Reavers (Z-Risen Series Book 4) (2 page)

10:30 hours approximate

Location: The Deadlands of CA

I thought I’d come up with a plan if I stared at the television long enough. It didn’t work, but there was some weird satisfaction in pretending like things were normal. Like Alex Trebek was going to come on at any moment and challenge me to answer questions about shit that didn’t matter anymore. At this point, I’d even take Will Ferrell’s imitation of the
Jeopardy
host.

Then my thoughts turned dark. What would happen to the world in the next few years? We’d all die, and our history would be lost and forgotten. Books would mold and turn to ash, or lumps of something that used to be paper. Computers wouldn’t fire up again, and all of that knowledge would be just a bunch of forgotten ones and zeroes.

Being in the zombie fucking apocalypse can get a guy down. Anyway, I sat staring at the dead boob tube and considered our options.

We could sit around and feel sorry for ourselves, or we could go out there and find some trouble--and by trouble, I didn’t mean the kind that invited Zs.

I chose the second option, because I didn’t want to think about sitting around waiting for Zs to sniff us out. Besides, we didn’t have a damn thing to eat, and we had no way to filter water from the hot water heater.

Christy and I took a chance on it anyway, because we were both so thirsty that the alternative was to just
think
about the water, and that was worse.

I let about half a gallon flow out of the release valve, and then we put glasses under the flow.

We stared at each other for a few seconds, like we were daring the other to take a sip.

The water was clean, if a little bit yellow. Probably just rust, and that wouldn’t kill us. The days hadn’t been too warm, but I worried about bacteria growing in the heater.

“Think it’s safe?”

“The way I see it,” I said, “before the power went out, this water was probably kept at a cozy hundred and twenty degrees, give or take. Then it cooled. If some tiny creepy crawlies are in there, we’ll know soon enough.”

“What kind of creepy crawlies?”

“The kind that will make us spend most of the day on the crapper. We might puke our guts up. The next problem will be that after we’ve lost all of that water, we’ll be dehydrated, and it will seem pretty attractive to drink
more
of that bad water.”

“Can we heat it up?”

“Don’t see why not. We just need to start a fire and put some in a pan, boil it, and then wait for it to cool.”

Christy sighed.

“I know. We don’t have any matches or a lighter. All that stuff was in my backpack.”

“This sucks,” she said and poured the water on the carpet.

I did the same thing, and it did indeed suck.

“Wait. Is that a gas stove in the kitchen?”

“Don’t know, why?”

“Because it will have a sparker if it’s a gas range. We can maybe make some tinder and get a small fire going,” I said, and rose to my feet.

The hope in Christy’s eyes died as soon as we entered the kitchen.

Not exactly modern; the appliances were probably from the late eighties. Kenmore brand all around: fridge, which we’d opened and immediately closed, dishwasher, which had been open when we’d arrived, leaving dirty dishes on display. They'd smelled almost as sour as the fridge so we’d closed it.

The oven, sadly, had round heating elements.

“This sucks,” Christy said again.

“Yeah it does,” I agreed.

We set out an hour later to scout, but I doubted we’d be back. There was nothing here, and it was in our best interests to get on the move.

I thought about the Hungarians we’d run into a few days ago. Dori and Tomas had claimed to live in some kind of commune or community. Any chance we had of finding them was about nil. Besides, I wanted to get out of the area. I worried about fallout from the mushroom cloud we’d seen the day before.

We ran into a little bit of trouble after crossing a few streets and peeking into stores. All had been ransacked, of course, bled to the goddamn bone they were so empty, but that didn’t stop us from hoping.

A pair of Zs set their sights on us as we rounded a building. Christy drew her gun, but I motioned for her to wait.

Frosty growled low in her throat and made for them. I grabbed her by her collar and patted her head. I whispered for her to stay. She looked at me like I was crazy.

Come on, lemme at 'em
, her eyes said.

Christy held onto Frosty. I’d have loved to let her loose, but she had a habit of barking when she was taunting Zs, and we didn’t need that.

I lowered eight pounds of steel and advanced on the pair.

They weren’t a very cute couple. They were both tall and she was dressed like a fitness instructor--blue leotard and yoga pants, but no shoes. She was lithe, and even though she was dead she walked with something like grace.

He was missing most of an arm. The rest of him was dressed in a nice suit. He still wore stylish wire rimmed glasses, but they were at a weird angle, because his ear had nearly been torn off, and hung in a bloody mess along his neck.

I kicked the female zombie in the knee and she stumbled to the side. My wrench flew up and caught the guy under his chin. His rancid head practically exploded.

She struggled to her feet, so I pushed her down. She fell on top of her partner and they struggled together.

“Let’s go. These guys aren’t going to be any trouble for a while,” I said.

“Not going to finish them?” Christy asked.

“What’s the point? Two less Zs in the world won’t make a damn bit of difference.”

“What if they come across other people who aren’t nice?”

“What have others done for us?” I answered with a question.

“Bright Star saved us. What about them?”

“Jesus, Christy. You’re like my conscious now.” I said.

It only took a minute to dispatch the pair then we moved along.

“We’ll stay low and find somewhere to hide out by tonight."

Christy shrugged but followed my lead.

Frosty sniffed my blood-covered wrench, made a small whimper and moved on ahead of us.

An hour later, we spotted the strip mall.

###

33 – A Life in the Day

12:45 hours approximate

Location: The Deadlands of CA

When they found us,
Christy and I had been stuck in a little T-Mobile shop, huddling in the dark. Our rescuer had tried to explain the ways of the new world, but none of it made sense.

She talked about how Bright Star were trying to sterilize the cities. Gather the Zs together and nuke the shit out of them. I didn’t buy it for a second, but then I’d seen it myself: a mushroom cloud the size of God’s middle finger had risen to the northwest.

We had a lot of questions, but she told us to hold them for now. I protested, but she didn’t relent, and kept her mouth shut about everything except getting back to whatever base they were heading to.

Her name was Diane, and she’d talked me down from doing anything stupid. It turned out she’d been on patrol with some friends--men and women dressed in black who’d been termed Reavers.
Why black
? I’d asked.
Because it keeps us from shooting at each other
, she’d replied.

That was simple enough, but I’d heard from another survivor that they were doing weird shit up here, maybe sacrificing people. Another rumor was that they were a cult.

As far as cultists went, Diane was nice enough. That’s my way of saying I didn’t believe half of what I’d heard. One thing was for sure: someone had been shooting at us, and they’d all worn black.

Frosty was greeted with rubs and treats. The dog took to people like she always did, with a happy, lopsided grin, and a wagging tail that was a weapon in itself.

Pretty much the opposite of how she treated Zs, which was with something like anger and curiosity. I’ll never forget the day that Anna Sails and I found the half-Labrador Retriever mutt. She’d been leading a pair of Zs on a merry fucking chase, taunting the undead bastards. Anna and I had put the Zs down and then holed up in an apartment for the night.

Since then, Frosty had become like part of the family. She was smart enough not to bark to draw attention unless she was in a playful mood.

Our new companions traveled in style. The vehicle they cruised around in was a brand-new Cadillac Escalade, fully loaded. I gawked at the interior and the soft leather seats. All of the material was stitched except for the wood trim. I touched a piece and realized it was
actual
wood.

Thing probably would've cost me a few years' salary in the old world. Now it was just a piece of metal whose value was in transportation--and probably knocking down Zs.

Diane and her crew had taken us to a small camp, a once-upon-a-time little boutique mom and pop shop that had sold used clothing. Now it had been converted to a small base, complete with corrugated metal doors with murder holes cut into the top, so any bad guys would get a surprise if they tried anything stupid.

She introduced me to the leader of the outfit. His name was Douglas and he had a long and thick white beard around a craggy face.

The four or five people inside were reserved, but they asked about injuries, and more importantly, asked about any bites. We assured them we hadn’t been attacked but that wasn’t enough.

Diane took Christy into a back room, but left the door open. We all turned around while my friend was inspected. I fumed silently at the injustice she had to endure. How dare they treat her like this?

I was next. They instructed me to remove my clothes and show that I didn’t have any bite marks.

“The fuck, man? I’ve seen these things bite, and the person on the receiving end of chompers turned fast. If I’d have been bitten, you’d know.” I protested.

“Doesn’t matter. Strip or walk.”

I complied, but I wasn’t happy about it. While they looked me over, I noticed a number of bruises on my sides and chest. Made sense, since I’d been kicked around pretty hard for the last few of weeks. I had a couple of half-healed lacerations, one of which looked like it might have an infection. I studied it while they studied me. After I put my clothes back on, Douglas handed me a small packet of antibiotic cream.

“Use it sparingly, but use it. A cut like that wasn’t a big deal a few months ago. Now it can turn real bad real fast, and I don’t think you want to experience amputation without anesthesia.”

I shuddered and applied it to the cut, then folded over the top and stuck it in a pocket.

We stayed at a checkpoint for a few more minutes. Diane took us back to the SUV and told us to chill out in the back. Someone brought me a sandwich made out of a huge roll that was crusty and yeasty.

Egg salad wasn’t my favorite, but I consumed it in a few bites before realizing it was probably made out of powdered eggs. At least there was a generous amount of mayo to help the glob slide down. How long had it been since I’d tasted actual baked bread?

A small jug of water was passed around, and I drank heartily. The real treat was a brown bag. Diane gave it to me and Christy to share. Inside were a couple of freeze-dried apricots, and cranberries.

“Holy shit,” I sighed.

"Enjoy that. We had a huge stockpile, but it’s all going to go bad soon,” Diane said.

“Thank you,” Christy and I echoed.

“Where did you get the food? The bread tastes fresh,” I asked.

“It’s a few days old, but it’s not bad. Best we can do under the circumstances.”

“Best damn bread I’ve had in my life,” I smiled.

“Is she hungry?” Diane nodded at Frosty.

“Yeah. The mutt eats more than me and Christy if she can.”

“I know. We have a few dogs back at base, but none like her. They come from the outside world, if we can get them to trust us, and the good ones make excellent guards.”

Diane dug around, found some scraps from a previous meal and passed them back. I opened the crumpled brown paper bag and took out bread crust and some kind of jerky that was covered in dirt and carpet debris. My guess was it had been dropped, and found later. Yesterday I would have brushed it off and devoured it.

Frosty didn’t care, and ate every bit I gave her. But the dog was big and needed more. Diane dug out another bag and handed me a hunk of the same crusty bread I’d eaten. It was stale, but I managed to nip a few crumbs before Frosty inhaled the rest.

“There’s a large cache of dog food. We’ll give her some more protein when we’re back,” Diane said.

Diane had pale skin and dark hair. She wore it in a bun, but when we got into an SUV she let it down and left it to float around her shoulders. She bore a freshly-healing scar over her left eye that looked like a frown. It split over her right eye, and one branch faded to her hairline. She was kind of cute, but it was hidden behind how tired she looked. She wasn’t exactly slight of build, and was probably five foot ten.

“I guess eggs are easy. Just need water,” I said.

“If we could have chickens we would. The problem is that chickens make a hell of a lot of noise, so we make do with what we have. Add in a bunch of ranch dressing, some seasoning and you can hardly tell.”

“Diane,” Douglas said from the front seat said.

“Sorry, I ramble a lot,” she said.

“It’s okay. I’m interested in how you all have survived like this,” I said. “Besides, anyone who puts ranch dressing in instant eggs is a fucking genius. I used to drown them in tabasco, but I always knew I was eating instant eggs.”

“That’s the problem: until we get to know each other I shouldn’t be talking. It is unwise, as I have been assured many times, to trust easily.”

“Oh,” I said. “I get it. Had a few scrapes myself.”

I tried to keep it light, but I had the feeling no one was buying my act.

She had a point, though. Girl didn’t know the first thing about us, except we’d been on the run, we looked exhausted, and we were both splattered with blood from our escape through the overrun apartment building a couple of days ago.

“We need to collect any weapons. No offense,” the other guy said.

Douglas was in his fifties and wore his hair in a halo that was cropped close to his scalp. This contrasted oddly with his flowing beard. I had no doubt he was used to issuing commands and having them followed. I didn’t know much about our new friends, but I recognized former military bearing.

The other guy, the driver only had one hand, and whenever we got out of the vehicle he tended to keep his wrist tucked close or covered with a shirt sleeve, like he was ashamed of his missing appendage. His name was Steve.

We turned over our pitiful supply of handguns, but I kept my wrench close. Steve looked it over, studied my eyes and how I tried to shield the weapon. He nodded like he understood.

Christy showed a short knife.

“Keep it. Better safe than sorry. We brought in a group a few weeks ago and one of the guys had a gun hidden in his bag. He wasn’t exactly right in the head, and tried to take a couple of us out. Said he was working for God and had to spread the word of Jesus to the infected. I hated it, but we had to put him down.”

“Just like that, no trial or whatever?” I swallowed.

“Dude was nuts and waving a gun. He wanted to get out. We let him out and then Steve here calmly put a bullet in his skull.”

“Damn. That’s cold,” I said.

“It’s a cold world,” Steve said and made eye contact in the rear view mirror.

Diane had taken a seat with us, and spoke kind words to Christy from time to time. I didn’t trust a goddamn person in the vehicle except for Christy, so I kept my mouth shut. During a quiet moment when Diane had gotten out to confer with her friends, I’d leaned over and whispered to Christy.

“Not a word about our former companions. You’re my kid sister, we’ve been on the run from San Diego, and that’s all they need to know.”

Frosty was riding on the floor underneath my feet. She’d turned her head, tongue lolled to the side, to regard me.

“That goes for you too,” I told her.

“I know, Creed. I’m not dumb,” Christy rolled her eyes.

Frosty’s tail thumped the floor.

“I just don’t want them knowing about our association with the others. No matter what’s going on out in the world, we need to focus on survival.”

“Got it,” Christy said with a scared little half-smile.

###