Undead Ultra (A Zombie Novel) (20 page)

“Hey, Mom,” he said, eyes alight with the same genuine kindness I’d always seen in his father’s. “Graduation starts in an hour. I picked out your clothes. Just jump in the shower and we’ll go, okay? Uncle Rico is here to drive us.”

There in front of me stood my handsome son, dressed in the suit we purchased the day his father died. His face, framed by a neatly trimmed beard, was so earnest. Shaggy brown hair framed eyes as blue as his father’s.

The suit looked perfect on him, the blue button-down shirt a perfect accent to his eyes. The sight of it made me want to vomit. That suit was the reason we weren’t home when Kyle slipped and hit his head. It was the reason we hadn’t been here to save him.

Sorrow felt like an anvil in my chest. I wanted to throw it at someone. I wanted to crush myself with it. I wanted the pain to stop.

“Just jump in the shower and we’ll go, okay? Mom?” Carter hovered in the doorway, not trusting me to get my ass in gear. “Mom?”

It was his uncertainty that gave me the kick in the ass I needed. The anger and grief disappeared in an avalanche of shame.

I was a fucking wreck. I hadn’t showered in days. I’d barely eaten in the past few weeks. I looked and smelled like hell. And my son didn’t trust me to get my act together. He didn’t trust me to be there for him, to witness this important rite of passage.

He’d already lost a father. He didn’t need to lose his mother, too.

I got up. I showered. I put on makeup to conceal the dark circles under my eyes. I even managed a fancy twist with my hair. In an effort to get my light-headedness under control, I scarfed half a bag of Ghirardelli chocolate chips while applying mascara and eyeliner.

Carter beamed at me when I exited the bedroom in the red dress he’d picked out. I don’t think he’d noticed I’d forgotten to brush my teeth.

Frederico had been too circumspect to tell me I looked like hell. Instead, he’d said, “You need to get back on the trail, Jackalope. The sunshine will do you some good.”

*

“Carter had to take care of
me
,” I say to Frederico. “It should have been the other way around. I was weak when I should have been strong.” I shake my head. “Carter deserves better.”

We run on, our feet light whispers against the rotting wood of the railroad. Our legs swish through the plants. That, coupled with our breathing, are the only sounds of our passage.

Mile thirty-seven.

“Maybe, if I can make it to Arcata—if I can get there in one piece without getting eaten—maybe Carter will know I’m strong,” I say. “Maybe he’ll know I can be there for him when the chips are down.”

“If you make it to Arcata,” Frederico says, “maybe you’ll forgive yourself. Carter isn’t the one holding resentments, Kate.”

I have nothing to say to that.

Mile thirty-eight.

The city of Ukiah glimmers in the distance. It’s the only thing that qualifies as a city in the next one hundred miles. The town is large enough to boast a Walmart, a Home Depot, and legalized marijuana.

“Fuck this.” Frederico comes to an abrupt halt. “I’m not going out with regrets. Give me your phone.”

“My phone?” I stare at him stupidly.

“I’m calling her.”

“Who?”

“Aleisha.”

I blink in surprise, then obediently dig out my phone. A quick glance shows me there’s no text from Carter. Ignoring the tinge of worry that slithers through my belly, I pass the phone to Frederico.

“How the hell do you use this fucking thing?” He swipes at the phone.

I wrestle it back from him. “Here.” I pull up the keypad, then pass it back.

Drawing a deep breath, Frederico dials. He looks like a wild man in my pink running shorts and polka-dot compression sleeves. Curls have come loose from his ponytail, framing his face in sweaty locks.

“Aleisha.” His voice is low and tinged with intense emotion. “It’s Dad. I want you to know . . . I want you to know I love you. I love you, and I’m sorry. Sorry for everything. I’m sure by now you’ve heard about all the crazy shit that’s going down. I want you to know that I’m on my way to you. I’ll be there soon. Stay safe.”

A shudder goes through him as he disconnects. “No answer,” he mutters, passing the phone back to me.

I stare at the phone, willing a text from Carter to appear. Nothing happens.

Just got 2 Ukiah
, I type.
See u soon. Stay safe.

When I look up, my eyes meet Frederico’s. I see my own worry and anxiety reflected back at me. Without another word, we continue on.

Chapter 27

Zombie Rollers

The two-lane road stretches into a bona fide four-lane freeway as we near Ukiah. The railroad tracks run parallel to it. We switch off our headlamps and survey the scene before us.

At the south end of town, huge floodlights have been positioned on either side of the four-lane highway. They cast the dark road with blinding light. The faces of the soldiers are concealed by biohazard masks. We didn’t see those on the soldiers in Hopland.

A large white tent has been raised on the west side of the road. A blue square with a white silhouette of a bird and the letters
CDC
is painted on one side.

“The CDC is here?” I whisper. “Shouldn’t their efforts be focused in Portland?”

“Don’t know,” Frederico replies. “Maybe they’ve found something here worth studying.”

Not good. A desperate need to find Carter tightens my chest.

I pull out my phone. Still no text. My battery is two-thirds of the way gone. Despite this, I pull up the browser and type
Ukiah CDC
.

A minute later, my phone brings up a list of headlines that make my stomach churn.

OUTBREAKS IN NORTHERN CALIFORNIA. MILITARY DEPLOYED TO HALT SPREAD.

CDC BLOCKADE IN UKIAH AND EUREKA. MORE REPORTS OF OUTBREAK IN HUMBOLDT UNIVERSITY.

RESIDENTS IN NORTHERN CALIFORNIA URGED TO STAY INDOORS.

VIOLENT RESTAURANT ATTACK CONNECTED TO PORTLAND LONGSHOREMAN VISITING FAMILY IN UKIAH.

OUTBREAK AT FRAT PARTY IN NORTHERN CALIFORNIA’S HUMBOLDT UNIVERSITY. MILITARY DEPLOYED TO PROTECT STUDENTS.

“Shit,” Frederico breathes, reading over my shoulder.

I close the browser and dial Carter’s number. It goes straight to voicemail. Tears of frustration well in my eyes.

“Kate.” Frederico puts a hand on my shoulder. “Keep your head in the race. Don’t fall apart on me now.”

I swallow and close my eyes, trying to quell the panic and despair inside of me.
Carter!

“Ultras are finished with the mind, not the body,” Frederico says. “Keep your head in the race, Kate.”

“Head in the race,” I repeat, opening my eyes.

He’s right. Panicking about Carter isn’t going to save him, and it isn’t going to help us reach him. If anything, it’ll get us killed.

God, what I wouldn’t give for a hug from Kyle right now. The feel of his arms around me would be a salve on my aching heart.

But Kyle’s not here. Kyle is gone. All I have is myself, and Frederico.

It will have to be enough.

It
is
enough. I have water, food, and friendship. And a headlamp. I have everything I need to make it to Arcata, to Carter.

“I’m okay,” I say, shaking myself. A familiar steel wells within me, solidifying my will. “Fuck self-pity.”

There’s a point in every ultra race where a runner has to decide to finish. There’s always a reason to quit. Multiple reasons, usually. It takes a solid will to finish, to push through pain and doubt and excuses.

I seize that unflinching willpower, wrapping it around myself like a blanket. I
will
see this through. For Carter. For Kyle.

“Fuck self-pity,” I repeat.

“Fuck self-pity, and fuck pain.” Frederico grins and gives my shoulder one last squeeze.

“We have to sneak around the city,” I say, my resolve solidifying into a plan. “If those soldiers see us, they won’t let us pass.”

“Yeah. Come on.”

The tracks run directly into Ukiah. We step off, moving northeast through open grassland. We creep along, keeping one eye on the soldiers.

It’s slowgoing. The moon is nothing more than a bare sliver, casting only the barest illumination for us to see by.

A quarter mile later, hidden behind industrial buildings and out of sight of the military barricade, we switch our lights back on. We cut around the city, going through fields, vineyards, and oak groves. Our progress is slow without a clear path for running, but we press doggedly forward. Neither of us suggests trying to get a car.

An eerie silence rests over the city—no hum of traffic, no distant voices. There’s no sign of the chaos you’d expect from a city in the throes of a zombie outbreak. No screaming, no outward signs of panic or mayhem.

“What do you think’s going on in there?” I whisper, glancing at the city.

Frederico shakes his head. “Nothing good, Kate.”

“I think things are going to get worse the farther north we go.”

“It could.” He glances over at me. “One mile at a time, right?”

“One mile at a time,” I echo.

Mile forty-five.

We leave Ukiah behind. Pausing only to check the map, we locate the tracks and continue on our way.

This far north, the population dwindles to almost nothing. I’ve driven this route enough times during the day to know there’s an occasional house, but in the near-darkness, I don’t see any of them now. Not even a telltale light in a bedroom window. With only the illumination from our headlamps to combat the darkness, it feels like running down a black tunnel.

Miles roll by. I run often enough and far enough that I’ve built up a good base over the years. My body can go a good fifty miles—especially with proper fuel and hydration—before it starts to feel the effects of the pounding.

When we hit mile fifty-five, I begin to feel early signs of wear and tear. There’s a familiar fatigue in my legs, torso, and arms, though that’s to be expected. With our last meal a good twenty-miles behind us, hunger is setting in again. I’m also getting low on water. The blisters on my feet are more uncomfortable than painful. I’ll need to lance them again eventually, but for now, they’re manageable. There are a few itchy spots on my arms from the poison oak, but again, the discomfort is manageable.

My biggest issue is the knee I injured when I fell outside of Hopland. I thought I was going to be able to shake it off, but the aching has returned. It wants to stiffen up on me. I do my best to push on and ignore the discomfort. Quitting isn’t an option, and to be honest, I’ve run through much worse.

“How’s your inventory?” I ask Frederico.

“My IT band,” he replies, referring to the large ligament that runs along the outside of the thigh to the shin. “It always squawks at me on long runs.” He glances at me. “How are you holding up?”

“Just the usual, but I’m okay. Knee is irritating me from the fall. We have to find food and water soon.”

“I know. I’m not looking forward to that.”

“I wish we had different packs.” I think of the larger hydration packs I have back at home. They’re made for long, self-supported runs. Because of their size and weight, I only use them for longer runs of thirty or forty miles, when I need to carry more gear, food, and water. “Of course, today would have been the day we suited up with smaller packs.”

“I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had that same thought in the last ten miles.”

At mile sixty-five, we reach the outskirts of a town named Willits. It’s a small town with barely five thousand people. We need to stop and forage for food. The knowledge makes my stomach queasy.

Something tickles the edge of my hearing. I put out an arm, halting Frederico.

“Do you hear that?” I whisper.

I tilt my head, straining my ears. After several seconds, I hear it again: low, wordless moans.

“Is it coming from the town?” I ask.

“I don’t think so. It sounds closer. Maybe up ahead on the tracks?” He brandishes his tire iron.

I pull out my railroad spike and screwdriver, gripping one in each hand. Slowing to a walk, we carefully advance. Part of me feels like we should switch off our headlamps, but I know that’s the scared, irrational part of my brain. With the zombies being blind, the headlamps will only give us an advantage.

Another two hundred yards, and we see them in the distance: three zombies standing to the side of the tracks. They walk in small, sightless circles, moaning softly. The light from our headlamps glosses them with the faintest illumination.

They look not unlike the homeless zombie we encountered outside of Cloverdale. All wear clothes that have seen better days. Each has a frame backpack and a sleeping bag.

They’re young, perhaps in their early twenties. One wears a beanie over dreadlocks. Another has a big forked beard he’s divided into two braids. The third wears a guitar slung in front of him.

They each have a ruddy, tanned face. They’re the faces of homeless young men who spend their days exposed to the elements. There’s a layer of grime on their skin and arms, more evidence that they spend their days without the common comforts of life.

The sight of the three men saddens me. What paths did they travel to end up here today?

“Kate,” Frederico says, “we may not have to forage in Willits.” He tilts his head toward the three zombies.

“You want to—what?” I whisper. “Roll the zombies?”

He shrugs. “I was thinking more along the line of spiking them and ransacking their packs.”

I stare at him flatly. “You want to roll the zombies.”

“You have to admit it has a nice ring: Zombie Rollers.”

Despite myself, I laugh softly. “You’re insane.”

“You want to run two hundred miles to Arcata.
You’re
insane.”

“Fuuuuck.” I tilt my head back, staring up at the spangling of stars. “We’re both insane.” I exhale sharply, then look my friend in the eye. “What the hell? I’m in.”