Undead Ultra (A Zombie Novel) by Camille Picott Read Free Book Online Page B

situation as we go. If the roads look safe, we find a car to rent or buy. Or steal one, whatever. We can ditch it before we hit the CDC quarantine or if there are too many zombies. In the end, we’ll need to be on foot to get into Arcata.”
    “But . . .” I work a quick calculation in my head. “That’s at least two hundred miles.”
    Frederico takes my phone and pulls up a GPS app. After a moment, he says, “It’s exactly two hundred and one point three miles from this very spot to Humboldt University.”
    “Two hundred and one miles ?” I say, incredulous. “Neither of us has ever run that far before.”
    “How many miles did you log last week?”
    “One hundred thirty-six,” I reply instantly. I keep a running log and track my mileage and elevation work.
    “I did one hundred and nine.”
    I think about this. For the average, non-crazy person, running two hundred or more miles would be impossible. At an ambitious walk, they may cover fifteen miles a day. Maybe twenty, if they’re in great shape. But Frederico and I have both made a hobby of running ultra races. Insane long distances are our specialty.
    My eyes dry. Something akin to hope blooms in my chest. If we only stop once or twice for catnaps—ultramarathons are run with little to no sleep—we can make good time. If we can find a car to use for a while, we can make really good time.
    “Do you think we can make it in two days?”
    Frederico, sensing my budding optimism, considers this. “Maybe, if we can knock out some distance in a car,” he says at last. “If we make the majority of the trip on foot, three days is a safer estimate.”
    “But we’ll be on the road,” I say. “Road running is always faster than trail running, and we’ve both done one-hundred-mile trail runs in under twenty-four hours.”
    “I haven’t done a sub-twenty-four in over five years, trail or road,” he replies. “The farther we go, the harder it will be to hold a decent pace. There’s no guarantee we’ll even be able to stay on the road. If things get hairy, we may be bushwhacking.”
    “Seventy-two hours.” I nod, letting this new reality sink in. I might not be cut out for zombie killing, but I am a long-distance runner. “Okay.”
    I pick up the phone and send one last message.
    Sit tight, sweetie. Frederico and I are coming to get you. Be there as soon as we can.
    Five seconds later, my phone rings. Carter’s smiling face pops up on the screen, an odd juxtaposition to everything that’s going on.
    “Put that thing on silent,” Frederico says.
    I obey, then hit the speaker button. “I thought you said you couldn’t talk on the phone,” I say anxiously.
    “You can’t come here,” Carter hisses. His words are barely above a whisper. “Cars are zombie magnets. I don’t know how far south the outbreak has spread, but I’ve seen at least three cars get swarmed today.”
    “No problem,” Frederico replies. “Your mom’s car is totaled, and we’re out in the middle of the vineyards without a taxi in sight. We’re running to you.”
    Silence.
    “You guys are crazy,” Carter hisses. “You can’t run here!”
    “Your mom and I are indeed crazy, and we’re coming to get you, kiddo. Deal with it.” With that, Frederico hangs up.
    It’s my turn to snatch the phone.
    Do u have enough snacks to hold u over until we get there? I text.
    Don’t come , he types back. Not safe.
    We r coming. Do u have enough food?
    Long pause. Then, Yes, we have snacks.
    What about water?
    Sink still works.
    Good. See u soon baby. Love u.
    Be careful Mom. Stay away from cars. Love you 2.
     

Chapter 7
    Prep
     
     
    What follows is a routine Frederico and I have danced for nearly two decades: prep for an ultra run. Even though this will be a very different type of run, the essentials are the same.
    We pull my gear box out of the trunk. It’s overflowing with running supplies. I never go anywhere without it. Especially these days, when I’m running almost every