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Chapter One

N o one ever said the zombie apocalypse was going to be fun. I guess no one ever thought it would happen, I know I never did. I never thought the dead would rise and start shuffling around on a killing spree. I never thought that society would collapse so quickly when faced with a crisis that nobody had prepared for. I never knew how fragile the human population really was, how used to being the apex predator we had become. I also never thought that I would be stuck in a foreign country when it happened, but here I am. Stuck halfway across the world with just barely an idea of what country I am in, let alone state or town, no family, no friends and no way to get home. Pretty unfortunate to say the least. I came from my home country of Australia for a sightseeing holiday of country America. Peaceful, relaxing, exactly what I needed after what I thought was a tough few months with the usual, pre-apocalypse drama. Ex-boyfriends and backstabbing co-workers, blah, blah, blah. You know, the important things. Things that stop being important the second a kindly granny has a heart attack two booths over from you, while you’re having breakfast, then promptly raises herself from the dead to tear off the faces of the good Samaritans gathered around to preform CPR. Yeah, that happened.

Then those important things that were your whole world just don’t matter anymore. They became so incredibly insignificant, so quickly, that I wonder what the hell was wrong with me back then. How did I think anything so trivial could have ruined my life? My life was god damn perfect, I just hadn’t realised. The stuff that mattered in my old life, my parents and my little sister, my home and my blue dog Red, all of it is gone now, just as surely as the rest of my insignificant life. Sometimes I let myself hope they are ok. Most of the time, though, I compartmentalize my thoughts and feelings so hard I end up numb on the inside. My doctor back home told me not to do that because it’s an ‘unhealthy coping mechanism’.

“Angela, you really need to embrace your thoughts and face you own reality. Focus on what’s happening around you. Don’t ignore the things that make you feel bad, just because that’s easier. Life is hard Angie, and it’s only going to get harder.” She used to say to me, staring my old self down through her horn-rimmed glasses.

I’m pretty sure completely ignoring her advice and allowing my ‘unhealthy’ brain to float me away from reality is what has saved what’s left of my sanity a hundred times over by now. Bet she’s wishing she could escape reality like I can. Assuming she‘s not dead and more focused on devouring the flesh of the living, that is.

After a zombie apocalypse, most people’s priorities change real fast. It took about a week after the dead started walking for total chaos to consume the known world. The governments collapsed after trying, and failing, to ‘contain the threat’, evacuating cities and setting up refugee camps for displaced survivors. Fuck that. I’ve seen enough zombie movies to know you don’t go to populated areas when dead people start walking around. That’s why I’m still alive, I think. Once the dead started to rise, I tried to get home. Obviously, I had no luck. Airports are a hive of human population and activity when the world starts to end, but I still tried. One zombie on one plane and the whole world stops flying. Admittedly, it was bloody and horrific and probably the only good call made by the world industries during the beginning. When that route failed, I took off on my own into the forests and mountains. I figured since I grew up on a farm in rural Australia (where literally everything wants to kill you) I had a pretty good chance of making it in America. I was so wrong. I wandered around avoiding people and towns as much as possible and mostly survived those first six months on dumb luck alone. One good thing came from those grueling months, though, I discovered my rules for survival.

The first: Trust no one. When uncaged from society it quickly became apparent to me that humans were an unpleasant creature. After the first few ugly run-ins I had with other survivors, this became my number one rule.

The second: Dead is only dead if it has no head. The zombification process seems to occur in the brain, just like all the cliché movies. Smash its head in and it stops being a threat, anything other than that causes issues. Like they always say. Double tap.

The third: Don’t eat the purple berries. Good God do not eat the purple berries. Seriously. Death by diarrhoea is no joke.

My fourth rule: Stay alert at all times. Sleep up high or not at all. Mostly I did more of the not sleeping at all.

The fifth: Move. Don’t stay in one spot longer than a few days. Not only will the dead stumble upon you but the living will too. A lone girl does not have a fun time with either.

And finally, the sixth rule: Survival at any cost. Leave your morals to the dead.

It was a combination effort of steadfastly ignoring each of my well learnt rules that landed me in this situation roughly a year ago. I ate the berries, I stayed in one place and slept unprotected and I gave up on survival. But worst of all, I ignored the first rule. I trusted.

“Lacey!” a deep male voice calls from behind me, startling me from my mindless contemplation of the wall in front of me.

He startles me so bad that I don’t watch my tone when I snap back “What!?” Shit. I take a deep breath and close my eyes before turning, already preparing for the blow. It doesn’t come though and I slowly open my eyes to see Ben grinning at me like I just made his day. Double shit. His boy next door, handsome, stupid face is still grinning at me as he whistles through his teeth at me. Like that one word of mine was a filthy cuss word and he’s about to lecture me on it. Ben’s an asshole. Just like every other misogynistic male pig in this shit hole. But, Ben is one of my most persistent torturers, he has an unhealthy obsession with me, in my opinion. I used to think that zombies were the worst monsters this new world had to offer, they’re not even close.

“I just came to tell you that you’re late for training with David, but if you want to snap and snarl at me like that, I suppose I could just take you back to the Boss instead. I hear he really loves your attitude.” His grin turns darker as he pushes his dirty brown hair out of his chocolate eyes. I refrain from an eye roll, he won’t follow through on his threats to take me to ‘the Boss’ as Ben calls him, because he likes me. Or I guess he likes my pretty face without all the bruising that ‘the Boss’ would leave me with. Either way, he’s not going to take me right now .

That sleep deprived terrible decision that I made a year ago is the reason I’m currently living in this hell hole. When ‘the Boss’ otherwise known as His Majesty King Jacob, cue eye roll, found me starving and out of my mind from lack of sleep, I thought this place sounded like paradise. A safe haven, a community locked securely away behind high walls and gates, where no dead could disrupt my desperately needed rest. Food, water, shelter, you name it, it was supposed to be here. So, I compromised my number one rule. I trusted him. I came along willingly and he locked me in these walls and made me a part of his harem. Yep, harem. Not as fun as it sounds. I was forcefully informed that women were only good for breeding when in apocalypse situations, and seeing as Jacob has set himself up as king of this little slice of hell, he gets the pleasure of breeding with the women. It’s some real ‘Mad Max’ shit, I tell ya.

Unfortunately, no one told my uterus that it had to be useful. After 3 months of Jacob trying his best it turns out I can’t have babies, so what’s the point of a woman that can’t have kids? Well, unhappily, the answer to that is, she becomes a reward system for the kings men. “Good job slaying that zombie horde, take Lacey for the night’, or ‘well done on finding wine for me on the salvage mission, take Lacey for the night.’ I was supposed to be Jacobs subservient little reward system for the men folk that protect the compound. Ugh. I am naturally anything but subservient and if it weren’t for my ability to remove myself from any situation and escape into my own mind I might not have survived. Suck on that therapist lady. But instead, I played my role and kept quiet, after all I had put myself in this situation by not following my rules. I played my quiet, dedicated little mouse role so well that King Jacob thinks he can trust little old broken me. One day he decided that he should start training me in combat so I can guard the ‘valuable, breeding women’ without him having to worry himself about his guards taking advantage. I think the harem women might have had something to do with that decision. Turns out I excel at archery and can accurately hit most targets with any kind of fire arm. I have also learnt hand to hand combat and knife skills. The training has been brutal and thorough. That doesn’t matter though, because I became valuable again, as something more than a broodmare or reward toy, I have a purpose and I am mostly left alone now.

It is the only good thing that’s happened to me since I got here, I think as I sprint through the twisting turns of the makeshift community. I quickly pat myself down as I run, checking I have my weapons. Yep, two knives as long as my forearm are strapped to my legs, a 9mm handgun rests on my hip and my compound bow and quiver are slung over my back. I’m as ready as I always am. I never leave my weapons behind, even when I sleep and bathe I have them within reach. I will never be caught defenceless again.

It’s only when I slide into the little dirt packed square they call a training area that I realise I completely left Ben behind. I didn’t even thank him . Oh well , I am certain he will find a way to pay me back eventually.

David, my trainer, for lack of a better word, stands across from me casually checking out his huge knives. That is not a metaphor. His knives are massive. On the edge of being swords, really. Who needs knives this big? Why do they even exist? Who made these things, a freaking giant? I quietly panic to myself, babbling useless questions as I prepare for what is sure to be an unpleasant training day, judging by the size of those murder sticks. David tends to use bigger weapons when he’s in a mood . And I was late. Shit. He just stands there not looking at me, his massive, tattooed arms flexing as he moves the huge weapons around in his grasp. His shaved head and moustache really accentuate that whole ‘ biker of terror and death’ look he’s going for. That and the knives.

These days I can mostly hold my own against David, I’ve even beaten him twice in the 8 months I have been training. Today is not likely to be one of those days.

When he launches himself at me from across the yard I scramble into a semblance of a graceful roll and stumble to my feet behind him, and that is the only chance I get to regain my balance because he’s just suddenly in front of me and one of those huge knives are tearing towards my stomach. I block with one of my considerably smaller blades and twist out of the way, from there we start into a grueling pattern that I just barely keep up with. By the end of the training session, I am bleeding from several minor wounds as well as a few nastier cuts. Once I am well and truly beaten and bloodied, David turns and walks away. Not much of a talker, that David. I give his back a silent scowl as I wipe sweat from my brow, unintentionally smearing my own blood across my face. I turn my scowl onto my offending body parts and try not to sigh dramatically. Now I’ll need to shower, and that shit makes me uncomfortable. Vulnerable. It can wait, I tell myself.

I limp my way back to the hovel outside of the harems quarters that I call my home. The ramshackle pieces of tin strapped down to the outside of the harem girls stout building barely fits a single cot and is bone meltingly hot in the summer and literally freezing in the winter. But it keeps most of the rain off me and my sparse belongings. I grab the rag I use as a towel from the end of my threadbare cot and wipe my hands before unstrapping my bow and quiver and laying them gently on the bed, quiver positioned so I can easily grab one of my hand-made arrows if I need to. I only have three but I figure any is better than none. And the things I had to do to get those three… well three is enough. I spy a tiny plate of brackish water sitting just inside my curtained door and suppress a small smile. One of the harem girls must have been watching the training. I quickly dunk my towel and wipe the majority of blood from my face and arms before I bandage my more severe wounds to stop the slow leak of crimson. I have to be quick, or the women of the harem will try to ‘help’ me, seeing as they obviously witnessed the beating I got. I shudder as I remember the last time they tried to help me with my wounds, the relentless scrubbing and constant chattering grating against my raw nerves as they used a mostly blunt needle and cotton thread to tie my wounds closed. No, thanks, I can take care of my own wounds well enough. They do keep me stocked with bandages and salves though. They’re not all bad I guess and they look after me as best they can without drawing attention to themselves. Lucky I have no attachments to anyone here or I might find myself actually liking some of those girls.

Once I’ve made myself mostly presentable, and re-strapped my weapons, I duck in to check on the harem girls and the screaming children that seem to multiply every time I walk through the door. Honestly, I don’t know how they do it. I’d much rather take every beating the king throws my way than be saddled with the responsibility of pushing out screaming monsters. But that’s just me.

Asia, India and Red all look up as I come through the door, the only ones to look up and pay me any attention. Those aren’t their real names of course, just as mine isn’t really Lacey. They are the names the king decided on. One guess where Asia and India are from? New York and some local town I can’t remember the name of apparently, but they have Asian and Indian looks, so you can see how he got there with the names. His lack of originality is truly painful. I got my name because I was wearing fancy underwear that I stole from the clothesline of a presumably dead woman with a kink for lacy thongs and see through panties. Desperate times. Fancy underwear is better than no underwear when running from mobs of zombies though. As a result, I ended up being called Lacey. Ugh. Obviously naming people is not a talent of the king. No, his talent seems to lie more in the way of recruiting large, angry men to blindly follow his leadership for a chance at living peaceful lives trapped in a cess pit of unending misery and brutality. Everyone has their thing, I guess. I shudder to even consider the stupid things he has decided to name his offspring. I don’t ever ask their names, I don’t want to know. I do know that their mothers have their own names for the children so I can imagine the ones Jacob gives out are just awful. You don’t go up against the king, even for something as small as a name. Unless it’s in secret and you can’t bear to look at your child and call it some dumb shit name like Loyalty or Placenta or whatever the hell pops into that mad bastard’s head when he sees them.

“All right there, Lacey?” asks Red as she flips her wild mane of, you guessed it, red hair over her shoulder and moves the feeding infant from one breast to the other. I swear I have seen far more boobs than any straight twenty-four-year-old woman should have to endure. Casual nudity is encouraged in the harem women’s quarters, apparently it’s easier for impregnating, birthing and feeding purposes. Winning all ‘round, I guess.

“Of course, Red. Never been better. You?”

She just snorts at me and goes back to gossiping. Rude. I guess she can see the blood leaking through my bandages. Oh well.

“Have you cleaned those new cuts?” Asia asks sharply. She makes an art out of bullying a person into taking care of themselves. Her sharp words and scathing tone usually mask a sincere need to help. A need that she will follow up with physical violence if she thinks its warranted.

“Absolutely. A really deep clean. No need for you guys to get involved.” I reply. Maybe a little too quickly, if Asia’s disbelieving glare is anything to go by.

Deciding that I’ve had all the screaming children, boobs and crabby harem wives that I can handle today, I slip back outside to stand by the door like a good little guard. The harem quarters are situated in the middle of the ‘city’, which is really just a whole lot of old government/military type buildings and new ramshackle humpies that have sprung up in every crack and crevice of the fenced block. Everything is cramped and dirty and the sun never seems to shine properly here. At the back of the large block is a small area for growing food and keeping goats, but the majority of food is foraged outside the walls by the kings ‘knights’. They head outside the walls every day to gather food and supplies to keep the compound running, but there’s still never enough. I am fairly sure that’s why Jacob is so lax with enforcing any sort of order in this shit hole, there is no way to stop starving people from stealing from each other. Also, because he’s a lazy dickwad , I’m sure. In this dystopian dictatorship he has created, the strong thrive and the weak are left to die… literally. The weakest members of the society live closest to the fence, pushed up against the perimeter of ‘civilization’. Their screams will alert the more important people of coming danger, according to Ben. When people get too weak to benefit the community or die in their beds, the knights take their heads and use the bodies to help grow the food. Ah, the circle of life. It’s all very Lion King-esq if you don’t think about it too hard. And if you don’t think about the tomatoes you are eating having grown in the decomposing remains of Bob from down the lane . I don’t know what they do with the heads they collect, those buggers can still bite until the brain is destroyed, so I hope they are given that mercy, or at least locked somewhere secure.

The compound walls are nothing fancy, eight-foot mesh with razor wire at the top, standard issue for abandoned government blocks like this one was. Jacob has had the fences reinforced in most places with old pieces of iron and a couple of old buses, but there are still areas without reinforcement. I spend a lot of time trying to stare holes through the fence, looking for any weaknesses. Not that it would matter, I’d be shot dead if they ever saw me touching that fence. No one leaves, except the knights, it’s the rules.

I’m pulled from my gloomy contemplation of the unlikely destruction of the fence by a loud whistle, coming from the area to my left. Ugh, this day just keeps getting worse I think as I heave a sigh and drag my tired body into action, shuffling as fast as I can into the next building over, otherwise known as the throne room . Ick.

Jacob sits on a raised dais in a fancy looking chair, waiting on his minions to gather after his whistle. His hands are covered in his customary jewels and his oily black hair is trimmed just so, he’s wearing suit pants and a white button up shirt, undoubtedly both were extremely expensive items of clothing, before the apocalypse made them redundant. His tall, skinny frame sits straight backed on the ridiculous chair and his piercing brown eyes survey the gathering crowd. I position myself in the back, as close to the door as I can get. These impromptu meetings usually end in bloodshed and I am honestly in no fit shape to stay out of the way of a fight today. Once everyone has gathered Jacob unnecessarily raises his hand for silence, even though there wasn’t much talking to begin with. These meetings tend to be short and brutal, so everyone is always on edge.

“I have gathered you here this day for a rare treat” he begins, in his pompous, over the top voice “today we have had new guests arrive at our very own door seeking refuge.” Inwardly, I sigh, people turn up at the gates periodically, claiming they heard about our ‘safe haven’. They’re always disappointed in what they find. I don’t know if the stories are spread from Jacob himself, but the place they describe is nothing like this. “They bring with them some very interesting information. They claim to know of a large store of food, not too far away, if they are to be believed. They have offered to show us this food store in return for a place to stay in our utopia” I nearly snort at his description of the dank, seedy underbelly we call home and also at his use of the phrase ‘food store’. Just call it a grocery store like a normal person. Dramatic fuck. “I will be sending one knight only, out with one of theirs to scout the area and report back. The area is apparently rife with the dead, so it will be dangerous, but the rewards, I am told, will be huge. My best two knights will fight for the honor. Ben and Adrian. Commence”

And just like that the two men burst into movement, slashing hidden weapons at each other and generally making a mess. This is why I stayed by the door. No wonder David was so worked up today, he’s apparently not ‘the best’ I snicker to myself, before promptly diving for cover as the two idiots spill over to my little area of the room. I manage to scramble out of the way without further injury, and I honestly count that as a win today.

Eventually Ben comes out the victor and Adrian is dragged from the room, presumably to recover or die, I’m not sure which and I genuinely don’t care. Ben looks expectantly to the king when he is declared victor and then shoots me an evil smile that tells me he has not forgotten being left behind this morning. Damn it.

“Ben has been chosen to scout the area tomorrow and will return to lead the knights to promised bounty. That is all. Dismissed.” Jacob rises from his chair as if to leave when Ben as good as signs his own death warrant. “Sire, is it not customary to reward the winner of your fights?” Ben says, his voice oozing charm and sincerity, matching the ridiculous way Jacob speaks to curry favor.

Jacob sits back down heavily and pins Ben with a stare. “Indeed, Ben, how could I forget?” he says in a deadly tone, “what would you request as reward? Seeing as the honor of being chosen to lead does not seem to be enough for you?”

Yikes. People die when Jacob uses that voice, sucks to be Ben right now, although I’m honestly not complaining. The world could do with less Ben’s. He seems to be on the same wavelength as me, unfortunately, because he pales a little and bows before graciously stuttering “nothing my lord, as you said it is honor enough to serve you. The heat of the fight must have gotten me, uh, confused. Forgive me.”

Jacob says nothing but gets up from his chair and exits toward his rooms. Ben seems to be able to breathe again. He shoots me a dark look, as if it’s my fault he nearly got himself executed, as he starts moving toward me. I turn tail and hobble out of there, back to the relative safety of the harem women.