EAT, SLAY, LUZT: A sexy wild ride through the dark heart of the zombie apocalypse.

by Jillian Stone

  “Even if home isn’t really home anymore? At least not the place you remember, anyway.”

  I still nodded. “My mother is there—alive or undead. My brother lives and works near L.A.” I’d done more thinking about this subject than I realized. “And my Dad…he may have the best chance of…” I hesitated, unable to finish the sentence. “He’s been out to sea for the past couple of months.”

  “Let me guess. He’s on a research vessel. He’s an oceanographer.”

  I shook my head. “Navy captain recently assigned to the USS Zumwalt. We talked on the phone a few days before he shipped out. He told me Fuzzbucket had her kittens.” I swallowed hard. “Two weeks later, I left for the Middle East.”

  Chris twirled a plastic straw between his fingers. “I crewed for Endless Summers Charters between my junior and senior year of college.” Crystal blue eyes grew distant, lost momentarily in his idyllic tropical island past.

  “Sounds like a fun way to spend your summer.”

  Caught daydreaming, his nod was cute and genuine. “Back home, there’s a forty-two foot sloop docked in Wialoa Sampan Basin. After my tour in Afghanistan, I bought it off an old hippie who had to give up sailing.”

  He scanned tables full of soldiers, the buffet line, the artificial tree with the blinking lights. It was almost like he was purposely avoiding my gaze. “Then I got redeployed. I promised myself when I got back, I’d add a watermaker, solar and wind power, and sail around the world.” He paused for a long, long, moment. “I’m thinking now might be the right time to make that voyage.”

  I swallowed. “You’re going to try and sail home.”

  Those incredible blues finally made eye contact. “There’s just one problem.” The corners of his mouth curled slightly. “I’m going to need to hire another hand.”

  My heart nearly leaped out of my chest. “What kind of wages?”

  “All I can offer is adventure and screaming orgasms.” Chris Oakley was an excellent teaser—in life and in bed. I tilted my head like I was seriously weighing the pros and cons of his offer.

  “A whole lot of screaming orgasms?”

  He leaned closer, and his hands pressed my knees apart under the table. “You…are going to be so sore…” His fingers skimmed the inside of my thighs.

  I could feel every stroke through my fatigues. His fingertips grazed the double inseam and pressed into the crotch, rubbing my clit until I squirmed.

  “Chris,” I gasped, laughing quietly. “I’m going to start moaning like Meg Ryan, right here in the middle of the chow hall.”

  My giver of orgasms withdrew slowly, and sat up straight.

  I could not quite believe that I was seriously considering putting my life in the hands of a perfect stranger. Then I thought about how capable those hands were. Take his open hand, for instance, the one that knew how to slap my bottom just enough. And his long tapered fingers, patiently learning the secrets of my orgasm.

  Without a doubt, Chris was the most amazing hook-up of my life. And so fucking hot he took my breath away. He was also an awesome warrior, brave and smart.

  I exhaled a sigh. “Okay, I’m in.”

  His grin widened. “Christ, that was tense. I feel like I just proposed.”

  “No to marriage—yes to orgasms and adventure.”

  A sudden wave of survivor’s guilt washed over me. How on earth could I allow myself to feel this thrilled, this alive, when the entire population of the planet was under threat? I checked the room around us. It seemed the mood in the mess hall was similar. Celebration tinged with melancholy. I shook my head in wonder. “Jeez—you’d think it was Christmas around here.”

  Chris scanned the room. “You’re lucky, you slept through the worst of the z-storm.”

  “Was it bad?”

  “I ran into a couple of Delta force guys early this morning. They said it reminded them of waiting out a tornado.” He leaned across the table and spoke softly. “They’re sending out recon teams late tonight. It’s our chance to get out.”

  “Tonight?” I gasped. “So soon?” I was just getting used to the idea of life as an underground desert dweller.

  “Short notice, but they also won’t be expecting it. Plus, it’s Christmas—lots of partying going on.”

  I chewed my bottom lip. “You’re right, we should do this thing before we get too cozy and talk ourselves out of it.”

  Chris outlined a simple plan. We’d use the time we had left this evening to gather a few supplies. The trickiest part was already done. He’d reported for duty and gotten assigned to one of the birds, as he called them. All we needed now was a few good men to replace the crew on the aircraft.

  “What about Ahmed and his team?”

  He nodded. “I keep getting the runaround whenever I ask about them.”

  I chewed on my lower lip. I wondered if they weren’t being detained somewhere. Most if them were French citizens, but they were also Muslim. A part of me didn’t want to believe it, but I had to ask. “Is there a lock-up around here—what do you guys call it?”

  Chris pushed his chair back and stood up. “The stockade. Next stop on my list.” He returned our trays, and then steered me out of the hall and down the corridor.

  We made several wrong turns and had to ask for directions before we found a neat row of shipping container units surrounded by chain-link fence. I counted two guards walking the perimeter, and another stood watch at the gate.

  Chris yanked me into the shadows. “We should split up. I need you to round up a flat cart and load it with boxes of MREs—and scrounge some medical supplies—whatever you think we’ll need.” He checked his watch. “I’ll meet you back in your quarters at twenty-one hundred.”

  I stared at him wide-eyed. “I can find my way around a lab facility. Where would I find ready-to-eat meals?”

  “Check behind the chow hall. There’s got to be a kitchen with refrigeration units and a pantry.”

  I hesitated. “I’m not very good at thievery or sneaking around.”

  Fierce blue eyes softened. “Take your time, and lie big if anyone gets nosey. Say something like Big Mac wants this out on the tarmac A–SAP. I’d tell you to ask for help and watch them vanish, but…” He snaked an arm around my waist and pulled me close. “You’re too beautiful.”

  Feeling only slightly better, I turned away.

  “Lizzy.”

  I pivoted back to him. “Yes?”

  “You survived for three days in the desert alone, with a slingshot and a machete—you can do this.”

  I flashed my ‘grin and bear it’ grin and set off in the direction of the medical lab.

  What if I did get caught? I imagined myself wheeling a flat cart full of stolen supplies down the hospital unit corridor and someone shouting, “Hey—where do you think you’re gong with that?”

  I repeated Chris’s advice in my head, and I gave myself a mental slap. “Quit your whining, Lizzy.”

  I retraced our steps back to the quarantined ward of the hospital and sneaked in the back door. A lab tech approached my end of unit and I slipped behind a nearby privacy screen.

  Behind me, the blob of blood and guts gurgled in a tub of saltwater. I peeked through the break in the curtain.

  She approached a closed door, punched in four numbers on a keypad and disappeared inside.

  Top right. Middle right. Top Left. Bottom Left.

  Minutes later, the nurse reappeared holding a tray with several items on it. Long slow breaths, Lizzy. I didn’t make a move until she was well down the corridor.

  Inside the dispensary, I found a stack of cold bags, and filled one with all the drugs we’d need, mostly antibiotics and painkillers. I padded the sides of the bag with a few quick-clot combat dressing kits—perfect for zombie bites or shark attacks, and tossed in suture kits, surgical gloves, and a box of disposable syringes.

  I searched high and low for the interferon we’d brought in with us, but the ampules were nowhere to be found. I opened a closet—nothing but
lab coats and surgical gear.

  The only logical place to keep the drug was in cold storage. I pulled on a lab coat and wound my tangled ponytail into a messy bun. There had to be another dispensary somewhere else in the medical unit.

  On my way out the door, I grabbed some surgical scrubs. Three beds down the aisle, I dipped under the privacy curtain.

  “Ivan.” I whispered, shaking him gently.

  A milky purplish eye opened. “She’s back—she misses us, doesn’t she?”

  I tried to ignore the possibility that Ivan had two distinct personalities. “Am I speaking with Smeagol or Gollum this evening?”

  One side of his mouth quirked upward. “I always identified with Elrond.”

  “Zombie Lord of Rivendell—it suits you.”

  Ivan cracked a smile, and his cheek actually split open. Small fissures exposed a glimpse of his rear molars.

  “Guard these with your life.” I stashed the bag of drugs under his bed. “Chris is liberating the French commandos, and I’m in charge of stealing drugs and food. I’ve got antibiotics, painkillers and bandages, but I can’t find the interferon—could there be another dispensary somewhere?”

  He stared at me. “Brave as well as beautiful, how did Rotorhead get so lucky?”

  “Stop it—did you get the handcuffs off?”

  He raised his arm and exposed the open bracelet hanging from his wrist.

  I tossed the surgical scrubs at him. “You’re going to need something to wear besides a hospital gown. I’ll try to scrounge some shoes.”

  Ivan struggled to sit up. “Next unit over there’s a tank divided into sections. Human guinea pigs, different z-levels.”

  He grimaced and lay back on the gurney. “Fuck!”

  “Dizzy?”

  He nodded. “I did over hear the lab techs talking about something they called zeta—”

  “Zeta-interferon, that’s got to be it.” I ducked under the curtain. “Try getting up slowly next time.”

  “Watch yourself.”

  Having spent the last three years of my life in a hospital, it was fairly easy to explore and still look like I knew where I was going. I found the z-tank easily enough. Mainly, the lab unit was a series of glassed-in rooms occupied by test subjects. Pale eyes, necrotic wounds, erratic motor control—all variations of Ivan.

  Peering through an observation window, I wondered where Ivan fit on the arrested zombie scale, and what exactly made him a candidate for a brain implant?

  At the end of the tank, there were two closed doors, one marked private and the other had a key pad. I peeked through a small square window and was greeted with a scene straight out of a Christmas party in the staff lounge of Yale Newhaven Hospital.

  Cocktails were being mixed in lab beakers and poured down thirsty throats. Medical personnel of both sexes were displaying varying degrees of inebriation and debauchery.

  Yes! I moved to the other door and keyed in the code.

  The darkened room hummed ominously. I found the light panel by feel, and flipped a few switches. One by one, glass-fronted refrigeration units flickered on, and each case was stuffed with ampules that looked like the z-interferon.

  On closer inspection, there were a few locked the units, filled with strains of epic viruses, from the swine flu to Ebola. The interferon, however, appeared to be readily accessible. I deposited small, Styrofoam cases marked Z-I into deep pockets. Three cases in each pocket, thirty units each, equals 180 units. Not a bad haul, considering all I had was lab coat pockets.

  I looked around for anything else that might come in handy.

  “Not enough to save us, but maybe enough to repopulate the world.”

  I pivoted around.

  Colonel MacMillan loomed large in the doorway. “Time to clear out the riffraff and start over.” Dark eyes narrowed into slits. “Mind telling me what you’re doing here?”

  “Ivan needs his shot,” I blurted out. “He’s still my patient, and he’s under treatment.”

  The colonel brushed past me and closed the refrigeration unit. “Not anymore, Doctor Davis.”

  “B-but why…sir?” I stammered. “He’s showing signs of improvement.”

  “I’m going to have to ask you to step outside of the dispensary.” He turned to two MPs standing in the corridor. “Escort her back to my quarters and post a guard at the door.”

  As they hauled me away, I did a quick inventory: Drugs, check. Medical supplies, check, Interferon, check.

  Food rations—a big zero.

  I dragged my feet, and they hauled me upright. I tried to wrench away and their grip tightened. “Please let me go! I’m a doctor. I have patients on this ward. I am not in the military—this is illegal, I am a physician—you have no right to detain me.”

  The closer we got to Ivan’s ward, the louder I yelled. “I don’t want to go to the Colonel’s quarters—why are you taking me there?”

  One of the MPs held the door open and the other carried me out of the medical unit over his shoulder.

  “Put me down, I wailed, “this is so wrong!”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “MY BOYFRIEND IS an Army Ranger,” I shouted, “and when he finds out about this, he’s going to kick your ass from here to Baghdad.” I kicked the door with the toe of my boot for emphasis.

  One of the MPs opened the door. “Move back, ma’am.” When I retreated, he stepped into the room. “You’re going to have to calm down or I’ll have to restrain you.”

  Fuck me.

  I chewed my lip and paced the room in circles. Screaming at the top my lungs wasn’t going to work anymore. And I hadn’t stopped yelling since they tossed me into a golf cart and sped away from the lab facility.

  Calm down, Lizzy.

  A thought even more terrifying crossed my mind: Colonel MacMillan, aka Big Mac. There must have been security cameras in the lab. And I could not shake the thought that the colonel had likely been the one who’d identified me. It seemed pretty clear Big Mac didn’t trust me. Not sure why he would. He’d caught me skulking around his z-lab.

  I wondered what the colonel was after besides wanting to fuck me. Oh yeah, my dirty mind went right there. I needed to turn it down a notch. If I got too ornery, they’d maybe find the interferon hidden in the pockets of my stolen lab coat.

  I practiced a few mood-stabilizing inhales and exhales.

  The room was sparsely furnished. A table and several chairs for poker games and debriefs. A single bed—standard military issue. The colonel’s desk and lockers were nicer. Way more storage and the desk had room for a few family pictures.

  There were photos of an attractive middle-aged woman, the colonel’s wife. And several snapshots of young adults, one couple with small children. The colonel was a grandfather.

  An unexpected sadness ripped through me. We were all in this massive apocalyptic tragedy together, and we were fighting each other.

  I slumped into one of the chairs, and settled in to think. I had to believe Ivan had heard me back at the lab’s medical facility. What he would do with the message remained to be seen. A part of me hoped that he was lucid enough to get help, and not try anything crazy by himself.

  I stole a mini glance at the guard standing inside the door. He wore a royal-pain-in-the-ass, non-expression on his face. Completely unreadable.

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “FYI—they’re going to nuke this place after they herd the z-hordes in the Persian Gulf and dissolve them.”

  Not even an eye blink.

  “Do you think they’ll use a tactical nuke or a really big one—?” I mused aloud. “—one of those giant mushroom cloud bombs.”

  A heavy thud rocked the door behind my silent-treatment guard, who actually jumped aside and backed toward me. He pointed his carbine at the door.

  I bit my lip and got ready to run. Silently, I worried the guard could hear the crazy heartbeats thumping in my chest.

  “Don’t shoot,” I cautioned. “It could be one of your guys.”

&n
bsp; “Don’t tell me how to do my job, ma’am.”

  The door swung open. Nothing but corridor, and blackness. Seconds ticked by, maybe minutes. Finally, I couldn’t stand it any longer.

  I craned my neck to see around him as he inched forward. “What happened to your MP buddy?”

  He swung the rifle back and forth like he half-expected an attack of vicious zombies. I gave the guy credit for bravery. He reached for the door handle.

  His takedown happened so fast and so stealthy it literally took my breath away. Something or someone yanked him out the door with such force, all I could do was gasp. I sat there dumbfounded as several men dragged both guards back inside the colonel’s quarters. One of the guards had been stripped down to his skivvies. Both were disarmed.

  I looked into familiar faces. Chris, the French commandos, and Ivan, who was busy trading surgical scrubs for fatigues and combat boots.

  I wanted to hug them all, but I played it cool. “What took you guys so long?”

  Chris stood guard at the door. “Let’s wrap this up quick, we still need rations.”

  I flashed on the medical supplies I’d stashed under Ivan’s bed. “Oh my God—did you remember the meds?”

  “Got ’em.” Chris shifted so I could see the pack on his back.

  I removed Styrofoam cases from each pocket, and shed the lab coat. “Sorry about the rations.” I sidled up behind Chris and stuffed the interferon inside the cold bag.

  Chris kept his eye on the corridor. “You did great. I’m just glad Ivan found us—the timing was pure luck, let’s hope it holds.”

  He waved Ahmed and his men forward. One by one they slipped out the door and into the shadows.

  Chris turned to Ivan and me. “Commandeer a flat cart and load it with MREs.” Chris checked the corridor and backed away. “Work fast. We’re in the air by oh one hundred.”

  I caught his wrist and checked the time. “That’s in fifteen minutes.”

  Piercing blue eyes moved off me and narrowed on Ivan. “Take care of her.”

  I actually balked at letting go of his hand. How quickly my war zone lover had become my rock. My safe place to land. Gradually, my fingers uncurled. “Be careful, yourself.”