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KATE
I don’t have a solid plan in my head when I retrieve the gun from under the sofa. I slide it into the back waistband of my pants.
When I slip outside after Johnson and the others—leaving the kids to argue about how we’re going to scavenge enough food to keep Johnson’s crew off our backs—all I know is that I need to find him. I want to know where that motherfucker sleeps.
Once outside, it’s easy to find Johnson and his lackeys. They make enough noise to draw the dead. Literally.
It’s dusk. There are no streetlights anymore, making it easy to find concealment as I tail them. I hug the side of the road, taking cover behind the tall redwoods that grow along the street.
Talking loudly, Johnson and the boys pass one of our bottles of booze between them.
“Did you see the way those pussies ran around like mice?” says Ryan.
“You did good work in there.” Johnson claps him on the shoulder. “They knew who was in charge.”
“Incoming,” calls one of the soldiers.
Three zombies stagger toward them, arms outspread as they grope their way forward. The group moves back toward the center of the road where there are no obstacles.
“Let me waste these fuckers.” Another college kid draws his gun.
“Don’t be an idiot, Henry,” Johnson snaps. “Gunfire just draws more of them. Use your knife.”
“Cut his balls off,” says a third college kid.
“Dude, Adam, you cut off his balls,” snaps Henry.
Adam straightens. “Watch this.” Raising his knife, he advances on the three zombies. “Ryan,” he calls over his shoulder, “get the one on the right. I’ll take care of these two.”
Ryan shrugs, passing the booze bottle to one of his companions. He draws a knife. Casually, he strolls forward and dispatches his assigned zombie with a blade through the head.
“I want to see balls, Adam,” Johnson says.
Adam cuts through the first zombie, letting the body fall to the ground with a thud. By the time his attention shifts to the remaining monster, the beast has zeroed in on him. Letting out a moan, it charges and knocks Adam to the ground.
Roberts takes a step forward, but Johnson flings out a hand to stop him. “Let Adam show us what he’s made of.”
Even in the dark, I see the strain in Roberts’s body as he watches the scene unfold. It’s clear he wants to help. I can’t say the same for the rest of the boys. They watch the scene with sick glee, grinning at one another as they pass the bottle between them.
“Get that fucker,” cheers one of the boys.
“Get his balls!” says another.
Adam thrashes underneath the zombie, grunting as the creature snaps his teeth and goes for his throat. The boy manages to wedge one fist against the zombie’s chest and roll. The zombie crashes sideways. Adam’s knife finds its way into the beast’s temple.
The boys break into applause. Someone hands Adam the bottle.
“Not so fast,” Johnson says, snatching back the bottle. “Show us his balls, Adam.”
Adam hesitates before turning back to the corpse.
I look away. When the cheering of the boys starts again, I have no doubt that Adam has indeed produced zombie testicles.
“Now you’re really one of us,” Johnson tells Adam.
They continue down Granite Avenue, laughing and heckling one another. I wait until their voices become indistinct before following.
A light rain starts to fall, soaking my clothes within minutes. Idiot. I should have thought to grab a jacket.
I try to imagine Frederico here with me. Suck it up, buttercup, he’d say.
The soldiers disappear into one of the frat houses at the end of the street. From the front, no one would be able to tell people are living inside. There’s no trash outside. The windows are blacked out.
Johnson has done a good job disguising their occupation. I’ll give him credit for that, even as I shiver to think how close it is to Creekside. It’s dumb luck they didn’t find us before.
I crouch behind decomposing bodies as the group clomps around to the back of the house. As soon as they’re out of sight, I hurry after them.
The back of the house looks pretty much like you’d expect the yard of a frat house to look. Lots of lawn chairs and sofas, many of them faded from years of use. Multiple barbecues. At the back is a stage with lights. Trash is everywhere. Some of it is in bags, but most is loose. Most of it is discarded cans and food packaging.
Kneeling in the darkness, I watch and listen. There isn’t much to be heard, but there is the occasional creak of floorboards or the sound of a raised voice.
I steal closer, stepping onto the porch. A refrigerator sits next to the door, along with a collection of battered wooden chairs.
The house is old, a relic from the early nineteen hundreds. The redwood, even after all these years, is solid beneath my feet. A few of the steps creak, which makes me pause in alarm, but no one inside notices.
I press my ear against the back door. Inside comes the muffled sound of voices and music.
They’re having a party. They extort us, terrorize us, and threaten us. Then throw a party.
I understand the sickos we’re dealing with.
Now I just have to figure out my next move.
*
“FOOT SOLDIER, THIS is Kate. Are you there? Over.”
I sit alone in the living room, staring at the cluttered kitchen table. By now, everyone has gone to bed. A blanket drapes across my shoulders as I hunch over the ham radio.
“Foot Soldier? I know it’s the middle of the night. I’ve never been a great sleeper. Over.”
No response.
I think of Carter, see his frantic, worried eyes when I returned home a few hours ago.
“Mom, where have you been?” he demanded.
“Out,” I replied, unsure how much I wanted to share.
“Out where?”
“Just ... out. I needed to think.”
“You can’t go out alone,” he said. “It’s not safe. You see that, right?”
My son. I love him so much. I care about all these kids. I need to figure out a way to keep them safe.
Scenes from the day replay in my head. I see Johnson grinding himself against Lila. I see Johnson coercing Adam into a sick apocalyptic hazing ritual.
We’ll be back in a week. Make sure you have enough supplies to fill our crates.
How long will we be able to keep those crates filled? How long before they demand more? How long before Johnson just takes the other things he wants?
“Kate, is that you? Over.”
I close my eyes, raising the ham to my mouth. “Foot Soldier. Yeah. It’s me.”
“What are you doing up? Over.”
“We had a run-in with some bad guys today.”
“What kind of bad guys?” Alvarez drops the official radio talk.
“The kind you would expect in an apocalypse,” I reply, swallowing. “They’re bad people.”
A long pause. “You can come here. You know you have an open invitation.”
“I’ve looked at the maps. There’s no way to get to Fort Ross without backtracking down highway one-oh-one for a hundred miles. One-oh-one is a death trap.”
Another long pause. “Then you have to work something out.”
“I know.” My words come out a whisper. “It’s just ... I’m not coming up with anything that doesn’t involve murder.”
My words float around me in the darkness, made real and tangible now that I’ve let them out of my mouth.
“I’ve been where you are,” Alvarez says. “I know, Kate. I know. My journey to Fort Ross was ... hard.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. Alvarez has made hard choices, too. Knowing this makes me feel not so alone.
“But it wasn’t all bad,” Alvarez continues. “I met some good people. Some of them seemed like bad people at first, but they were just scared. Maybe your situation isn’t as bad as you think it is.”
I can’t bring myself to describe Johnson with Lila, or the hazing incident with Adam. They aren’t pictures I want to paint.
But not all the kids are dark. Roberts wasn’t like Johnson. Maybe there are others like Roberts.
“Here’s something to consider,” Alvarez says. “Human beings are few and far between. We can use friends more than we can use enemies. Maybe you can find a middle ground with these guys.”
“I don’t know. They held us at gunpoint.”
“I held you at gunpoint when we first met.”
That brings a smile to my face. I’d forgotten about that. “Actually, you tackled us to the ground. Then you held us at gunpoint.”
“Whatever. My point is, look how it turned out for us. Don’t write these guys off because of one encounter.”
“What if you’re wrong?” I ask. “I don’t think these guys are like you. I think ... I think they may have raped and killed.”
A long stretch of silence follows this statement.
“Are you sure?” he asks at length.
“Mostly sure.”
Alvarez lets out a long sigh. “If you’re right, you only have one choice. Survival can be shitty. Feel things out. You can do this, Kate.”
“I hope so,” I whisper back. God, I hope so.