Z-Risen (Book 3): Poisoned Earth

by Long, Timothy W.

  A person materialized a few feet from me. He’d been hiding in a dark doorway, and he was dressed all in black, including a ski mask. I guessed that he was one of the figures that had nodded at me earlier in the day. He had a sidearm, holstered, and some kind of assault rifle I’d never seen before but Joel could probably write a love poem about.

  Anna needed this.

  I put my pistol aside and dropped my wrench.

  “Fine. I’m leaving my pistol and wrench here. I have backup, though, so don’t do anything stupid.”

  “Black fella with a hard face? Yeah, we know about him. Just play it cool and no one gets holey. That’s what happens when bullets start to fly. People drop to the ground and start praying to god. Plus there’s the actual holes. Nasty business.”

  I lifted my hands and moved around the car. There was a low wooden door, and behind that stood a woman in her fifties or sixties. She was whip-thin and had a crazy mop of curly white hair. Thick glasses rode her nose. She smiled, though, and I wondered if I was going to take that as my last sight before I woke up in hell.

  “You are a big one. Just keep a calm head and we’ll do the same. Got guys coming and going all the time, but it’s always the first-timers that are twitchy. We’ve been in business for a week and only one person’s messed this up. He’s out there, on the side of a car. Keeps the Zs away,” she cackled.

  “So how does this work?” I asked and lowered my hands. I tried to eye the man in black but he’d disappeared. Instead I lifted my hand in the air and did a little circle so Joel knew I wasn’t in immediate danger.

  “How do ya think it works? Ya come in here, tell me what ya need, and I tell you what I need. If we got stuff to trade then we smile, give each other our stuff, and part friends. Handshakes are optional.”

  “What if I don’t have what you need?”

  “I bet you could make an old woman feel good,” she smiled and winked at me.

  “Thought I wasn’t your type,” I said and thought about just leaving.

  “Mom, leave him alone,” a voice called from inside.

  The woman broke into another cackle and gestured for me to join her.

  “I’m just messing with ya. Name’s Elda. Come on in, we got some hot beef stew. Ain’t the best, 'cause it’s from a can, but it’s warm and fills ya up. Guy came in needing some bandages and left us a case. I’ll share if it makes ya feel any better. You can even watch me sip it if it makes ya feel safer.”

  I was practically drooling at the mention of stew.

  “Fine. Just make it quick if you’re going to kill me,” I muttered. “I don’t want to die knowing I let my friends down.”

  “So melodramatic. Just barter and then go along your way. I won’t hold it against ya if ya don’t want stew or hospitality.”

  I considered the older woman. This might be an act. A really good act. A few weeks ago I probably would have trusted her. After McQuinn I wasn’t in the mood to trust anyone. But I did my best to keep my wits about me.

  She opened the wooden door and gestured, then turned and kept talking as she walked. I followed, wary of anyone that might jump out and try to plant a knife in my skull.

  “We have some food, ammo, and meds. Most people want meds, but we’re fresh out of Oxy. I guess the next best thing would be to go to L.A. and find someone that deals heroin, then stick a needle up your ass and say goodbye to this shitty world for a few hours.”

  “How’s L.A.?” I couldn’t help but ask.

  “Still there, last I heard, but ya have to watch out for the Reavers. The city took a lot of damage, but I heard some mercenaries working with the military have cleared up part of the city and they’re fighting the Reavers. There’s talk of big walls, but I don’t know--could just be talk. If you’re heading up there I suggest you approach by daylight. Also heard they shoot anything that creeps around at night.”

  “That’s the second time I’ve heard the term Reavers. Who are they?”

  “You are wet behind the ears,” she said with a half-smile. “We don’t know much, but when they appear we disappear. They’re some kind of wackos who think God brought on this plague and it’s their job to convince unbelievers with fire or bullets. Rumor has it they took over some military bases or they were already on bases, inside job and such, can’t say for sure. They’re bad news. Look for the bloody skullcaps.”

  “Bloody skullcaps? The hell is wrong with people?” I shook my head.

  “People got guns now and no one to tell 'em to put 'em away. All that shootin’. Figure they’d run out of ammo at some point. Then I guess stuff will get medieval. Swords and maces. Like that big ole wrench you carry. I heard about you from my boy Devon, out front.”

  I nodded as she kept talking.

  “You just steer clear of Reaver camps, you’ll be okay. Not sure I’d recommend going to L.A., but it’s your skin. Now, what do ya need?”

  She’d taken over an antique store. Old clothes and collectibles had been piled on shelves and counters. A typewriter that had seen better days fifty years ago sat in a corner with a fresh sheet of paper protruding from the roller. Plates, picture frames, and a chair that had a spin seat and a weird thick wicker back were all pushed aside. Boxes of MREs, bottled water, and cases of soup and vegetables were stacked in one corner.

  “Antibiotics.”

  “Oh yeah? Someone sick?”

  “Something like that. What do you have?”

  “What do you need?"

  I reached into my pocket and found the crumpled-up note that Roz had prepared. I tried to pronounce the first pill on the list, but after I’d butchered it for the second time, Elda grabbed the slip of paper.

  “I got one of these. I think. I’ll have to have my son take a look.”

  Someone slipped out of a corner of the room. He was dressed in the same shade of “don’t fuck with me” black as the guy near the doorway outside. He wore a couple of guns, but one was under his arm and his right hand stayed close to the stock. This did nothing to make me feel safe.

  “Hi,” I said lamely.

  “Yo,” the guy nodded.

  He took the list and disappeared into the back of the store. A lock clicked and he rummaged around.

  “I don’t have much. Some canned goods, a box of crackers. Half a can of Easy Cheese. Got a burner and some butane," I said, and hefted my bag.

  “Not bad.”

  The guy returned with a couple of pill bottles and handed them to the woman. She squinted at the labels.

  “I have ten Amoxicillin That’s good for a few days. What kind of wound are we talking about?”

  “Gunshot,” I said, and didn’t elaborate.

  The itching feeling on the back of my neck, like someone had a gun pointed at my head, wouldn’t depart.

  “Let me see the burner.”

  I lowered my pack with a clank. The burner was stuffed in the top so that it barely closed. I had three bottles of fuel, which I also set out. The thing was, this was something we could really use, but Anna needed the meds. If she got infected there was no way to take her to a hospital or clinic. An infection could easily become a death sentence.

  “I’ll let ya have five pills for the burner and butane.”

  “Come on,” I protested. “I need those pills.”

  “You and folks with a lot more to offer. What else ya got?”

  I rolled my eyes and dug around in my bag, pushing aside the Percocets, TUMS, and the stuff I couldn’t pronounce, until I found the last bottle of pills. I held them up to the light, and read the label out loud.

  “Well, hell. Why didn’t ya say so? Lotta folks living on antidepressants now that the end of the world is here. Kinda ironic, don’t you think? Everyone felt like their world was ending and took pills. Now the world is over and they really need the goddamn pills.”

  “So you want these?” I stared into the bottle and figured there were at least fifty.

  “Oh yeah. Take the antibiotics.”

  “Works for m
e,” I said, and started to stuff the burner back into my backpack.

  “And the burner?”

  “I don’t think so. See I’m a Navy hole snipe and that means I’m not all that bright. But I can count, and fifty of my pills are worth a hell of a lot more than ten of your pills. All things being equal and all.”

  The woman’s son choked back a chuckle from his vantage point.

  “I can throw in a few more pills.”

  “Sounds like a winner. Toss in a case of that beef stew while you’re at it and we’re good. Oh, and you have any 5.56 ammo?”

  “Half case and two boxes of shells,” she said.

  I tossed her the pill bottle.

  ###

  13:00 hours approximate

  Location: Vista

  “Are you fucking nuts, man? How are we going to hike back to the RV with our packs and that big-ass box?”

  “I’m going to carry it, Joel, and you’re going to shoot anything that looks at me in the wrong tone of voice,” I said. “It’s a case of beef stew. We’re eating like kings tonight.”

  The box wasn’t that heavy, but with my pack, weapons, wrench, and the case of food, it was going to be a long walk.

  “You kidding me? You get the drugs?”

  “Yeah and I got some interesting news. There’s some fringe group called Reavers operating near L.A. The store owner told me they’re a bunch of idiots in bloody skullcaps and they have an agenda that involves guns and fire.”

  “Wait, what?” Joel asked.

  “That’s all I know, man. We can’t worry about it now, I guess. California’s a big place and hopefully we won’t run into them.”

  “We’ll steer clear, and good fucking deal on the supplies, brother,” he said. “We’re a day out from Pendleton, and if I know my brothers they won’t put up with this Reaver bullshit. We’ll be safe once we get to the base.”

  I grinned at Joel and hefted the pack. He moved out and I followed close behind.

  I wish I could say that the Marine base was the start of our salvation. Turned out, we had a long way to go.

  #24 - A Pair of Extractions

  13:15 hours approximate

  Location: Vista

  The trek back to the RV was just as wretched as you can imagine. We ran, ducked, hid, shot, and bludgeoned stuff. We took out enough Zs to fill a small classroom, and then we did it again. There comes a point when the bodies fall away and you just have to wonder if they will ever end.

  Joel kept looking back over his shoulder.

  “What are you expecting?” I asked.

  “Just don’t trust the dealers. Wanna make sure they aren’t following us.”

  I hadn’t even thought of that, so paranoia crept into me and soon I was looking over my shoulder before every turn. Thankfully the men dressed in black didn’t make a reappearance.

  A Z was, though. He came out of a doorway and made for me.

  I had no choice but to back away and carefully set the case of beef stew on the ground. In the time it took me to stand up, lift the wrench, and swing, I also had time to miss. The bastard hit a curb and stumbled so I hit air. Joel was already moving down the alley, so he didn’t know I was in trouble. I hissed and called his name, but he didn’t hear me, or maybe he was sick of saving my dumb ass and decided to leave me behind.

  The Z was all rotting breath, yellow, and bloodstained teeth. One side of his head was torn away leaving muscle, sinew, and crusted blood. His other ear dangled by a strip of skin and flapped against the side of his head.

  I pulled back but the Z was fresh, in that “I just got bit a few days ago and most of my limbs still work” kinda way that was real damn annoying.

  I used one of my best weapons, my foot, and pushed the fool back. He grabbed my ankle and leaned over to bite me, so I swung the wrench again and connected with his shoulder. He took the blow and almost went down, but his grip on my ankle pulled me off-balance and I stumbled, striking my knee on the curb. Pain shot up my thigh, so hot and sharp I had to fight back a scream.

  The dead fuck fell away as I managed to sit back on my ass and shake him lose. I rolled to the side and got a fresh shambler around my neck for the effort. Jesus Christ! Were they breeding back there?

  I did the only thing I could think of: I lowered my chin to my chest and then snapped my head back hard, catching the Z right in the face. Cartilage broke and something cold and wet hit my neck. Fighting back nausea and an intense wish to find all of the Purell in the world to squirt down my shirt, I stood up, dragging the Z along with me.

  It dropped in a pile of arms and legs, fighting to get to its feet. The first Z came at me, so I backed up a step, knee aching as it took my full weight. I shuddered but soldiered on.

  “Joel,” I called, but my voice was a ragged gasp.

  The pair of Zs closed in on me from opposite sides, both eyeing my pale white flesh. They probably looked at me the same way I’d look at a rack of baby back ribs covered in BBQ sauce. The stupid thought invaded my mind and saliva actually shot into my mouth.

  “Here, piggy,” I said, and bashed the first Z in the head.

  He went down in a lump, my wrench stuck in his head. I had to let go or be dragged down to the ground, so that left me--with a full pack and assorted weapons clanking around my body--to stumble away as the zombie closed in.

  She was about my age, and her wounds weren’t as bad as those of the guy who had my weapon sticking out of his noggin. She was small but wiry, and fast. She moaned: that low rumble of greed for flesh that I’d heard endlessly since this shitstorm started.

  I fell back and my leg went out from under me as pain made me grimace. One second I was on my feet, the next I was on my aching knees.

  Her hair might have been a pale shade of red once, but now it was like knotted curtains around her head. When she spun around to track me, her dreads of gore spun with her, slapping against the side of her face. I never wanted to hear that noise again.

  I managed to crawl a few feet, rip a can of beef stew off the pile and throw it at her. She took it in the chest, so I picked up another and pelted her in the neck. She snarled at me and staggered to her feet. Hands up, fingers mostly intact except for a few that were bent back at an angle that made me shudder, she crawled on her knees.

  I smacked her with another can, but it hit her shoulder and the can sailed away.

  I struggled to my feet, but the Z tripped on her shoelace and fell on me, taking me to the ground. I fought her as she went for my arms. She got a piece of fabric and ripped it in her greedy mouth. I punched her in the side of the head, feeling like a misogynistic asshole, and then hit her again. By the time I pounded her to the side I’d gotten over myself, stood up, and crushed her head.

  Before I could breathe a sigh of relief, a fresh pair of Zs exited the building and stumbled toward me. I tried to get up, but my leg screamed in pain. It was the same leg I’d injured a few weeks ago, so my freshly-healed ankle now had company. That was just great.

  “Fuck every one of you!” I said, realizing that I was about to join their ranks.

  Joel’s knife blurred out and took one of the Zs in the temple. He was like some ninja as he let go of the blade and then lashed out a foot to trip the other Z.

  “You gonna sit there crying or help me out?”

  “I got a choice?” I said.

  My wrench was only a few feet away. I shuffled toward it and grabbed the haft. The weapon felt good, like an extended arm terminating in a fist of heavy metal. I lifted the piece and then spun as one of the zombies broke from the cover of the building.

  I struck it at about knee height, a staggering blow that took its legs out. The Z wasn’t even on the ground when I hit it in the head a couple of times.

  Joel helped me to my feet.

  “Wondered where you were, then come to find out you’re back here playing with some new friends.”

  “Fuckers came out of nowhere, man. There was one and then two. After that I lost count.”


  “That’s because they don’t teach squids how to count. You good?”

  I put my arm around him and tested my weight on my leg. It ached but took the pressure, so I took a half step away.

  “Jesus. Look at this mess. Let’s haul ass before more of them come out of that clown car of a building and try to finish us off.”

  Joel chuckled.

  “Gather up the cans and let’s hit it.” Joel grabbed one of the precious cylinders of stew and put it back on the box.

  I grabbed two more and dropped them onto the crate, trying to ignore the blood and gore that were pasted to the sides of the cans. Where’d the last one go?

  A pair of snarls made me forget about it. I grabbed the box, shouldered it, and staggered after Joel.

  We moved around the block, ducked around some wilting hedges, and then stood and ran for it. Well, to be fair, Joel ran; I limped after.

  Moans followed us.

  After a pair of turns, we reached the block where we’d left the RV, came around the corner, and both stopped in our tracks.

  The RV was gone.

  But that wasn’t the worst part. Sniffing around the ground the RV had occupied was a shuffler, and he was surrounded by a half dozen fresh Zs.

  ###

  13:40 hours approximate

  Location: Vista

  The building had been a junkyard, and the Zs were prowling around rusting hulks of cars and car parts. One of the bastards had taken an interest in a bumper and kept nudging it with his foot. That’s not a person, you dumbass zombie.

  We faded back behind the building. I held my breath and waited for the telltale sound of a shuffler’s cry. If he’d spotted us we were going to have to either stand and fight--something I didn’t relish--or run, something I wasn’t going to be so good at.

  Joel didn’t say a word. He carefully lowered his pack and weapons. He leaned them against the house and gestured for me to do the same. I tried to keep the noise down and wasn’t sure if I did a good job. The cans were first, then I had to maneuver a few of the weapons we’d snagged from the house onto the ground. My wrench was next, followed by my pack.