Zombies in Paradise (Love in the Age of Zombies Book 2) Page 13

  He’d had enough of this place. It was time to go. He headed out into the garage—again hearing the thwick, thwick, thwick sound of the pet door as a cat or possum or whatever slinked away. He took a closer look at the canoes he’d noticed earlier. The wooden canoe was gorgeous but heavy. The Kevlar and fiberglass canoe was much lighter and, he suspected, handled better in the water. He pulled open the garage door for more light then unloaded the canoe from the storage rack. It was just light enough for him to carry down to the beach over his head. He thumped the canoe onto the waterline then picked up his shoes and washed them in the lake. No point in putting them on wet, though, so he placed them on the floor of the canoe. He trotted back to where he’d left the bike and backpack, took out his spare clothes and quickly dressed. He wheeled the bike into the garage and almost as an afterthought grabbed two paddles. He closed the garage door and headed back to the beach.

  He threw the nearly empty backpack into the canoe and shoved off into the surf. It was tough going at first, and he nearly overturned as he struggled to get a feel for the canoe. Most people assume the Great Lakes are placid with little baby waves, but in reality the waves can be big enough for surfing. Today it was only a medium surf, but Kevin was not an experienced paddler. Once he got past the second sandbar, the swells were slower, and he paddled north in earnest. For the first time in days he felt safe. There was no way a zombie could sneak up on him, no way for mercenaries to ambush him.

  It was fairly easy paddling. He watched the shoreline slowly pass, constantly looking for zombies or any signs of people. For a while the dunes didn’t change much—the dunes closest to the water were only ten feet high, mere hillocks, actually, covered in Marram grass and reeds, with an occasional stunted beech tree. But as he paddled on, the dunes rose higher and higher and were soon hidden by the forests covering them. Soon this, too, began to change, as the rising bluffs became more barren. The constant wind plus the brutal winter weather discouraged all but the hardiest of trees. The few trees growing on the face of the bluffs were stunted and permanently twisted by the wind. Soon the bluffs rose hundreds of feet at a steep angle. Occasionally Kevin could see a house perched atop the bluffs, and now and then a wooden lookout platform was built into the sand.

  At one point he saw a massive wooden staircase stretching from the crest of the dune to the beach. Or, it used to go to the beach. In the years since it had been built, the staircase had warped and twisted in the winter weather, rendering the steps useless. At one point it must have been quite rewarding for the owners to walk down to the beach. There were literally thousands of board feet of wood, purchased and built at great expense, and at regular intervals a landing was built, complete with benches for those who found the exertion a bit much. Someone had a vision and acted on it, but the plans were ill-fated, and now the wood stood testament to human futility. He stared at what was left of the structure as he paddled past.

  He noticed something he hadn’t seen before . . . two wind turbines on top of the dunes overlooking Frankfort. Their blades turned slowly in the wind. His first thought was, Cool! His second thought was, I’ll bet their neighbors weren’t happy! As he got closer, he also noticed solar panels, a lot of them. They reminded him of the solar panel fields near the university in Ann Arbor. At first it was jarring, this high-tech equipment in the midst of undeveloped beach bluffs. But he kind of liked the flowing curves of the turbine blades and the graceful way they turned in the wind. The solar panel frames were black and the panels were very dark green. While they didn’t exactly blend in, they didn’t look obnoxiously ugly or ruin the view of the bluff. All the same, if the people who put up the wind turbines also installed the solar panels, they probably got a lot of grief from the NIMBY crowd, another extinct group of humans.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Kevin paddled on, thinking about the sailboat he had seen, anxious to get to Frankfort. With each stroke of the paddle, the distant Frankfort lighthouse—now only a mile away—grew larger. But in the midst of his excitement, he began feeling intensely lonely. He was on the verge of possibly reaching a safe harbor and finding survivors—decent human beings—but there was no one to share it with. It was just Kevin, alone in all the world.

  He scanned the beach, marveling at being the only person on the beach within seven miles. But wait—there was a figure standing on the beach. Was it a survivor or a zombie? As he paddled closer, it became obvious that it was a woman. A nude woman, sunning herself. She sat on a beach chair near the water’s edge, her hands clasped behind her head, her body turned to take full advantage of the sun. Her flawless breasts—no tan lines—cast shadows on her torso. As Kevin drew nearer, she demurely turned her face his direction, opened her eyes and smiled. Then she reached back and pulled a pair of white shorts and a navy blue shirt out of a small tote bag and pulled them on, not in any hurry and without turning away from him. If anything, she seemed to deliberately take her time putting on her clothes. Once she finished buttoning the blouse, she stood up and waved, smiling. Kevin started paddling again, his heart beating faster, excited to see an apparently friendly survivor! Even so, he was cautious and on guard. As he got nearer, she stood at the water’s edge and motioned for him to come closer. Curiosity overruled his wariness, and he paddled to the beach, grounding it on an area of sand with minimal rocks and pebbles.

  “Well, hello!” she said, still smiling broadly. Kevin was trying to contain his excitement. Other than Doc, until now he hadn’t seen any friendly survivors. She appeared healthy and her body language was relaxed. She appeared to be in her mid-forties with a healthy tan and honey-blonde hair. She had a voluptuous body, feminine and curvaceous. Kevin had to force himself not to stare. “I’ve had interesting things wash up on the beach before, but not a live human being . . . not lately, anyway,” she said.

  Kevin jumped out of the canoe and dragged it farther up the beach. He walked toward her rapidly, feeling the Petoskey stone bounce against his thigh as he walked. “You’re alive! You’re not a zombie! I can’t believe it! You’re practically the only human I’ve seen since October! Do you live in Frankfort? Are there others? How have you stayed alive?!” As they came together, he held out his hand. “Sorry if I seem overly excited, it’s just . . . ” He cleared his throat. “Let me start over. I’m Kevin.”

  “Now let’s not stand on ceremony,” she said, drawing him into a hug. “There are too few of us left for formalities!” Her skin was warm from the sun and her tan calves were wet from the lake. Sand covered her bare feet. She was the epitome of a grown up, mature beach babe. The hug was nice, although he was a bit taken aback by her immediate acceptance and openness of him.

  “I’m Lee,” she said, releasing him from her embrace and using one hand to brush a few errant hairs from her face. “I’m not a zombie, there are hundreds of people in Frankfort, and I live up there, in Elberta.” she said with a laugh as she pointed generally behind her. Kevin glanced over and saw a wooden staircase partially hidden in the trees. “Why don’t you come with me and I’ll introduce you to Jake, my husband.”

  This part of the dunes was covered in forests, so the stairs didn’t get a beating from the elements as much as the twisted wreckage he’d seen earlier. These bluffs weren’t nearly as towering as the others he’d passed. They walked to the stairs and began climbing. “Where did you come from? How have you survived? You look healthy enough!” she said, looking him up and down. Then she stopped and said, “Wait, don’t answer me. You might as well wait and tell me and Jake at the same time. You don’t have any bites or anything, do you? Let me take a look.”

  She walked around Kevin, examining his body. Kevin got the impression she was doing more than looking for bites, and he found himself blushing when she glanced several times at his package.

  “No, nothing like that,” Kevin hurried to answer as he ascended the steps. Before long he was breathing heavily. She didn’t seem affected at all, and was good-humored about waiting for him to catch up once she’d pulled
ahead. When they finally got to the landing on top, he was pretty winded. Between breaths, he said “Damn, you’re in better shape than I am!”

  “I have my own Stairmaster,” she smiled, pointing to the wooden steps. “And it’s a lot more scenic than the gym!” Once they were on top of the bluff, he could see the house. Whoever had designed it had done an excellent job of making it elegantly rustic. It was spectacular but quirky. A large deck extended from the house to the edge of the bluff where it overlooked the steep side of the dune, providing the full vista of Lake Michigan. Just to the north, the Frankfort Lighthouse and breakwater helped frame a picturesque view of the Frankfort Bluffs. To the south, the shoreline swept around in a slow arc, culminating in a barely visible Arcadia breakwater just below the horizon line. It was an incredible view. Built into the deck was a water feature with water cascading down onto a bed of stones. There were several outdoor tables and a sunken area with a fire pit and cushioned outdoor furniture.

  Behind the large patio, the house was framed with floor-to-ceiling windows, but they also had a lot of sculpture and yard art and a covered bar with a large TV. “Let me fix you a drink, and you can tell us your story,” she said, crossing the patio and stepping behind the bar. “Jake!” she called out, “We have company!” Turning back to Kevin she said, “There’s no telling where he is. He could be in the greenhouse or checking the solar panels or puttering around in the barn. Or out walking in the woods.”

  She reached over and started clanging an antique ship’s bell hanging at the side of the bar. After about ten seconds, she stopped and told Kevin the bell served as a way for them to let each other know when they were needed back home. “Now then,” she asked, “what would you like to drink? Bourbon? Beer? Soft drink?”

  “I’d love a beer! It doesn’t matter what kind. I’ll take anything! Beer is my brand!” Kevin noticed four tap handles mounted on the bar. “I feel guilty even asking, but do you really have draft beer on tap?”

  “We have two fall seasonals from Short’s Brewing, an IPA and a Belgian from Stormcloud, and PBR. And we have a selection of bottled beer as well.”

  “PBR?” Kevin said. “That’s kind of an ugly duckling among your craft beers, isn’t it?!”

  “It’s for our less discriminating guests who think beer is just for getting drunk,” Lee explained. “So what’ll it be?”

  “Oh, my God, I’d love a Stormcloud IPA!” Kevin answered, thrilled to drink an honest-to-God draft beer. “How can you have beer on tap? Surely there haven’t been any deliveries since October!”

  “We kind of lucked out,” Lee replied as she began filling a pint glass. “In mid-September we bought a number of kegs from Short’s. We were going to serve it to guests at our annual Halloween party and cellar a few kegs as well. We’re not sure if Short’s is still in business, but Stormcloud still has a brewpub downtown.

  “What?!” Kevin asked, amazed. “Stormcloud is still open? How can that be?”

  “Why wouldn’t it be?” Lee asked with a bemused look on her face.

  “How can Rick and Brian still be brewing, how do they power their equipment, how do they get supplies, and how do customers pay for their drinks? Paper money can’t be good anymore. After what I’ve seen, a working brewpub seems like a small miracle!”

  Lee set Kevin’s pint of IPA on the bar and smiled as she came out from behind the bar. She walked out onto the patio and sat down at a table overlooking the view. A slightly bowl-shaped lake rock in the center of the table served as an ashtray. A beautiful glass marijuana pipe was on the table, and next to it was an airtight glass canister filled with what looked to be marijuana. She noticed him staring and said “Would you like some smoke? It’s good stuff!”

  “No thanks,” Kevin said, “I’m trying to quit!” Lee laughed. The cool breeze from the lake stirred a few loose strands of her hair, and the sun struck her body at just the right angle to accentuate her breasts. Kevin couldn’t help but notice and appreciate her form, while he realized he hadn’t seen a woman besides Michelle in eight months—other than the poor woman those bastards tortured and killed. And while Lee wasn’t overtly arching her back, Kevin got the distinct impression she knew he was looking at her breasts and enjoyed the admiration.

  She made brief, smiling eye contact with him and then looked back out over the lake. “You’re right, we don’t use money. We have a credit system. We have a credit council. If you have a product you want to barter, you take it to them and they tell you how many credits it’s worth. If you accept it, they advance you fifty percent. They actually barter it for you and take a commission from the sale and deduct that from the remaining fifty percent. That commission pays for the few services the community provides—security, infrastructure, quick-responders in emergencies. So, if someone walks into Stormcloud with two credits, they can buy a pint of IPA and get a credit back. Rick at Stormcloud can take the credits they earn back to the credit council and purchase brewing supplies. So if they’re wanting to brew an Imperial cherry IPA and need fresh cherries, they can purchase as many as they can afford.” She paused for a moment then went on. “As far as infrastructure goes, my husband’s family made some very astute investments in green energy about twenty years ago. Their timing was right, and with some favored politicians’ help, those investments paid off very handsomely. Bit by bit we bought solar panels, wind turbines, and had geothermal heating and cooling installed. Seven years ago we went off the grid and started selling excess electricity back to Frankfort. My husband had a greenhouse installed and I renovated the house. Then in 2008, when Michigan passed the law allowing medical marijuana, Jake received a license to become a provider. He added another hydroponic greenhouse. We had our first Halloween party that year. After that it became an annual thing. Last year we expected about a hundred and fifty guests, but then everything fell apart. We had a few friends over despite the horrible situation, but it didn’t feel right to throw a party when cities were overrun with zombies, the grid was down, and the government had collapsed.”

  “You know, it’s wonderfully ironic,” she said, turning to face him with a serene look on her face. “When we first moved here, we were looked down on. They said we were too quote-unquote New Age. We were too liberal. We were too hedonistic. We were hippies with new money. Because we didn’t go to church, someone started a rumor that we were Satanists. A lot of people in town wouldn’t have anything to do with us. But then in October, everything changed.

  “When the grid went down, a group came to visit on the town’s behalf. They came calling with their hats in their hands. The hospital had generators still running, but they were running out of fuel. At night, the only light you could see besides the stars was from the hospital and our house. And to tell you the truth— ” she paused and leaned toward him conspiratorially. Her breasts hung down in a marvelously distracting way.

  Stop that! Kevin reprimanded himself. You’re a married man!

  “—Jake kept them on twenty-four hours a day. He wasn’t just gloating. He was sending a message. Our lifestyle and ethics allowed us to offer them a solution to a very serious problem. That afternoon, when the council members met with us on this very deck, Jake never once gloated, never once rubbed their noses in it. They asked for our help. They wanted enough power to keep part of the hospital running and we said yes, of course. Any other response would have shown our philosophy to be a façade. In exchange for electricity and some of our produce they offered to provide labor for the greenhouse and we’d have an open tab everywhere in town. The funny part is,” she said, leaning back in her chair, “we’d already privately agreed to give them all the power they needed for the hospital and streetlights and a tad more if they needed it. For free. What were we going to do with it? We couldn’t use it all. ”

  “They don’t understand that it’s not about stuff. It’s about character, what kind of person you are in the good times and bad. Now we’re the most respected and loved family in town. Everyone is our friend. They tell e
ach other how great it is that we’ve had a change of heart, but we haven’t changed a bit.”

  Kevin was impressed. They were obviously wealthy and yet she was very down to earth. Before he could say anything, she went on. “It’s nice to feel respected for a change. The material stuff is nice, but not important. Because we don’t care about it. I’d love Jake just as much if we were eating ramen noodles every night. Hell, I could practically write a cookbook filled with recipes using ramen noodles. We knew lean times back in our younger days. I was as happy with Jake then as I am now. But tell me,” she said, abruptly switching gears. “I hate to sound like Gollum, but what do you have in your pocketses, my preciousss?”

  “I beg your pardon?” Kevin said, taken aback.

  “You have a large lump in your pants, and I don’t think it’s just because you’re happy to see me,” she said with a grin. Kevin blushed. “So I’m curious. What are you carrying?” She stared pointedly at the bulge in his pocket.

  “Oh! That’s a Petoskey stone I found on my way here!” He fished it out and showed it to her.

  “You mean to tell me that while you were on the run from zombies and trying to survive, you still took time to pick up a Petoskey stone?” she asked, a note of curiosity in her voice.

  Kevin felt a tad embarrassed. He didn’t want to tell her he’d used the stone to smash a zombie’s head in until brains had splattered him and everything around him, so instead he smiled wryly and said. “Yeah, I’m afraid so. Petoskey stones are a kind of obsession with me.”

  Her eyes suddenly lit up. “I love Petoskey stones!” she said; “I’ve been collecting and polishing them for years! I like to think they’re friendly house sprites that protect us! Each stone has its own spirit, you know!”