Plague Nation (31 page)

I threw a semi-sarcastic salute to his retreating back and trotted up the slope. As I did so, the noise level increased—a mixture of car horns, people shouting in several different languages, and the ever-present moans of the undead. The incline was steep enough that I had to reach the top before I could see that the driveway ran back down the hill, to the next street over. It ended there with the same sort of gate we’d just navigated, also shut.

Which was good luck for us, since the gate was all that separated us from a sidewalk and street jam-packed with zombies—and yet more cars.

As predicted, the streets around and outside of the medical center were Ground Zero for mayhem. All the bite victims and people suffering from Walker’s had flocked there, and those who had died were reanimating to spread the joy. With the appearance of each new zombie, the chaos increased, until it was like the Zombocalypse in Sensurround.

A female zom slammed up against the gate, a petite Japanese teenager looking like something straight out of an anime with its yellow tights, neon pink mini skirt, and matching go-go boots. It was missing pieces of its cheek and jaw, blood splattering the multicolored layers of shirts. It saw me and opened what was left of its mouth, letting loose an ululating moan which was then echoed tenfold by the other zombies in the immediate area.

Time to get inside, and out of sight.

I quickly retreated downhill, out of Anime Zombie’s field of vision and looked for easy access to the townhouse. The only open door I found was the entrance to a laundry room. There were no other doors in the carports—just stairs with gates at the top leading to a courtyard.

Well, crap.

Heading back down, I met Nathan in the middle.

“No luck,” he said. I nodded, indicating the same.

We quickly and quietly hopped back over the gate. Nathan kindly gave me a leg up this time, before once again making it look as easy as stepping off a curb.

“Showoff,” I grumbled.

He watched them from the shadows, paying particular attention to the tricked out babe he’d first noticed on Marina Boulevard. He was perched comfortably on the roof of the same recycling center they’d taken shelter in, and as far as he could tell, they still hadn’t seen him.

Interesting group of people, especially the one he’d seen taking down the three dicks on Marina Boulevard. He’d watched her progress into the Presidio, seen her join up with her group, and decided to follow. They had weapons and they seemed to have a destination in mind.

They had to be some sort of paramilitary unit—either that or LARPers who were taking things to a ridiculously realistic degree. Role-playing, he supposed, was one way to deal with a genuine zombie apocalypse, but somehow he doubted an amateur could have pulled off her moves.

He’d never really been interested in the zombie scenario, although a butt-load of his friends would go on for hours about how they’d fortify their residences or where they’d go to hole up when the undead rose. Some even had bug-out bags, and considering the possibility of a major quake or even a tsunami wiping out half of San Francisco, that in and of itself wasn’t such a bad idea.

He didn’t figure he’d need any of that shit, though. He could move—move fast and cover terrain few others could manage. It was a damned useful skill to have about now, considering how fast the streets of San Francisco had become impossible to negotiate. Within hours of the evacuation announcements, things had gone straight to hell.

This is some fucked up shit right here.

He’d left his car parked on the Golden Gate Bridge, radiator blown after it overheated. Heading out on foot, he’d moved with the crowds of near-panicked people massing up against a seriously scary military barricade at the north side of the bridge. Then he heard little explosions, and if those weren’t gunshots, he’d pull down his pants and ask for a spanking.

About then he’d decided to take his chances in the city.

Once he’d made the decision, it took a matter of minutes to navigate the same distance that had taken him two hours in his car. He’d kept a safe distance from what he had to admit was an epic battle at the Conservatory of Flowers, and that’s where he’d seen the babe really go to town. She had been like a human Cuisinart with those cool-ass Japanese-style swords. The little chick with her pickaxe and the tall dude with the sledgehammer weren’t exactly slouches, either.

He hadn’t been close enough to eavesdrop on any of the conversations, but he’d seen enough to figure out that they were probably the good guys. So he’d decided his best bet was to follow them at a safe distance—they had a couple of kick-ass snipers, and he didn’t want to be mistaken for a zombie.

Zombies.
It still seemed like bullshit. But this shit, as they say, just got real.

So he’d trailed them to the recycle buildings, where he’d managed to pick up something about their intended destination. Then he’d watched as four of them went across the street—two of them, including Sexy Katana Babe, climbing over the driveway gate.

He shook his head at that. Poor use of energy, all that hoisting and scrabbling. Total waste of upper body strength. He’d show them how it was done... once he had a chance to properly introduce himself.

For now, he settled back to watch and wait.

We ran into Tony and Gentry on the street. Tony wore an expression of quiet satisfaction, while Gentry’s grin spread from ear to ear as he gave us a thumbs up.

We had to wait for the good news, however, as more zombies turned the corner on our side of the street, shuffling with painful slowness in our direction. I started to unsheathe my katana while Tony hefted his hammer, but Nathan shook his head and motioned us back toward the courtyard.

The four of us melted into the shadows, crouching under one of the staircases. I wished it was possible to speed up their progress, like time-lapse photography, because those damn zombies moved at a more glacial pace than... well, than a glacier. Finally they passed the courtyard without detecting us.

“Why are we not just killing them?” I whispered, my thigh muscles seizing up from crouching for however many minutes it’d taken the world’s slowest zombies to go away.

“To avoid detection.” Nathan rubbed his own legs to restore circulation. “One of ’em sees us, it’ll start with the moaning, and that increases the chance that more of them will show up before we have a chance to get inside and get some rest.”

“Your logic is sound,” I said.

“Glad you approve, Saavik.”

I flashed him a quick Vulcan salute, and turned to Gentry.

“So what’s the good news?” I asked.

Gentry grinned again.

“Our boy X-Box here got onto one of the patios and jimmied a sliding glass door open in less time than it takes you to decapitate a zombie. He came through, and now the front door’s unlocked.”

I gave Tony a considering look.

“You have a lot of experience with breaking and entering, Tony?” I was only half-kidding.

“My parents used to use a security chain to lock me out if I came home past curfew,” Tony said with a nonchalant shrug. “I don’t think they
ever
figured out how I got inside.”

“Well done,” Nathan said. He clapped him on one shoulder, and gave him an approving smile.

Tony turned red, pleasure mixing with self-conscious embarrassment. Nathan didn’t hand out compliments lightly, and this was the first time Tony had been on the receiving end. It was good to see him happy.

“Show ’em which townhouse it is, X-Box,” Gentry said. “I’ll alert the media.” With that, he bounded across the street, slipping in between cars like a particularly enthusiastic ninja, and then ducking back through the opening Nathan had made in the chain-link fence.

“Um, it’s over here,” Tony said, gesturing. He scratched his neck self-consciously and pointed toward the second townhouse on the right. The front door was propped open, and from its silhouette, it looked like he’d used your basic garden gnome, but without the peaked hat.

I raised an eyebrow. Upon closer inspection, it proved to be a garden
Batman
gnome, complete with painted six-pack costumed abs.

“You found this here?” I asked Tony.

“Yup,” he said. “On the patio, along with a Heath Ledger Joker gnome, and a really lame Robin the Boy Wonder gnome.” He shook his head sadly. “With nipples.”

It should have disturbed me that I knew exactly what he was talking about, but it didn’t.

Which disturbed me more.

“Was anyone inside?” Nathan sensibly didn’t address the gnome issue.

Tony looked embarrassed.

“I didn’t see anyone, but I didn’t really look. I thought I should get the front door open and let you guys know as quick as I could.”

“Good call,” Nathan said, and relief flashed across Tony’s face.

Maybe our boy is growing up
. A week ago he would’ve been all sullen defensiveness. It just sucked that it took Kai’s death to kick-start the process.

“I’ll check out the upstairs,” I offered, anxious to take this party inside.

Nathan nodded his approval.

“I’ll check downstairs. Tony, hang out just inside the door, and keep your eye out for the rest of the team.” He drew one of the handguns he always carried—there were times I suspected that he showered with them. I had no idea what model it was—Nathan had his own special toys, doncha know—but I was obscurely proud of the fact that I recognized a suppressor on the barrel, so it was an automatic.

Put me on the cover of the next Girls with Guns.
I grinned to myself, unsheathed my tanto, nudged Batgnome out of the way with my booted foot, and slipped inside.

* * *

Something scraped against the faux granite flooring in the entryway.

“Did you hear that?” Becky clutched G’s arm, long, lacquered fingernails digging tightly into his bare flesh.

G winced, as much at the unwanted contact as from the fact it kind of hurt. He didn’t say anything, though—just held a finger up to his mouth in the universal gesture of “shut the hell up.” He
had
heard the sound, and it scared him with a near paralyzing fear that filled him with self-loathing.

The Dark Knight wouldn’t be afraid. He wouldn’t be hiding in a bedroom closet with some woman he’d just met, either. The Dark Knight would be outside facing the chaos, saving the helpless, and dispensing justice.

The best G had been able to do was to offer Becky shelter in his home when he’d heard her pounding frantically on his neighbor’s door, begging for refuge as madness exploded in the neighborhood. He knew the Haywards were on vacation, and he’d seen what happened to people caught outside in the last couple of hours.

So he’d opened his door and let her in.

She’d sat on one end of his custom black leather couch, clutching a fleece throw he’d given her to stop her shivering, and downing a Sierra Nevada pale ale like it was water. He’d pursed his lips when she put the empty bottle directly on the wooden coffee table, instead of one of the handy coasters, but he didn’t want to be an ungracious host. So he’d quietly taken it to the recycle bin in the kitchen, surreptitiously wiping up the ring of moisture with his other hand.

She hadn’t noticed.

He’d turned on the television, a truly monster-sized flat-screen mounted on the living room wall. He’d been flipping through the channels in search of news when the power went out. Becky had given a sharp gasp, pulling the fleece throw up to her face.

“Maybe it’s just a brownout,” G had said uneasily.

A sudden thumping noise out on the patio had brought them both to their feet. The sound of footsteps had been enough to prompt G to grab Becky’s hand, pull her upstairs, and duck into the bedroom closet.

Where they now sat huddled close together behind a row of costumes, listening to the sound of footsteps coming up the hardwood stairs.

Walking into the townhouse was a bit like walking into a comic book store, the kind that catered to pop culture junkies like, well, like Tony and Kai. Tony must have rushed right through without checking it out, ’cause if he’d taken a good look, I doubt we would have seen him for hours.

The first thing I saw was an expensively framed
The Dark Knight Rises
poster, displayed prominently on the entryway wall opposite the front door, the cowled character brooding dramatically in front of a city on fire.

A quick glance to the right revealed the living room, and a truly frightening sofa—black leather with the bat logo emblazoned in yellow across the back. A life-sized replica of the blue Police Box thingee from
Doctor Who
occupied one corner, and there were swords mounted on the walls next to yet more framed movie posters and one-sheets. I spotted
Scott Pilgrim Versus the World, The Avengers, Doctor Who,
more
Batman
posters spanning the years... and yes, there was the one with Val Kilmer and Chris “Nipples” O’Donnell.

It was enough to make me long for a Thomas Kinkade print. Now
that
really disturbed me.

I made my way cautiously upstairs, my feet creaking on the hardwood despite my best efforts at stealth. If there was anyone or anything up there, I could forget about the element of surprise.

At the top of the stairs there was a carpeted hallway with three doors leading off it. The first door was open, revealing three walls filled with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, all loaded to capacity. Every book was perfectly positioned. The owner had to be a serious neat freak.

Action figures from comic books, movies, and television shows took up shelves on the fourth wall, all still sealed in their original packaging. The doors of the closet had been removed, and shelves had been installed inside to house yet more action figures.

The next room was part office—with a sleek computer setup courtesy of Apple—and part storage space, with at least three dozen long, thin, cardboard boxes stacked in neatly labeled rows. They were comic books, all alphabetized, stacked against the walls and in another modified closet.