Reavers (Z-Risen Series Book 4)

by Timothy W. Long

  “Frosty,” I snapped.

  She looked at me and then whimpered once, like she was saying, “Come on, man. Let eat his face.” But she relented, and Christy pulled the dog away.

  It was like the team had been waiting for me to ask where they were. They arrived and pulled out several tackle boxes, opened them, and sorted things on the ground. One of the men took out a long syringe and filled it from a bottle.

  They unwrapped the shuffler and took out measuring tapes. One of the guys called out numbers while another wrote them on a clipboard. The guy with the syringe consulted the page and added a little more of whatever magic juice he was sucking into the syringe.

  The shuffler thrashed in his bonds, so the team held him down. The woman cocked her head to the side and breathed through her nose.

  “He smells like rotten fish,” she said.

  “What are you shooting him up with?” I asked.

  She looked me over and didn’t say a word. Like the male members of her little group, she was dressed in fresh clothes that still had pleats and creases in them from being folded up. She was probably my age or a few years older, and not terrible to look at, with long auburn hair that fell around her neck. She pushed it over her shoulder, trying not to let it touch the shuffler.

  The guy with the syringe found a vein on the ghoul’s arm and tapped it a few times. Then he slid the needle in and injected the fluid.

  “Thorazine. It will put him in something like a coma.”

  “Can I get some of that stuff?” I asked.

  The shuffler thrashed for a few seconds and then went still, except for the occasional rising and lowering of his chest. Had I ever noticed that before? That the shufflers actually breathed? Zs were weird, undead things. They strode around with holes in various places, dripping blood and guts. The only sound they made was an occasional low moan.

  “I don’t think you want to be rendered unconscious,” she said.

  “Let me be the judge of that. I haven’t been rendered unconscious for a few months,” I said.

  “Were you drugged?” she asked.

  “No, shitfaced.”

  She shook her head and turned her attention back to the shuffler.

  “Have you guys also studied the Zs out there?”

  “The what?” the dark-haired woman asked.

  “The damn zombies, ever notice they can make noises? Seems to me they’d have to suck air into their lungs to moan, know what I mean? Like, I can’t just make noise unless I exhale.”

  “They are infected, not zombies. Zombies don’t even make sense,” she said.

  “Lady, none of this makes fucking sense. You got things wandering around out there that want to eat us, fucking eat us, and then these shufflers, ghouls, whatever you want to call them. Damn glowing green eyes and they aren’t even superheroes. At least if they had powers they’d do some good, yeah? Instead they seem to want to kill first and not ask questions later,” I said.

  She studied me for a moment, then smiled.

  “Zombies are an undead creature that rise from the grave. Haitian myth. Romero zombies also rose from the grave and wanted flesh. Yes, I see what you are getting at. The infected have been just that: infected with a virus that was unleashed at several places across the US in something like a coordinated attack,” she said.

  “I heard about that, but I’ve gone a little native out here, you know. Living day to day, hiding in one location or another, getting overrun and chased all over southern fucking California. I don’t know much more than that. Me, Christy, and zombie slayer there,” I nodded at Frosty, “haven’t had a lot of time to sit around and wonder how this all happened.”

  The syringe wielding guy put his gear back in his kit and took out a stethoscope. He applied it to the Z’s chest, holding his hands up for silence.

  I stood around watching the proceedings, because no one had told me what to do yet. As a former member of the laziest branch of the military, I was pretty good at this.

  “His heart beats, but it’s strange. I count only a few every ten seconds,” he said.

  “You did just put him in a coma,” I said. I’d been fucking serious. They could shoot me up right now and I’d just find a corner to pass out in. Wake me up in a day and I’d be ready to be action Jackson again.

  “This is different. Stranger.”

  “Cool,” I said.

  “Yes, I’d put his temperature somewhere around eight-five, perhaps eighty.” He opened his kit again and dug around until he found a thermometer.

  “If you stick that up his ass I’m going to puke,” I said.

  The dark-haired woman chuckled but quickly covered her mouth.

  Dr. Needle-Poker shot her a look of irritation.

  “Melissa, please check his pulse.”

  Melissa pulled a pair of blue latex gloves out of her jeans pocket and slipped them over her hands. She looked at me as she pulled one tight over her fingers with a snap.

  I gulped and looked away, but not before I caught her half-smile. Thank the fuck Christ one of these people had a sense of humor.

  “So Douglas, question for ya. You got your ghoul thing. Great. Now what in the hell do you plan to do with him?”

  “I can fill you in on some details later. For now, why don’t we all go have a nice chat somewhere?” Douglas said.

  “What kind of chat?” I asked.

  “We’d like to ask you about your experience out there, how you survived, any ghoul encounters, what they were like,” the woman said.

  “I’ll tell you how they act. They hunt in packs. They are smart, and they can call for backup and reinforcements if needed. Yeah, that shit is scary. A few weeks ago we hooked up with this group of retired folks who’d setup a nice little RV park. A shuffler--kid, really--got loose and screamed for help. He literally screamed a word. What kind of a Z does that?”

  “What happened?”

  “We fought and ran. No choice. Along the way we got separated. I can’t really say what happened to all of the others. They were great people, but I think a lot of them died that day,” I said with a sigh. I left out any mention of McQuinn and his men, because that would mean answering too many questions.

  “That is fascinating,” she said.

  “Scary as fuck is what I’d call it,” I said. “Want my advice? Kill that thing you captured. Don’t give it a chance to do any more harm.”

  “I understand your concern, but he will sleep like he’s in a coma for a long time,” Melissa said.

  “Answered enough questions? Look, I appreciate all this awesomeness. The secure location, food, water, I’m sure you all have an amazing system setup. That said, maybe we don’t belong here,” I said, looking among my new hosts.

  “That’s up to you. You and the girl want to leave, that’s up to you. But like I said, we could use more help, and you proved that you both know how to handle yourselves out there. You showed me and Diane that you’re not afraid to get your hands dirty when faced with the infected.”

  “It’s not so hard,” I said. “You’re out there long enough and you develop tactics for survival. Number one is kill the green-eyed assholes. Number two, you hide and you keep as quiet as possible, and when you are faced with the infected, you always have someone who covers your back.”

  “Understood. Now allow me to show you a little of what we have built here. Then we’ll ask you a few questions, and if you decide to stay we’ll get you a place to sleep and some food,” Douglas said.

  “You mentioned asking us questions. Haven’t I answered enough?”

  “Yeah, nothing formal, but it’s best to get this information before you forget any of it. Kindly leave your weapons here. They will be taken care of and returned when and if you leave,” Douglas said.

  “You make it sound like we don’t have a choice,” I said.

  “Jackson, once you see the operation we have set up here, you may not want to leave. But we have to take precautions. Very few are permitted weapons in the warehou
se. It’s for everyone’s safety, you understand of course,” he said.

  “Fine. Fuck. Fine.”

  “Glad you came along and helped us out when you did,” Douglas smiled.

  For some reason, I did not trust this guy. I didn’t really like any of them except Melissa. I’d probably like her less if she tried anything with those damn gloves on.

  “Wait a second, who was the guy in the jeep who saved my ass out there?”

  “The jeep?” Douglas asked.

  “One of your guys, right? He pulled up just as a shuffler was about to stomp my ass, and took the fucker out with one shot,” I said. “Do me a favor and point him or her out later so I can thank them.”

  Douglas’s face furrowed.

  “We don’t have anyone out there in a jeep, as far as I know. Was it a military vehicle?”

  “No, man. It was one of those Grand Cherokees, I think. It was red,” I said.

  “I have no idea who that was,” Douglas said, and led me into the building.

  I scratched my head and followed.

  ###

  21:30 hours approximate

  Location: Somewhere near Vista, CA

  The interior of the Costco was like some surreal dream come true.

  After spending months out in the new world, I’d grown used to seeing homes and stores completely looted. On rare occasions we’d come across a few supplies, but never much, and never all in one location.

  We’d raided countless big stores in the search for goods, but we were always too late, or else the place was so over run with Zs that we had to leave empty handed.

  My imagination ran wild when I thought about all of the food and supplies a normal Costco contained. A few people could probably last for years if they managed to button the place up and keep other survivors out. But how many people did they have here? If it was a hundred, the food would be gone in a month or two at most.

  I had to consider my options very carefully. If we decided to stay, the other survivors, and us could not live on the contents of one Costco forever.

  Near the entrance to the store, tables and crates had been arranged in near rows. Gear, weapons, water bottles, and bags of food similar to the sack lunches they’d given me and Christy littered the surfaces. They had checklists laid out, and names scribbled on them. I tried to get a glimpse at one, but it was unreadable from a distance.

  Not that it mattered, at this point. I wasn’t going to learn anything from a quick look.

  They took mine and Christy’s gear and put it in a basket. The guy wrote something on a sheet of paper and jammed the sheet into the bin. He pulled a red ticket out and noted the number, then handed me the ticket like I was waiting to order food at a deli.

  “Keep this with you,” he said.

  I nodded and put the slip in my pocket. Then I reconsidered and put it in my battered wallet.

  “What size pants do you wear?” Douglas asked me. “We have cases of new clothes, and you are more than due for a new pair of pants at the very least.”

  He was right. I’d been in the same clothes more or less for weeks. We’d had little opportunity to clean them. I probably smelled like a homeless man who’d been on the streets for a year. I was pretty sure that if I took my pants off, they’d stand up on their own.

  I gave him my size, and Christy told Douglas what she needed. He promised to get us a change by the morning.

  The guy who’d driven the forklift was hanging out near what used to be the optometry department. He nodded at me so I nodded back.

  They’d removed most of the frames and displays. I noted a rack of sunglasses and pulled down a sweet pair of Oakleys. I tried them on while Douglas spoke with Diane.

  Frosty sat next to me and panted. I’d gotten used to having her around, and could read her. She wasn’t hot; this was a nervous sort of stance. She looked like she was ready to bolt at any second. I put my hand on her head and rubbed, hoping to reassure her. She stared up at me with wide eyes and licked my hand.

  “She’s just anxious,” Christy said.

  “I know. It’s probably all the strange new people. Lots of new butts to sniff,” I said.

  “That’s gross,” Christy said.

  “Nah, it’s how dogs greet each other. They stick their nose in each other’s business. It’s a doggy handshake.”

  Christy curled her lips into a grimace.

  We moved through the interior of the warehouse, but they kept us close to the front of the building. Most of the big space was dark so it was next to impossible to make out anything in the murk. The place had a musty smell, like wet paper and mold.

  I don’t know what I’d expected to find inside. Men and women hovering over fires? People crammed wall to wall in portable beds? Instead the place was so quiet it was damned eerie.

  Someone approached us. He looked familiar, and after he drew close I realized it was one of the forklift drivers who’d charged out and helped clear the parking lot.

  “You were pretty good out there. Didn’t panic and fought hard, nice work,” he said. He was a lot shorter than me. If the Latino guy was five foot eight, I’d be surprised.

  “Thanks, but that was all about survival. You guys have it down with those forklifts. One thing, though. With the blades on the catchers, you’re going to sever legs and other body parts. Hit too many and you’re going to get stuck out there.”

  “I know, man. It wasn’t my idea,” he said. “I just work here.”

  I smiled, because that sounded like something I’d say.

  “Name’s Mateo,” he stuck out his hand so we could shake.

  We finished introductions and he petted Frosty.

  “Pretty ballsy going out there in a metal cage with wheels, but you gotta do what you gotta do, right? You’ll have to show me how those things work,” I said. “And thanks for coming to our rescue.”

  “Yeah. Remember that if you see me in deep shit, okay, brother?”

  “Let’s talk,” Douglas interrupted.

  “Sure, man,” I said, and followed him.

  ###

  21:50 hours approximate

  Location: Somewhere near Vista, CA

  It was about an hour later when they cut us loose. Douglas had been interested in all of the Z activity around us. I tried to ask about the nuke to the north, but he said he didn’t know much about it except that Bright Star had figured out a way to get a massive horde of Zs into one location and blow them out of existence.

  “But they didn’t even think about the civilians in the city. Didn’t even consider how many of the living they’d kill,” he snarled.

  “It’s war, man. Casualties are a given,” I heard Joel Kelly say in the back of my mind.

  “But how safe is it? I know you said the fallout would drift out to the ocean, but that was a fucking nuke, man.”

  “It was a tiny one. They’ve used them before on other parts of the US. I heard Seattle was one of the first places to go up in flames. The thing is, it’s a big country, and while small sections might be uninhabitable for years, there’s a lot of land left.”

  “You sound like you’re defending them.”

  “I guess I am, in a way. I don’t approve, but they might have wiped out hundreds of thousands of Zs in the process,” Douglas said.

  “And what about the people that were still living in the city when the bomb went off?”

  “That is why they need to be stopped. There has to be a better way,” Douglas said, and looked away

  They didn’t bother asking Christy too many questions. She said they were more interested in how we’d survived. She told them I’d taught her survival tips like how to make water filters and how to shoot her gun. She was smart, and didn’t mention our other companions.

  They took us along a corridor that had been built of shelving units and walls from outdoor storage units. The construction was hasty and thrown together, probably in near-darkness, but it served as some kind of privacy for the inhabitants. Wind-up rechargeable flashli
ghts hung along these sections, illuminating letters and numbers. I ran into Mateo once and we nodded at each other.

  It had to be close to ten at night, and I was dead on my feet. We hadn’t slept enough over the last few days and it had been catching up with me since we’d arrived.

  Douglas shone a flashlight on the walls until he found what he was looking for.

  “Section sixteen. That’s where we have food--keep that in mind. You’ll give your name and they’ll hand over whatever the meal of the day is in the morning, and again at night. You’ll get the hang of it in no time. Most people here are shell-shocked, but they will help. Just ask. That’s how we do things here: we ask.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” I said. “Regular meals sounds amazing.”

  “It’s not always the best food, but it’s a hell of a lot better than starving. This is a big place, and we’ve kept the numbers down to a minimum. We have a lot, but it’s not going to last forever.”

  “Surprised it’s lasted this long,” I said.

  I still wanted to know how they’d made the food last for so long.

  Frosty stopped every few feet to check out an interesting corner or section of wall. When she paused to sniff, Christy patted her neck and got the dog moving again.

  “This place was packed almost to the ceiling. Think about all of the crates of power bars, nuts, dried fruit. There’s a generator humming away on the other side. Mateo--the guy you met earlier--helped with the wiring, so we could keep a refrigerated unit going. But there was no way for stuff to last forever. Milk has an expiration date and we weren’t able to keep a freezer powered. So that was the first to go along with eggs, yogurt… you get the idea.”

  “So you all have been here since the beginning of this mess?” I asked.

  “More or less,” Douglas said.

  I didn’t bother pursuing that line of questioning. If they’d taken this place away from a group of other survivors it was none of my business, and I didn’t need details. I’d just ignore any bloodstains on the walls or in the corners of the building.