Elements of the Undead: Fire (Book One) (18 page)

Jack hated I-10. Despised it.
Like a straight shot through hell, it arrowed through the desert with barely a break. Traveling at night, he was making good time, though, far better than he had expected. Becka and Ellie were two days behind him now, buried in makeshift graves on the side of the freeway. He hoped he had gone deep enough to keep them away from the animals, but he wasn’t sure. He tried not to think about it.

He was all alone now. Squeezing his eyes shut, he fought back the tears that had marked his existence since burying the last of his family. It worked this time, but just barely.

The truck he was driving, an ancient Ford F-250, hummed along the ruler-straight highway like a cruise missile. The undead hordes of Albuquerque were far behind now, and surprisingly, he had seen very few since getting on the Interstate. The lack of zombies bothered him, but he wasn’t about to complain, not after Albuquerque. In places, he was forced to slow down to navigate around sand dunes that were growing across the roadway. The marks of man wouldn’t last long without maintenance, he realized. Still, he was surprised with the speed at which it was degrading.

The truck downshifted as he began the climb into the Dragoon mountain range. Large boulders, some the size of houses, some larger, loomed on either the side of the road. Jack cringed at the idea of being trapped in the boulder field with a pack of the undead on his heels. It would be a nightmare of blind corners and innumerable death traps. A few minutes later, the motor stopped whining, and he began the descent. Tucson was only twenty miles ahead.

Thumbing the radio on, he pushed the scan button, and let the tuner cycle through the frequencies, searching for any hint of a signal. The digital display rolled through all available frequencies twice before he gave up and thumbed it off. He hadn’t expected anything, but it was worth a try.
Tucson
. Jack hadn’t been there in years, not since his early college days when he had dated a girl from the University of Arizona for a few months.

He had good memories of the place, having visited in February, when the weather was at its finest. He supposed it was nothing like that these days; it was probably overrun with the undead, trash everywhere, corpses lining the streets.

This close to town, the possibility of encountering a stray zombie on the road was much higher. As a precaution, he dropped his speed from fifty to forty and strained to look down the road ahead. On several occasions he thought he saw movement in the desert, dark wraiths gliding through the scrub, but he never stopped to investigate. The fuckers could wander around out here until they rotted away to dust as far as he was concerned.

Ten miles. Signs of civilization were becoming more frequent. He slowed again, dropping to thirty miles per hour. He scanned the road, expecting the worst at any moment.
Nothing.
Then, he saw something ahead that changed everything.

Lights. More than one. Moving. Bobbing. Heading west.

He gunned it.

Twenty-Seven

A pall of despair settled over the Scorpion Canyon community in the wake of Cesar’s death. People who only days earlier had been ready and willing to take an active role in their survival were now backtracking, falling into old habits. There was even talk of leaving.

In hindsight, it all made perfect sense to Megan. Cesar had been the nexus of their community, the only one who fully understood their immediate needs while also looking days and weeks ahead to predict what was to come. Without him, they were adrift. She was lost. She had no idea how to pull things back together, to restore the nascent sense of hope crushed by his untimely death. And she didn’t have any time left to figure it out.

“Goddamn you, Cesar!” she cursed. “Why’d you have to go and die on me? Why now?”

A single tear escaped her eye, racing down her cheek and plopping on the center of the pages of Cesar’s notebook, which she had been reading. It clung there, glistening in the candle light, a shimmering convex lens magnifying his looping script.  She had found the stack of notebooks beside his bed after leaving him in the desert. Inside were meticulous records and plans for the Scorpion Canyon community, ranging from supply inventories to hand-drawn maps of emergency escape routes through the Catalina Mountains and beyond. The notebooks were a treasure trove of unexpected information, and they made her miss Cesar all the more. Feeling frustrated and overwhelmed, she snapped the book shut and returned it to its place on top of the stack.

She got up, went to the door, unlocked it and pulled it open. A soft breeze pushed into the room, bringing with it the intoxicating aroma of creosote and sage. It had rained somewhere close by, she realized. She took a deep breath, drawing in the scent, savoring it. It allowed her to forget her troubles for just a moment. She loved so many things about the desert, but her favorite was the rain; the way the landscape sprang to life at the slightest hint of moisture, exploding into a kaleidoscope of exotic colors and smells, never ceased to amaze her.

A truck engine rumbled somewhere in the distance. It was drawing closer, the sound reverberating up the canyon. Megan tensed. The sun had gone down a half-hour ago. The noise would draw the undead like an army of ants to a pile of sugar. Headlights swept across the front of her building. The truck was just outside the main gate. She set off at a run, yelling at the top of her lungs for help.

The two men on guard duty were already hauling the rolling fence back by the time she arrived, making room for the rumbling vehicle to slip through.

“No! Wait!” she yelled.

The truck, an old blue Ford F-150 King-Cab, pulled into the compound, and the man at the wheel killed the engine.

“What the hell is going on out here?” Pringle asked. He ran up to the driver’s door and banged on the window, making motions for the man inside to roll it down. A second later, the driver’s door creaked open on dry hinges, and Megan saw two men inside, one older and one a teen.
Damn it! I don’t need this now!

“You fool!” Pringle shouted. “Do you realize you just rang the dinner bell for every zombie within a five-mile radius?”

Megan put a hand on his shoulder. “Calm down, Mike. They didn’t know. We can deal with this.”

Pringle shook her off. “No, Megan. We can’t. These morons just killed us!”

“I’ve got it,” Kevin announced from her rear.

They turned in unison. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, don’t worry about it. I’ll go out and draw them away, and then I’ll loop back around once it’s quiet.”

Megan and Pringle exchanged a look of uncertainty. The damage was already done; that couldn’t hurt. “Do it,” she ordered.

She turned to the driver. “Mike is right. You’ve put us all at risk.”

The man opened his mouth to protest, but seemed to think better of it. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I wasn’t thinking. Can I do anything to help?”

Pringle shook his head in disgust. “No. You’ve done enough already.”

The driver was a big man, standing a little over six-feet-tall, with collar-length brown hair and a simple, open face. The other man was younger, much younger and Asian. He looked to be in his late teens or early twenties. He was slender, almost effeminate, yet something in his eyes disturbed her, put her on guard.

“Jack Wolfe,” the driver said, holding out his hand.

Megan shook it. “I’m Megan Pritchard. This is Mike Pringle.” She waved at the other people who had come outside to investigate. “And this is our camp.”

“This is Peter Woo,” Jack said, tossing his head at the young man in the passenger seat. “I picked him up on I-10 a few miles east of town.” Peter inclined his head and smiled, but didn’t say anything. Again, that bad feeling.

Kevin roared up on his motorcycle, stopping at the closed gate. The guards hustled over and hauled it open, and a moment later he vanished into the night.

Jack locked eyes with Megan. “Thanks.” He sighed. “I’ve been on the road for a long time…” Megan softened. These men were the first new arrivals in over two weeks. Showing anger was the wrong way to welcome them, even if they did almost bring a swarm with them.

A gun fired far in the distance, the
pop pop pop
the loudest sound for miles. Megan sucked in a breath. A few seconds later, a shrill horn blared loud and long, cutting through the night like a knife.
Kevin
. His engine noise wound up like an angry hornet, and then just as quickly faded away into the night as he led the zombies away.

Megan released the breath she had been holding. “I hope he’s okay…”

“Let’s get this truck out of the way,” Pringle said, shattering the moment. He gestured at Woo. “Get behind the wheel, kid. Put it in neutral.” Woo complied.

“You ready?” Pringle asked. He pointed to a spot on the east side of the ranger station. “We’re gonna push it over there, and we’re going to do it as quietly as possible.”

Jack shrugged. “Yeah. Sure.”

“I’ll help,” Megan said, slipping between the men at the tailgate. She sensed an unexpected hostility between them, and she wanted to get a handle on it before it manifested as something more overt. Once they got the truck in place, Woo climbed out. He was taller than Megan expected, almost as tall as Jack.

She turned to Pringle. “Where do you want to put them tonight?”

Pringle scratched his chin while he considered his response. “How about the main lobby? There’s room in the book section…”

“Is that okay with you guys?” Megan asked.

They looked at each other. Jack answered, “We’ll sleep wherever you put us.”

“Yeah,” Woo added.

Megan started tugging at the rope securing the tarp. “Okay, then…let’s get your stuff unloaded, and you can tell us your story—or not, if you’d rather rest up first.”

Jack yawned and looked at Woo. “If you don’t mind, I’d rather get some sleep. It’s been a rough couple of days…”

“Sure. That works.”

       With that settled, they set to work unloading the truck.

Twenty-Eight

The next day

How did I not see this coming?
Megan chided herself, exasperated.
How did I let things go this far?
“Listen, Mike. This is what Cesar wanted,” she said in a controlled tone.

Directly across from her, Pringle shot her one of his award-winning smiles, the one that said, “You’re wrong and I’m right, and you just don’t know it yet.” She hated that look.
Hated
it.

“I beg to differ. That’s what Cesar wanted when he was about to die. But he’s gone, and I believe that as the community grows, we need a different style of leadership, something new, something… stronger.”

Megan seethed inside.
Prick.
“Look, Mike. This isn’t the military. It’s just
not
. That’s not what we—”

He interrupted, “Bullshit!” His voice dropped an octave. “You and I both know this isn’t working. The people are looking for a strong leader, and you’re not cutting it. Ask anyone.”

Megan railed internally at the accusation, partly because it pissed her off, but more importantly, because there was a grain of truth to it. Neither she, nor Cesar before her, ruled with an iron fist. It hadn’t been Cesar’s style, and it certainly wasn’t hers, not in a million years.

Mike shook his fist. “Pay attention, Megan. This is important. People are talking. They want change, and they want it now.” Megan’s mind was spinning. She hadn’t heard any rumors of discontent with her leadership, at least none spoken to her face.
Maybe that’s the problem? Maybe people are afraid to come to me?

There were certainly people who didn’t fit in. Misfits, people who she never would have socialized with before the apocalypse. But still, even they deserved a chance at safety, at survival.
Everyone
did. She swallowed her anger, running her palms across her lap in an effort to calm herself. “Let’s just assume, for a second, that there’s something to what you’re saying…”

Pringle leaned forward. Across the room, Alicia studiously flipped through a dog-eared issue of
People
magazine.

“If that were the case,” Megan continued, “I would have heard something. I’m out in the community every day, working the fences, collecting food, bringing in new people. Why hasn’t anyone come to me? Tell me that.” She cursed herself for sinking to Pringle’s level, but she had crossed the point of no return.

“You just can’t—”

There was a sharp
crack
from outside. Then another, followed by a sustained burst of AK-47 fire.

“Shit! What now?” Megan yelped, leaping from her chair. “We’ll finish this later!” She drew her gun and raced for the front door. Pringle was right behind her. The gunfire had stopped by the time they reached the door, as if it had never happened. Megan peered out the window on the left side while Pringle looked out the right.

“I don’t see anything,” he said.

“Me either.”

“On three.” Pringle stepped back from the door and dropped into a firing position, covering the portal as Megan flung it open. Nothing. Pringle scuttled forward and scanned the porch beyond. “Clear!” he announced.

They leapfrogged into the street, covering each other, searching for the source of the exchange. It was down the street. Jack, the new man, squatted on his haunches beside two corpses, inspecting them. A few feet beyond, a young man, another recent arrival whose name Megan couldn’t recall, sat in the road, cradling his arm.
What the hell?
Jack got to his feet as they arrived on the scene, a sad, disgusted look on his face.

“What happened?” Pringle demanded, addressing the man on the ground and ignoring Jack.

“I—” the man started.

Jack stepped between them and straightened to his full height, towering over Pringle. “It was an accident. There was no one at the gate.”

He was talking about the east gate, a large iron security door liberated from a border patrol storage depot and installed on the perimeter fence.