Generation Z [Book ]
Generation Z
Peter Meredith
Copyright 2017
HANDS OFF, BUDDY!
AND NO, THAT ISN’T YOU IN CHAPTER 4
Fictional works by Peter Meredith:
A Perfect America
Infinite Reality: Daggerland Online Novel 1
Infinite Assassins: Daggerland Online Novel 2
Generation Z Book 1
The Sacrificial Daughter
The Apocalypse Crusade War of the Undead: Day One
The Apocalypse Crusade War of the Undead: Day Two
The Apocalypse Crusade War of the Undead Day Three
The Apocalypse Crusade War of the Undead Day Four
The Horror of the Shade: Trilogy of the Void 1
An Illusion of Hell: Trilogy of the Void 2
Hell Blade: Trilogy of the Void 3
The Punished
Sprite
The Blood Lure The Hidden Land Novel 1
The King’s Trap The Hidden Land Novel 2
To Ensnare a Queen The Hidden Land Novel 3
The Apocalypse: The Undead World Novel 1
The Apocalypse Survivors: The Undead World Novel 2
The Apocalypse Outcasts: The Undead World Novel 3
The Apocalypse Fugitives: The Undead World Novel 4
The Apocalypse Renegades: The Undead World Novel 5
The Apocalypse Exile: The Undead World Novel 6
The Apocalypse War: The Undead World Novel 7
The Apocalypse Executioner: The Undead World Novel 8
The Apocalypse Revenge: The Undead World Novel 9
The Apocalypse Sacrifice: The Undead World 10
The Edge of Hell: Gods of the Undead Book One
The Edge of Temptation: Gods of the Undead Book Two
Pen(Novella)
A Sliver of Perfection (Novella)
The Haunting At Red Feathers(Short Story)
The Haunting On Colonel's Row(Short Story)
The Drawer(Short Story)
The Eyes in the Storm(Short Story)
The Witch: Jillybean in the Undead World
AUTHOR’S NOTE
I don’t usually write notes at the beginning of my books. I prefer the reader to dive right in and let the story speak for itself. With Generation Z, I felt I needed to warn the fans. Not my fans mind you, because let’s be honest, I have far fewer fans than an altogether made-up person with the unlikely name of Jillybean. Her fans number in the tens of thousands and they can be ravenous(not to mention nearly as mad as she is.)
It is to these individuals that this note is for. I beg that you allow the story to unfold as it was meant to. Jillybean is an integral character, but you have to have patience, because, just as in the previous ten books, she is not the only character(even if you wished she was.)
Of course, now that I’ve mentioned my ten book series, The Undead World, I should make it clear that you don’t have to have read it to enjoy Generation Z. They are two completely different animals. The first series centers around the struggle for survival in a world that’s dying as an apocalypse occurs. Generation Z, on the other hand, is a truly post-apocalyptic story.
The world is barren, technology is dead and the remains of our cities are being ravaged by the elements. Yes, there are zombies in the story. In fact, the zombies are for more horrific now that they average eight-feet in height and can take down a solid door with a few swings of their fists.
It’s in this world that a generation of orphans have managed to scrape out a pitiful existence. I hope you enjoy their pain(insert evil grin here.)
Peter Meredith
Chapter 1
12 Years Later
Minutes before sunrise, Jenn Lockhart grabbed her two plastic buckets and hurried down to the well before the line got too long. When she arrived, there were already four people there, three teens and a tween, waiting to draw water.
“Morning,” each of the four said in turn, speaking softly. She answered in the same manner. As always, they were polite, and as always, she wasn’t included in their whispered conversation. Jenn stood off to the side, her pale blue eyes staring at the sunrise. It was violently red and quite spectacular. It washed right over her but she didn’t think anything of it until she was heaving her two buckets of water up the stairs to her apartment.
“I’m going to need you this morning.”
Slowly, so she wouldn’t spill a drop, she turned to see Stu Currans standing at the foot of the stairs. Stu was tall and rangy, and the two were almost eye to eye despite the fact she was on the third step up. He had spoken so quietly that someone ten feet away wouldn’t have been able to make out his words.
“We’re going to Alcatraz. Be ready at the gate by nine.”
At his words, the red sunrise blinked into her mind, as did its meaning: it was a warning of trouble. Hadn’t he seen it? Hadn’t the Coven? Of course they had, so why were they chancing a trip across the bay? It wasn’t her place to ask about the omen, so she bit her tongue.
“What do we need on the island?” she asked, also in a voice barely above a whisper.
Stu hesitated, his dark eyes shifting away before answering, “The traders will be here in four days and I want to talk to Gerry the Greek about getting on the same side this time.”
That made sense but, “Why do you need me?” As a rule, she was only invited to join groups venturing outside the walls if there was some annoying job to be done. She hoped she wasn’t going to be asked to lug the rest of the moldy venison down to the harbor. It was rancid, but could still be used as bait. She would smell like sour rot for a week. Not that she would turn down the offer, no matter what he demanded. A trip out to Alcatraz Island was a real treat. It would be a chance to see new faces for a change and maybe talk to someone who hadn’t already made up their mind about her.
“The Coven wants you to go.” He hesitated again, uncharacteristically unsure of himself. “Maybe they think you deserve it, or maybe they think it’s your turn. Who knows? Just be at the gate by nine.”
He turned on the heels of his faded boots and left Jenn standing on the stairs in a state of confusion. It wasn’t a secret that the Coven disliked her and had ever since the night of the big earthquake nine years before. They had all lived on Alcatraz back then, however after the earthquake that had sent a building falling on her father and squishing him like a grape, the Coven had decided to leave the island. They had chosen exactly seventy-seven people to come with them to the hills above Sausalito across the Golden Gate Bridge. Seventy-seven was considered a lucky number.
Jenn had trailed after the group as an uninvited, ignored, and definitely unwanted six-year-old orphan, struggling under the weight of her dead father’s pack. She had been number seventy-eight—an unlucky number.
“Why would they want me to go?” she wondered as she teetered up the stairs holding the buckets just so. She worried over the question for the next half hour as she filled her bathtub, two buckets at a time, and got a good blaze going in her fireplace to heat the water. Ironically, taking a bath was a long and dirty process. Once clean, she towel-dried her auburn hair and dressed in jeans and a purple sweater, throwing a camouflage coat over both. Slinging her pack across her thin shoulders, she picked up her crossbow and headed out.
She made her way down to the one gate in the cast iron fence that surrounded the apartment complex, and was surprised to see little Aaron Altman standing in Stu’s shadow. He had a school bag over his shoulder.
“What’s with the shrimp?” she asked, gazing down at Aaron and noting his sickly pallor.
Stu gave her a quick up and down look. “His mom wants him to start going out more. It’s about time if you ask me. It doesn’t help anything to mollycoddle boys li
ke this. Hell, I don’t remember a time when I wasn’t going out into the world.”
Was this what the fiery red sunrise pointed to? Jenn hoped not. If something happened to Aaron, she would be blamed, like always.
“Let’s get locked and loaded,” Stu said, heaving back on the cable of his crossbow. Jenn did the same thing, though she had to strain with all of her ninety-two pounds to draw hers back. When they had their bolts set in place, Stu nodded at the two children sitting on the wall. The two were brothers and despite the bigger of them being only eight, they had the tired, washed-out faces of old men.
They were all like that. Stu was only twenty-one, yet he had the eyes of a man who’d seen a dozen friends die. Jenn was lucky that way. She didn’t have friends to watch die.
The brothers waved, not at Jenn or Stu, but at Aaron Altman. They were jealous he was getting to leave the complex. He waved back quickly and then turned to the outside world, his eyes darting back and forth like those of a rabbit. His shoulders were hunched and he was already in a crouch as if ready to run. He was scared.
In front of him, Stu Currans stood poised, gazing down the hill, looking for the dead. He had his head cocked almost to his broad shoulder, trying to pick up what the wind was carrying. So far, there was nothing to hear except the sound of a distant screen door clapping in the gentle autumn breeze. It was a lonely sound. Stu listened for over a minute, his long dark hair blowing back and forth. Satisfied they were alone, he hitched his pack before nodding at Jenn.
Wordlessly, the three wound their way through the forest of spears surrounding the apartment complex until they reached the broken road. It was a mile from the complex to the harbor, an easy fifteen-minute walk back in the before. Now, Jenn figured it would take them an hour, maybe longer if the wind picked up. The wind, if it began to blow too hard or from the wrong direction, could mask the sound of the dead. If that happened, they would end up moving at a snail’s pace, slipping from one hiding place to the next.
Jenn wasn’t too worried if it came to that. Although she was only fifteen, she’d been out of the gates a thousand times, and Stu had been out even more than that, though what number was beyond a thousand Jenn didn’t know. In truth, she had never counted to a thousand and was afraid to try. At a certain point, large numbers made her anxious. She didn’t like them. They were part of the old world and the old technology and, as everyone knew, technology was what had made the dead come to life.
She put her faith in something greater than mere numbers. Signs and omens guided her, just as they did for all the Hill People, all except Stu. He had foolishly ignored the red sunrise for instance. Now, right in front of him was a fallen tree branch. To her shock, he lifted a worn boot and stepped over it instead of going around the broken end.
A few feet in front of her Aaron almost added to their bad luck. Jenn quickly closed the gap and pulled him back. As if the branch was as deadly as a snake, he jumped when he saw it. He should’ve known better. After all, his mother, Miss Shay, was part of the Coven. When it came to signs and omens, the seven “old” women knew everything there was to know, and it was through their interpretations that they led the Hill People.
Jenn guided Aaron around the branch—the second evil sign that morning. If there was a third, and she could feel right down into her bones that there would be, something very bad was going to happen.
She slowed, moving with extra caution as they crept along what had once been a pretty suburban street where children had played kick the can and neighbors had waved to one another, or chatted over fences. There were only ghosts living there now. The houses were like wooden skeletons, and the few cars on the street were ravaged hunks of metal sitting on tires that were not just flat but also crumbling away.
They were halfway down the block when they heard a scream of rage. As the scream echoed off the empty houses and down the tortured streets, Stu went to one knee, his eyes sharp and alert. Aaron should have done the same, instead he turned, his face a white mask of fear. He started running but Jenn snagged the back of his pack and hauled him behind a tree.
“It’s okay,” she whispered. “Look.” It was a runty seven-footer that was missing an arm. Its face was partially torn away and one of its eyes dangled from its socket. It hadn’t seen them.
She could feel Aaron’s heart racing. “It’s okay,” she said again. “I ran the first time, too.” Of course she had been six at the time and out on her own. The handouts had all but dried up during that first surprisingly cold winter on the hilltop and people were starving. Her only choice was to either go out and scrounge or die.
Stu glanced down at Aaron and raised an eyebrow at the boy’s shaking hands, but said nothing. He pointed back the way they came and led them through a series of backyards where the weeds ran as high as their belts. The next street that he chanced was very much like the first, only there were three grey-skinned beasts lurking among the ruins. They dodged again only to run into another pair of them two blocks over. The two zombies were mindlessly pulling down the garage door of a bi-level, but for what reason it was impossible to guess. Sometimes they attacked their own shadows.
“Are those locals?” Stu asked.
The three of them were crouched next to one of the empty houses. In front of Jenn, Aaron was still shivering in fright. He’d get over it. She looked over the top of his head. “I’ve never seen them.”
“Me neither,” Stu grunted, and without another word, blazed a path through more yards to where the homes began to mix with small businesses. Over the last few years Jenn had been to each, and knew them inside and out. The first was a bakery, the next a salon, the third was a florist—it was one of the few buildings with an intact front window.
As they were passing it, Aaron paused, staring at the glass and at first, Jenn thought he was staring at his own frail reflection, then she saw something move inside. Quickly, she pulled Aaron back. It was too late for Stu. He was halfway across the front of the building when a shadow took over the entire window.
He froze in mid-step.
With unbelievable calm, he turned his head slowly, inch by inch until he could see directly into the shop where a low rumbling moan had begun. A tic started to jerk Stu’s left eye in a quick pulse. It was all the warning Jenn had before the window exploded outward, sending shards of flickering glass everywhere.
Stu threw himself back, firing his crossbow at the terror that came roaring out of the shop.
It was one of the dead. They were not like they had been when Jenn was little. Back then, they had been normal-sized, like everyday people. They had been scary enough, but now they were huge and horrifying beyond belief. At eight and a half feet tall and roughly six hundred pounds, the beast towered over Stu. What hair it had on its bulbous head grew in patches and hung in long greasy strands. It had sickening sores running all over its naked body, and its teeth were broken and jagged, filling its gaping mouth like the teeth of a shark.
It was so large that the crossbow bolt sticking out of its face just below its right eye looked like an over-sized toothpick. The bolt went unnoticed as it reached down with one huge hand, its yellowed fingernails like the claws of a lion.
The claws just missed as Stu dropped and rolled beneath a delivery van that had been sitting half-on the curb since Jenn had first come up the hill. When he disappeared, the creature roared and threw itself at the van, crumpling its side in and lifting it three feet into the air. It might have turned the van over, but Stu popped up on the other side and took off running for his life.
The creature dropped the van with a crash and charged after him. Not only had the dead continued to grow year after year, they were fast and getting faster all the time. In three strides it was right on Stu’s heels as he turned the corner.
“What do we…” Aaron started to ask, but Jenn slammed a hand over his mouth and shoved him down into the gutter, where they landed on a bed of wet leaves next to a pile of rust and rubber that had once been a Volvo.
; Jenn immediately began to burrow into the leaves and after a second, Aaron did the same. They had already passed more of the dead than Jenn would normally see in a week. She buried herself, keeping only part of her face out so she could peer under the Volvo as more of the dead appeared from whatever dark places they’d been hiding in.
She counted three sets of legs heading towards the florist shop. Quickly, Jenn scooped more leaves over herself and then froze, her muscles bunched and ready to sprint out of there. Aaron was shaking, making the leaves quiver with a rustling sound.
“Shh,” she whispered, but the noise only grew as the dead came closer and closer. Jenn was worried that Aaron was on the verge of running again. This time, if he ran, she’d have no choice but to let him run—and let him die. He would never make it and neither would she if she did anything but lie still.
But he didn’t run. Somehow he held it together as the three beasts came stomping around the Volvo and the van. Jenn closed her eyes and held her breath, knowing that the stench coming from the dead was sometimes enough to make a person choke.
Aaron began to gag. It was a small sound, but it brought the three right at them. Through the mesh of leaves, Jenn could see one standing right above her; from her angle it looked like a giant. It was filthy and horrid. Fresh urine ran down one scarred and mutilated thigh. There was rage in its filmed-over eyes and without warning it slammed a hand down on the hood of the Volvo, breaking one of its last windows and sending glass raining down on the leaves covering Jenn.
The rustling of leaves picked up and now she could hear Aaron’s breath blowing in and out. The beast above her glared downwards and was just beginning to reach out one of its tremendous clawed hands when there came a huge crash from around the corner.
With urgent, hungry moans, the dead began drifting towards the sound. Jenn poked her head up again, watching them until they were out of sight. Only then did she start to crawl from the gutter. She stopped when she realized Aaron hadn’t moved. Reaching back she dug under the leaves and pulled him up by an ear. She glared hard at him and then jerked her head for him to follow.