Vampires Don't Sparkle: Deathless Book 3 Read Free Page A

unnerving whenever he smiled. It was impossible to miss the almost palpable aura of fear he left in his wake as he passed through the encampment. It was a different flavor than that caused by his companion, despite the fact that both were mythological predators. People trusted werewolves—more so than walking corpses, anyway.
    He and Commander Jordan made their way past the last knot of refugees, finally reaching the top of Angel Island. The heavily forested little spur of land was just a few miles across, connected to Sausalito via a ferry that had stopped running when the CME had wiped out most of the electronics required to run it.
    Now the only way to reach the island was using one of the more conventional sailboats that ringed it, a vast fleet of them gathered from all over the bay. They bobbed up and down on soft blue waves, sails blindingly white in the afternoon sun. Trevor glanced up at the fiery orb, untroubled by its brilliance as he would have been while still alive.
    “We’re running out of room,” Jordan said, stepping up to join Trevor. The beefy man wore a black T-shirt and grey cargo pants, which somehow managed to look like a uniform despite the fact that he no longer worked for Mohn Corp. “Food isn’t an issue yet, but space is.”
    He was right. The entire island was dotted with small clusters of multicolored tents, most liberated from the REI store in Corte Madera. They were up to almost three thousand people, which was more than the island was able to support. Sanitation was fast becoming a problem, as was supplying the place with fresh water.
    “Maybe it’s time to start clearing the rest of Marin,” Trevor suggested. He turned to gesture at the blackened remains of the Golden Gate bridge. A full quarter had been destroyed in the nuclear blast that Irakesh, the ancient Egyptian god, had unleashed a few weeks ago. “Thanks to baldy, the southern border is clear. If we can block the Richmond bridge, all we have to worry about is any zombies that wander down from the north.”
    “How many can you control, do you think?” Jordan asked, peering at Trevor through unreadable sunglasses.
    “I don’t know yet,” Trevor replied with a shrug. He faced north, staring up the harbor towards Larkspur. Bad memories there. That was where he’d helped Irakesh kill Bridget. He wasn’t sure if Blair had forgiven him for that. He certainly hadn’t forgiven himself. “I’d guess a few hundred. At the very least I can set up a beacon to draw them to me. You and the others should be able to kill them.”
    “That’s going to take a long time,” Jordan said, shaking his head. The wind played through his hair. The military buzz cut had given way to blonde curls, and it humanized him somehow. “There are hundreds of thousands of zombies that way, and more will come south every day. I’m not saying we shouldn’t try, but we could be at this for years before we get rid of them all.”
    “How’s the training going? It looks to me that you’ve got a couple dozen promising soldiers down there,” Trevor asked, nodding at a cluster of tents near the visitor center. It was patrolled by about a dozen men and women, each wearing black. They were all armed, most with rifles.  
    “They’re not ready to deal with combat on this scale. Besides, that’s not why I’m training them,” Jordan said, scratching at stubble threatening to become a beard. Trevor no longer had that problem. His hair had stopped growing when he died, leaving him with a permanent goatee. “We’re going to need them to defend the refugees. A militia of sorts. If we want to clear the zombies we need to do it ourselves, at least until we find a safe place for the survivors to hole up.”
    “I thought that’s what this place is,” Trevor said, a bit confused. They’d worked hard to set up the island as a sanctuary.
    “It’s temporary at best. People can’t live here, not long term. The bay has been overfished for too long, and