Z-Risen (Book 3): Poisoned Earth (6 page)

13:00 hours approximate

Location: Vista

“Are you fucking nuts, man? How are we going to hike back to the RV with our packs and that big-ass box?”

“I’m going to carry it, Joel, and you’re going to shoot anything that looks at me in the wrong tone of voice,” I said. “It’s a case of beef stew. We’re eating like kings tonight.”

The box wasn’t that heavy, but with my pack, weapons, wrench, and the case of food, it was going to be a long walk.

“You kidding me? You get the drugs?”

“Yeah and I got some interesting news. There’s some fringe group called Reavers operating near L.A. The store owner told me they’re a bunch of idiots in bloody skullcaps and they have an agenda that involves guns and fire.”

“Wait, what?” Joel asked.

“That’s all I know, man. We can’t worry about it now, I guess. California’s a big place and hopefully we won’t run into them.”

“We’ll steer clear, and good fucking deal on the supplies, brother,” he said. “We’re a day out from Pendleton, and if I know my brothers they won’t put up with this Reaver bullshit. We’ll be safe once we get to the base.”

I grinned at Joel and hefted the pack. He moved out and I followed close behind.

I wish I could say that the Marine base was the start of our salvation. Turned out, we had a long way to go.

#24 - A Pair of Extractions

13:15 hours approximate

Location: Vista

The trek back to the RV
was just as wretched as you can imagine. We ran, ducked, hid, shot, and bludgeoned stuff. We took out enough Zs to fill a small classroom, and then we did it again. There comes a point when the bodies fall away and you just have to wonder if they will ever end.

Joel kept looking back over his shoulder.

“What are you expecting?” I asked.

“Just don’t trust the dealers. Wanna make sure they aren’t following us.”

I hadn’t even thought of that, so paranoia crept into me and soon I was looking over my shoulder before every turn. Thankfully the men dressed in black didn’t make a reappearance.

A Z was, though. He came out of a doorway and made for me.

I had no choice but to back away and carefully set the case of beef stew on the ground. In the time it took me to stand up, lift the wrench, and swing, I also had time to miss. The bastard hit a curb and stumbled so I hit air. Joel was already moving down the alley, so he didn’t know I was in trouble. I hissed and called his name, but he didn’t hear me, or maybe he was sick of saving my dumb ass and decided to leave me behind.

The Z was all rotting breath, yellow, and bloodstained teeth. One side of his head was torn away leaving muscle, sinew, and crusted blood. His other ear dangled by a strip of skin and flapped against the side of his head.

I pulled back but the Z was fresh, in that “I just got bit a few days ago and most of my limbs still work” kinda way that was real damn annoying.

I used one of my best weapons, my foot, and pushed the fool back. He grabbed my ankle and leaned over to bite me, so I swung the wrench again and connected with his shoulder. He took the blow and almost went down, but his grip on my ankle pulled me off-balance and I stumbled, striking my knee on the curb. Pain shot up my thigh, so hot and sharp I had to fight back a scream.

The dead fuck fell away as I managed to sit back on my ass and shake him lose. I rolled to the side and got a fresh shambler around my neck for the effort. Jesus Christ! Were they
breeding
back there?

I did the only thing I could think of: I lowered my chin to my chest and then snapped my head back hard, catching the Z right in the face. Cartilage broke and something cold and wet hit my neck. Fighting back nausea and an intense wish to find all of the Purell in the world to squirt down my shirt, I stood up, dragging the Z along with me.

It dropped in a pile of arms and legs, fighting to get to its feet. The first Z came at me, so I backed up a step, knee aching as it took my full weight. I shuddered but soldiered on.

“Joel,” I called, but my voice was a ragged gasp.

The pair of Zs closed in on me from opposite sides, both eyeing my pale white flesh. They probably looked at me the same way I’d look at a rack of baby back ribs covered in BBQ sauce. The stupid thought invaded my mind and saliva actually shot into my mouth.

“Here, piggy,” I said, and bashed the first Z in the head.

He went down in a lump, my wrench stuck in his head. I had to let go or be dragged down to the ground, so that left me--with a full pack and assorted weapons clanking around my body--to stumble away as the zombie closed in.

She was about my age, and her wounds weren’t as bad as those of the guy who had my weapon sticking out of his noggin. She was small but wiry, and fast. She moaned: that low rumble of greed for flesh that I’d heard endlessly since this shitstorm started.

I fell back and my leg went out from under me as pain made me grimace. One second I was on my feet, the next I was on my aching knees.

Her hair might have been a pale shade of red once, but now it was like knotted curtains around her head. When she spun around to track me, her dreads of gore spun with her, slapping against the side of her face. I never wanted to hear that noise again.

I managed to crawl a few feet, rip a can of beef stew off the pile and throw it at her. She took it in the chest, so I picked up another and pelted her in the neck. She snarled at me and staggered to her feet. Hands up, fingers mostly intact except for a few that were bent back at an angle that made me shudder, she crawled on her knees.

I smacked her with another can, but it hit her shoulder and the can sailed away.

I struggled to my feet, but the Z tripped on her shoelace and fell on me, taking me to the ground. I fought her as she went for my arms. She got a piece of fabric and ripped it in her greedy mouth. I punched her in the side of the head, feeling like a misogynistic asshole, and then hit her again. By the time I pounded her to the side I’d gotten over myself, stood up, and crushed her head.

Before I could breathe a sigh of relief, a fresh pair of Zs exited the building and stumbled toward me. I tried to get up, but my leg screamed in pain. It was the same leg I’d injured a few weeks ago, so my freshly-healed ankle now had company. That was just great.

“Fuck every one of you!” I said, realizing that I was about to join their ranks.

Joel’s knife blurred out and took one of the Zs in the temple. He was like some ninja as he let go of the blade and then lashed out a foot to trip the other Z.

“You gonna sit there crying or help me out?”

“I got a choice?” I said.

My wrench was only a few feet away. I shuffled toward it and grabbed the haft. The weapon felt good, like an extended arm terminating in a fist of heavy metal. I lifted the piece and then spun as one of the zombies broke from the cover of the building.

I struck it at about knee height, a staggering blow that took its legs out. The Z wasn’t even on the ground when I hit it in the head a couple of times.

Joel helped me to my feet.

“Wondered where you were, then come to find out you’re back here playing with some new friends.”

“Fuckers came out of nowhere, man. There was one and then two. After that I lost count.”

“That’s because they don’t teach squids how to count. You good?”

I put my arm around him and tested my weight on my leg. It ached but took the pressure, so I took a half step away.

“Jesus. Look at this mess. Let’s haul ass before more of them come out of that clown car of a building and try to finish us off.”

Joel chuckled.

“Gather up the cans and let’s hit it.” Joel grabbed one of the precious cylinders of stew and put it back on the box.

I grabbed two more and dropped them onto the crate, trying to ignore the blood and gore that were pasted to the sides of the cans. Where’d the last one go?

A pair of snarls made me forget about it. I grabbed the box, shouldered it, and staggered after Joel.

We moved around the block, ducked around some wilting hedges, and then stood and ran for it. Well, to be fair, Joel ran; I limped after.

Moans followed us.

After a pair of turns, we reached the block where we’d left the RV, came around the corner, and both stopped in our tracks.

The RV was gone.

But that wasn’t the worst part. Sniffing around the ground the RV had occupied was a shuffler, and he was surrounded by a half dozen fresh Zs.

###

13:40 hours approximate

Location: Vista

The building had been a junkyard, and the Zs were prowling around rusting hulks of cars and car parts. One of the bastards had taken an interest in a bumper and kept nudging it with his foot. That’s not a person, you dumbass zombie.

We faded back behind the building. I held my breath and waited for the telltale sound of a shuffler’s cry. If he’d spotted us we were going to have to either stand and fight--something I didn’t relish--or run, something I wasn’t going to be so good at.

Joel didn’t say a word. He carefully lowered his pack and weapons. He leaned them against the house and gestured for me to do the same. I tried to keep the noise down and wasn’t sure if I did a good job. The cans were first, then I had to maneuver a few of the weapons we’d snagged from the house onto the ground. My wrench was next, followed by my pack.

Joel touched my shoulder and motioned me close.

“The fuck we gonna do now?” I whispered next to his ear.

“It’s gonna go down like the old days. You sneak around the back. I’ll shoot a few, starting with that shuffler, in sixty seconds.”

“Why the hell are we going to take on this bunch? Let’s haul ass and regroup.”

“There’s a piece of paper taped to the side of the building. I think they left us a message. The girls wouldn’t desert us unless they felt threatened. I think they left behind a clue.”

“A clue? Been watching too much
CSI
?”

“I ain’t seen a TV in months, ya dumbass,” Joel said.

I rolled my eyes.

“So I’m bait and you’re going to shoot them with what?”

“I have a few rounds for the AR. I can take out the shuffler, but after that it’s going to get tough. You go in swinging and shooting once the shuffler’s down.”

“What if you miss?”

“When have I missed?”

“I don’t know, about fifty times, give or take.”

It was Joel’s turn to roll his eyes.

“Fine. We go in shooting, we get eaten, should we leave a note while the shuffler’s eating our brains?” Joel said.

“Our only other choice is to hide this stuff and then split up. We could each take a direction and try to find the RV. I’m betting they didn’t go far.”

A shot echoed to the east.

I looked at Joel, but he only shrugged.

“What, can’t tell what kind of weapon from the sound? Could that be Anna’s piece?”

“Man, I don’t know what the fuck a gun sounds like unless it’s an AK-47. Those things are distinct.”

“It’s like we speak two different languages, Joel. Okay, so the plan is like this: I flank 'em, go in swinging and shooting, and you kill the shuffler. It
is
like the old days.”

The first week we’d been in San Diego, we’d become a tight fighting machine. Short, fast engagements resulting in twice-dead corpses, then we got scarce real fast, and hopefully with a few supplies for the effort. Things had changed as the shufflers had gotten smarter. I was also banged up pretty badly, and didn’t even know if I’d be able to get around the building in time.

“We got this, man. It’s going to be smooth as melted butter.”

“Famous last words,” I said, and looked at my watch.

“Sixty seconds,” Joel said, and picked up his assault rifle. He looked it over, and then popped into a squat.

“Better make it seventy. I’m a mess.”

“Getting slow in your old age?”

“No, man. Ankle’s hurting like hell, shoulder’s banged up, the feeling just came back to my knee and it’s not a good kind of feeling.”

“I’ll give you a minute and a half to flank 'em. When I drop the shuffler, you go in swinging.”

I dragged my pack to us and quietly unzipped it, then rummaged around inside for a few seconds.

Joel looked at me questioningly.

I found the small box of shells I’d picked up from the old woman and handed it to Joel. He smiled and slid the cover open.

“Merry early fucking Christmas,” I said.

“Best gift ever,” Joel said.

He popped the magazine out of his assault rifle and started loading it. I noticed there were only two rounds in the mag.

“Really, man? You were going to risk my life with two rounds.”

“Gimme some credit. Two rounds equal two kills.”

“Ninety seconds. You better not miss that damn shuffler.”

Joel grunted, quietly slipped the full magazine back into the rifle and shot me a cool look. I nodded back, picked up my wrench and handgun, and moved out.

###