Authors: Margaret Madigan
“Not infected, huh?” Doc asked after I cut the engine.
“She seems to be clear.”
“I’ll just confirm it, if you don’t mind. No need to take any chances.”
I waved in her direction as she climbed out of her car. “Be my guest,” I said.
“Listen, Miss, before we let you in the house, I need to be sure you’re not infected,” Doc told her when she joined me.
She stiffened by my side. “Mr. Chann–Charming already checked me. I’m satisfied I’m not infected.”
“Well, as long as you’re satisfied,” Doc said, cocking a sarcastic brow at her. “But just humor me and bend down here so I can check you myself.”
She looked at me like she expected me to defend her, but I just shrugged. The only way into the house was through Doc. He may be small, but I sure wouldn’t cross him. Her lips compressed into a thin line of disapproval, but she bent down to face him. He checked her eyes, both upper and lower lids. He put a hand on her forehead to check for fever. Apparently satisfied, he slid her sleeves up to check for lesions, grunted and turned his back on her, disappearing into the house.
“He’s pleasant,” she said.
“He’s careful,” I said. “Follow me.”
She had to be hungry, so I took her up to the second floor. We entered the kitchen where Doc was already dishing her up a plate of reheated powdered eggs, canned peaches and fresh bread. I ducked in behind Doc to pour her a cup of coffee.
“We’re running low on that,” Doc warned.
Coffee was a luxury I was always foraging for. I took the plate and cup to the farmhouse style table nearby. Doc went back to making more bread.
“Have a seat,” I said. “You must be hungry.”
She eyed the food like she hadn’t eaten in a month, but managed to restrain herself. “I’d really like to discuss business.”
I went back to the coffee pot where I poured myself a cup of coffee, ignoring Doc’s reproving glare.
I sat in the seat across from her plate. “Sit. Eat. We can talk while you do.”
She surveyed the room before she sat and tucked into the meal. “Where’d you get all this food?”
“Well, the richie-rich dude who lived here before the end of the world had the basement loaded with survival supplies, including enough food to feed all of LA for a year. But with eight of us to feed, we still do a lot of foraging in town.” I sipped my coffee while she scarfed her eggs. “Plus, we trade with the neighbors here on the hill. We take supplies to Mrs. Davenport and her sister. They bake for us, although they can’t keep up with our need for bread. The Alberts at the top of the hill have some fruit trees and a garden, so I send a couple of the boys up there to help them. They share fresh veggies with everyone. Our neighbors help with food, we provide protection.”
“Boys?”
“I collect orphans.”
She paused with her fork mid-bite. Head cocked, she stared at me, but I just grinned.
“I’m not sure what you mean by that.”
“Kids without parents? I found each of them alone on the streets trying to survive, so I brought them home.”
Her expression softened some, but I wasn’t sure if she was impressed or just acknowledging my explanation.
“You’ve got electricity and water?”
“Yep. The guy who built the place set it up with its own source for both. Guess he didn’t want to go down with the grid, so he installed solar panels, a windmill, even a backup generator. Plus, he installed an extensive rain-catch system, but the pump and water heater run on electricity. Since we reserve electricity for essentials, that means we conserve water, too.”
“This place is really optimal. You have a very good setup here.”
“The place is a freakin’ fortress, Princess. Did you not notice the eight-foot privacy walls surrounding the property? The iron gates at the bottom of the hill? The ones at the end of the driveway? The sheer hillside behind us? The way the place is built it may as well be a medieval stronghold,” I said. “So…you want us to get some books for you?”
She’d finished eating and placed the silverware on her plate.
“Thank you for the meal, I appreciate it.”
“So this is her?” Sixteen-year-old Randy leaned casually in the door to the kitchen, watching Gwyn with wary eyes. The most recent addition to the house, he hadn’t quite relaxed yet.
“Randy, come have a seat. Meet Gwyn.”
He crossed the room, took the seat next to me, and nodded to Gwyn.
“Hey,” he said by way of greeting.
“Hello,” she offered.
“Gwyn wants to hire us to retrieve some journals from Paragon.”
“Is she out of her fuckin’ mind?”
Her brows came together and she leaned back in her chair, as if Randy’s curse had been a physical blow.
“I doubt it,” I said.
Just then Rocky came scrambling into the room at top speed, heaving for breath.
“Rafe! We’ve got bogies at the gatehouse!”
“Shit,” Randy said. “You brought them right to our door.”
“Watch the language, Randy. Gwyn is our guest. Go tell the boys to get armed. Meet me on the roof.”
Gwyn reached out with an unsteady hand to straighten the silverware lying on her plate. “What does he mean I brought them?” she asked, not meeting my eyes.
I rose to leave. Doc set his dough to rise before ripping off his apron.
“They got your scent somewhere–probably when they attacked you. They must have followed it,” I said. “You stay here on this floor. Don’t go anywhere else. We’ll take care of it.”
I followed Doc out of the kitchen, stopping to grab a sniper rifle and a box of bullets from the second floor arsenal closet. I hurried up the two flights of stairs to the roof. All the boys were already lined up, each with some sort of armament. Binoculars hung from Rufus’ neck. He’d stacked boxes of bullets in his arms until the pile almost reached his chin. I grabbed the binoculars and mussed his hair.
“Thanks, dude.”
He grinned at me.
“Show me, Rocky,” I said.
Rocky ran to the railing on the east side. He pointed down toward the entrance where at least a dozen zombies worked at climbing the gate or finding some other way around it. It wouldn’t be long before they figured out a team effort could tear the damned thing down.
The sad thing was, they weren’t the biggest problem. Bringing the binoculars up, I saw a much bigger mob heading this direction. They must have sensed the excitement in the air. Like the scene of an accident draws a crowd of spectators, these guys had just followed the first clump of zombies.
“What’s going on?”
I turned to find Gwyn leaning over the railing next to me, squinting into the sun as she surveyed the situation.
“Funny, I heard a female voice, but I knew it couldn’t be you because I told you to stay downstairs.”
She waved a dismissive hand. “I wanted to know what was happening here. You didn’t just expect me to hide and hope for the best did you?”
“And you’ve never heard of windows?”
“What are you going to do about them?” She ignored my scolding, pointing in the general direction of the approaching zombie horde.
“Kill them, of course.”
“Duh,” said Rufus, tucking under her elbow and sidling up to the railing beside me.
She stepped away from him like she might catch something. I found it amusing, because Rufus was like having a friendly puppy around. All he was missing was a tail to wag and a slobbery tongue hanging out of his mouth.
“But you can’t,” she said, apparently horrified I’d even consider it. “They’re people.”
“Not anymore,” Doc growled.
“Okay, guys,” I said, dismissing her ridiculous concern. I turned to face the rest of my crew. “Doc, Rocky, Roger, Ricky, take up positions along the east railing. When I say so, we’ll start picking them off. Remember, head shots kill, everything else will only slow them down. I don’t want to waste ammunition, you hear? Aim for the head. Rusty, Randy, Rufus, you guys need to make sure we always have a loaded weapon. When this rifle runs out of ammo, I want to turn around and find another loaded one ready to go. Got it?”
Everyone nodded, saluted, or otherwise acknowledged my orders. I turned back to the railing to check the zombies’ progress. They’d managed to dislodge one of the gates enough to squeeze through one at a time.
“Gwyn, your job is to stay the hell out of the way. Can you do that?”
She nodded, her big blue eyes somber as they focused on the not-quite-dead parade heading our way. I had my doubts she could actually manage to behave, despite the fact that she looked frozen with fear.
I jogged to the helipad, set up the bipod for the sniper rifle, then set my sights on the zombies at the head of the pack. Once I had them sighted in, I checked to be sure everyone was set. They were.
“Okay everybody, go for it.”
The firing started. The undead began dropping one at a time. I put my eye back to the scope, focusing on zombies around the gate itself. I hoped to kill enough of them to create a pile that would block the influx. My first shot took one down as it stepped through. The falling zombie tripped the next one, so I shot it too, but missed its head. It stumbled back to its feet but my second shot dropped it. The third one went down on top of the first. I saw the confused look on the face of the fourth when I put a satisfying red hole in its forehead.
The first dozen went down easily, but the bigger throng a few blocks back would take a lot more effort to take down.
“Hey, Doc,” I called. “Any chance we can cook up something that’ll take out the rest of them all at once?”
He saluted, then gave Randy a shove toward the stairs, where they headed back into the house. I regrouped the rest of the boys, sneaking a glance at Gwyn, who had miraculously stayed put.
“Great job, guys! We showed them, didn’t we?”
“What about the rest of them?” Roger asked.
“Yeah, we can’t pick off all those.”
“Well, I think we could, but it would take a while. So Doc’s going to help us out. Whatever’s left over when he’s done should be easy to take care of.”
“You won’t let them get up here, will you?” Gwyn asked. I wondered what had happened to her “they’re human” conviction from earlier. Maybe her recent run-in with them had made her skittish. It’s one thing to believe something. It’s quite another to come face to face with that belief and find it could infect you with the worst contagion in human history.
I wrapped an arm around her shoulder, pulling her into a hug.
“Don’t worry, Princess, you’ll be safe here. This place is like a medieval castle. They can’t breach the walls even if they did get close enough, which we won’t let them. Think of me as your knight in shining armor.”
Her head tilted up. Blue eyes met mine. Instead of the typical frail, adoring heroine-type, which is what I expected, all I saw was skepticism. Whether it was meant for my white knight comment or doubt about our ability to protect her, I had no idea, but it stung.
“He means it, Miss,” Rusty added. “If Rafe promises you something, he’ll do it. No matter what.”
All the boys nodded, murmuring their assent, which made me feel warm all over.
“See?” I said, kissing her forehead. Her startled intake of breath made me smile, even though I tried to hide it. “I promised you’d be safe, so you’ll be safe. It’s guaranteed.”
Doc reappeared with a long case, followed by Randy who carried a box full of homemade incendiary devices.
We all gathered around Doc as he set the case down. He opened it to reveal a homemade rocket launcher–basically a glorified potato cannon–wrapped in bubble wrap. Aside from the fact that Doc made the best bread I’d ever tasted, his pre-apocalypse skills as a Hollywood pyrotechnician made him indispensable. His skills with explosives and weapons made our defenses five-star.
Rufus reached out and popped some of the plastic blisters. Doc scowled at him, but Rufus just grinned.
“Back off, boy,” Doc growled.
“But it’s bubble wrap, Doc.”
“Rufus, would you do me a favor? Take Gwyn under the awning over there so she can rest, okay?” I asked. His face lit up at having been given the responsibility. Rufus hurried to take Gwyn’s hand and lead her away. She, however, looked distinctly uncomfortable.