Generation Z [Book ] Read online

“Aaron?” Mike asked. “What’s wrong with Aaron?”

  “He has a minor infection,” Miss Shay said. Her normally pinched look was unraveling revealing a frightened mom beneath. “The-the pills haven’t really had a chance to begin working yet. B-But he’s getting worse and no one will help. I-I don’t understand.”

  “It’s the signs,” Stu sneered, waving his arms in a wide arc. “All of you with your signs and your mumbo-jumbo did this. No one wants to be the third one to die or the third to get sick. And no one wants to be tainted with bad luck. That’s why no one’s jumping at the chance to help.”

  “I’ll go,” Jenn said, suddenly. She stepped forward, looking absolutely tiny in the crowded apartment.

  The first response was Gerry’s. He groaned, “Look, you’re a steady girl here on the hilltop, but Sacramento is a different story. It’s not safe for women. Really, it’s not safe for anyone.”

  “I’m sorry, Jenn but I have to agree with Gerry,” Donna said. “You had a bit of an adventure the other day and one moment of precognition. This doesn’t make you a warrior or a witch.” She paused and looked at each of the Coven in turn, before giving her final assessment, “You’re too young and too weak.”

  “Is that so?” Jenn snapped, her blue eyes blazing. “I volunteer while grown men cower and you call me weak? How dare you?” She spun on her heel and stormed out of the apartment. For some reason everyone turned and stared at Mike, looking at him as if Jenn’s outburst was his fault.

  “What?” he asked, when the stares went on and on.

  Gerry the Greek laughed. “You need to get your woman in line.” He then turned to Stu saying, “You’re playing with fire talking that way and if you keep it up there’s going to be trouble.” He crossed himself which was a signal for everyone to do the same.

  Stu only snorted. “Damn the signs. I’ll take Jenn with me. She’s stronger than she looks.”

  “Don’t joke like that,” Donna chided. “It’s bad enough that the signs are against you already, there’s no reason to put the girl’s life at stake to spite the gods.”

  “Are the signs really that bad?” Jeff asked in a wavering voice. “They can’t be all bad, can they?”

  Donna looked up at the ceiling for a moment. There was a splatter of what looked like dried spaghetti sauce above her. “I see weakness and it doesn’t bode well. A disbelieving man, an untested boy, and a girl who’s more child than woman. I’m afraid to ask about William.” Gerry looked steadily at her without emotion or comment—it had Mike wondering about William Trafny as well. Bill had always been a standup guy which meant there was a good chance he was coming on his own volition. Mike hoped that was the case. It wouldn’t be a good sign if he was coming as some sort of punishment.

  “This is pathetic,” Stu griped. “Let me show you how wrong your signs are.” He left the apartment in a hurry and came back fifteen minutes later out of breath and lugging a garbage bag that stank enough to make everyone groan and cover their faces. Reaching in, Stu pulled out the severed head of a zombie. It was huge, bigger than any Mike had ever seen. Stu thumped it down on his kitchen table without ceremony.

  Gerry came over and peered into the hideous face; there were three crossbow bolts buried into it. Gerry asked, “Holy crow, is that Frank?”

  “Yes,” Stu answered. “And do you see those initials on those bolts?” Everyone peered in at the bolts. Mike saw what looked like J.L. followed by a tiny heart. “Jenn Lockhart did this, by herself.”

  Chapter 14

  Jenn Lockhart

  For the third day in a row, Jenn left to check her traps and again she carried her crossbow as her primary weapon and the M4 as a secondary one. She had yet to replace her knife which was at the bottom of the bay and she felt a little naked without it.

  The day was warmer than the previous few and before she made it to the headlands, the thin snow had become puddles. It was a proper fall day in her mind, warm in the sun, cool in the shade. The breeze picked up newly fallen leaves and sent them skittering down the streets and had it been any other day she would have considered curling up on her couch with some spiced tea.

  Unfortunately, her apartment was no longer the place of refuge it had once been. He was there, or he could show up at any time and for some reason the thought of him made her stomach go queasy. This made it all the more strange that she had volunteered to go on a trip with Mike. She blamed it on the traveling star she had seen.

  The prospect of a journey called to her. She was tired of the hilltop; she had explored the Marin Headlands from the tip to Pierce Point, she knew San Francisco, Oakland and Berkley like the back of her hand. And she yearned for something more than the crumbling buildings and the buckled, weed-choked streets.

  She had heard rumors about the people in Sacramento. Supposedly there were nearly a thousand of them living a rat-like existence in a complex of warehouses that had been fortified against attack from both the living and the dead. A thousand people crammed into a warehouse sounded awful, especially since they pumped their sewage into the canal that connected the land-bound city with the ocean fifty miles away. The same canal they’d be using to get to the city—if they allowed her to go.

  The sewage would be the least of their problems. It was an open secret that there were slavers in Sacramento. People had a bad habit of vanishing if they weren’t careful. The Hill People didn’t venture within thirty miles of the city without cause. Not even men were free from the scourge of slavery, though it was unlikely anyone would try to take on Stu with his fearsome looks and cold demeanor.

  Mike, on the other hand, would be fair game. “He’s too pretty for his own good,” Jenn decided. “Even with the beard. And that’s something that’s going have to go if…” She stopped in the middle of the street, her teeth clenched. “What am I saying?” she growled. “If I marry him, aren’t I just as much of a slave as a Sacramento girl?”

  Truthfully, the answer was: no. She was no more of a slave than Mike. A sigh escaped her. It was one filled with confusion. She knew from experience, there was one sure way to combat that sort of confusion and that was to do something besides moping.

  The hike up onto the headlands kept her mind fully occupied. She walked with extra care and extra vigilance. Because of the horde across the bay there was unquestionably more danger even miles away on the headland. Hordes were never perfectly symmetrical and they didn’t keep to one direction. Frequently groups would break off and there was no telling where they would end up.

  She crept past a number of strays in the thin forests as they foraged on leaves and bark. As she moved to her right to skirt around them, she came close to another gang. These ones were spread out along the hillside.

  Jenn would be forced to slip between the two groups. “Or I can turn around and go home,” she said under her breath.

  That would have been the smartest choice. She was well enough stocked for winter that a single rabbit wasn’t worth the risk, but after killing Frank she had discovered that her fear of the beasts wasn’t like it had been. Yes, she could feel the dread come over her whenever the beasts were near, only it was a shadow of what it usually was; her heart wasn’t even racing.

  There was a second reason she flitted from tree to tree and crawled through the clearings as though she were a snake hiding from a hawk: she needed to prove herself. Yes, she was weak, but that didn’t make her worthless, which was the implication. Being called weak didn’t make much sense because compared to the zombies, they were all weak little things that were easily hurt and broken.

  Jenn made it to the headlands safely and gazed out at the bay where two boats plied the waters. The Calypso, fully rigged with three sails flying, drew the eyes. She was canted far to port as she caught all the wind she could.

  Lagging far behind, its one sail snapping in the wind, was the Puffer. It looked pathetic and for a moment she was embarrassed for Mike having to pilot the little boat. For a good hour, she sat on a boulder and watched the boats until
they disappeared behind the North Beach section of San Francisco. Only then did she go to check her traps; the snares hadn’t been touched.

  Not wishing to go back to the complex so soon, she went about collecting ten pounds of acorns, which, once the tannins were leached out of them through a laborious three-day process, would be ground into a type of flour. It wasn’t anywhere as good as wheat, especially its texture, but it wasn’t bad with the right recipe.

  After stashing the acorns in her pack, she slipped around the east side of the headlands towards the docks. Because of the danger, she moved slowly and with more caution than ever. She avoided walking on the streets where she could be seen from far away, instead she made her way through people’s backyards.

  These had become an obstacle course. First there were fences that had to be climbed or jumped or wiggled beneath, then there were the overgrown yards strewn with hidden bikes, tires, rakes, just waiting to trip her up. Some had sinkholes, some had fallen telephone lines crisscrossing them and some had lurking zombies that charged out to attack her.

  The first of these didn’t see her until she was straddling a six-foot tall privacy fence that swayed back and forth, alarmingly. The fence had been weathered and rotted so badly that she figured the monster would tear it apart in seconds. She hopped down and ran to hide behind a small man-made jungle. It had been a neat garden a decade earlier, now it was a confusing mashup of bushes and overgrown plants.

  It took the zombie all of fifteen seconds to tear down part of the wall. It fell repeatedly trying to cross the section of wood and if Jenn had been ready, she could have zipped to the next fence before it had the chance to right itself. Her attention was on the jungle in front of her. She recognized some of the leaves and fading sprouts.

  Excitedly, she shoved her hand into the loose soil and found something that looked like a large rock. It was a sweet potato bigger than her foot. Pulling off the shoots growing from it, she set it aside and dug for more. She found four altogether and quietly slipped them into her pack as the zombie trudged around the yard, its fury slowly abating.

  She needed it gone and when it turned her back to her, she threw a rock at the house next door. It charged back through the broken fence and when it did, she went back to the garden and poked around through the mess, finding a handful of extremely ugly carrots and some sage. She harvested what she could before heading to the opposite fence and making a run at it.

  Before she could get over, the top part of two boards snapped off with the sound of bones breaking, spilling her into the grass. She was up at once as the zombie came charging to see what the sound was. It again tripped over the downed fenced, giving Jenn time to get over.

  When she dropped down on the other side, she found herself squatting in the shadow of another of the grey-skinned beasts. It spun around with its long arms out, its hands so close she could have kissed the wiggling nubs where its fingers had once been. Shock and fear froze a scream in her throat.

  The creature took a step closer and now she was a foot from its sagging man parts, which in truth were easily the least frightening part of the creature. It was an eight-footer and so foul-smelling only Jenn’s paralysis kept her from gagging. It had tremendous scars all over its body, demonstrating that the man it had once been had suffered a horrible death.

  There was a scrabbling sound as it reached out and ran what was left of its hands over the wood, feeling it, going up and down, and side to side. A second later, the zombie in the first yard hit the fence with the strength of a bull, splintering wood and causing the entire thing to shake back and forth.

  Above her, the zombie turned aggressively, accidentally smacking Jenn on the side of the head with one of its heavy hands and knocking her to the ground. She lay there, too stunned by the blow to do anything except stare up as the zombie on her side of the fence went to where the first zombie was tearing a hole in the wood. The two roared and clawed at each other for a few seconds and then separated.

  Although her head was still spinning, Jenn knew she had to move. She had to try to get out of there and with an effort, she pushed herself to her feet and as she did, her backpack shifted, causing the acorns to rattle.

  The chewed-up zombie turned at the sound, its head cocked to one side. Only then did Jenn notice one side of its face was a gaping, moldy hole rimmed with pale bone. The other side of its face was untouched except for the eye which had a stick jutting out of it.

  It was blind! Her fear vanished as the zombie grabbed empty air. She slipped away, heading for the house, pausing near the sliding back door. It had once been made of glass. Now that glass covered the ground. She tiptoed through the shards and made her way into the darkened house.

  Out of habit, she went to the kitchen first and saw without surprise that the place had been ransacked and looted down to the last grain of salt and the last ketchup packet. Ketchup was one of those flavors that hung just on the edge of her memory. She’d never forget it and yet she couldn’t quite remember the taste.

  After going through the cupboards she poked around through the bedrooms and then made her way to the garage. Again, out of habit, she went to the shelves where the average American dad kept his tools and his tackle box and his rarely used camping supplies. These had been pawed through, probably numerous times, but that didn’t stop Jenn.

  She was rewarded for her efforts, finding salt and pepper shakers that had never been opened in with the fishing supplies. She also found a small bottle of Wesson Oil, but after eleven and a half years it was strangely dark and smelled rancid when she opened it. Lastly, she found a machete sitting on one of the shelves. It probably hadn’t belonged to the homeowner as there was a film of dried black blood on it.

  Someone had set it aside to search and hadn’t picked it up again. “Or they died.” Jenn crossed herself. Chances were she was right. Lots of people died every day.

  Sticking the machete into her belt, she left, deciding to call it a day. Because of the many zombies, it was late afternoon by the time she opened her front door. She was nervous because she didn’t want a confrontation with Mike which was strange since Mike was a nice guy who never yelled, was easy to talk to and even easier to look at and who…

  “Stop it,” she snapped, as she went to the kitchen table to unload her finds. For the next hour she was kept too busy building up her fire, drying out the acorns, and filling the tub in case Mike wanted a bath, to even think about marriage or any of that garbage.

  It wasn’t until Mike and Stu arrived that it went back to being front and center in her mind.

  After Jenn greeted them, the air in the room seemed to stiffen. Movement became awkward and words dried up. Stu made a few attempts at smiling while Mike’s expression was so decidedly plastic, he looked like a manikin. Jenn just sat in front of her pile of acorns not knowing what to do.

  It was up to the normally taciturn Stu to begin the conversation that none of them wanted to have. “So,” he said, waited a few seconds and added, “Bad news: Aaron and Jeff aren’t improving.”

  “That’s too bad,” Jenn said. “Am I going with you guys to Sacramento?”

  He nodded. “Yes, but first we should work things out, don’t you think?” She cleared her throat, opened her mouth but only ended up nodding as well. “Good, that’s very good. I think the trip will work out for the best. You like signs, right? Look at what we caught on the way back. Show her, Mike.”

  Mike opened a bag and produced a fifteen-pound trout. She stared it right in its black eye for a few moments before smiling and saying, “Sorry, but it’s not a sign if you go fishing and you catch a fish.”

  “No, you don’t get it,” Stu said, pointing at the trout. “That’s a lake trout but we caught it in the bay. You see?”

  “I see a fish,” she replied, with all the warmth of the trout.

  “Fine,” Stu growled. “Forget the fish. Let’s talk marriage.” He cleared his throat and saw Mike suddenly very interested in the acorns and Jenn twisting her hands
together. “The Coven wants this, I want this and for some strange reason Gerry the Greek wants this. Oh, and Mike wants this, right Mike?”

  Mike nodded, then looked stricken. “I only want it if she wants it.” A pained expression swept across Stu’s face and Mike quickly added, “But I do want it.”

  “Why?” Jenn demanded. “Why now and why me?” Neither Stu nor Mike had an answer. “That’s what I thought. You know what? I’m angry and you should be as well.”

  “Why do I need to be angry?” Mike demanded. “I’m doing my duty to my people. That’s what this is all about. It doesn’t have to be more.”

  Jenn glared. “Maybe I want it to be more.” He leaned back in shock and she backpedaled. “I mean when someone asks me to marry them I want it for a better reason than just duty.”

  “What about the signs?” Stu asked. “You practically live your life based on signs.”

  “What signs exactly?” she asked, cocking an eyebrow.

  Stu glanced to Mike who was blinking like an owl. Stu was on his own. “You know, the signs. Like the, uh…like the stars or something? And everyone thinks it’s a good idea. And there’s the fish.” He gestured at the trout.

  Jenn snorted. “Do you actually think a fish symbolizes love?” Stu shrugged and even that wasn’t very convincing. “If anything, the trout represents a trip which I already knew about it.” She had no idea if that was true. She hadn’t been looking for signs, afraid to see love in the signs and terrified not to. Love was a rare thing and ever since her father had died, she’d been loved by no one and had loved no one.

  She desired love greatly, but she didn’t want a false love foisted on her.

  Chapter 15

  Stu Currans

  Unlike Jenn, Stu wasn’t looking forward to the trip. He had been to Sacramento twice and each time he was left with a bad taste in his mouth. They were an ugly, filthy lot who lived what they proudly called a Darwinian existence. Survival was all that counted to them, even above family and friends.