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KATE
“Mama Bear, are you there? Over.”
From my seat at the kitchen table, I pick up the ham. “Foot Soldier, this is Mama Bear. How are you? Over.”
“I picked apples today. Can you believe it? There are seven different apple trees here. If you held a gun to my head, I couldn’t name seven different kinds of apples. I always thought there was red, yellow, green, and those other ones that are sort of a blend of all three colors.”
I laugh. “How do they taste?”
“Like heaven.” Alvarez lets out a moan of pleasure. “I’m so sick of fish and seagull. It’s a nice change of pace. How are things going with the track?”
“We managed to clear it of zombies. It took us almost five days, but we managed. The fence around the bleachers is intact, so once we got rid of the zombies it’s remained clear. We’ve moved our daily workouts there.”
“Your group isn’t afraid to venture out anymore?”
“There’s always a healthy amount of wariness, but it’s not like before. Now that Johnson is gone, we go outside every day. Eric hooked up another two solar panels and managed to get the lights working in two of the apartments.”
“Electricity, huh? You trying to make me jealous, Mama Bear?”
“Is it working?”
“We have a grain mill. Beat that.”
I chuckle. “Yeah, but you need horses to pull it.”
“I’m working on that. We spotted some horses on a scavenging run. The problem is no one here knows how to ride. We’ll figure it out, though. How are things going with the newcomers?”
“They’re integrating. Things were a bit tense at first, but once I told them how Caleb saved my life, things loosened up. Oh, Carter, Jenna, and I moved out.”
“Moved out?”
“Just into the dorm next door,” I explain. “Things were pretty tight in the apartment. And I was tired of sleeping on the sofa. I have my own room now. So do Jenna and Carter. Caleb and Ash are rooming with us, too.” I don’t tell him my ceiling is covered with Grateful Dead posters, or that the closet smells like a gym locker. I haven’t had a chance to make the place my own yet.
“What about the other girl?” Alvarez asks.
“Lila? She’s better. She’s twitchy around Caleb, but at least she leaves her bedroom. She won’t leave the building yet. She’s taken over daily meal prep for us.”
“Aw man, you have a chef?”
“I wouldn’t call her a chef,” I reply, thinking of the cake Lila made on the barbecue, which had been more charcoal than cake. “But she’s pretty good at heating up canned food.”
“We started a compost pile. We integrated those techniques Jenna got out of the gardening book, but none of the seeds have come up yet. I feel like we spend a lot of time staring at dirt. And fishing. And plucking seagulls. Man, I still can’t believe I eat seagulls. Those are dirty fucking birds.”
I laugh. “Is there anything else you need us to get from the library?”
Alvarez’s reply is cut off as the door to the dorm swings open. Carter and Jenna file inside, followed by the rest of the crew. Even Lila is with them, dirt smudged on her cheeks from her work in the garden beds. She stands a little closer than necessary to Eric.
“Mom? I think you’d better come out here.”
“I have to go,” I say to Alvarez. “Good luck with that garden, Foot Soldier. Let me know if you need us to find more books from the library.”
“Good luck with the track workouts, Mama Bear. Talk in three days?”
“Three days,” I agree. “Over and out, Foot Soldier.”
“Over and out, Mama Bear.”
I switch off the ham. “What’s up?” I ask my kids.
“There’s someone here to see you,” Carter says.
Wariness snakes through my gut. I try to read the expressions around me, but everyone looks as confused as I feel.
“Who’s here to see me?” I ask.
Carter shakes his head. “You need to come downstairs.”
I grab my gun belt, slinging it around my waist. My knife and screwdriver have a home in the belt alongside the firearm. Between the three pieces, I feel ready for just about anything, although the screwdriver is my preferred go-to weapon for dispatching zombies.
Thanks to Caleb and Ash—and the enormous stash of weapons Johnson had squirreled away in the frat house—we are now the proud owners of an impressive arsenal. Johnson had been smart enough to raid all the dead military bodies after the night of the massacre, which was why we hadn’t seen any weapons among all the bodies.
Caleb and Ash are both eager to teach us all how to shoot, but I haven’t figured out a safe way to do that. Guns might be necessary, but the the sound draws zombies. Instead, the pair has started hand-to-hand combat practice with us. We tack the training on at the end of our runs. I’m getting decent at swinging a knife.
I push open the door to the downstairs lounge. The carpet has been pulled up and two raised garden beds erected in the center of the room. Lila and Eric have seeds started under the grow lights. A few tiny shoots poke their heads out of the soil. Reed laments that we’re growing zucchini instead of marijuana, but he’ll get over it.
The broad wooden door we built over the entrance is shut, the security bar in place. This does nothing to ease my nerves.
“Should I open it?” I ask them.
Seven heads nod. Not surprisingly, Lila didn’t make the journey back downstairs with us. She only comes down with Eric to work on the garden, but whatever lies on the other side of our front door has her hiding upstairs again. Another not-so-good sign.
I pull off the bar. I almost set it on the floor, then think better of it. Instead, I brace one end against my hip and push open the door, ready to take a swing at whoever is on the other side.
A man in green military fatigues stands there. He looks to be in his late forties or early fifties. A dark crew cut is laced generously with gray. White stubble paints the lower half of his face. Sharp, dark eyes lance through me, drilling a quick, efficient assessment. I don’t like the feeling of being under a microscope.
“This her?” His voice comes out raspy, like he hasn’t used it in a long time.
“This is Kate,” Caleb replies. The tall, dark-skinned boy wears a grim expression. “Kate, this is Ben Wheaton.”
Wheaton and Caleb stare at each other over the sea of heads that separates them. The mutual hostility is palpable.
Wheaton looks away first. Somehow, he makes it seem more like a dismissal than a retreat. His gaze shifts to me, once again assessing me from my toes to my head.
“Like what you see?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at him. I know perfectly well how I look. I’m the skinniest I’ve ever been, my face and arms tan from the long track workouts under the sun. My gray roots have grown out another inch.
“You don’t recognize me,” Wheaton replies. “I was too far away for you to see the first time we met. But I know you, Kate.”
My hackles rise. I know who this guy is. “You’re the gunman from College Creek.”
“I’m flattered you remember me.”
“We thought you were dead,” I reply. “We’ve been back to College Creek many times and never seen you.”
Wheaton shrugs. “I moved weeks ago when I tracked Johnson and his crew back to their nest. I cleared out an apartment that overlooked the backyard of that motherfucker’s den. I had a plan. I was going to go in while they all slept. The night I was going to attack, I saw you crawl under the porch. I decided to wait until you were clear so you didn’t get shot in the crossfire.” His eyes flick to Caleb. “I was going to kill every one of those motherfuckers for what they did.”
“Caleb didn’t kill any of those College Creek kids,” Ash says.
“He didn’t pull the trigger,” Wheaton replies. “But when push came to shove, he went with Johnson and Ryan.”
Caleb pales. There is shame in his eyes. He looks away under the scorn that radiates from Wheaton.
“Caleb saved my life.” I plant myself between this cranky old man and my soldier. “Johnson would have killed me if not for Caleb. If you have a problem with him, you can turn the fuck around and march yourself back to wherever you came from.”
Wheaton barks a laugh. “I knew I’d like you.” He grins, but his dark eyes don’t blink as they look into mine. His intensity is unnerving.
I stare right back at him, refusing to back down. “Tell me what you want.”
“Like I was saying, I postponed my attack until you were clear. I made plans to go in the next night. As I strapped on my gear, I looked out the window, and what did I see?” He points a finger at me. “I saw you shoving zombies through the back door of the frat house. After that, all I had to do was pull up a chair and watch the show. Their screaming was pure poetry. For that, I salute you.”
And he does salute me. Right there in the doorway. His hand snaps up and out from his brow in a perfect military salute.
“But you only had three zombies,” Wheaton continues. “That shouldn’t have been enough to get rid of that viper’s nest. I want to know how you did it. How did you get rid of those fuckers?”
I consider slamming the door in this whack job’s face, except he’s somehow maneuvered himself between the door and me.
“Acid,” I say. “I laced a bottle of booze with acid.”
Wheaton blinks. Stares. Then throws back his head and roars with laughter. He laughs so hard he doubles over. The sound is razor sharp, grating at my ears. He puts one hand out on the doorway to support himself. To my shock, a few tears of mirth slide down his cheeks.
He laughs, and laughs, and laughs. The sound takes on a maniacal edge. My hand inches toward my knife.
“And I thought he was scary when he was mad,” Caleb mutters behind me. “This is way scarier.” He’s inched his way forward and planted himself directly to my left. His free hand rests on his gun in a stance that is pure protectiveness.
“Is he alone?” I whisper to Caleb.
“Yeah,” Caleb replies. “Johnson killed all the other soldiers who opposed him. He would have killed Wheaton, too, if he hadn’t run.”
I recall the soldiers we’d seen staked to doors and trees. More of Johnson’s handiwork.
“Ma’am,” Wheaton says, finally straightening. He huffs a few more times, trying to control his mirth. A few more maniacal laughs bubble up. “Ma’am,” he says again, “I salute you. I. Salute. You.” He rips off another three salutes in my direction.
“Are we done here?” I ask coldly. I’m ready for this fucker to take a hike.
“I hope not,” Wheaton replies. “I was hoping you would be so kind as to let me join your band of merry men.”
“No—” I begin, but he cuts me off.
“I don’t come empty-handed.” Wheaton steps to the side.
Next to the door is a giant tarp. I hadn’t seen it before because of its angle to the door. Wheaton tugs on a string holding the tarp closed. The material crinkles as it falls away.
In the center of the tarp is a huge pile of food and guns. Wheaton grins at me as he takes in my shock.
“I’ve been busy,” he replies. “I have three more bundles like this one. My contribution to the band, if you’ll let me join.”
I might be a newbie when it comes to guns, but I’ve seen enough of them with Caleb and Ash to have a newfound appreciation for firearms. I know a treasure trove when I see one.
To put off from answering, I ask, “Where did you get all that?”
Wheaton’s grin broadens. “I may have raided a few military caches. I wanted to make a good first impression when I came calling. This is my way of showing you I’m ready to be a useful member of your tribe. I’ll pull my weight. I’ll cook. Keep watch. Clean up shit. Whatever. But I want to follow the woman who had the balls to take on those little prepubescent fuckers with three zombies and a bottle of acid.”
I suppose I should be flattered. The guy is paying me a compliment, after all. His intensity is unnerving. He won’t quit staring at me, which makes me wish I’d dyed my roots. Which is stupid. When did I start caring about my bad hair?
I’m about to turn him away when Caleb edges closer to me. He bumps me with his elbow.
“He’s good people, Kate,” he murmurs. “He stood up to Johnson. He tried to defend the College Creek kids before things went sideways.”
Wheaton listens to every word, mouth twisting in distaste.
I look to Ash, who has shouldered up on my right side. “What’s your opinion of him?” I ask, not bothering to whisper or be discreet. This Wheaton guy needs to know he’s under assessment.
“He’s a grouchy fucker,” Ash says, “but Caleb is right. He works hard and his compass always points north. He might be an irritating old fuck, but he’ll be a contributing member of our group.” Based on the heat in Ash’s words, I get the feeling she’s wanted to say them for a long time.
“You’d be grouchy too if you’d spent the last thirty years of your life killing in the name of democracy,” Wheaton replies. “This war is refreshing that way. It’s the first time I’ve killed in the name of humanity. Brings it all home.” He smacks a closed fist over his heart.
“Can we trust him?” I ask Ash and Caleb. When they both nod, I sigh inwardly.
I like the little family I’ve collected. We have good synchronicity. I don’t want to change it by adding a new member.
But Ash and Caleb respect this guy. As much as they dislike him, both think he’ll be a good addition to our group. I can’t deny that we could use a trained military veteran in our midst.
“You can join us,” I say, “but you fall in line with our routine. Endurance is an essential part of our survival plan. We work out every morning for two to four hours. We spend the rest of our time scavenging and fortifying our home. Sunday is our day of rest.”
“When we’re not undergoing sleep deprivation training,” Reed adds.
“When we’re not undergoing sleep deprivation training,” I amend.
Wheaton’s eyes take on an eerie brightness. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he just perked up at the idea of sleep deprivation training. He’s a little weird, I conclude.
“If you don’t like the way that sounds, turn around now,” I say, hoping he’ll do just that.
No such luck.
“Whatever you say, ma’am,” Wheaton replies. “You have my word that I will follow your orders.”
“Welcome to Creekside, Ben Wheaton.”
The kids shift behind me, forming a tunnel so Ben can enter Creekside. Ben laces up his tarp, slinging the rope over one shoulder to haul it inside.
“Reed!” a new voice rings out.
The tarp and its contents clatter to the ground. Every person, including Ben, draws a weapon as a dark-haired man scrambles out from behind a clump of bushes and dead bodies.
“Reed!” He runs forward and throws himself to his knees before us.
I realize in shock that this is one of the bastards who locked up Carter, Reed, and Jenna in the rock shop. The guy I beat over the head with a chair. There’s a dent in his forehead, a ripple of skin and bone where I struck him. I can’t believe he’s still alive.
“Jesus!” Reed pushes his way forward. “I thought you were dead.”
“Take me in!” Jesus wails. “Tell your Mamita that I’m loyal. I’m handy in a fight and I never, ever turn my back on my people.”
Mamita. I suppose that’s me. I glare down at the drug dealer. “That’s a bit hard to believe when you pointed a gun at Reed and locked him and his friends up in a closet,” I say coldly.
“You’ve got it all wrong,” Reed says. “Jesus is my friend.”
“He tried to protect us when Rosario’s men started shooting,” Jenna adds.
“He held you guys at gunpoint,” I argue. “I saw him.”
Reed waves a hand, moving to stand beside Jesus. “He was just fucking with us. He didn’t mean anything by it.”
“You have an interesting definition of friend,” Ben remarks.
“Jesus went outside to hunt Rosario’s men while we stayed inside,” Carter says. “He tried to protect us.”
The man clasps both hands before him like he’s praying. Could this day get any weirder?
“I’ve been on my own out here for weeks,” Jesus says. “I can’t do it anymore. I knew I needed Reed’s Mamita. I came to the campus looking for you.” He turns imploring eyes to Reed. “I need you, brother. Tell her we’re brothers!”
“We’re brothers,” Reed says, turning an earnest expression to me. “Mama, Jesus is my friend.”
“This she-wolf nearly beat me to death with a chair to rescue you,” Jesus replies. “She inspires loyalty.” He looks to me again. “I will follow you anywhere, do anything for you. I am your man, Mamita.”
“You beat this fucker with a chair?” Ben asks.
“Yeah,” Johnny says. “After she set a building on fire to rescue these guys.” He jerks a thumb in Carter’s direction.
“That’s not exactly what—” I begin.
“You have a dent in your forehead,” Reed interrupts, peering at Jesus’s head. “That wasn’t there the last time I saw you.”
“This is from Mamita.” Jesus reverently touches his scalp.
“That’s nothing,” Jenna says. “You should see the guys she hit in the face with a cast iron skillet.”
“Those guys didn’t make it,” Johnny adds.
Ben’s eyebrows climb his forehead. He gives me another head-to-toe appraisal that makes me feel naked.
This is all more than I can take. I need to go for a run. A long one.
“Fuck it,” I say. “Jesus, you can join us. But you play by my rules. You run your ass off every day. You scavenge. You clean. You be a functioning, committed member of our group. If you don’t fall in line, your ass is out. Do you understand?” I feel like a mom grilling a teenager who wants to stay out past curfew for the first time.
“Just promise you’ll beat someone with a chair for me,” Jesus replies.
I let out a huff. “If some fucker drags your ass off the street at gunpoint, locks you in a closet, then proceeds to get in a shooting match over a turf war that doesn’t matter anymore, then yes, I will beat someone with a chair for you.”
“Thank you, Mamita.” Jesus gets to his feet. I’m unnerved to see tears glittering on the edges of his lashes.
“You might throw up,” Reed says. “I threw up, like, at least five times when I started running. She isn’t joking about the running thing.”
“I follow Mamita,” Jesus says.
“I reserve the right to throw chairs at each of you,” I say, pointing to Ben and Jesus in irritation.
“Yes, ma’am,” Ben says, while Jesus says, “Yes, Mamita.”
“We call her Mama Bear,” Reed says. “You guys need to get used to that.”
“This is going in the notebook,” Johnny says. “I’m starting a new one. It’s called Dorm Life.”
“Whatever, dude,” Eric says. “Not like anyone is going to read it.”
“Dude,” Johnny replies, “you never know. Two hundred years from now an archeology team could come through here to document the outbreak. My notebook could end up in a museum. It could be an international bestseller, like the Diary of Anne Frank.”
“Now you’re definitely giving yourself too much credit,” Carter says.
I step to the side, gesturing to Jesus and Ben. “Welcome to Creekside,” I say, hoping I’m not making a mistake. “I hope you’re both ready to be immortalized.”