Lost Coast Page 20

  “It’s perfect. Thank you.” Leo wads a dirty hat in his hands. “Look, I’ll be honest. There’s nothing left for us outside these walls. If you guys throw us out, my people are as good as dead. I know we’re on probation. We don’t want to waste any time trying to prove ourselves. Put us to work now. We know you guys are working on fortifications. Let us help.”

  Kate shakes a head. “You guys are exhausted. Take a day to sleep and restore yourselves. We can talk tonight.”

  “We don’ t need to wait. Let us help with the fortifications and prove ourselves. Believe me, every last one of us knows there are worse things than being tired.” Leo raises his eyes to Kate’s.

  Ben sees a man close to breaking from the pains of the world. He knows what that feels like. Something in him eases as he watches Leo. The man’s people gather behind him in a tight knot, every last one of them looking to Kate with hope in their eyes.

  Slowly, Kate nods. “Okay. If you insist.”

  THEY TROOP OUTSIDE. Even the little kids come, stoically refusing to leave the side of the woman—Margie—with her silver hair in a bun. Ben follows at the rear where he can keep an eye on everyone.

  Clouds cover the sun. It smells like more rain is coming. A dozen zombies have gathered outside the north side of the wall. No matter how many they kill, there are always more that replace them.

  “We can take care of those for you.” Leo gestures to the milling undead.

  “Thank you.” Kate smiles at Leo. “That would be very helpful. What do you need to get it done?”

  Leo shrugs, eyes flinty. “Just about anything will do the trick.” He walks over to the pile of rebar from the ruins of College Creek. Leo extracts a piece and hefts it in his hand like a spear.

  The others join him, even the two kids, all of them grabbing weapons. Rocks. Chunks of concrete. More rebar. Judging by the way they look at the zombies on the other side of the cars, Ben can tell they’ve done their fair share of killing.

  As Leo leads his people out of the compound, Carter pulls out the screwdriver and hammer he always wears at his belt. Jenna and Susan are right behind him, also drawing weapons.

  Kate, of course, has to join them. Ben edges up behind her, staying vigilant.

  “What do you think of them?” she whispers to him.

  He recalls the broken look he’d seen on Leo’s face. “I think they’re good people.” He takes half a dozen steps with her, watching the back of Leo’s head. “But you shouldn’t take my word for it. I’m not the best judge of character.” He’d misjudged Johnson, after all. “One slip out here and people die.”

  Even though she’d been drunk, he wonders if she remembers the things he told her about College Creek. About the kids he’d failed to keep alive.

  “I don’t want this to be one of those times when I make a mistake.” Kate draws in a long breath, her gaze taking in the dorm buildings that surround them. “But I want to help them.”

  This is one of the things Ben admires most about Kate: she gives a shit. She gives a shit about perfect strangers she hears calling for help from a charter boat in Humboldt Bay. She cares about strangers who show up hunted and half starved on her doorstep. Shit, there isn’t anyone she doesn’t care about.

  “Trust your instincts,” he says. “The rest of us will back you up.”

  “Thanks, Ben.” She gives him a small smile before jogging away to join Carter, Jenna, and Susan. They slip through the front gate after Leo and his people. Ben follows, keeping watch as he promised.

  Twenty feet in front of them are Leo and his group. The two little kids are armed with big rocks. Something about the sight of their small hands wrapped around weapons makes his stomach clench.

  He’d seen child soldiers in Somalia and Uganda. It was no less disturbing in Africa than it is now. Still, in the zombie apocalypse, the defenseless person is the dead person. Arming these kids wasn’t the wrong thing to do.

  The group of zombies outside the compound has grown to eight. With Leo’s people, we number eleven. Maybe the kids won’t have to fight.

  Leo wields a piece of rebar in one hand, a rock in the other. He sprints forward, breaking away from the group.

  He’s fast and silent. He reaches the foremost of the zombies as they begin to rotate in our direction. He drops it with a swift strike of the rebar. As a second zombie closes in, he leaps toward it and smashes it with the rock.

  The rest of his people rush forward, each of them silent and vicious in their attack. The little kids dart after them. Ben watches in fascination as the kids bring their rocks down on the skulls of any zombie that hits the ground, making sure the dead stay dead. Kate sprints into the battle, leading Ben and the others.

  It takes their combined force no less than two minutes to bring down the eight undead.

  Spattered with blood and surrounded by bodies, Leo’s people survey one another, checking for wounds and bites. The little kids compare blood splatter.

  Ben sees the moment when the Creekside crew adds seven new members to the ranks. It’s when Kate looks at the kids. She takes in their little hands and the blood flecked all up and down their arms. It’s all over after that.

  Ben doesn’t blame her for a second. It’s over for him, too.

  “Your people are skilled zombie hunters,” Kate says.

  Leo looks like he might collapse from exhaustion, but he straightens his spine. “We’ve had enough practice for a lifetime.”

  Kate nods. She and Leo exchange a long, silent look. Leo radiates earnestness. Kate is helpless to turn away from it, though she pretends to weigh it.

  “There are a few things all new members of our group have to agree to,” she says.

  “Name your terms.”

  She draws in a breath and launches into the same speech she gave Ben when he joined her. “Cars are no longer a safe mode of transport. Even bikes are questionable. Anything that draws the attention of zombies is dangerous.”

  Leo and his people nod. None of them speak, so Kate continues.

  “My people rely on endurance for survival. Anyone who joins our community agrees to six days a week of endurance training.”

  “What’s endurance training?” Leo asks.

  “Running,” Carter explains. “We train at the track.”

  “Every member of our group can run for four hours at a time,” Kate says. “It’s an essential survival tactic.”

  “That training has saved my ass,” Ben pipes in. “When the alpha swarm hit Arcata, Kate and I had to run like rabbits to get away.”

  “You guys run?” Another man in Leo’s group, a pale-haired fellow, looks intrigued. “I am—was—a PE teacher. And I ran track in high school.”

  “Me, too,” Jenna says. “Which events?”

  “Four-hundred and eight-hundred-meter sprints,” the man replies.

  “I did hurdles.” Jenna smiles. “Kate’s workouts aren’t anything like regular track workouts, but they’re fun.”

  “I can’t promise it will be easy,” Kate says, “but I will get you strong. We have an ex-military member who teaches us how to shoot. On top of training, there’s the other essential survival chores that have to happen. We work hard and train hard. Everyone pulls their weight.”

  “I’m in.” The younger man steps forward. “My name is Christian.”

  “Me, too,” says Stacy. She looks closer to Kate’s age, with ash blond hair. “I don’t like running, but I don’t like the idea of being dead, either. Or undead. I’ll work hard and train hard.”

  “We’re all in.” Leo extends a hand in an offering.

  Kate doesn’t take his outstretched hand. “You haven’t heard it all yet.”

  “There’s more?” Leo’s expression wavers.

  “We have three zombies locked up for observation. We’re studying the alpha zombies and learning what we can about them.”

  The silence to this declaration is absolute.

  “We’re a package deal,” Kate says steadily. “We want to he
lp you, but you have to accept the parameters of our community.”

  Leo swallows, looking from his people and back to Kate. “I take it the zombies are secure?”

  “They’re on the second floor of an abandoned building. The windows of the room they’re in has been boarded up. So has the door. All observations happen through a hole cut into the ceiling on the third floor.”

  Leo swallows again. “Okay. We accept your rules.”

  This time, when he extends his hand, Kate shakes it with a kind smile.

  “Thank you,” Leo says. “I’m not exaggerating when I say you’ve just saved our lives. You won’t regret it.”

  36

  Check In

  KATE

  “And that,” I tell Alvarez, “is how we ended up doubling the number of Creekside. We are now sixteen people.” I don’t mention the alarming rate we’re going through food. I prefer to focus on the positive things. “Leo and his nephew Todd both worked in the”—I pause to clear my throat—“cannabis industry. They know a lot about farming. They’re in the process of expanding our indoor gardens.”

  “I sure could use their expertise,” Alvarez replies. “We’re having shitty luck with our garden. I think it’s too cold here. Or maybe the soil is bad. Hell if I know. We’re having a hard time growing food.”

  “At least you have seagulls to fall back on.”

  Alvarez groans. “Don’t remind me, Mama Bear. I know I shouldn’t complain, but I’m sick of eating those filthy things. Can you believe two guys in my camp are trying to domesticate some? I keep telling them we need to focus on chickens. If we can ever find any.”

  “We have our first kids,” I tell Alvarez. “Their names are Kristy and Evan. They’re eight and ten. You should see them kill zombies. They scurry in after the adults and bash any downed zombies over the head with rocks to make sure they’re really dead.” I grimace into the ham. “Ben calls them our child soldiers.”

  “That’s ... I don’t know what to say to that.”

  “I didn’t know what to think at first, either. But now I think it’s a good thing. They can defend themselves. You never know when that might come in handy. They train every day with the adults, too. Their workouts aren’t as intense, but I make sure they get the exercise they need to make them stronger. The lady who looks after them, Margie, is a retired kindergarten teacher. Let me tell you, those kids get an education with her.”

  “Oh? What do you mean by that?”

  “Math is taught in the supply rooms and usually involves inventorying newly scavenged supplies. Reading involves survival stories. Margie went through every dorm room in Creekside to round up suitable books. Basically, she’s combining survival skills with general education. She was something of a prepper before all this happened.”

  “A prepper? Doesn’t sound like that worked out too well for her if she ended up on your doorstep.”

  “It started out okay, but she lived in a condo. She had a two-bedroom place stocked full of supplies. She banded with a big group of people. Her supplies were used up pretty quick. The good news is that she knows how to can food and preserve meats. She’s been talking non-stop about finding some chickens.”

  “If you guys manage to find any that aren’t dead, save a few for us, will you?” Alvarez asks.

  “I’ll FedEx you some eggs. You can hatch them and start your own chicken coop.”

  He chuckles. “That’s a deal, Mama Bear. How are the newcomers taking to your running regime?”

  I think back to the these past two weeks with Leo’s people. I don’t know the details of what they endured before they made it to Creekside, but whatever it was left them desperate enough that no one complained when I took them to the track the first time. They looked at me like I was nuts when I laid out their workouts, but no one complained.

  “They’re coming along,” I say. “I’m taking it slow to help them build up their strength.”

  “You sound good, Mama Bear. Best I’ve heard you sound since that alpha attack.”

  I consider this. Things have lightened up since Leo’s group joined us. “They’re good people. We all have baggage, but we’re working together for a common goal. How are your people doing? Any more sign of those bandits?”

  The silence on the other end of the ham is heavy. “None.”

  “And the alphas?”

  “It’s a good thing you gave me a heads up. It saved us the first time we ran into one.”

  “Have you seen a lot of them?”

  “Only two. There are no large groups of zoms out here, except maybe in Braggs, but that’s a good ninety miles from here. Speaking of alphas, how’s the science experiment going? Have you guys learned anything useful about alphas yet?”

  “Not yet.”

  It’s certainly not for lack of effort. Gary and Johnny have thrown themselves into the job with complete dedication. They spend most nights together after dinner going over alpha recordings taken during the day and trying to find patterns in them.

  “I’m sure there will be a breakthrough eventually,” Alvarez says.

  “Yo. Mama Bear.” Johnny, who sits on the other side of the table, taps his watch. “Time is up. Like, thirty minutes ago.” He grins at me, though he makes it a point to flip open his notebook and uncap his pen.

  I chuckle. “Hey, Foot Soldier, I gotta go. Wandering Writer is chomping at the bit. Who’s the girl he’s talking to?”

  Johnny makes a face at me.

  “Bella. She’s right here tapping her watch at me.”

  “Funny, Johnny is doing the same thing to me.”

  “Is she really tapping her watch?” Johnny asks.

  I roll my eyes and ignore the question. “Check back in three days from now, Foot Soldier?”

  “Three days, Mama Bear.”

  37

  Infrasound

  KATE

  I climb to the third floor of Fern where Johnny and Gary have set up their observation room. I like to check in on the boys once a day. We’ve had the alpha for a little over two weeks now. While we haven’t had any breakthroughs, they’ve done a remarkable job at breaking down and recording individual sounds made by the alpha.

  Our people have cobbled together enough two-by-fours and pieces of plywood that we now have a ramp system for Gary in both Creekside and Juniper. As far as I know, Johnny has only tipped over the wheelchair once. I would have excused Gary from this assignment altogether if he hadn’t been so excited by it. Between cooking for all of us and observing the alpha, Gary has managed to be as busy as the rest of us.

  Gary and Johnny’s voices drift down the stairwell to me. It’s clear they’re having a spirited debate about something.

  “I’m telling you, there’s something else going on that we can’t replicate with our human vocal cords,” Johhny is saying.

  “That doesn’t make sense,” Gary argues. “They have the same vocal cords that we have. We should be able to make any sound they make.”

  “They’re not the same. They’re undead, remember?”

  “I know, man, but biologically their vocal cords are the same.”

  “Maybe they changed. I mean, the rest of their bodies changed. Now they’re blind, mindless cannibals. Have you ever heard of infrasound?”

  I enter the room. “Infra what?” I ask.

  Both young men turn their attention to me. “Hey, Kate,” they say in unison.

  The room looks like a cheap flea market stand. Notebooks, pens, books, VHS tape recorders, and cassette players are all over the floor and furniture. I don’t know how they get from one side to the other without tripping on something.

  Without a steady source of electricity, we’ve had to fall back on more primitive recording methods. Luckily the town of Arcata, with its population of outliers and anti-establishment folks, has a fair amount of pre-Internet tech. A string of homes just on the other side of the freeway produced no less than two hand-held recorders, five tape players, and two shoe boxes worth of cassette tapes.r />
  “Gary and I were just talking about infrasound,” Johnny says. “Those are sounds below the human range of hearing. Elephants make them. They use it to communicate over long-range distances. Maybe the alphas are doing something like that.”

  “You have the weirdest shit catalogued in your brain.” Gary looks torn between annoyance and admiration.

  “It’s the job of a writer to be interested in weird shit.”

  I approach the hole we’ve cut into the floor of this room. We’ve covered the two-foot square opening with a section of chain-link fence to make sure no one falls through on accident.

  In the room below, the alpha paces back and forth. It grunts and clicks. The two regular zombies we’ve captured follow the alpha. Back and forth, back and forth they go across the room. The oozing wounds on their bodies have seeped onto the carpet, leaving a reddish-brown smear to mark their trail. The smell is akin to ripened road kill on steroids.

  “Tell me why you guys are talking about infrasound,” I say.

  “Watch this.” Johnny leans over the hole and makes a complex string of clicks and keens with his mouth. It sounds so like the language of the alpha zom that I shiver. But despite the resemblance of sound, the zombies below don’t react.

  “Same happens when I do it. Watch.” Gary repeats the same complex string of sound. Again, nothing happens.

  “Now, watch this.” Johnny picks up one of the tape recorders. It looks like a boom box from the nineties. We had to scavenge in five houses to find enough batteries to power it, but Johnny insisted on having it due to its size.

  He positions the boom box next to the hole, turns up the volume, and hits play.

  The exact same series of clicks and keens roll out of the big black speakers.

  The reactions below are instantaneous.

  The two regular zombies rush to the farthest corner of the room. When they hit the walls, they scratch at the dry wall. They grunt and moan, bumping against the wall as though trying to walk through to the other side.

  The alpha, on the other hand, does no such thing. The old woman alpha advances on the opening above, lips peeled back in snarl. It hisses and grunts, the sounds coming out of its mouth in rapid fire.