closer, pushing them toward the water. Each step it took revealed more of the beast’s frightening appearance. Its body was covered in bloodstains and battle-wounds, its skin, filthy and bruised from years in the wild. Its joints were covered in fungal warts; its skull was swollen with the weight of infection. Its legs were long and thin; its feet, bare.

  Soon she’d be forced to battle it. She’d heard what the demons could do to a man, and even worse, she’d heard what they did to women. She’d listened to stories of ravaging and disembowelment and torture—stories that were as unreal as the thing before her.

  The knife suddenly felt insignificant in her hand, like a child’s plaything. She wished she had a sword. She didn’t know how to use one, of course, but she’d damn well try. Anything would be better than fighting the beast up close.

  The thing narrowed the gap, feinting with its hands. Ella pushed William further along, trying to give him a few more steps’ advantage, a few more seconds to live.

  The demon was ready to lunge.

  Unexpectedly, it stopped and tipped its bulbous head to the side, studying the two of them. Ella froze. The demon’s eyes were unreadable, a pair of recessed orbs without feeling or compassion.

  “Mom?” William whispered.

  She put her finger to her lips to quiet him.

  The thing stared at them, as if daring them to move. Ella swallowed and raised the knife higher, but the beast ignored it. It had no fear of weapons. The scars and gouges on its body were proof of that.

  It moved its gaze to William. The boy raised his arms, as if an act of defiance might be enough to drive it back. This time Ella saw something in the beast’s eyes—a glimmer of recognition, perhaps. It snarled and took a step back. It refocused on Ella.

  It leapt.

  Ella pushed William away. She swung the knife, slashing the creature’s skin as it knocked her backward. Woman and beast pitched to the ground. Ella screamed. The creature tore at her clothes. She struggled to push it off. She felt the thing’s knees digging into her, the knots of its joints jabbing her skin. It writhed and kicked, trying to subdue her. Frantic, Ella gave it a heave, and it slipped down the mossy bank and into the water. It flailed and screeched, trying to get back to shore.

  “Let’s go!” Ella screamed.

  The boy raced down the bank. Ella jumped to her feet and ran after him. The demon splashed in the water behind them, but she dared not look back.

  Something moved in the trees.

  Two more beasts burst out of the underbrush. They’d been lying in wait all along. Ella and William kept running, but the demons dashed to cut them off.

  Ella raised the knife, wet with the first creature’s blood. Her body coursed with adrenaline, and she let out a feral cry. She pushed William behind her and slashed the air as the two approached.

  “Stay back!” she shrieked, as if the things might listen.

  The demons sprung. Their wart-covered arms pushed and pawed. She lost the knife as she fell to the ground. The cloying, moldering stink of their bodies threatened to suffocate her. They tore at her clothes with the same defiling hands as the guards who caught her back at the town wall. The beasts were bent on destroying her in ways she couldn’t imagine.

  William yelled at the beasts and stomped the ground to draw their attention.

  “Run!” she screamed. “Get—”

  One of the creatures inserted a bony finger in her mouth, cutting her off. She choked and gagged, then bit down. Bitter fluid spurted onto her tongue.

  The beast drew back, and she got another glimpse of William, flailing at the backs of the creatures. The knife was nowhere in sight. She lifted her head and tried to get her arms free, but the demons pushed her back down. All around her were hands and limbs, and for a split second, she wondered if she’d fallen into the river and was drowning in the swift current. All she could feel was pressure and weight, and all she could do was struggle until they ripped her open.

  The beasts went slack—first one, then the other.

  Ella screamed as their heads toppled from their bodies. She looked up. She saw a blade, and a man with dark hair and sharp blue eyes standing behind it.

  He held out his hand.

  She blinked, as if she were imagining things. Had she fallen unconscious? Was she dreaming as she was dying?

  “Are you okay?” the man asked.

  She nodded, though she wasn’t sure. Ignoring the offered hand, she struggled to right herself. Her body felt stiff and weak, but the adrenaline of battle still coursed through her.

  As she rose, she got a better look at him. His clothes were ragged, his face was dirt-stained, and it looked like he hadn’t had a bath in weeks. His cheeks were flecked with stubble.

  William was standing behind him.

  “What are you two doing out here?” the man asked.

  “We were just—” she fumbled for the right words.

  “Did you lose your guide?”

  She nodded, too rattled to think of a story.

  William flew to her side, putting a hand to her belly. “Mom.”

  Ella saw the distress on his face. She wasn’t hurt. At least she didn’t think so. She looked down. She was covered in so much blood that she couldn’t help but check for wounds.

  There were none.

  The blood belonged to the demons whose heads lay sightless and still on the ground at her feet.

  “I’m okay,” she said as she crept away from the monsters’ decapitated bodies. Remembering the third beast, the one that attacked her first, Ella looked back down the bank.

  “They’re dead,” the man assured her. “All three of them.”

  He sheathed his sword, knelt down, and grabbed hold of one of the heads. He pulled out his knife and began separating the scalp.

  “I’ve
heard stories about them…” Ella said. “That they come back…”

  The man stopped and looked up at her, furrowing his brow. “Back from the dead?” He laughed loudly and went back to his gory business. “Not everything you hear is true. A girl your age should know that.”

  She opened her mouth to argue, but the man had stolen her thoughts and put them into words, as if she were little more than a child caught in the ruins. She kept silent, watching him separate skin from bone, cleaning his knife on the grass between cuts.

  “I’m Bray,” he said, without looking up.

  William let go of his mother. “Are you a Warden?” he asked.

  “Yes.” He went to work on the second head.

  “I want to be a Warden. But Mom says—”

  Ella shushed him and pulled him back to her. The kneeling man stopped what he was doing and grinned.

  “What does she say?”

  William looked at his mother, then back at the hunter. “She says being a Skin-Seller isn’t a noble profession.”

  Bray laughed. He wiped his face and returned to the scalp. When he finished cutting it free, he scraped off the excess skin with his blade. Ella watched with a mixture of curiosity and revulsion. In death, the creatures were just as grotesque as before, but less menacing, at least. She glanced over at the bodies. The severed necks still pumped fluid onto the riverbank, and the stench permeated the air, as if the soil had ingested the creatures’ blood.

  That same blood was all over her hands and clothing. A jab of fear coursed through her as she looked down at herself.

  “Don’t worry, you won’t get infected,” Bray said, as if reading her mind. “Lucky for you, it’s not flowering season. A couple of weeks from now—” Bray looked at the bodies. “I wouldn’t have bothered with you.”

  He opened his pack, stuffed the scalps inside, and then resealed it. He slung it over his back. “Where are you two headed?”