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  “I don’t intend to lose.” I look north, back toward Highway 1. “I hope you’re ready to run your ass off.”

  “You’re fucking crazy, do you know that?”

  “I’ve been told that once or twice.”

  Alvarez flashes me a grin. I see a trace of the young soldier I met at the beginning of the outbreak. My heart swells with affection.

  He wraps me in a bear hug. “Thanks for coming, Kate.”

  I hug him back. “We have to look out for each other. It’s the only way we’re going to survive.”

  Reed bounces on his toes, something he often does when he’s getting ready to run. “I’m ready to sow seeds of death and destruction,” he says cheerfully.

  Caleb cracks his knuckles, nostrils flaring as he stares in the direction of the fort. “I’m ready to blow some shit up.”

  “You’ll get a chance to do both,” I assure them. “But first, we have to get the semi. And the zombies.”

  We set out together, the four of us running hard. The cypress grove conceals us from anyone who might be watching from the fort.

  I’m coming, Ben. Just hold on until I get there.

  30

  Closer

  JESSICA

  Twenty-four hours.

  It’s only been twenty-four hours since Rosario has taken over Fort Ross. Twenty hours feels like twenty-four years when you’re living in hell.

  I’m alone at the moment, locked inside the dinky RV. The only company left to me are my thoughts, my dying ex-husband staked outside to a laundry pole, and the monsters who come to visit me.

  My body hurts in new and awful ways. I do my best to ignore it, grateful for my IUD. At least I won’t get pregnant. There’s no telling what else might happen to my body, but at least I won’t bring a child into this nightmare.

  I count them off on my fingers in the morning light.

  Crooked Dick. Homer Simpson. Shit Stain. Joe Dirt. Limp Dick. Chimney Sweep.

  Six. Six assholes and I’ve named every one. I stare at the memory of their faces on my closed eyelids, focusing on them. Forcing myself to remember the awful details.

  Focus on the prospect. That’s what Shaun used to say when he went calling on a new account. Focus on the prospect and visualize closing the sale. That’s what it’s all about. Visualizing the close.

  There was a reason Shaun made six figures at his job. The man could close any deal. Sometimes that meant getting shit faced and partying with a prospect until three in the morning. Sometimes that meant getting someone a pair of baseball tickets to a Giant’s game. Sometimes it meant patronizing a restaurant and leaving your calling card—for three years.

  Shaun was never one to be put off by rejection or obstacles. He was the closer.

  It’s time for me to take a page out of his book. It’s time for me to close. Fuck the obstacles. If Shaun could sell wine in a dry Kentucky county, I can figure out a way to obliterate each of the men who have come and gone from the RV.

  I already have the weapon. My tennis racket. My last gift from Shaun, enhanced with the gift from Alvarez. It’s just a matter of waiting for Alvarez to make his move. Then I intend to use my racket for maximum destruction.

  “Jessie.” My name slurs softly from my ex-husband’s mouth.

  I look in Shaun’s direction. It’s sickening that he’s still alive, suffering and dying slowly tied to the laundry pole. The morning sheds light on pallid skin slick with sweat. Flies have gathered on his body in a dark mass, writhing on the bloodstains on his shirt and pants. More encrust the wound on his shoulder. He’s too far away for me to see if there are any maggots in the open sores, but I wouldn’t be surprised if there are.

  He sees me watching him. “I don’t regret marrying you and having a family.” The words spill slowly from his mouth, thick like syrup. “I wouldn’t trade my memories of Claire and May for anything. The only thing I regret is ... is hurting you.”

  My mouth tightens. I look away, but I don’t close the window.

  “I’m so sorry, Jessie.”

  “You’ve said that before.”

  “I know. It never seems like enough.”

  “It isn’t.” Nothing he says can make up for what he did. Even if he says it when he’s dying on a laundry pole from a zombie bite.

  Gunfire rips through the air. I leap to my feet, heart racing. I sweep my gaze along all the open windows of the motorhome, searching for the source of the sound.

  The interior of the fort bursts into activity. Rosario’s people boil forth from buildings and motorhomes, every last one of them armed. Several of them herd a cluster of our people back into the Rotchev House, locking them inside. Bella is among them.

  For once, Steph isn’t with her. She left the fort at sunrise with Alvarez and the rest of the garden crew.

  More gunfire. This time, I discern its direction. North. Outside the fort. Someone is shooting outside the fort.

  Alvarez. Steph.

  They’re on the north side of the fort. That’s where the gardens are.

  Alvarez. Steph.

  I slam my hand into the back of the driver’s seat in fear and frustration.

  “What’s going on?” Shaun slurs.

  “Someone is shooting on the north side of the fort.”

  Shaun groans. “Alvarez.”

  Fear beats inside me. The attack was scheduled for tonight inside the fort. If there’s fighting outside now, that means something has gone wrong.

  Rosario’s people jump onto dirt bikes and ride out of the fort. The rest race around in disorganized confusion. There’s no sign of Rosario.

  Now, I think. Now is the perfect time to attack. Their attention is diverted. If we were united, we could rush them.

  Except we aren’t united. One workforce is outside in the garden. Another is down in the water fishing. The strongest of our people are in both of those groups.

  Those of us left inside include kids, a few elderly, and those less able-bodied. There are no leaders inside, no one to lead an exodus from the Rotchev House.

  My gaze narrows on the Rotchev House. It’s roughly fifty yards from where I stand. There are half a dozen guards surrounding it. Another contingent of Rosario’s people has been sent out of the gates to confront whatever trouble is brewing out there.

  Is it Alvarez? Is he fighting back? Did he hatch a new plan since we spoke last night?

  I can’t just stand around and stare out the window like an idiot. No one is watching me and Alvarez might need my help. I have to do something.

  It’s time to be a closer.

  Licking my lips, I crawl onto the bed and kick out the window screen at the very back of the motorhome.

  “Jessie,” Shaun whispers.

  I ignore him as I slip out the window to the ground. I crouch behind the RV. The escalation of gunfire makes my skin crawl.

  There. A pile of firewood lies no more than ten feet away. Alvarez kept it stocked at all times near the community fire pits.

  Tucked at the bottom of the pile is a small wooden box—an old jewelry box repurposed for the apocalypse—that contains matches and lighters. Our community knows it’s there, but Rosario’s people haven’t found it yet.

  My eyes dart left and right. No one looks in my direction. I sprint from the safety of the RV straight toward the wood stack. I skid into the dirt behind the logs, fingers scrabbling in the dirt as I fumble out the box.

  I crouch there, box cradled against my chest.

  A fire. A fire could be just the thing. A distraction for Alvarez and the others fighting outside.

  The gates are opened. Someone runs inside, shouting for Rosario.

  “We got them,” a man crows. “We got the fuckers who attacked us!”

  My heart stills. Dread pools in my belly. I peek out from behind the wood pile.

  Rosario descends from her RV as three prisoners are prodded into view.

  I experience momentary confusion. I expect to see Alvarez or others from Fort Ross, but I don’t
recognize any of the prisoners.

  There’s a middle-aged man with gray stubble; a young man with glasses who doesn’t look old enough to drink; and a dark-haired woman with a bleeding shoulder.

  Could these be Alvarez’s friends from up north? Could that be the legendary Kate I’ve heard so much about?

  Whoever they are, they’re in trouble. Rosario looks like she could breathe hellfire.

  And then a wheelbarrow comes into the fort, pushed along by one of Rosario’s minions.

  Inside the wheelbarrow are bodies.

  I recognize them instantly. I see the blue denim shirt of George. The purple socks of Chloe. The red cable knit sweater of Barb.

  And on top of the wheelbarrow is the body of a teenage girl. Her face is an unrecognizable bloody mess, but I’d know it anywhere.

  It’s Steph.

  Steph.

  And she’s dead.

  Something snaps inside me. Up until this moment, I thought I’d been carrying around enough rage to incinerate half of Canada. I didn’t think it was possible to hold another drop.

  I was wrong. The fury inside me now is like a frothing demon. These assholes are going to pay for hurting Steph.

  Clutching the box of matches and lighters, I race back to the RV and climb inside.

  One thing is for certain: Fort Ross is going to burn.

  31

  Prisoners

  ERIC

  I don’t know if I’m going to live or die. Whatever is about to happen, I know it’s going to be bad.

  As we’re herded at gunpoint inside the looming walls of Fort Ross, my stomach turns. I’m so scared I think I might throw up all over my shoes.

  The walls are imposing, the ring of zombies terrifying. The monsters are worked up after the short battle. They moan and keen, jerking against their chains as they attempt to reach us.

  “You’ll be lucky if Mr. Rosario throws your asses to the dead.” The woman with dirty blond dreadlocks jerks a thumb at the zombies as we pass them. Her lips curve into a cruel smile. “Something tells me you aren’t going to be lucky.”

  A crowd has assembled at the open gate, all of them armed with rifles and handguns. They have the same faded, grungy appearance as our captors. Bushy beards, long hair, and dreadlocks are a common theme.

  At the front of the crowd stands a large woman with tanned skin. Her gray hair is shorn short. She wears a flowing dark green cotton dress. Birkenstocks cover her feet.

  At first glance, she looks like a stale housewife who’s given up on life. Except there’s a pocket of space surrounding the woman that bespeaks of deference. And the angry set of her jaw and the fire in her eyes doesn’t belong to a depressed housewife.

  Without a doubt, I know I’m looking at Mr. Rosario.

  A wheelbarrow rolls up beside us. Inside are the bodies of Alvarez’s people. On top is the body of the young woman I’d tried to save. I avert my eyes, unable to look at her.

  “Jeanie.” Mr. Rosario gestures to the dirty-blond woman escorting us. “What have you brought me?”

  “Dead slaves.” Jeanie jerks a thumb at the wheelbarrow full of bodies. “And these rats killed Jake, Bruce, Twila, Two-Bit, Dave, and Susie.” Jeanie delivers a sharp kick to my lower back.

  I pitch forward onto the ground, getting a mouthful of dirt in the process. I stay where I am, pretty sure attempting to get to my feet will only get earn me another kick.

  “Nearly a dozen slaves escaped from the garden.” Jeanie plants a boot in Ben’s backside, sending him to the ground beside me.

  Our eyes meet as we lie in the dirt. I see gritty determination in the older man’s face. Good. At least one of us isn’t scared shitless.

  “And half the fence around the garden is torn down. The deer are gonna get everything.” Jeanie kicks Ash into the dirt. She delivers a second kick to Ash’s ribs before planting a foot on the back of her head and grinding her face into the dirt.

  Ash doesn’t cry out or fight. When Jeanie removes her foot, she turns her head to the side, panting for breath. Dirt is smeared all over her face. Her shoulder is soaked in blood.

  “The three of you have caused me a lot of trouble,” Mr. Rosario says. “Tell me, who sent you?”

  Ben speaks up before either Ash or I can attempt to answer. “Medieval John.”

  As soon as Ben says the name, every drop of sound is squeezed out of the crowd. Not that they’d been loud or raucous to begin with. Even the zombies are subdued.

  Medieval John? My mind races. Why did Ben just say that?

  “What did you say?” Mr. Rosario’s voice is flat.

  “Medieval John sent us,” Ben replies. “He’s taken over the town of Westport.”

  “Is that so?” Mr. Rosario’s eyes narrow. “You’re saying you work for him?”

  “He sent us to recon Fort Ross.”

  “Mmm. And you figured you’d shoot up my people in the process?”

  “He told us to send you a message. Wanted you to know you’re not the only game in town.”

  Rosario barks out a laugh. “He would. Tell me, what is Medieval John up to these days?”

  “He’s fortified Westport,” I say, afraid to let Ben do all the talking. “He’s leading a group of survivors.”

  Mr. Rosario snorts. “Medieval John doesn’t lead. He dictates.” She studies the three of us lying in the dirt. “Since he was so kind to send me a message, I’ll send him a reply.” She jerks a thumb at us. “Get them up.”

  The crowd around Rosario surges forward. Hands grip my body and haul me into the air. Ben and Ash are likewise lifted.

  Wooden buildings of a lost era rise on either side of my periphery, at odds with the motorhomes parked inside. The crowd weaves through the vehicles, carrying us into the heart of the fort.

  I fix my gaze on the clear sky overhead. I count the seconds, knowing they might be the last ones I ever experience that are pain free.

  I’m hurtled through the air. I bite back a yelp as the hard-packed earth rushes up to meet me.

  I hit the ground near an old stone well. I roll, sharp rocks biting into my skin. My glasses fly off. The world around me instantly goes blurry.

  Even so, I can see well enough to make out the shapes of Ash and Ben as they, too, are hurtled onto the ground next to me.

  Something crunches off to my right. The sound is followed by jeers. I don’t have to be able to see to know that my glasses have just been smashed.

  You always looked hotter without those things anyway.

  For a bare instant, I see Lila. Unlike the rest of the world, her figure is sharp and clear. She gives me a sweet smile, the one she only gave me when we were alone, and very rarely at that.

  I swallow, fixing my gaze on her. I know she’s a hallucination. I don’t care. It’s nice to see Lila. I smile back at her.

  Something sharp connects with my ribcage. Lila puffs away into nothingness as a rock thumps to the ground. More rocks are hurled at us.

  I crowd close to Ben and Ash, covering my head. Rosario’s people pelt us with stones, laughing and insulting us as they do.

  Are we going to be stoned to death? Is this what’s in store for us? How long does it take to die from stoning?

  “Enough,” Rosario purrs. The rocks instantly cease their pelting.

  “I’m going to tell you a story.” Rosario comes to stand before us. Her voice booms over the crowd. “It’s a story about a man who once went by the name of Donald Rosario. Donald could charm any man, woman, or child. I gave my heart and soul to Donald. I helped him build a booming business. No one came close to rivaling us.

  “Then the asshole thought he’d go have himself a little fun. Thought he’d collect himself a few pets to play with on the side. Four of them, to be exact.

  “I confronted Donald. I asked him to get rid of the pets and make amends. I was a loving wife. I was willing to forgive and make amends. You know what he did?”

  No one utters a word. All I can hear is the constant pounding of the oce
an and the distant moans of the zombies.

  I think of Kate, Caleb, and Reed. I hope they’re safe. I hope they found the people who escaped from the garden and got them to safety. Thinking of them being safe and alive sustains me.

  “Donald Rosario laughed in my face. Told me that if I didn’t like his pets, I could get the fuck out. Can you believe that? After twenty years of marriage and a booming business, that fucker turned his back on me. And for what? Some lousy teenage cunts?

  “So I told Donald to go enjoy his cunts. Then you know what I did?” I can’t see Rosario’s face, but the tone of her voice sends a shiver across my shoulder blades.

  “I put Donald and all his little cunts into a cage. I cut off his balls. Then I left all of them in that cage without food and water. They pissed and shit all over each other for days before they finally died.”

  Mr. Rosario turns away, leaving us with her story. I’d heard that tale from Reed, though his version had been less graphic.

  “Get the slaves,” Rosario orders. “Let them all see what happens to people who defy Mr. Rosario.”

  A contingent of people peels away to carry out orders.

  I stay close to Ash and Ben, feeling sick to my stomach. A tiny part of my brain tells me it would be better if we’d died outside of Fort Ross. Death was better than whatever Rosario has in store for us.

  “They’re pulling Alvarez’s people out of a fort building.” Ben words are slurred, probably from being punched in the face. “There are more guards with zombie pets on poles. They’re herding the people this way.”

  I squint, though I can’t make out anything more than shifting colors and blurred shapes.

  The shapes and colors draw near. They’re pushed in a tight circle around us. Rosario’s people spread out around them. I hear the clacking of teeth and the moaning of the zombie pets.

  Now that they’re closer, I can better discern the shapes of people. I see men, women, and children. And though I can’t make out their individual faces, I recognize postures of abject fear. The cowering forms and hunched backs. The littler forms that cling to the legs of adults.