Z Walkers: The Complete Collection Part 8

And from there, she'd try to figure out how to work Gary's pricey boat. He'd nicknamed it Beast, though she knew for a fact his mom's name was painted along the hull. Had she ever driven a boat before? No. But how difficult could it be? She was a great driver, and she doubted it'd be much different than a car.

Sure, they could have taken any of the abandoned cars they'd found on their trek, but Sara wanted to get away from land until things settled down. There were a number of uninhabited islands in the bay area, which meant with the supplies they'd nabbed, plus the few more they'd hopefully stock up on along the way, they'd be able to wait this thing out, then return when the infected were taken care of.

"We should head up Central, then take Fifth," Collin argued, pointing in the general direction as Hank shook his head. "It'll get us there faster."

"No, we take Main up to Queens, then it's a straight shot to the harbor."

It surprised her that Collin even wanted to argue with Hank, seeing as he'd just effectively ended the man's marriage. But then again, it was probably the infection that did that first-Collin basically just kicked Hank while he was down.

"Let's walk and talk," Sara insisted, nudging both men forward. The hairs on the back of her neck stood at high alert, and she scanned all the windows of the high-rises around her. Smoke billowed from most. "I feel like we're being watched."

"It would surprise me if we weren't," Hank muttered, falling in line beside her as they half-jogged along the sidewalk. If they hadn't scarfed down some of the canned goods they'd stolen from the houses that morning, there was no way they would have been able to carry on like this. Her body was almost ready for the journey, though her mind still needed to play catch-up. Hopefully the peace they'd find on the boat, out in open waters, would help her put things in perspective. For now, Sara was focused on getting through the city alive.

"Holy s.h.i.+t!" Collin's voice broke the tense quiet that blanketed the city some time later, after they'd traversed Central and jumped onto Queens Street. "No way!"

"Keep your voice down," she hissed. Didn't he remember the group of infected they'd just seen in a nearby alley? The cl.u.s.ter had almost gone after them, but the teen had used the acoustics between the two buildings to distract them with echoes. For a second, Sara had almost been impressed with the kid.

Almost.

"I got picked up for shoplifting there when I was thirteen," he told her, pointing out a vaguely familiar convenience store across the street. Unlike many of the street-front stores, the windows hadn't been smashed, though the door had been propped open. "Let's make a pit-stop."

"We don't have time for a pit-stop," she argued, but he was already marching across the street, hunched low, his backpack bouncing with each step he took. Sara turned to Hank, exasperated, and all he did was shrug.

"We could probably pick up a few more things before we get on the boat," he said. "I mean, I dropped all my stuff when..."

When he saw his infected wife. Her expression softened as she studied him, and she nodded. While she wasn't interested in taking any unnecessary detours, she was in the minority opinion here.

"I guess it doesn't matter when we reach the marina," she muttered, following him across the street, both of them crouched over like Collin. "As long as we get there..."

"That's the spirit." Hank knocked her arm with his fist lightly, though he hardly had any spirit to speak of-there was nothingness behind his words now. Sighing, Sara trudged into the store, weapon up, and scanned along the closest aisles. Aside from Collin stuffing chocolate bars and chips into his bag, there wasn't much else happening. The TV behind the cash played nothing but static.

As Hank perused the magazines, staring blankly at them, his arms by his sides, Sara stocked up on what limited healthy options she could find. Energy bars. Fiber granola. At least one of them needed to be thinking of the group's nutritional needs, because she was pretty sure Gary wouldn't keep his boat stocked with much.

When she was done, she waited by the front door, watching the empty street outside for any signs of trouble. The resident teenager seemed to be having the time of his life, knocking over displays and raiding the cash register. It was as if he was getting revenge on the store for being stupid enough to shoplift and get caught year ago. She rolled her eyes, annoyed.

Before long, Collin had disappeared into the back room, and Sara ended up crouching down when she spotted a cl.u.s.ter of infected meandering around the nearby set of traffic lights.

"We should get going," she said, calling over to Hank. When he glanced back, her nod to the infected seemed to get him moving again. He nodded, placing the unopened magazine in his hands back on the shelf, and stood up on his toes-probably to scan for the kid.

Unfortunately, neither of them needed to look for Collin much longer. He burst forth from the back of the store, panic riddled across in features, with a slew of infected people hot on his heels. Someone-or something-had torn his backpack open, and he left a trail of junk food behind him.

"They were in the bathrooms!" he shouted, scrambling for the door. His hands were empty, and Sara a.s.sumed he'd lost his weapon in some sort of a scuffle. No way was she lending him hers-her grip tightened around the hammer, ready to swing it any anyone who came close enough to be a problem.

Not that she wanted to actually fight. She would have rather run than fight, make love not war, that kind of stuff. Plus, she preferred to keep two arms' length from an infected at all times if possible.

Collin. What a nightmare.

The trio poured out into the street, the infected not far behind, and Collin let out a cry. Whipping back, she saw one of the infected had grabbed his sagging backpack, and before she could even process what was happening, the teen pulled a gun from the back of his pants and fired.

The shot rang out through the empty streets, and Sara almost dropped her hammer, stunned. Where'd he get a gun from? Had he had it all along? Did he find it in the convenience store? Was that why he'd wanted to go in? It had been tucked into the back of his pants-that was all she knew.

In the streets that were once quiet, the silence had dissipated. An echo of the gunshot tingled in her ears, and when she looked to Hank, she realized he was just as shocked as she was. For the first time since they'd entered the city, his face read with real emotion. It was like he was finally present.

The infected woman Collin had shot fell to the ground, her face completely blown off, but the others didn't stop their advance. None of them were horrified by what had just transpired. Instead, the infected were interested, no doubt drawn in by the sound.

Sound. Collin had insisted they were fascinated by loud noises, and here he'd gone and made the loudest sound he could have possibly made. She almost rounded on him, ready to rip him a new one, but when she saw the look on his face, her words fell flat. Rather than the confrontational teen she'd come to almost know, she saw a scared little boy. She saw a kid who probably wanted to lock himself in a closet and never come out. His eyes widened, his lips quivered-and if there'd been time, he might have started to cry.

How could she yell at him when he looked like that?

All around them, the groaning started. Louder than before, it made the hairs on her arms rise, and Sara spun around, her eyes widening as she saw them approach. They came out of everywhere: alleys, cars, buildings. Like one brainless herd, the infected lumbered toward them, some faster than others, all no doubt drawn by the gunshot and the prospect of a good meal.

"R-Run," she stammered, adrenaline flooding through her as those awful cannibals approached. "Run!"

Neither man needed to be told twice. They took off in the direction of their original route, the biggest collection of infected people she'd seen so far traipsing behind them.

"No more detours!" Hank shouted, and she swore she saw him glare at the teen-finally. "And no more f.u.c.king guns!"

Collin said nothing, but he did manage to pick up his pace, outrunning Hank and Sara by a good ten feet.

Brat.

Hank couldn't feel his legs.

Since he'd seen Susie... like that... he hadn't really felt much of anything, but right now, he couldn't feel his legs. Somehow they'd continued to move with a mind of their own, pumping up and down, propelling him closer and closer to the marina.

There were a lot of them-the infected. It seemed Collin's gunshot had brought them all out of the woodwork, and the new arrivals joined in in the chase with all the rest of them. By the time the ocean was in sight, the crowd of groaning flesh-eaters had grown substantially.

What he could feel were his lungs. With each painful breath, a hot sting seared through his body like nothing he'd ever felt before. He hadn't run this much in his life, and maybe all those commercials about getting in shape and staying fit into adulthood had some merit to them.

Too late now.

When they hit the wharf, the feet of three terrified individuals pounding on the polished wood, dismay ran through him when he realized there were just as many infected here as there were in the city. Picking at trashcans, stumbling out of gift shops and restaurants, they all turned their attention toward the oncoming attraction. Arms raised, nostrils flared, and beady eyes honed in on him, Sara, and Collin as they raced for the docks. The non-infected were faster, sure, but there was much they could do if the horde overwhelmed them. Sheer numbers alone would be their undoing.

"What's the boat called?" Collin shouted, completely forgoing his stance on quiet. Idiot kid. Hank should have left him at the school. In fact, he should have let those infected pick him off earlier this morning, back when he and Sara were pus.h.i.+ng them all out onto the front lawn. Then Susie would have been alive.

Sort of.

Not really.

He swallowed thickly, though no amount of saliva-and he didn't have much to give-could put out the fire in his throat.

"Gloria," Sara wheezed back, descending the great wooden steps out to the docks. There they were. Rows upon rows of boats, some looking like they were worth a million-minimum. "It's not too big. Probably down at the far end."

There were only a few infected on the docks, while the majority had taken up residence on the wharf. And they were all headed toward the trio now. They could easily swarm the boat, capsize it, and ruin all of their efforts.

He staggered down the first stair, the herd practically nipping at his ankles, and then stopped. Collin and Sara kept going, jogging down the dock. The sun had become blinding all of a sudden, its rays warm as they bounced off the water. It was in that moment, as he inhaled the ocean air, his lungs still aching and his throat still burning, that he knew he wasn't going with them. He was supposed to go with Susie. They were supposed to be together forever.

Biting down hard on the insides of his cheeks, he climbed back up onto the wharf and faced the herd. Head raised up high, he cupped his hands over his mouth, and then started screaming.

That certainly got their attention. Finding an opening through the crowd, Hank started to run, hooting and hollering as he went, bringing with him the majority of the swarm that had followed down to the marina.

As he ran, he heard Sara shouting for him.

"What are you doing?" she screamed from the docks, a hand up to s.h.i.+eld her eyes as she watched him. He paused only for a moment, feeling alive for the first time since the hammer clobbered Susie in the head.

"Get on the boat!" he shouted back. Behind her, Collin seemed to be scrambling onto a small, though s.p.a.cious enough for two people, white boat. "I'll lead them out of here!"

"Hank!"

No. He wasn't going to listen or argue or reason. This wasn't a reasonable situation. There was no time for logic-because logic dictated that he ought to stick with the others and get in the boat. But he couldn't do that. He couldn't go on without here, without Susie, without the love of his rather mundane life. Instead, he turned and ran, bringing with him the herd.

"I'm coming, baby," he whispered, looking up to the blue skies. "See you soon, Susie."

He barely felt it when they closed in on him. Eyes closed, all he saw was her face-and that was enough to block out the pain.

Forever.

"What the h.e.l.l is he doing?!"

Collin didn't care what the h.e.l.l he was doing. If Hank wanted to be the hero and run off into the sunset after his dead wife, all the power to him. Who was Collin to judge him for that? All it meant was one less mouth gobbling up their supplies, which now, unfortunately, consisted solely of whatever Sara was carrying in her backpack. After all, he'd dropped his bag at the convenience store when the freaks took hold of it, leaving behind all his treats and his dignity.

All that had happened was that they got the jump on him. Collin had been so wrapped up in defacing the place that got him picked up by the cops that he hadn't noticed the freaks loitering. And d.a.m.n, did those particular freaks move fast.

If he hadn't thought he was about to die, he wouldn't have shot the gun. He wasn't an idiot. Hank, on the other hand, was an idiot-in the most non-judgmental way possible. All three of them could have made it to the boat. The Gloria stood before them in all its glory: a twenty-foot masterpiece of a yacht, with two decks and probably a pretty sweet galley below. Maybe there'd be beds. Hopefully a kitchen.

Oh, and gas. As long as there was enough gas to get them the h.e.l.l out of this harbor, Collin was good with everything else.

"You want to leave or what?" he shouted back when he spotted Sara still standing at the edge of the dock, her back to him as she watched the herd descend on Hank. She turned, reluctantly almost, and jogged toward him. The look on her face was less than impressed, but it wasn't like he was unused to it by now: every time she glanced his way, the b.i.t.c.h of a personal trainer seemed unimpressed with him. Whatever. At least she was kind of hot still, even covered in sweat and stinking of fear.

"We'll need to push them into the water," she informed him as she closed in, nodding at the freaks loitering around the boat and on its rear entry deck. Floating just on the surface, it seemed like a good spot to sit and dangle one's feet in the waters-the freezing, dark waters.

"I'm not touching any freak-"

"They can't swim," she snapped. She then pushed by him and threw her bag onto the s.h.i.+p. Collin's eyes followed it, hoping that there were at least a few chocolate bars in there. Then, much to his surprise, she started shoving freaks in the water. She moved fast, obviously thanks to her physical fitness, and used her elbows and shoulders to go for a freak's b.l.o.o.d.y midsection. They all fell, one by one, like dominos into the brisk water. Not once did they scramble for balance, but he figured they probably didn't have any to speak of anyway.

"Now get on the boat!" Sara growled, and without hesitation, Collin made the leap of faith for the Gloria. Once onboard, he helped her trip and push the remaining freaks off, and while Sara went for the controls, he untied the boat from the harbor. More freaks wandered down the docks, headed toward the sound of a revving engine, but it only took her a minute or two to get the boat pulled out and away.

Stunned, Collin climbed the narrow staircase up to the steering room, where he found her at the helm of a giant wheel.

"Spare keys were sitting on the hooks over there," she said without him needing to ask. Collin found a few other silver keys waiting for him, and he wondered what else they might open. The boat itself was lavishly furnished-any kid's dream. Sw.a.n.ky furniture. A sunbathing roof. Diving board. As he descended into the depths, he did indeed find a tiny kitchen and a few narrow bunks.

What he liked best, however, was the way the boat chugged away from the sh.o.r.e. The water was a little choppy, sure, and he felt like he was ready to vomit about seventy percent of the time, but at least there weren't any freaks.

Right?

Panicked, Collin did a full sweep of the s.h.i.+p, checking closets and busting down locked doors. Sure enough, they were alone-just him and her on the open ocean.

Unfortunately, the "her" part of the duo remained unimpressed that she was stuck with him. She didn't have to say anything: he could see it in her eyes, the way she watched him with contempt. It wasn't his fault Hank sacrificed himself to the herd.

He grabbed her bag, annoyed, and wandered out to the deck, hoping to bask in the mid-afternoon sun with a mouthful of chocolate.

Unfortunately, that dream would have to wait. There was no chocolate to be had. As Collin settled on the dry deck, the wind burning his cheeks while the Gloria whizzed along the coastline, he found nothing appetizing in Sara's bag. It was all health food c.r.a.p and bottles of pills. The pills he could get high on-maybe-but being drugged out in the Age of Freaks probably wasn't the best idea.

Or it might be the best idea he could have ever had. At least a good high would help him forget everything he'd seen. Forget Claire, the girl at the pharmacy he'd been dying to ask out. Forget his parents, who were barely speaking to him or each other. Forget that he'd might never see his friends again. Forget that the Leopard Gecko he took such good care of was probably starving to death in his tank.

f.u.c.k.

Tears lined his eyes, but he didn't need to brush them away-the constant breeze did that for him. Sniffling, he tossed Sara's bag aside, ignoring the way the contents spilled across the deck.

"Collin!"

He ignored her, in no mood for a lecture, but when she called for him again, this time more urgently, he gave her a half-hearted look over his shoulder.

"Something's wrong with the motor," she shouted from an open window from the steering room. "Can you check it out?"

The boat shuddered forward, as if for added effect, and he nodded, hoping she wouldn't see the tremble in his lips.

Unfortunately, by the time he found what he a.s.sumed was the engine room at the very front of the s.h.i.+p, the motor-or whatever the h.e.l.l was smoking up a storm-had well and truly s.h.i.+t the bed. Too hot to touch, Collin stood by helplessly as it sputtered and groaned, and then shut off completely. The yacht lurched to a stop, sending him tumbling forward into the searing hot metal.

The burn on his hand was too much for him. Enraged-with everything and everyone, himself included-he grabbed a fire safety ax that had been propped up on the wall, its handle red to make it easier to see, and went to town on anything he could get his hands on. The metal-on-metal sent painful vibrations up his arm, but he didn't stop. Screaming, crying, begging, he hacked at whatever he could touch, his eyes closed to stop the tears from falling.

That is, until water of a different sort started to fall. In his blind fury and anguish, he'd apparently started hacking into the side of the s.h.i.+p. His eyes fluttered open, and he realized he'd missed the motor by a mile-and had instead hacked a hole clear through the siding of the s.h.i.+p. Cold, dark water started to pour in through the thin slice.

"f.u.c.k!" he screamed, loudly enough that his vocal cords ached. As water started to tickle his feet, he stepped back and hurled the ax at the hole. "f.u.c.k you!"

f.u.c.k.

Sara heard the disaster before she saw it. With the engine or motor or whatever ran the boat cutting out on her, she'd been in the process of climbing down to the lowest point of the Gloria to see if Collin had found the problem-or caused it.

She breezed by the sleeping bunks and the ridiculously well-equipped kitchen, at the back of her mind completely unsurprised that this would be the kind of boat a guy like Gary owned, and headed down a pair of stairs to the CREW ONLY room. The door was open, and inside she could hear Collin screaming, cursing.

Along with the sound of... dripping water. A steady stream of dripping water.

"What have you done?" she demanded, her eyes widening in horror as icy water trickled in through a slit in the wall. Already the boat had taken a half-foot of water in, and she'd barely sent Collin down to investigate ten minutes prior. "What... Why..."

This boat was supposed to be their sanctuary. Sure, she didn't want to share it with Collin-in fact, she would have gladly seen him go and distract the herd while Hank came with her. At least Hank wasn't a total sanctimonious little s.h.i.+t. And now, watching him stand there with his beet red face and his watery eyes, Sara definitely wished Hank was here in his place.

"I-I-"

She cut off his stammering, raising her hand to silence him. "Doesn't matter. Let's see if we can plug it up."

Together, they pulled stock from the kitchen, from the bunks, from the bathrooms, and from the rest of the s.h.i.+t. Each time they returned to try something the new, the water was higher, and the force behind the flow pushed out whatever they shoved in the crevice. Miles from the coast, there was no way they could swim to safety, and their search to the inflatable raft was fruitless: while the kitchen was immaculate, it was obvious Gary never took the boat out to sea, because none of the safety gear was where it ought to be.