Love in an Undead Age - A.M. Geever (love story novels in english .TXT) 📗

Juan, Peter, and Mary. We got a break, sort of, at a settlement in Pismo Beach but they wouldn’t give us a boat.”

“Eight of us looking at two hundred miles and they would not give us a boat,” Seffie spat.

Mike picked up the narrative. “Pismo’s your typical strong man setup: toe the line to stay on the right side of the wall. They arrested two of our people as ‘subversive influences.’” He snorted, his face wrinkling with disgust. “It was just an excuse to keep the locals in line. They wouldn’t release them, and it wasn’t safe to stay after that.”

“We made good time at first, all things considered,” said Connor. “Slept in whatever high place we could find, even found a gun store that still had ammunition. Not that we could use it.”

Walter nodded. Guns made noise. Noise attracted zombies.

A new voice said, “And you had trouble at Salinas.”

Connor turned to see a tall willowy man about his own age walking toward them. “Father Doug Michel, pleased to meet you.”

“You’ve been there recently?” Mike asked.

“No.” Doug twitched his hair out of his eyes. “It’s been at least five years since anyone went to Salinas. I was the only one to make it back. We’ve steered clear ever since.”

“We were almost through; that’s the goddamned kicker,” Connor said, anger building at the unfairness of it. As quickly as it flared, it subsided. He was tired of losing people, but it was not something he could dwell on, not if he wanted to stay sane.

Mike said, “The three of us and another guy, Rick, got stuck up on a water tower after losing two more people. I got head shots on them… It was better than nothing.” He sighed. “Rick, well, his girlfriend didn’t make it to the tower. He took the second watch and shot himself in the head.”

No one said anything for a while. Finally, Doug broke the silence.

“How long were you stranded?”

“Three days,” Connor replied. “Seemed like every zombie within a hundred miles was there. I don’t know what caught their attention, but something did because they moved off on their own. We barely made it to the city gate.”

Mike snorted, then giggled. Soon he howled with laughter, one hand over his belly while the other wiped tears from his eyes. His merriment would have been infectious under other circumstances. As it was, everyone looked at him in confusion.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean any disrespect,” he gasped, holding up his hand as if to physically fend off the laughing fit. “Rick always managed to make things complicated. The son of a bitch kept on doing it even after he was dead!”

Connor and Seffie looked at Mike, then one another. A moment later, all three were in an uproar.

“Zombies have really warped peoples’ sense of humor,” Connor heard Walter murmur to Doug.

“I’m sorry, it’s not funny, I know—” Connor gasped, before dissolving into giggles again.

Doug shrugged, an indulgent ‘What can you do?’ look on his face.

When the laughter subsided to occasional snorts and giggles, Walter seized the opportunity.

“Why don’t we get you settled in,” he said. “The Rector is here and I’m sure a shower and a big sleep are in order.”

The Rector swooped in to gather his charges, but Connor demurred, hanging back with Walter and Doug.

“You aren’t supposed to be here,” Walter said as soon as the doors swung shut. “You were told to stay where you were.”

“I told you I couldn’t—”

“I don’t want to hear it, Connor!” Walter said. “Of course I’m happy you’re alive, but we’ve less than two months. We need you in Mazatlán to prepare the labs in South America, not up here mooning after Miranda!”

“You know Miranda’s not the only—” Connor stopped mid-sentence, tired of trying to justify himself. “If you don’t understand why I need to be here, I’m not wasting my time explaining.”

Walter opened his mouth to speak.

“Let’s take this down a notch,” Doug said. “Walter’s right, you should have stayed put and done what you were told.” Connor started to defend himself, but Doug kept talking. “That said, he’s here, so you need to let it go, Walter. He can go back to Mazatlán when the rest of us ship out.”

“And get killed on the way back, if he bothers to go,” Walter retorted.

“Really, Walter? You’re gonna pout?” Doug asked.

“Fine, I’ll let it go,” he said, sounding tetchy, “but I don’t have to be happy about it.”

“There is an upside to me being here, which you might not know if I’d stayed in Mexico,” Connor said, leaning forward. “We didn’t lose the sailboat because of the weather. Someone sabotaged the rigging. When the storm hit, we couldn’t drop the mainsail, and then the mast snapped. The boat listed and we took on water too fast to be an accident. The mast was tampered with, too. The Mazatlán community is compromised.”

Doug shook his head as Connor spoke, a frown marring his delicately handsome face. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Do the others know?”

Connor shook his head.

“If what Connor suspects is true, we have a problem somewhere, but we cannot jump to conclusions,” Walter said. “Without more information, we have no idea what we’re dealing with, or what it means about Mazatlán.”

“I’ll start some inquiries,” Doug said, “but right now, I’m going to find out where they’re bunking Connor. He looks ready to lapse into a coma.”

Connor did feel like passing out. After their grueling trek, all he wanted was to scrub away the dirt that had seeped into his pores and sleep for a week.

“I can’t wait to tell Miri you’re here,” Doug continued. “She’s gonna lose her mind when she sees you.” He flashed a million-watt smile and headed for the door.

“She’s still here?” Connor asked as soon as he and Walter were alone.

“Of course. Where else would she be?”

“Do you think she’ll want to see me?”

“She’ll see you one way or the other. The world’s a lot smaller than it used to be.” Walter studied Connor’s face, his expression suggesting that he did not like what he saw. “She’s not the same, Connor. She’s more—” He sighed, and then shook his head. “I almost said she’s more brittle, shut down and dangerous, but who do I know who isn’t?”

“I get it. I do. What about my cousin?”

“Emily’s well.”

Walter put his hand between Connor’s shoulder blades and gave him a good-natured shove. “That’s for calling me Old Man,” he said, opening the chapel door. “Get a shower and a sleep, Connor. There’s time enough to bid the Devil good morrow when you meet him.”