Undead 02 The Undead Haze (9 page)

I finished tying my shoelaces and straightened up to take a look out the window. A light snow had fallen overnight, but would probably melt as soon as the sun came up. The world was dusted in white where the sun touched, and shadowed in a cold gray where it didn’t. I could see my breath fog up as I exhaled.

The adventure was about to start, but my excitement was clouded by thoughts of Blaze. How was she going to react to seeing me again? To seeing Beau? What if she didn’t even care about me once she saw Beau?

That’s a natural reaction, Cyrus. It’s her fucking brother.

I snatched up Pickle and threw her inside the backpack.

“Here we go again, right, sweetie?” I said, kissing the top of her soft white head before zipping her up.

The building I’d been calling home for weeks was silent. It felt like it was bidding me a sorrowful farewell as I walked down the empty hall and stairs.

As I neared the loading zone I heard the crackling of fire and smelled smoke. I wasn’t panicked this time. Beau enjoyed creating fires from cargo crates and cardboard to heat up the giant soup cans. Apparently he had breakfast fixed already.

“Hey,” I said as I passed through the doorway. “What’s cooking?”

He sat next to the fire. It made him glow like an orange beacon in the dark room. “Chicken noodle. There’s some fruit medley in that one.” He gestured towards a can a few feet away.

I sat down crisscross and felt my body protest. I was only 27—
my birthday is soon, isn’t it?
—but the apocalypse was finally taking its toll on me. Before I could stop myself, I cast an envious glance at my companion. I put him at about 21. I never pegged myself as someone who would envy youth, but there I was doing exactly that.

The fruit medley wasn’t anything spectacular. Too-soft fruit swimming in overly sweet syrup. I spotted the giant, open box of plastic forks Beau found somewhere and took one. After a few bites, I couldn’t take it anymore. Sure, I had a lust for sugary items. But only processed candies, chocolate, and condensed milk. I’m picky, even in the zombie apocalypse.

“I found a map in the truck and highlighted the route we’re going to take,” he said. “I lived in that area for a long time, so I know where you have to take ferries and bridges. I routed us around all of that, but it’s going to make the trip a lot longer.”

He reached behind him, produced a map, and handed it to me. I took it and unfolded it at my side. The path he’d mapped out was hideous. There were zigzags and turns everywhere. We wouldn’t be on any one road for more than five miles. But if Beau said that was the best route, then fine. I also noted the drive was about 70 miles.

My gaze finally arrived at our destination, Samish Island. It wasn’t quite an island since it jutted out from the mainland, connected by a narrow strip of earth. Beau had mentioned the possibility of flying there, but there didn’t appear to be any need.

As if he read my mind, Beau said, “Samish isn’t the place I told you about. Where I’m talking about? I think it’s too small to even put on the map. On nicer days you can see it from the coast. A seaplane would be ideal, but I’m not betting on finding one. We can row over there. It would take a few hours.”

“All right,” I said, then started laying down some rules I developed during my travels from Kellogg Lake Road. “We should only travel during daylight hours and only when visibility and weather conditions allow. Forcing ourselves to continue in bad circumstances will end up slowing us down. Whenever we find a safe, zombie-free area, I say we find shelter and rest. Once we’re on the road, I want to get this done right.”

“Look at you,” Beau said. “Taking command.”

“I’ve been in this situation before,” I said, remembering events from Seattle to Startup months ago. “I’ll end up playing leader sooner or later.”

We stared at each other before he looked away, prodding the fire with the trip of a ruler. “Who’s driving?”

Regretfully, I said, “You.”

“That’s surprising.”

I shrugged. “I can’t drive a stick.”

Chapter 7

Since I was a passenger, I had no choice but to view the apocalypse’s toll on the city as we drove down the barren streets of Everett: skeletal remains of burned houses, tangled carcasses of vehicles. There were few cars in the roads, which surprised me. If someone had asked me before if I thought the roads in a zombie-filled world would be congested, I’d have asked if their brain functioned properly. Of course there would be cars bumper to bumper on every street and highway. They would be packed. But clearly, in some places, things were different than I’d have thought.

We passed by a RiteAid. In the parking lot, a Jeep and a Honda had merged into each other, with five or six cars behind them. All the doors were open, and the vehicles had been evacuated long ago.

Yeah, everyone got stuck in Everett. Entrances were blocked, leaving the roads open for those who managed to get onto it. I guess that was a bonus for those who survived.

Beau never exceeded about 25mph. I certainly had time to ponder. So I ruminated on the indistinguishable heaps of bodies and body parts lying everywhere. Some were only skin and bones, immobile and wet from the elements. Others were in piles, almost as though the living had designated that area for the truly dead. Those piles were an endless picture of limbs, rotting clothes, and flesh. You couldn’t really tell where a body ended and another began.

Where the hell were the mobile dead? I knew the Zs didn’t travel far from their last kill. They stuck around the corpse until noise or movement caught their attention. There were over 300 million people in the United States when this thing went down. Most had to be undead, a smaller percentage truly dead, and the tiny remainder living. Either my estimates were grossly off, or the majority of them were crowded in the bigger cities, or wherever groups of people made their longest stand. In Olympia, Washington’s state capitol, there could be millions of them.

That made me wonder about the huge expanses of desert between the mountains and the cities in the far east of Washington. If enough people escaped there, they could build themselves a nice colony. Unless someone drew undead to a location, societies could be rebuilt.

“What are you thinking?” Beau pulled me away from my thoughts.

“Where’s all the zombies, you know? Doesn’t make sense.” I reached into my pocket to retrieve my final pack of cotton candy flavored Bubble Yum. The smell made me salivate. I popped one in my mouth and offered the last one to Beau. Soon the noisy sound of lips smacking and gum popping filled the car. The atmosphere felt lighthearted, jovial almost, but vanished almost as quickly as it appeared.

Beau’s lips formed a grim line and his knuckles grew white from gripping the steering wheel.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“I know where a lot of zombies are. Yeah. I lived way south, near Oregon, when this happened. By the time I passed through Tacoma, on my way to Samish, there were thousands of them.” He shook his head. “There were military bases set up. The living kept pouring into them, thinking they could be protected. They were slaughtered before they made it, and slaughtered if they did.

“Once I saw what was happening, I took advantage of the confusion and took refuge in a gym. I knew no one would ever go in there for supplies, so I was safe from the living. It had a lot of windows, but I stayed in the stockroom eating protein powder mixed in bottled water for about a week, until I stopped hearing gunfire and screams. There were still a ton of zombies, but they were all slow at that point. I found a bicycle and rode like hell until I found an unpopulated back road.”

Beau seemed to have ample stories about the horrors he saw, but he stopped talking and I didn’t ask for more. Not everyone enjoyed sharing their morbid travels. Most survivors I’d come across called them ‘those things’ or ‘monsters.’ These people weren’t in tune with reality.

I snapped my gum. He blew and popped a bubble.

“Makes me wonder what my sister’s story is, you know?” Another bubble. “She’s callous. Served in Iraq, had a bad childhood.”

Callous? Yeah, that was true. I remembered her telling me a bit about her upbringing.

“I haven’t even shown you what she looks like, huh?” He reached behind him and rummaged through the side pockets of his backpack. “I guess since you’re coming with me to find her, you should know, right?”

Trust me, Beau, I know what she looks like
.

He pulled the photo out. Handed it to me and returned his focus to the road. There she was. Blaze. I wanted to keep the photo so I could look at it when my memory wavered. Yet it was the only one he had, and he’d been toting it around for who knew how long. Beau would miss it if it vanished.

I’d just wait until the time was right. When he was distracted.

We passed a street sign and he made a left onto Hewitt. Hewitt was straight and empty, save for the cars blocking the underpass half a mile ahead. As we came closer, I saw a bullet riddled sign indicating that the highway would take us to Snohomish.

According to Beau’s route, we weren’t going to pass through Monroe, but Snohomish was awfully close to it. Just thinking of the junior high fence filled with zombie teenagers made me shiver. I doubted they were still in there. With enough of them pressing against the chain link, it must’ve tumbled a long time ago.

I handed the photo back to him.

“Damn,” he said, as the truck came to a halt. He put it in park and took the photo. Then he glanced at it before spitting his gum out, placing it on the back, and squishing the picture onto the dashboard. He held it, waiting for it to attach, as we looked out the front window at the scene before us.

There was no avoiding the highway. We had to use it, he said, as it was the most efficient way on our route. Beyond the two-car wreck blocking us it was hard to see anything, so there was no telling if the road ahead was even clear. To the right of the wreck was an on-ramp, I-5, to Seattle. It was empty except for an abandoned sports car.

“I guess the roads decided for us.” Beau moved his hand away from the photo, and he caught me looking at it. “She’s my reason for trying. Figured I should see her every time we drove, you know?”

I shrugged. Sure, fine by me. I didn’t mind it being there. I refocused on the wreck.

“We only need to move one of the cars,” Beau said. “If we find a chain, or maybe some strong rope, we can attach it and use the truck to haul it out. I saw a garage door repair store back there. It’s the only building on this street that probably has something we can use.”

“Good idea.” I remembered the loud purple building we’d passed earlier. “Can you handle it yourself? I’m going to go up on that ramp and check out the highway. I’ll be able to see most of it from there. No sense in moving a car until we know if the rest of the highway is clogged.”

“We’ll need the chain regardless. And yeah.” He laughed. At me. “I can handle myself.”

Not bothering with a reply, I placed Pickle in my pack and took Barbara out of the truck cab then slowly walked to the overpass. I didn’t want to jog for two reasons. One, it would wind me. Two, and more importantly, it would be loud. Beau seemed to have the same idea, since I didn’t hear more than soft footsteps behind me.

I passed a hair salon and a pet shop on the way. Part of me wanted to stop in the pet store since I needed real food for Pickle, but I didn’t want to deviate from the plan without telling Beau. Having a companion meant they needed to know where you were, for your safety and theirs.

I skirted around the sports car carefully, but the doors were shut. Undead can’t open doors. I drew closer to see if there was anything of use inside, but there was nothing but old fast food bags and some books in the back.

Before trekking up the incline, I checked my surroundings. Down the street, where we turned onto Hewitt, there was movement. The noise from the truck inevitably drew some hungry Zs from their hiding spots. They weren’t coming our way, so I wasn’t worried.

A quarter of a mile ahead a huge semi was rolled onto its side, blocking almost all the lanes. Cars had tried to squeeze past the open sides but got stuck, effectively creating a wall of metal. Behind the wall were more cars—hundreds.

Cars with bodies.

None of them seemed to see me, but I certainly saw them. They were disturbingly still, almost in a trance-like state, staring out of the windows. Each hideous face was blank, waiting for the prey that would never come. Only a few cars were inhabited, but their situation made me shiver. Trapped forever.

The other side of I-5, the one that went north, was blocked off by two humvees and one hell of a pileup. Cars were piggybacking each other for a block.

Edging along the concrete barrier, I finally got a view of Highway 2, the road we needed to get on. There was still a little luck in the world. There was only a small wreck between us and the open road.

I beheld the scenes with morbid fascination, reveling in my luck for a moment longer before I heard Pickle shifting in the pack. Her muffled squeaks were urgent. As I tilted my head to listen to her, I saw something in my peripheral. For a split second I thought it was a real, living Marine standing before me. The stiff was motionless, holding a standard M-4 in his graying, mottled hand as though he were still using it. His uniform was intact, albeit weathered by the elements. Even his helmet rested securely on his head, despite the straps being unlatched.

And he’d seen me. Who knew how long he’d been making his quiet approach while I gawked at the endless line of cars. If it hadn’t been for Pickle, how close would he have gotten?

I silently thanked her before I let lust overtake me. I wanted that assault rifle more than anything. The M-4 was my go-to gun.

Raising Barbara, I rushed him before a snarl escaped his non-existent lips. The first hit ripped off his helmet. The impact sent violent vibrations through my hands. It skidded across the cement, the Z stumbling from the blow. I dashed for the bat and picked it up in one lucky grab then circled behind the Z.

The second blow caved in his skull. The sound of brain squishing made me squirm. The sound of Barbara splitting in half made me cringe. I jerked the bat back and the nails on the remaining half were covered with blood. Shards of wood protruded from my leftover chunk and the Z’s skull.