Slow Burn Box Set: The Complete Post Apocalyptic Series (Books 1-9)

by Bobby Adair

  No biggie. I could make another lap. Benny wouldn’t make it to the other side. No fucking way.

  The black lane lines passed beneath us and kept passing until I saw the bottom of the pool curve up to the wall ahead of me. My lungs were screaming for air. But Benny was still beside me.

  He would stop at the wall. I was sure of that. I only had to make the turn, swim a few strokes and I’d win.

  I could to it. I knew I could.

  I hit the wall, negotiated my turn, pushed off with my legs and glided over a few of the black lane markers below. Just before I surfaced to finally grant relief to my lungs, I saw Benny glide on past me, stroking as he went.

  Shit.

  Every muscle in my body demanded I surface and breathe, but every ounce of my soul refused. Win or drown. I swam on. I sped up and came up beside Benny.

  I’d laid claim to something when I’d jumped into the pool the first time, and whatever it was, whether pride or something less tangible, it felt better than anything I’d ever felt before. I would not lose. No matter how much my muscles begged to quit.

  We made it to the halfway point and we were still underwater. Despite my resolve, I silently begged Benny to quit and end the irrational pain screaming in my head. Surface. Surface. Breathe.

  But Benny swam. And swam.

  I swam.

  At three quarters of the way, my prayers were answered and I saw Benny’s body change its position in the water just before he pushed his head above the surface.

  Victory.

  But not enough victory, not yet.

  Only a quarter of the way to go. I swam on.

  I’d make three full widths.

  To my surprise, my body complied.

  Stroke. Kick. Stroke. Kick.

  Black lane markers passed beneath me.

  The pool wall curved up and I hit it with my outstretched hand.

  But I wasn’t done.

  I turned, pushed off with my feet and let my momentum carry me back out into the pool. Three full widths had passed underwater. I knew I wouldn’t make a fourth. But I pushed myself anyway and watched the black stripes slip past. Then I saw Benny, just ahead of me, standing on the bottom with his head above the water, feeling his defeat.

  With the last anything that was left, I stroked past Benny and swam another ten feet before surfacing.

  I hadn’t just beaten Benny. I’d beaten him in legendary fashion. The boys on the side of the pool were silently amazed.

  I felt fucking fantastic.

  So in that cold green water with a seemingly impossible distance to swim, I knew I could make it. No matter how much my lungs, my muscles, my brain protested. I knew I could.

  I’d made an unspoken commitment to myself and Murphy when I chose to drive the Humvee into the river. And no way was I letting Murphy down.

  But it was rationalization and the fear that almost beat me.

  In the murk, every direction looked the same, just green fading to darker green. Distance passed without measure. Direction existed only in degrees of hope. Had I swam past the pontoon boat? Had I veered so far off course that I was swimming up the boat ramp and into the greedy hands of Whites brave enough to wade into knee-deep water for their supper?

  It was at the end of a stroke with my arms back at my sides that I realized how little visibility I had. One of the boat’s pontoons materialized from a lighter green color in front of me into silvery aluminum. Before I could react, my bald head collided with a thin metal fin that ran the length of the pontoon just under the surface. It nearly knocked me silly and pissed me off to the point I grabbed my scalp while yelling my anger into a flurry of bubbles.

  I ducked under and quietly surfaced between the pontoons, beneath the boat’s deck. Neither the burned squatters under the trees nor the infected on the boat ramp could see me. Grabbing onto a piece of the boat’s deck support to catch my breath, I reached up to evaluate my latest wound. The gash felt deep and enormous but probably wasn’t. Warm blood flowed down my face.

  Dammit.

  After several deep breaths, I slid back beneath the water’s surface, swam over to the far side of the boat and went under the other pontoon, and came up under the dock. I heard feet on the wooden planks overhead.

  The footsteps belonged to Whites. Whether they were working their way around the marina trying to find a way to get to Murphy, or they’d seen me go under water and had deduced my destination, my time had expired. Retrieving the pontoon boat was going to get difficult.

  After positioning myself near the rope I’d used to tie the boat to the dock, I reached up with my knife and started to saw at the rope. I wasn’t quick enough. First one, two, then three noisy Whites jumped from the dock to the boat.

  More feet were coming when the rope finally separated. I wasted no time in using a support post for leverage to push the bow of the boat away. The Whites on the boat’s deck, seeing the widening of the water that separated them from dry land, started a whole different kind of yelling. They were afraid.

  When the Whites on the dock reached the end, just above my head, the pontoon boat was ten feet out into the water and drifting slowly toward the center of the marina.

  Given that my boat had unwanted passengers, a hard task was ahead. Climbing up onto the deck and starting the engine was not an option.

  I swam out to the front of the boat and grabbed the rope. From there, it was slow going, dragging the heavy boat through the water with only the power of my kicking feet and a stroking arm.

  After a lengthy effort, the boat neared the submerged Humvee. I looked up and saw Murphy had climbed up on top and had his rifle at his shoulder. With his feet on something solid, his big smile was back.

  My three infected passengers were going completely nuts over being surrounded by water.

  Murphy gave me a nod and a wink, but waited before shooting.

  Good enough for me. He’d taken ownership of that problem.

  By the time I was ten feet from the Humvee, the effort of tugging the heavy pontoon boat across the marina was taking its toll. I was starting to wonder whether Murphy was going to deal with my passengers. They were all leaning over the front railing by then, stretching their grasping hands toward me.

  “Damn, dude, any time,” I said between breaths.

  In rapid succession, three shots blasted across the water.

  The Whites onshore started to run up and down the banks, frenzy driving them to find some way to reach us.

  I turned back to look at the boat. All three Whites were down. I looked back up at Murphy.

  He smiled and shrugged, as though he’d fully expected to get them all so easily.

  Between my heavy breaths, I managed to say, “Fuck you.”

  Murphy chuckled. He understood it just as I’d meant it. It was a compliment, and I was envious he was a better shot than me.

  I stopped swimming, figuring the boat had enough momentum to float up next to the Humvee.

  Just to be sure, I asked, “They’re dead, right?”

  “Yup.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yup.” He nodded. “Your head’s bleeding.”

  “I know.” I swam around to the back corner of the boat where I’d be able to climb up the swim ladder.

  “It looks like it hurts.”

  “I have the virus. It doesn’t bother me.”

  Once on the deck, the wet wind gave me a shiver. I’d been in the cold water too long. Near the bow, the three Whites lay across one another, two shot through the center of the chest, one through the head. I’d deal with that mess in a minute. First, I retrieved a rope from one of the storage bins beneath the bench seats and tossed one end over to Murphy. “Tie it off to something and I’ll pull the boat over.”

  “Tie it off?” Murphy asked.

  “So we can get all the stuff out of the Humvee.”

  Chapter 9

  While we weren’t in danger of sinking, the pontoon boat was riding low in the water and we were making g
ood progress. Still, Murphy spent a good deal of time looking down at how close the water was to washing up over the deck and gauging the distance to the shore.

  “If you can’t swim, does it matter how far out we are when we sink?” I asked, putting a subtle emphasis on the “when.”

  “I’m checking how far you’ll have to pull me. Keep us close to the shore. Make it easy on yourself.”

  “When we came downriver this morning, almost no Whites were onshore,” I said, changing the subject. “Now I’m seeing lots of ‘em, and most of those seem to be interested in us.”

  “Maybe they like to sleep late.”

  I started to retort, but realized Murphy’s comment, intended to be funny – and it was – could be true. That would match my experience with the Whites when I was on Nancy’s chain gang.

  “Besides,” Murphy said, “this morning we were drifting. Now the engine is on. That’s bound to make them more interested.”

  “You’re probably right,” I said.

  “You only say ‘probably’ because it bothers you when you’re not the only one with the answers.” Murphy was smiling, so I knew he was just giving me a hard time. “I’ll bet in school you were one of those kids who always raised your hand first so you could answer the teacher’s questions.”

  “It’s no wonder you get in lots of fights.”

  “Hey, don’t be reminding me of fighting. I think I still owe you a punch in the face.”

  “More like a thank you for saving your ass again.”

  Murphy laughed out loud. “Like when I kept you from blowing yourself up again? You mean that time? I swear to God, you’d be dead if it wasn’t for me.”

  I shrugged. “That’s a two-way street, buddy.”

  “Don’t get your panties in a wad.”

  I grinned back at Murphy. “I’m not wearing any underwear.”

  “I don’t need to know that.”

  The rain started to fall heavily again and Murphy moved to a seat on the other side of the boat to stay out of it. I watched the naked Whites on shore as I steered. To me, they seemed too interested.

  A mile or two had passed when Murphy asked, “How do you think things turned out at the riverboat?”

  On our way downriver that morning, we’d stopped by the riverboat where Amy and the two tweens were living. I’d introduced everyone and then headed out with Murphy. “I guess we’ll find out when we get back whether we’ve been invited to stay. I think I’d feel safer sleeping on that boat than I would sleeping in that house tonight.”

  “Me, too.” Murphy said. “How are we set for fuel?”

  “Still about a half-tank.”

  “We should maybe try and fill it up on the next run. One those marinas probably has gas.”

  I nodded. “We should get some gas cans to keep on the boat.”

  “I wonder how much fuel is in the riverboat.”

  I shrugged. “I’m sure it’s diesel anyway. This is a gasoline boat.”

  “We should get diesel, too. I’ll bet that boat has some big ass tanks. We can store diesel there for using with the Humvees later on.”

  “We don’t have a Humvee.”

  “’Cause you drove ours into the river.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “Besides, you keep sayin’ that most of these white-skinned fuckers will kill each other off eventually. When we get there, having a good supply of gas to get around will come in real handy.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure you’re right. Scrounging up everything we can get our hands on while we’re out killing Smart Ones is a good idea.”

  An awkward silence followed.

  “Zed, you know I’m not thrilled about that idea, right?”

  “I hear you. But it needs to be done. If we don’t, then we’ll always be at risk. They aren’t going away, not completely.”

  “They might go away. That big bunch came here from Houston. What’s to say they won’t just keep wandering west and die of thirst somewhere on the way to El Paso?”

  “What if they decide they like it here and stay?”

  Murphy shrugged.

  “Mark was up there, you know.”

  “So you said.”

  “He screwed us over once already and would have killed us if you hadn’t been on your toes.”

  “And?”

  “And he needs to be killed.”

  Murphy looked away from me and watched the waves float by for a minute. “Are you sure this isn’t about something else, Zed?”

  “Murphy, playing coy isn’t your game. Don’t bother to sugarcoat it. Just tell me what you think.”

  “The world is fucked, Zed. But we’ve got it all right at the moment. I mean, we don’t have it like we did at Sarah Mansfield’s mansion. That place was just a couple of cheeseburgers and a hooker short of Heaven, if you know what I mean. Right now, we’re safe. At least if they let us stay on that riverboat, we will be. We’ve got good people with us. You’ve even got a hot redhead who likes you if you’d pull your head out of your ass and do something about it. Forget the past. Forget revenge, man. Try to put on a smile and move ahead. That’s all you gotta do. Go with the Murphy plan.”

  I didn’t respond.

  He looked back at me and after a long time said, “So you’ve got nothing to say about that?”

  “I didn’t think you were finished.”

  “Of course I’m finished. I stopped talking, didn’t I?”

  “You said my desire to kill Mark and the other Smart Ones wasn’t about our long-term survival, but about something else. I was waiting for you to tell me what that was.”

  Murphy shrugged. “No sugarcoating. It’s about Amber. You want to kill him for what he did to Amber. But what you don’t know is, revenge is pointless. Sure, he was a prick, but he was just a prick. You can beat people up for that, but you can’t kill them.”

  “What?”

  “Let me finish. He turned into Mr. Psycho Killer Dude when he got the virus. You know the virus makes some people crazy. You’ve seen that. Now he’s just a crazy fuck. He does crazy fuck bullshit. He doesn’t have enough brain cells left to be normal. Getting revenge on him for killing Amber is like killing the neighbor’s crazy pit bull for shitting on your lawn. That’s what this is, right? Revenge?”

  “No,” I lied. At least, I partially lied. Sure, at first it was revenge, but that turned into—or rationalized its way into—a necessity. “I told you. It’s about our survival. The Smart Ones are too good at using the rest of the Whites to hunt us down and kill us. Left unchecked, they will succeed. They’ll kill every last one of us.”

  “And you’re going to go all Null Spot and save the world. Is that it?”

  “Fuck you, Murphy.”

  Murphy grinned. “You’re getting all bitchy again, man. You said no sugarcoating.”

  I wasn’t angry about it, not really. “I meant it in the most loving way.”

  “So what, then? Level with me, man. Tell me what’s really going on inside that big, white peanut head of yours.”

  I laughed. “I don’t have a peanut head.” That reminded of my earlier collision with the boat. I touched the place where the metal had cut my skin. It was still bleeding, lumpy, and icky.

  “I know, man. Like I said, it’s a fucked up world now. If you don’t lighten up, you’re gonna go nuts. If you don’t learn to let all of this shit go and be happy about what little we have left, you’re gonna explode one day. Or finally do something stupid enough to get yourself killed.”

  “I know.”

  “Well if you know, then why are we out raiding National Guard bases full of crazy white fuckers, instead of staying back home under the blankets and getting some pussy? You know Steph wants it, right? You can see that, right?”

  “I’m not so sure about that.”

  “Well, who cares, man? This isn’t seventh grade. Why don’t you just ask her? Or do you want me to ask her for you?” Murphy busted out laughing. “Do you? Want me to ask her, I mean.”

&nbs
p; “I think I can handle it myself. Thanks anyway.”

  “Man, lighten up. We might not be around much longer. We need to enjoy life while we can.”

  “Let’s talk about something else.”

  “What?”

  “You remember those guys I told you about, Nico and Mr. Mays?”

  “Yeah, the old guy and the dude you escaped with.”

  “I think we should stop by Mr. Mays’ place and see if they want to join us.”

  Murphy nodded but didn’t agree. “Steph’s the boss. Shouldn’t we run it by her, or at least ask the others first?”

  I shrugged.

  “Okay, tell me why this is a good idea.”

  “Sure, but can we at least stop by and see if they’re interested before we try to sell it to the group?”

  “We?”

  “Yeah, look, their place is just up here on the left. To give you the short story, that old guy looks old enough that he was probably raised on a farm around here back when people still grew their own food.”

  “And?”

  “And if he knows how to farm in central Texas, he might be the most valuable person we’re likely to meet.”

  “Fine, but you better practice that shit up before we get back to the boat, because you’re selling it to Steph, not me.”

  Chapter 10

  With the pontoon boat tied to the same tree where I’d secured the canoe on my first visit, I knocked on Mr. Mays’ back door. Murphy stood a few paces back, rifle at the ready, keeping an eye out for any infected lurking nearby.

  “Nico, Mr. Mays, it’s me, Zed. Anybody there?” I didn’t want to yell, and I didn’t want to beat too loudly. But impatience came easily while exposed and making noise.

  I knocked again. “Nico. Mr. Mays.”

  “H…hello.” A voice came from the other side of the door.

  “Nico?”

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s me, Zed.”

  “Who’s the b… big dude?”

  “That’s my buddy, Murphy. I told you about him. Man, are you going to open the door or what? It’s not safe out here.”

  The long pause that followed made me uncomfortable. Something wasn’t right. I looked down to make sure the safety on my pistol was off.