Z Walkers: The Complete Collection

by Luke Shephard

  "And it'll be safer if we stay together," was Hank's response, and from that there were no further arguments. As a united front, they checked every inch of the house: bedrooms, bathrooms, TV rooms, linen closets, laundry cubbies, and, last but not least, the half-finished basement. Much to their collective relief, the place was totally free from… whatever those people were. Hank even felt safe enough to set his crowbar on the table as he and Collin raided the kitchen. Meanwhile, Sara wandered back upstairs, claiming she wanted to stock up on any medical supplies.

  "Yeah, medical supplies," Collin snorted, talking mostly to himself as the woman disappeared. "Probably wants to snort half a bottle and forget everything."

  "Or she wants to be prepared," Hank added, and the teen turned away with an irritated expression. Shrugging, he set to work on the cupboards while Collin tackled the fridge. There was a plethora of goodies to pick from, and he used the family's reusable grocery bags—found under the sink—to pack everything away.

  When he pulled out a box of sugary sweet granola bars, he noticed Collin eyeing them hungrily.

  "Here," he said, handing them over to the kid, who merely stared at him. "You can have them."

  "You found them," Collin said after a moment's hesitation, though Hank could see the way his fingers twitched toward the box. "They're yours."

  "But I want you to have them," he insisted, holding them out closer to Collin. When the teen wouldn't take the box from him, he set it on the counter and pushed it in Collin's direction, then continued to root through the cupboards. It couldn't have been more than thirty seconds later when he heard Collin ripping open the cardboard and digging in, seated on the countertop with a childish grin on his face.

  "Haven't had these since I was twelve," he muttered as he stuffed them into his mouth. "So good."

  "Bit too sweet for me, I guess," Hank said, trying to hide his smile. The teen didn't seem to notice, though as they moved through the rest of the kitchen, he was suddenly more receptive to taking treats from Hank. The fight had left his eyes, and by the time they were finished, Collin's backpack was brimming with unnecessary sugary crap. Expensive sugary crap at that.

  Sara shot them both a questioning look when she studied the contents of Hanks reusable grocery bags and Collin's backpack, and when the teen was out of earshot—admiring the flat-screen TV in the next room—Hank shook his head and sighed.

  "Just let him have it," he said before the woman could protest. "We'll make sure the rest of the stuff we get has actual substance, but he's only a kid."

  She pursed her lips. In her hand was a plastic pharmacy bag full of pill bottles. Some were to induce sleep, others were to help with headaches.

  "We shouldn't take things that will slow us down," she argued, though he could tell from her tone and her expression that she wasn't really fighting him. Instead, it seemed like she was simply trying to state the obvious.

  "Craig's trunk is massive," he told her, shouldering the bags and grabbing his crowbar off the table. "A backpack full of chocolate and pudding cups won't take up much room."

  "If he even comes with us, that is," she countered, crossing her arms. The plastic bag crackled with the movement. "Has he said anything about that?"

  "I haven't pushed him."

  "It would be irresponsible of us to let him leave on his own with a bag full of unhealthy foods that'll last him less than two days."

  Hank touched her arm gently, a physical plea for trust. "We'll deal with that when the time comes. I think he'll realize it's better to be in a group than to be totally alone."

  She fell silent for a long moment, and it was only when Hank turned away that she spoke up.

  "What if the group doesn't want him?"

  He swallowed thickly, hoping the kid hadn't heard her, and said nothing. Instead, he called for Collin and told the pair that it was time to go on to the next house.

  As he suspected, the remaining three houses were grander than the first, becoming more and more extravagant the farther from the school they went. With his backpack full of food supplies, Collin had lamented about not being able to pocket a few of the I-pads and other tech that was just left out in the open, but Hank was quick to remind him that food was more important—for now. The teen, at the time, begrudgingly agreed with him, but Hank decided it was worth keeping an eye on the kid. Apparently he had sticky fingers.

  They were in the process of exiting the last house, their arms filled with bags of goods, when Hank heard Sara scream. It came from the direction of the porch, and Hank dropped the bags he'd been carrying to rush to her aide, crowbar swinging and ready.

  "So much for your scent disguise," Collin growled as they raced through the front door, only to find Sara sitting on top of an abandoned car as the infected clawed at her. He paused for the briefest of moments, wondering how on Earth they'd managed to smell her—he'd been so meticulous in his explanation of the chemical disguise.

  Maybe she hadn't covered herself properly. There had to be an explanation. Blinking out of his introspection, Hank jumped down the cement stairs and swung at the nearest infected man, knocking him down permanently. Collin proved to be quite good with his hammer, and despite her tears, Sara put in a valiant effort to kick those groping hands away from the car. Her bags of medical supplies lay scattered on the driveway, pill bottles rolling every which way. If they had time, they'd collect the fallen supplies, but he wasn't going to risk anyone's safety for a few bottles of sleeping pills.

  They'd managed to get just about all of the infected in a matter of minutes. Hank grabbed one by the shoulder and dragged her back, lifting the crowbar up to knock her out.

  And seconds later, the crowbar was clattering on the pavement. Mouth hanging open, Hank found himself staring at a familiar face.

  Susie.

  Susie, but not Susie.

  There was a great deal of familiarity there: the same overall figure, the same nose, and the same thin red lips.

  But that was where the similarities stopped. As she snapped at him, her teeth chattering together noisily, Hank noted that she was missing a clump of hair from her head—also her left ear. Her eyes were bloodshot like the rest, possessing both a dullness and a sparkle of intelligence that had told him before that the infected were not to be underestimated.

  "S-Susie?"

  She lunged for him, her sights on him now more than her scent had been, and before he could catch her, before he could sweep her up into his arms and hold her one last time, a hammer collided with the back of her head.

  Over and over again, he watched in horror as the hammer hit its mark, and soon enough, Susie was beyond recognizable. Collin stood over her, his chest heaving, and he patted Hank on the arm.

  "We've got to move," the kid said, though his voice sounded muffle and distant, his words difficult to distinguish. Sara slid off the back of the car and grabbed Hank's forearm, dragging her with him as he stumbled behind her.

  Watching Susie. Waiting for her to get back up—and knowing now that she never would.

  ***

  "Down! Down! Down!"

  Sara dropped to the ground instinctively, using her hands to cushion her fall. The trio hid behind a parked car in the heart of the downtown core, halfway to the marina, halfway from the school. Infected people everywhere. Not a police officer or an EMT in sight.

  Not a single normal person in sight. Just the infected… everywhere.

  It had taken them the better part of the afternoon to get themselves together, to figure out a plan. It turned out that Collin had bludgeoned Hank's infected wife at the end of their house-hopping earlier in the day, and while Sara could understand Hank's reluctance to go on, she didn't have the patience for it either. These two men, this boy and this mess, were expecting her to be nurturing, to be the feminine energy of the group that would hold everyone together. No one had said it, but she could see it in their eyes whenever they looked at her, and she wasn't about to play the role of den mother.

  She felt for
Hank—she really did. Realizing your partner was sick and then losing them in less than a minute was devastating. If she'd been married and she'd watched her husband go through something similar, she would have still been locked in a tiny room with no intentions of every coming out.

  But the world they currently found themselves in wasn't one for moping and mourning. If she'd learned anything from her experience with Gary, you needed to hold your chin up and move on if you wanted to survive. To his credit, Hank had managed to do just that, though there was a distance about him now that there hadn't been before. Before, he was competent, focused. He'd fallen into the natural leader position of the trio, the self-dubbed we who had to alter their plans when they realized a massive Hummer wasn't coming to pick them up. Now, Hank seemed more like a follower, and Sara didn't like it.

  She was independent by nature, and could lead a single person—but two people, one of whom was bent on remaining some stubborn teenager, was a little out of her forte.

  But then again, Hank had been the one who told them to get down. They all lay behind a parked car, one of the few not in a smoldering mess of burnt and warped metal. He'd been the one to create a route through the city, though Collin had been quick to argue that he knew better shortcuts.

  Keeping her breath slow and even, Sara gripped the hammer she'd been given, a heavy bag of food and medical supplies slung across her back, and watched feet shuffle by the car on the other side. It was strange being downtown without all the noise: all they'd heard so far were the occasional screams—always cut short—and the ever-familiar sound of the infected groaning. Normally there'd be car horns and panhandlers and conversations and heels on pavement. Downtown was vibrant—it always had been, and she liked to visit for fancy dinners with friends and the occasional bar night.

  Never would she have ever voluntarily crawled along the sidewalk, nor would she have put her face this close to the concrete. Even now she would see the faded spit marks and hardened discarded pieces of gum caked to the ground. Ugh.

  When the infected herd moved on, drifting by the car as if they could float, Collin was the first to rise. He shifted to his feet faster than she would have liked. For all his talk about how well the infected reacted to sound, he wasn't exactly doing much to muffle any of the noise he had been making while they were on the move.

  Sara used the car door to get to her feet, steadying herself on the handle, and then hastily released it when she feared she might set off the alarm. She then leaned over to help Hank up, and he offered her the same numb smile he'd been giving her for the past few hours.

  Exhaling deeply, she straightened up and readjusted her backpack, pill bottles tumbling around like one of those musical instruments with the beads—a pharmaceutical rainstorm, just for her. Although Hank and Collin claimed to know the city best, the pair already slipping back into a heated discussion—the heat coming from Collin more than Hank—Sara knew the downtown pretty well too. If they could continue on foot without running into any problems, they'd be able to reach the marina in a half-hour.

  And from there, she'd try to figure out how to work Gary's pricey boat. He'd nicknamed it Beast, though she knew for a fact his mom's name was painted along the hull. Had she ever driven a boat before? No. But how difficult could it be? She was a great driver, and she doubted it'd be much different than a car.

  Sure, they could have taken any of the abandoned cars they'd found on their trek, but Sara wanted to get away from land until things settled down. There were a number of uninhabited islands in the bay area, which meant with the supplies they'd nabbed, plus the few more they'd hopefully stock up on along the way, they'd be able to wait this thing out, then return when the infected were taken care of.

  "We should head up Central, then take Fifth," Collin argued, pointing in the general direction as Hank shook his head. "It'll get us there faster."

  "No, we take Main up to Queens, then it's a straight shot to the harbor."

  It surprised her that Collin even wanted to argue with Hank, seeing as he'd just effectively ended the man's marriage. But then again, it was probably the infection that did that first—Collin basically just kicked Hank while he was down.

  "Let's walk and talk," Sara insisted, nudging both men forward. The hairs on the back of her neck stood at high alert, and she scanned all the windows of the high-rises around her. Smoke billowed from most. "I feel like we're being watched."

  "It would surprise me if we weren't," Hank muttered, falling in line beside her as they half-jogged along the sidewalk. If they hadn't scarfed down some of the canned goods they'd stolen from the houses that morning, there was no way they would have been able to carry on like this. Her body was almost ready for the journey, though her mind still needed to play catch-up. Hopefully the peace they'd find on the boat, out in open waters, would help her put things in perspective. For now, Sara was focused on getting through the city alive.

  "Holy shit!" Collin's voice broke the tense quiet that blanketed the city some time later, after they'd traversed Central and jumped onto Queens Street. "No way!"

  "Keep your voice down," she hissed. Didn't he remember the group of infected they'd just seen in a nearby alley? The cluster had almost gone after them, but the teen had used the acoustics between the two buildings to distract them with echoes. For a second, Sara had almost been impressed with the kid.

  Almost.

  "I got picked up for shoplifting there when I was thirteen," he told her, pointing out a vaguely familiar convenience store across the street. Unlike many of the street-front stores, the windows hadn't been smashed, though the door had been propped open. "Let's make a pit-stop."

  "We don't have time for a pit-stop," she argued, but he was already marching across the street, hunched low, his backpack bouncing with each step he took. Sara turned to Hank, exasperated, and all he did was shrug.

  "We could probably pick up a few more things before we get on the boat," he said. "I mean, I dropped all my stuff when…"

  When he saw his infected wife. Her expression softened as she studied him, and she nodded. While she wasn't interested in taking any unnecessary detours, she was in the minority opinion here.

  "I guess it doesn't matter when we reach the marina," she muttered, following him across the street, both of them crouched over like Collin. "As long as we get there..."

  "That's the spirit." Hank knocked her arm with his fist lightly, though he hardly had any spirit to speak of—there was nothingness behind his words now. Sighing, Sara trudged into the store, weapon up, and scanned along the closest aisles. Aside from Collin stuffing chocolate bars and chips into his bag, there wasn't much else happening. The TV behind the cash played nothing but static.

  As Hank perused the magazines, staring blankly at them, his arms by his sides, Sara stocked up on what limited healthy options she could find. Energy bars. Fiber granola. At least one of them needed to be thinking of the group's nutritional needs, because she was pretty sure Gary wouldn't keep his boat stocked with much.

  When she was done, she waited by the front door, watching the empty street outside for any signs of trouble. The resident teenager seemed to be having the time of his life, knocking over displays and raiding the cash register. It was as if he was getting revenge on the store for being stupid enough to shoplift and get caught year ago. She rolled her eyes, annoyed.

  Before long, Collin had disappeared into the back room, and Sara ended up crouching down when she spotted a cluster of infected meandering around the nearby set of traffic lights.

  "We should get going," she said, calling over to Hank. When he glanced back, her nod to the infected seemed to get him moving again. He nodded, placing the unopened magazine in his hands back on the shelf, and stood up on his toes—probably to scan for the kid.

  Unfortunately, neither of them needed to look for Collin much longer. He burst forth from the back of the store, panic riddled across in features, with a slew of infected people hot on his heels. Someone—or something—had t
orn his backpack open, and he left a trail of junk food behind him.

  "They were in the bathrooms!" he shouted, scrambling for the door. His hands were empty, and Sara assumed he'd lost his weapon in some sort of a scuffle. No way was she lending him hers—her grip tightened around the hammer, ready to swing it any anyone who came close enough to be a problem.

  Not that she wanted to actually fight. She would have rather run than fight, make love not war, that kind of stuff. Plus, she preferred to keep two arms' length from an infected at all times if possible.

  Collin. What a nightmare.

  The trio poured out into the street, the infected not far behind, and Collin let out a cry. Whipping back, she saw one of the infected had grabbed his sagging backpack, and before she could even process what was happening, the teen pulled a gun from the back of his pants and fired.

  The shot rang out through the empty streets, and Sara almost dropped her hammer, stunned. Where'd he get a gun from? Had he had it all along? Did he find it in the convenience store? Was that why he'd wanted to go in? It had been tucked into the back of his pants—that was all she knew.

  In the streets that were once quiet, the silence had dissipated. An echo of the gunshot tingled in her ears, and when she looked to Hank, she realized he was just as shocked as she was. For the first time since they'd entered the city, his face read with real emotion. It was like he was finally present.

  The infected woman Collin had shot fell to the ground, her face completely blown off, but the others didn't stop their advance. None of them were horrified by what had just transpired. Instead, the infected were interested, no doubt drawn in by the sound.

  Sound. Collin had insisted they were fascinated by loud noises, and here he'd gone and made the loudest sound he could have possibly made. She almost rounded on him, ready to rip him a new one, but when she saw the look on his face, her words fell flat. Rather than the confrontational teen she'd come to almost know, she saw a scared little boy. She saw a kid who probably wanted to lock himself in a closet and never come out. His eyes widened, his lips quivered—and if there'd been time, he might have started to cry.