He turned and shoved the ex back. He pulled the gate shut and stood there for another moment while the dead things outside clawed at his fingers. Then he looked around, found the steel pipe they used for a bar, and dropped it in the brackets across the gate.
Behind him, he heard Stealth put down the other exes by the guardhouse.
No one said anything.
Except for the click of teeth echoing between the buildings, there was no sound. All the windows in the buildings were dark.
A pickup truck was parked near the gate. The driver’s seat was smeared with blood. The passenger seat held the withered remains of a woman with an empty pistol in her lap. The back of Billie Carter’s skull was gone, and the rear window behind her was cracked and covered with dried gore. It was all through her spiky blond hair as well.
Stealth took the pistol, released the slide, and checked the magazine. She glanced up at St. George and shook her head. She slid the pistol in her waistband.
He checked beneath the truck for any crawlers, then pulled the tailgate down. The truck had two boxes of food in the back, and a third box of random supplies. St. George gave them a quick search and handed out some crumpled granola bars with long-since-expired dates.
There was a large water bottle, maybe five gallons, sealed with some plastic wrap and a doubled-up rubber band. The band crumbled when he tugged on it. The plastic wrap was sticky. He found a clean spot on his shirt and used it to wipe the mouth of the bottle as clean as he could.
Danielle sat down on the end of the tailgate. Her legs dangled above the ground. Freedom set Barry down next to her, then Madelyn.
They ate and sipped water in silence. The Corpse Girl glanced over her shoulder at the cracked rear window. Even in the dark, the splatter of gore on the inside was visible.
There was enough light from the moon and stars to see the garden had turned into a thick mess of yellowed plants. More bodies were sprawled in the rows. Most of them had been stripped of enough meat to make them little more than skeletons.
Some of them were very small skeletons.
“How long?” Freedom asked. “How long have we been gone?”
No one said anything.
“Ma’am?”
Stealth looked across the lot, picking out shapes. “It is difficult to be accurate in such poor light,” she said. “I could make a rough estimate from the amount of dust on the truck and the level of plant growth in the garden. I saw similar levels at the Big Wall. The state of decay in the bodies we have seen also allows a general guideline.”
St. George looked at her. “And?”
Stealth continued to study the lot around them. “I would say it has been at least four months since this area was used. That estimate may be off by several weeks.”
“Four months?!” gasped Danielle.
Barry shook his head. “No way,” he said. “That’s not possible.”
“We should get inside,” said Stealth, as if none of the others had spoken. “We will attract attention here, and we cannot defend an open area such as this.”
“We need to look for survivors,” said St. George.
“Agreed,” said Freedom. “We can—”
“At the moment, the odds of there being survivors would seem to be very low,” snapped Stealth. “St. George and I have both been awake for over thirty-six hours at this point. Barry and Madelyn cannot walk. Danielle is useless from fear.”
Danielle looked up and glared at Stealth, but said nothing.
“Our first concern is to secure a base of operations and rest. If there are survivors, we are of no use to them like this. Is that clear?”
They all stared at her. “Yes, ma’am.”
“The Roddenberry Building is the logical choice. It is central, it has three ground-level entrances, and the stairwells have isolated any exes inside. I have weapons and supplies secured there.”
“Okay, then,” said St. George. He stacked the three boxes of supplies, then balanced them in one hand. “Let’s go.”
They started across the parking lot. An ex with a military helmet staggered out from behind the old studio store and headed for them. Stealth knocked its helmet off with one swing of her baton, broke its jaw with a second, and with the third she rammed the baton through its empty eye socket. It dropped to the ground.
Danielle looked up and her eyes widened. She pushed her way out of Freedom’s arms and ran ahead. He tried to grab for her, but the move swung Madelyn across his back.
“I’ve got her,” said St. George. He set the boxes down and took off after her. He knew where she was going. They should’ve planned on it.
Right behind Roddenberry, one street over, was the scenery shop they’d cleaned out years ago and turned into Danielle’s workshop. She’d reconfigured the whole place for the Cerberus armor. She even made a small apartment for herself in the back so she never had to be far from the battlesuit.
The wide doors were open, and she ran in without hesitating. St. George was a few yards behind her. Her scream echoed inside the dark workshop.
He raced in. The moon didn’t put much illumination through the skylights, but it was enough. His eyes were already used to the dark.
Danielle stood still. Her arms were tight across her chest, pulling so hard he thought she might hurt herself. She looked unharmed. St. George followed her eye line over to Lieutenant Gibbs.
Gibbs was one of the Project Krypton survivors. He’d been an Air Force officer—not one of Freedom’s super-soldiers—who found himself at Krypton when the Zombocalypse set in and the chain of command fell apart. He’d been the intended pilot for the Cerberus
