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

10:10 hours approximate

Location: Vista

We moved out a few minutes later. I kept my eyes peeled but I never saw the two figures again. I tried to convince myself that they’d been a figment of my imagination.

We came across decaying corpses, most unmoving. Whenever we did find a Z, we quickly assessed its threat level, and ended up leaving the majority of them behind. If any got too jumpy, a quick swing of my wrench put them down for good. They were a sorry bunch even for zombies. Most had taken damage of some kind and were no longer up and moving around.

A particularly enthusiastic female--in her fifties, if I had to guess, hard to tell with the crushed face and shattered eye socket--pursued us with one working arm and one working leg. Her other limbs had been shattered like someone had dropped her from twenty feet up.

After a while it was just pathetic, and so I also put her out of her misery.

A telephone pole had a hand-printed sign nailed to it. I moved closer and read. Joel covered for me while I shook my head. After considering the words, I pulled the sheet off and showed Joel.

“Think this is real?”

“Sounds no good to me, brother,” Joel said while rubbing his chin with one hand.

“But what if it’s true?”

“I’m not sure I want to find out."

I nodded and stuffed the flyer in my backpack.

Every store we came across had been picked over. We finally got lucky when we started to boldly bust in doors on houses. Risking noise, because I was a little out of my mind with worry over Anna, we ransacked three houses in a row, killed the undead inhabitants, and taken everything that wasn’t nailed down. A three-quarters eaten box of stale Ritz crackers. Some beef jerky that didn’t amount to much more than a taste for both of us. I found a can of chicken broth. I couldn’t wait. I broke out my can opener and punched a pair of holes in the aluminum, then Joel and I took turns drinking like it was a fifteen-dollar bottle of whiskey.

"This won't last,” Joel observed.

"What?"

"The houses with goods. As more and more get picked over we'll be coming up empty on our supply runs."

“These are mostly picked over
now
. Guess we better stock up while we can. We have the camper, it can hold a lot of food."

"Yeah, but five people can
eat
a lot of food.
You
eat enough for
three
people."

"I don't eat that much. Shit, man, I've lost enough weight to look like a college basketball player. Look at this trim and fit example of military bearing.”

"You look like you should be going into rehab. Like a damn crackhead."

"Yeah, well
you
look like you should be on a milk carton."

"The fuck does that even mean?" Joel asked.

"I don't know. I'm tired, man. Brain ain't up to sparring with you today."

Joel looked me up and down. "You're alright. Let’s get this shit over with so we can lounge around in robes and sip espresso while Roz and Anna feed us grapes."

"Anna's more likely to feed me the barrel of a gun."

Joel snorted and moved out.

We dashed across a street littered with all kinds of crap that had been left behind, or tossed aside as people realized they were more likely to live if they were mobile. Bodies lay here and there, but no biters rose to greet us.

We checked out a house that was missing its door, and after hearing an awful lot of banging around on the second floor, decided to try somewhere else.

We moved between a pair of apartment complexes and found a group of Zs milling around. They were lethargic and dressed in tatters. Joel and I backed up, but one of them got its eyes on us. It lurched toward me, but it was barely ambulatory. I took it out and then the one behind it. Joel used the stock of his gun to smack Zs down and I finished them off.

“Why are they so messed up?” I asked.

“Fucking zombies, man,” Joel said.

“No shit, but they were a mess even for Zs.”

“Maybe they been decaying. Old Zs,” Joel said. “Give 'em another week and they might be crawling. A week after that they might just stop moving.”

“What if they all get old and slow? Think the shufflers will slow down?”

“Don’t know, brother. I’m too tired to worry about it right now.”

###

10:50 hours approximate

Location: Vista

The next home was a goldmine.

The house we’d picked was a single story with three bedrooms. The last door on the left was closed and I thought I’d heard something thumping around in there, so we didn’t bother exploring that room.

There was a huge bloodstain on the carpet leading into the dining room, but we couldn’t find a body to go with it. Didn’t matter anyway. After a couple of weeks of this shitty new life, I was just about immune to the horrors. I might have been squeamish at one time. I might have looked away when a doctor cut into my finger to sew a tendon back together. Now it was different. A guy with his guts hanging out, half his face eaten away, and dragging a broken foot, was just another day in undead central.

I hit the bathroom while Joel tossed the kitchen. I needed to piss, and got lucky and didn’t find a mess in the toilet. Sure, I can pick any corner of the world to take a leak in, but it didn’t hurt to pretend to be civilized from time to time.

I opened drawers and came up with a bottle of Percocets that had expired a year ago. There was a bottle of TUMS, so I ate a few for the calcium. I found some birth control pills, considered them, and decided to leave the packet. It was better than getting slapped in the face by Anna Sails.

“Oh yay. Jackpot, baby,” Joel called from the other room.

I followed his voice into the hallway. He was rifling through a pantry, and he wasn’t being very organized about it. Open boxes were tossed to one side, while cans and closed supplies were put on the other side.

“What?” I asked.

“Found this,” he said and held up a flat box.

“That looks like a pan or something,” I said.

“Nah, man. It’s a burner. Takes these little cans of butane. You can even use it inside and it won’t kill ya.”

“Nifty,” I said.

“No more digging a fire pit and hoping we aren’t sniffed out. As long as we have fuel we can cook inside.” Joel grinned and pushed the box into his backpack along with a bunch of cans that looked like old-school hairspray.

I wasn’t as excited as Joel. I’d gotten used to eating stuff right out of cans and cold. Chicken noodle soup wasn’t half bad in a congealed form. It filled the gut and was easy to open and consume.

In the bedroom I tossed the contents of a nightstand and came across a half bottle of something with a name so long I wasn’t about to try to pronounce it. I added it to the bag, along with a full bottle of antidepressants. Too bad there wasn’t enough to keep us all medicated for a year. If I was going to spend all of my time shooting Zs, I’d love to do it with a smile on my face.

I also found a pair of fuzzy handcuffs.

“Kinky bastard,” Joel said. I hadn’t even heard him moving down the hallway.

"Antidepressants and handcuffs. Ain’t that some shit," I laughed.

"Place must have belonged to white people," Joel said, and went to check out the last bedroom.

I went through a dresser and found enough silky lingerie to open a Victoria's Secret store. I held up a pair of flimsy, see-through panties and squinted. "Why not?” I muttered and stuffed a few items in the bottom of my backpack.

"Shit yeah." Joel said from the other room.

He'd put a dresser drawer on the bed and was busy sorting out ammo. Whoever had lived here had been ready for action. It made me wonder where they were now.

"Box of nine. Seven boxes of forty. Damn, we should check for that piece. And look at this. A few boxes of .45 rounds. Dude had a fucking armory. I love whoever lived here.”

"You could tell him. He's probably the fucker thumping around in the last bedroom."

“If at all possible, let’s avoid looking in that room. Could be another shuffler-kid, I’d rather just leave it a mystery.”

“Good thing those smart Zs can’t figure out the complexities of a doorknob,” I said. “Reminds me of the aliens in that movie
Signs
. They traveled a million light years to conquer earth but couldn’t open a damn door.”

I pulled out more drawers and felt underneath clothing. I opened the closet and took down boxes and moved hangers around.

"I think some of this will fit your girlish figure," I said, and tossed a few button-down shirts at Joel.

"I always wanted to wear shirts decorated with little alligators," Joel said.

"No gun. We might have to open the last door."

"Check under the mattress," Joel said.

"Genius," I nodded.

I slid the mattress
to the side and found something that made my eyes light up.

Underneath, we’d hit the jackpot.

The .40 was a Smith & Wesson sized for conceal and carry. There was an extra magazine with an extended grip that would hold a few extra rounds. The gun was already loaded, and the second mag also contained a long row of rounds.

Next to the .40 was a weird-looking assault rifle. Joel went around to the other side of the mattress, and together we lifted it and put it against the wall.

“Holy fuckballs,” I said.

“This isn’t a bed, it’s a damn armory.”

There was a hunting rifle, a double barrel shotgun, and an assortment of knives. There was even a broad-bladed sword in a scabbard. I picked up the long weapon and pulled the blade out a few inches. Steel gleamed back at me.

“Look at this thing.”

“You finally found a hand weapon more impressive than the wrench.”

“I’ll stick with my metal club,” I said. I didn’t know the first thing about wielding a sword and didn’t want to learn while Zs were on the attack. I’d probably be just as dangerous to Joel as to the Zs if I started swinging the blade around.

Joel picked up the rifle and looked it over. He popped the magazine out and looked inside.

“That’s wild.”

“What?”

“Sig MPX. It fires .40 caliber rounds. That explains all the ammo.”

“Is that weird?”

“Nah. Probably good for home defense. Stock slides in to make it a pistol. See that short barrel? You can make a burglar regret every syllable in ‘breaking and entering’. I’ll have to test it to see if it has any kind of range. Might not be too accurate.”

I shrugged and started stuffing ammo into my backpack. We didn’t find any shotgun ammo, which was a shame. I’d have loved to sling the double barrel over my back. I missed the Mossberg tactical shotgun I’d lost during the battle at the RV park.

We’d been in the house for longer than I liked. The first week of the event had seen us planning for fights and timing them. If it took more than thirty seconds to take down Zs, we’d just haul ass. That was before the shufflers had become so prevalent. Our raiding time had been two minutes: in and out, squeaky-clean. See some Zs? Just move out and find another home.

Now we were almost leisurely, and that was going to get dangerous. I thought about telling Joel that we needed to move with a purpose, but he’d been quiet about how badly he was hurt, so I didn’t push him.

Joel ripped a case off a pillow and stuffed it with boxes of rounds. He didn’t bother with the knives, and I tossed the sword back on the mattress. The next group of survivors could have them.

Joel moved into the hallway and I was right behind him. I paused to listen at the closed door. I pressed my ear right up against the particle board and listened.

“Nothing,” I whispered.

Something hit the door so hard it rattled in its frame. I jumped back, barely covering a curse.

“Like a peeping Tom with your pants around your ankles. Okay, I’m calling it,” Joel said.

I nodded sheepishly.

We stopped in the kitchen on our way out for a last look around.

Someone had cleaned before they left. I could almost picture a family moving around, thinking that the worst would be over soon, that they’d be back in their house in a day, maybe two.

We grabbed canned goods and even a box of crackers. I found an opened can of Easy Cheese in the back of a pantry.

“Know how bad I want to squirt half that can into my mouth?” I asked Joel. “Reminds me of a few months ago when supplies were more abundant. I think we found some of this gas inducing crap back then.”

“I know about you squids and squirting stuff in your mouths,” Joel said with a half-smile.

“We learn from the best.” I winked at Joel and went back to stuffing goods into my beat-up backpack.

“Nasty ass Sailor.”

I leaned my head back and squirted some of the cheese into my mouth anyway. Then I tossed the can at Joel. He laughed at the look on my face, which was probably something like a cross between food-ecstasy and an O face. Stuff tasted so good I wanted to take it on a date and ask it to move in.

Joel tossed the can back, so I went ahead and finished it off. I’d pay for it later as it hit my gut, but it was worth it for now.

With our packs full and our bellies no longer rumbling, Joel moved to the hallway and stared at the last door on the right.

“No, man.”

“What if there’s something in there that we can use? These assholes had a lot of food and guns. Maybe there’s a bottle of Viagra in that room with your name on it,” Joel said.

“Let’s just go. They need us.” I was trying to keep my head on, but we’d been away from the camper for a few hours and I was worried.

“Keep it cool. We’re headed back to the rest of the crew.”

“I know. I’m just worried about Anna. She’s got a bullet in her arm and I’m worried that it may already be infected, for all I know.”

Joel put his hand on my shoulder.

“We got this, brother.”

I shrugged his hand off my shoulder and opened a few more cabinets. I found dishes and cups, but nothing to eat. On impulse I grabbed a shaker filled with meat seasoning and added it to my collection. Joel stalked down the hallway and listened at the door, and then when something thumped, he returned.

“Curiosity is killing me, Creed, but you’re right. Let’s call it and get back,” he said.

First damn thing Joel had said today that actually made sense.

He moved toward the door.

“Joel, want me to take some of that gear?”

“I’m good.”

“You don’t look good. You look like you’re in pain.”

“Just weakness leaving the body, man,” he said.

He opened the door and peeked outside.

I’d done my best to string anything that didn’t fit in my backpack around my waist and over my back. The little home defense machine gun rode next to the wrench. We didn’t have time to sit around and load it, and neither one of us wanted to contemplate leaving leave it behind.

Joel stepped into the street and then immediately ran back inside. A pair of figures pushed into the doorway after him.

I had my wrench raised, ready to bash heads, when one of them raised a hand.

“No. Wait,” a voice with a strong eastern European accent said.

“Civilians, Creed, and we’re about to have company.”

“Many come,” the man said.

The couple were probably in their mid to late thirties. He had a craggy face, with early frown lines and dark skin. She was slight, with a huge blast of curly black hair that surrounded her head like a big halo. She wore a pair of thick-rimmed glasses and a bright yellow rain slicker. I stared at the loud jacket.

“Keep zombie bites out,” she said.

“Smart,” I said.

“Fall back. We need to find another way out of this place,” Joel said.

“How many?” I asked.

“Oh, about a hundred,” Joel said, and stormed down the hallway.

“We help?” the man asked.

“I don’t know, can you?” I asked.

Don’t judge me. It’s the zombie fucking apocalypse. I’m all for helping my fellow man, but they have to be able to help themselves first.

The woman unlimbered a lead pipe. There were bloodstains almost to the handle she’d made out of duct tape. I won’t lie, I was nervous. My encounters with other survivors had been hit or miss, from the nice folks at the RV park to the army led by McQuinn. I was about as trusting as a rat guarding the last piece of moldy cheddar on earth.

The man lifted his jacket and showed a pair of revolvers. He didn’t make any other moves.

“Well shit, I guess we’re friends now,” I shrugged, and followed Joel, hoping the man wouldn’t shoot me in the back.

“I’m Tomas, and this is Doroyeta.”

“Dori, like the fish from
Finding
Nemo
,” she said, and smiled.

“Creed, Jackson Creed. And that guy is Joel Kelly.”

Movement at the door. The first Z came in and sized us up. He actually looked surprised, but that could be because his mouth was stuck wide open, thanks to a broken jaw. Tomas reached into his jacket, drew his gun, and calmly shot the monstrosity in the face. The Z went down but was soon replaced by two more. To make matters worse, I thought I’d heard a shuffler out there.