Z-Risen (Book 3): Poisoned Earth (2 page)

08:35 hours approximate

Location: Vista

The next few days passed in a blur. We stayed a tight group for the most part, but being a tight group meant that we were together too much and for too long. We laughed, bickered, fought, and had to keep more than one screaming match down to more of a hissing match so the Zs didn’t hear us. Joel and I had been cooped up together for days at a time, but we’d developed a way to deal with it: just not talking to each other. With a teenage girl and two women in our group, it wasn’t that easy.

I think it was a Thursday when we decided that we’d have to range out in a wider area to find a cache of supplies. I hated it, but we were going to have to hit some houses. That was dangerous. Open a door and there could be a Z waiting to pounce. Knock on a door and there could be a civilian waiting to shoot. And houses weren’t our only worry. We hadn’t seen a shuffler in days. Instead of being reassuring, it scared the shit out of me.

The shufflers were smart and cunning. They weren’t like regular Zs, because they seemed to be able to think. Not only that, but they acted in groups and were able to hide in masses of Zs.

But that wasn’t the real reason. Anna had a bullet in her arm, and as much as she’d played it off--and even though Roz had cleaned the wound and told us everything was okay--Anna was hot. She’d had a low-grade fever for a couple of days. We needed to get the bullet out, and Roz said she needed antibiotics.

So I counted rounds, readied gear, and then lay next to Anna for the night. She slept like a rock, but it was a long time before I dropped off.

####

06:10 hours approximate

Location: Vista

Morning arrived like a bitch with a hangover. I rolled over, studied the light streaming in from the outside world, and thought about taking a siesta for the rest of the week. Let the others do supply runs. I was sick of it. Running, hiding, ducking, sneaking, and bashing in heads. Wears a guy down, you know?

After I quit feeling sorry for myself, I became aware that Anna had backed up against me in the night. I had one arm over her waist and she was snuggled right against my chest with her head resting on my arm. My hand had fallen asleep but I didn’t care to move it. She smelled good. Feminine.

When it was time to do the supply run, I tried one last time to tell Joel to take it easy
and take care of his wounds. Joel flatly responded that he and I were going out there. I nodded. Besides, if we had to spend another day holed up in this tiny camper, I was going to go fucking postal.

Joel said he was better and Roz seemed to agree.

“I’ll take it any way I can get it,” he said.

Roz looked like she wanted to punch him in the face.

Joel had gone over his IMTV tactical gear and made adjustments. He'd tossed out a shattered ceramic piece of armor that had saved his life, then twiddled with other pieces until his chest was protected. After the battle at the RV camp, we were dangerously low on ammo. I took Anna's Smith & Wesson R8 .357. She glowered at me but I promised to bring her boyfriend back.

"Don't lose him," she said.

"I meant me," I said and tried to pull off a cool smirk-wink thing. All I got in return was a flat look.

###

We had an assortment of 9mm pistols, but barely enough ammo to fill all the magazines. Joel settled on the Beretta 92FS and stuffed a handful of extra rounds into his pockets. He had nearly a full magazine for AR-15. Joel slipped the mag into a pouch, snapped his assault rifle onto a two-point sling and draped it around his body.

During scouting missions, food runs, and house invasions we’d come up with so many different types of guns it was hard to keep track. I was happy with my Springfield XDM compact and always kept it close.

I hoped we had enough ammo to get us out of a scrape.

I took my trusty wrench and draped it over my shoulder. I'd found a piece of webbing that had been a guitar strap, and constructed a half-assed strap for the weapon. The wrench was conveniently left to swing under my arm, but it banged against my hip and side with every step. I had to figure out a better way to carry this thing, or leave it behind. But if there was one lesson I'd learned over the last three weeks, it was to never go unarmed. Never.

“Think we should bring Frosty?” I asked Joel.

“I don’t know. What if we get stuck and have to hide out for a day or two? How we going to keep her from going stir crazy?”

“How am I going to keep
you
from going stir crazy? Put a jarhead in a box and shit gets busted and shot up,” I said.

Joel snorted, but eyed Frosty.

“I don’t know, man.”

“Just leave her with Christy. She loves the girl more than me anyway.”

“Because I’m cute and you smell like a sweaty guy,” Christy said.

“You smell like sweat too. You just can’t tell,” I teased.

Christy looked at me like I’d slapped her.

“I do not stink! And it’s not like I can take a bath unless you can bring back a barrel of water.”

“I’m sorry, dude,” I tried. “I was just teasing. You smell like roses and puppy dog farts.”

“You’re so gross, Creed,” she said with a laugh.

Frosty nudged Christy’s side, and got her head rubbed for the effort.

“We’ll leave her here,” I nodded at Frosty. “Hear that, dog? You’re on guard duty.”

Frosty didn’t answer but she did loll her pink tongue out of the side of her mouth.

Roz said she’d stay behind and keep an eye on Anna and Christy. Better her than me. She handed me a list of usable antibiotics and told me to be on the lookout for them.

I’d been stuffed into this fucking sardine can for days and I needed a break. I needed fresh air, even if that air reeked of the Zs. With quick goodbyes that included me unsuccessfully trying to kiss Anna Sails on the cheek, we left.

We’d walked a few minutes when Joel broke the silence.

“Sails doesn’t seem to like you much.”

“What, that? She just doesn’t like public displays of affection.”

“She tell you that?” He raised his eyebrows.

“I figured it out.”

“Lotta figuring with that girl,” he said.

“Tell me about it.”

###

09:00 hours approximate

Location: Vista

We followed a well-worn path down concrete lanes littered with--you guessed it--more fucking trash, and the remains of whatever had been inside shops and houses. There was enough empty luggage to fill an abandoned Kohl’s. Joel was not much of a conversationalist while we made the trek toward town.

Someone had painted a mural of zombies eating a couple of children. The piece of art was complete with heads smashed in and brains leaking onto the ground.

“Worst graffiti I’ve seen in my life,” I muttered.

A shape flashed across an alley and faded into shadow. Joel followed it with his gun but didn’t start blasting, so I didn’t either. I’d learned a great rule from Marine Sergeant Joel “Cruze” Kelly, and that was not to start firing until after he started firing.

When he finally unlocked his gaze from the alley, I took a step and accidentally kicked over a can. It clattered across the ground and landed next to the sidewalk. Joel froze and swept his gun up. Luckily, a dozen Zs didn’t descend on us.

“Fuck is wrong with you?”

“What? I didn’t see it,” I said.

“How could you miss a big empty can of Campbell's soup sitting right in the middle of the walkway, man?”

“Because I’m taller than you and that gun put together.”

Something moved in the alley again so I took a step toward it. I crunched over someone’s cheap bead jewelry and a pile of soggy trash. I couldn’t tell who was moving around back there, and curiosity was getting the better of me. The shape faded into shadow after I caught a glimpse of someone dressed in black complete with a ski mask to up the creep factor.

I got the chills just seeing the guy. If someone was stalking us I’d prefer that me and Joel do our talking with guns or fists.

“Bad hombres. Let’s move out,” Joel said.

I agreed with him and followed.

It was 0900 hours and I hadn’t seen a Z since the day before.

It felt fucking eerie.

#22 – Gold Mine

09:40 hours approximate

Location: Vista

The Z hit me like
a ton of bricks.

My partner in crime yelled for me to move out of the way, but I was slow on my feet. We’d come across a group of feisty assholes about fifteen minutes ago and ducked into the remains of an ampm. He and I huddled for a few minutes, but the sounds of something moving in the back of the convenience store finally got under my skin.

The Z had been hovering near a shelf, and no more than a few feet away. In the gloom I didn't even see him until his shuffling steps betrayed him. He moved fast, arms up, milky white gaze locked on my face like it was prime rib. I spun, and panic made me lose my cool. That’s when the Z almost got a piece of my dumb ass.

I hit the wall hard enough to see stars. Breath whooshed out but I got my hands up, purely by instinct, and fought off the Z. He had about fifty pounds on me and slammed me right
back
into the wall. I pushed the Z
away. Something clamped my wrist and I squealed like a six year old.

It wasn't teeth, it was his hand. Most of his fingers had been gnawed to the bone, and he had a hell of a death grip. I got my foot up and kicked the zombie in the chest. He fell away but his hand was still fastened to me. That's when I noticed he'd fallen away, all except his arm. I
bounced around like I was in a one-man idiot dance-off as I tried to shake it loose.

Joel was fast on his feet, just like I’d expected. If a Marine wasn't shooting stuff, punching stuff, or just snarling at stuff, he was probably asleep while standing up, expecting an attack at any second.

He grabbed the zombie by the collar and knocked him to the ground. Joel lifted his boot and brought it down on the Z's head once, twice, and then a third time that left pulp leaking from the man’s cracked skull. The Z didn't move again.

I leaned over and tried to catch my breath. Hands on knees, chest spasming as I sucked in air.

“Need a hand?” Joel nodded at the Z's appendage that was still stuck to my arm.

“Oh that’s real funny,” I said.

Fuck! It really was stuck on there. I flailed around, trying to shake it off.

“Looks like he had a strong grip," Joel deadpanned.

“Okay, that’s enough,” I said, and mostly meant it. I was worried that if I actually caught my breath I'd break into laughter.

The arm refused to let go and as I shook it, bits of blood and flesh flew. Joel moved out of the way of the little projectiles.

“You’re giving shaking hands a new meaning, man."

“I hate this fucking place.”

“Your ability to state the obvious is a
real gift, Creed.” Joel smacked my shoulder, lifted his assault rifle and moved toward the back of the store. I grabbed the remains of the arm and pulled it free, and left it next to the Z's battered body.

More movement in the rear of the store meant that my little break was over.

Joel held up a hand to motion me to stay put. I did just that, trusting that he was confident enough to take on whatever was creeping around. From the soft scraping, I hoped it was just a torso looking for a meal.

A few weeks ago that shit used to get to me. Seeing bodies or halves of bodies still crawling around used to freak me out so bad I wouldn't sleep for days. Now it was just another sun-up in Undead Central US of A. The Zs had lost their souls or whatever made them thinking and reasoning beings, leaving them as brainless meat bags capable of little more than piss-hate coupled with an appetite for human flesh.

I've learned, thanks to the walking
Marine hard-on named Sergeant Kelly,
to be more aware of my surroundings. Don't let the above Z attack fool you. I'm a lean (because I haven't had a proper meal in days), mean (because I haven't had a proper meal in days), killing machine (you get the goddamn picture).

###

I noticed that the little store reeked of spoiled food, rotting flesh, and blood when we sniffed around the entrance, but give a squid a break for hoping for a bag of Doritos.

Turned out the shelves were bare and probably had been for days. Mom and Pop stores had been well-defended at the start of the damn apocalypse, but then the looters had gotten into it.

Guys like Frank McQuinn, who just over a week ago had led his merry band of jackholes against my group and a bunch of retirees who wanted to be left to their own meandering devices. We’d hurt McQuinn and his group and they’d scattered. The quick brains of Kelly and my girl, Anna Sails, had saved us. Now she was stuck in a camper with a bullet in her arm and I was out trying to find supplies to fix her up.

A pair of shapes slid behind a shelf. Joel motioned for me to take the other side. I moved away from him, head low, shoulders hunched, eyes on the floor as I sought out anything that might make noise like an errant Funyun or potato chip. If I saw one I would likely start drooling, then it would be a struggle to stop from eating it. Was there such a thing as "the three or four week rule"?

I met Joel’s eyes. He nodded and we swung around the shelving from opposite sides.

My wrench was already in hand and I’d raised it, preparing to bash in at least one head, all the while hoping that Joel wouldn't shoot my ass off.

I nearly jumped out of my skin when the little figures dashed into view.

The kids were filthy and had to be a lot younger than Christy. A pair of boys, just little kids really, with faces covered in dirt, hair a rats-nest, clothes holed and hanging in strips. My first impulse was to swing the wrench, because they looked like Zs.

“We ain’t like those things,” one of the kids said.

“We’re just looking for water or food,” the other said.

Joel blew out a breath and pointed his gun toward the floor.

“You dudes got family?” I asked.

“Yeah. Right outside the door,” one of them said.

They were on the move before I could ask who was waiting for them. The kids were fast and slipped away and out the front before I could get another word in.

“Well shit,” Joel said.

“Hey! Come back!” I called and moved toward the door.

I poked my head out, but they were gone. I could probably pursue them, but the little rug rats were a lot faster than me. Besides, what was I going to do when I caught up with them? More than likely they did have someone around here watching after them. Someone with a big ass gun, and a bullet labeled "Jackson Creed".

I stopped scanning for them when I noticed a shape across the street. He was dressed in black from head to toe with only his eyes peering through some kind of ski-mask-looking thing. This had to be the guy I’d seen earlier in the day.

The person had a big assault rifle at the ready, so I slowly raised my hands to show I didn't feel like getting shot today. If that was one of McQuinn's guys, I was probably wasting my time and should plant my gut on the ground.

Another
figure
appeared next to the first and I could have sworn one of them nodded in my direction. Then they both faded from view.

###