Lipstick & Zombies (Deadly Divas Book 1) (2 page)

"What?" she asked. "Let me in!" She leaned against the cloth, bowing it, and they shouted at her. One of the girls from their group was playing with wires in the elevator wall. She shouted something about almost having it.

The zombie that had been coming for Georgia had fallen onto someone else, giving her time, but not much. She reloaded her gun while continuing to shout that they needed to let her in—she didn't even know what she was saying to convince them anymore. It didn't matter; no one was listening. She pointed her gun at the opening in the fabric, at Ben. He shook his head, still smirking. She pulled the trigger. She'd been aiming for his arm, not his chest, but oh well. He collapsed to the floor.

"I got it!" someone shouted.

The elevator doors closed, like the force of her arms was nothing at all. She pulled her fingers back at the last second.

The large body of the blubbering guy made a good shield. She killed two zombies before he jerked forward and bit her. She thought she might have shot one more before her thoughts slipped out of her grasp.

A table of bored executives looked away from the frozen image of Georgia's last moments.

"Again, huh?"

"I really thought that elevator was fool proof.”

"One of those kids is always going to be smarter than you, Anna."

"Thanks, asshole."

Damien shrugged, like he was proud of the title.

"It doesn't matter," the guy in the corner said. "If it wasn't the elevator, they'd find another way out. The idea of coming back here and going to the brig is always going to be more appealing than being eaten alive."

"Well, what do you suggest we do, then?" Anna was tired of watching these tapes of people half her age outsmarting everything she rigged up. It was infuriating.

"We could kill anyone who comes back up," someone suggested.

"Then what motivation do they have for shooting the zombies at all? Die down there, or die up here? Idiot."

"I don't hear you suggesting anything."
A chorus of sighs and groans filled the board room. They were all tired of these meetings, these tapes, this job. Being an executive was a great title, with a slew of boring tasks, none of them as monotonous as this. No one wanted to join the military, drafting wasn't going over well, and the corpses—animated and not—were piling up at the wall and causing a smell that nothing could keep out. If there were anything more boring than the tapes of the newly drafted shoving their comrades forward to die, it was listening to lazy people complain about the smell of the dead. Luckily, that was mostly a job for politicians, but they'd demand to be heard every few weeks at these meetings, like the executives didn't have enough to deal with. Zombies weren't the true plague of the world, laziness was.

"We could give them their own shields, so they stop using people," someone said.

"We did that, remember?"

"Oh, right. That was..."

The groans and sighs were replaced with snickers. Kids did the darndest things.

"Okay," Willa said, standing up. Heads popped up around the room, silent. Willa never made a sound. She was too busy flicking through her phone, talking to kids about buying drinks, or handbags, or whatever she was plundering the pockets of parents for that week. "I have a plan."

ARE YOU READY FOR FAME, FORTUNE, AND FIGHTING?

ARE YOU READY TO CHANGE THE WORLD THROUGH MUSIC?

WANTED.

Five girls. Must be able to sing, dance, and kill zombies.

We're looking for you,
Deadly Divas
!

Girls must be 16-17 years old. Chosen individuals will be exempt from military draft lotteries. Only one girl will be chosen per school. The chosen Divas will no longer need to attend school.

Are you ready to be more than you dreamed?

Chapter One

SADIE

Sadie didn't need to be able to hear to know what people were saying. They were talking about her. They always were. Something about her clothes making her a skank, or how she dressed like she thought she was better than everyone else—she was—or her leg. Always about the leg, either in whispers, or loud and bitter. “
She thinks she's better than everyone else, but she's
handicapped.”

They should really be on the other side of the wall with the other zombies, where they'd fit in with their mindless groaning and need to turn everyone else into a dark little flesh eater like themselves.

The teacher pointed at his own ears when he walked past her desk, his daily reminder to pull out her earbuds. It was cute how he kept trying. She kept her music on all day, everyday. She only pulled her earbuds out when it was time to shower, and then it was only to switch to her bathroom speakers. If she was going to be the best musician, she had to know more than
everyone
else, not just the cannibals currently surrounding her.

Someone threw a wad of paper at the back of her head. Her arm ached with the urge to throw something sharp their way, but she didn't even have a knife on her today. It was probably for the best. The last time she'd thrown a knife at school they'd told her she wouldn't just be expelled, they'd get special permission to have her "special skillset" drafted early. With a threat like that, you'd think she'd actually hit the bastard. She'd left a good quarter of an inch by the side of his head. Dramatic bureaucrats.

The teacher started the morning announcements like every other, with the deaths of the drafted. She'd written several songs about this glorious beginning to the day. This teacher slipped right through the names; there was a rhythm to it she admired. She wondered how many of the names he knew. He must know a lot of them. The teachers always did.

He rolled his eyes when he held up the flier. She wasn't going to read it—why would she?—but the music note caught her attention. She raised an eyebrow and pulled out her earbuds.

DEE

"Did you see the news?" Dee's dad asked.

"Of course," her mom said.

"You know who'd be great at that," he said.

"Hmm?"

"That girl next door, the silly one," he said.

Dee slapped her dad's arm. "Oh come on," she said.

He laughed. "You know I meant you."

"I could do it!" she exclaimed, like there'd been doubt in his voice.

"I know you could."

"I'd be great at it," she insisted.

"We know, baby," her mom said. "You could do anything. More eggs?"

CARRIE

She was scribbling in her notebook, listening to the morning announcements, sort of, when she first heard a whisper of her name.
Hairy, Carrie, thinks she's so scary
. Pete again. It had been a while. She pulled out a new page, scribbled quickly, and left it on her desk. She leaned back and stretched her arms. A dainty smile pulled up her cheeks before she turned around.

Pete winked at her. "Hey, Carrie."
"Hiya Pete."

"Whatcha writin'?"

"Oh, it's for you." She pulled a curl away from her face and twirled it around her finger.

"Love note? You don't have to go through all that trouble for me, babe." He elbowed his friend, whose name she couldn't remember. Everyone called him Sport.

"It's no trouble at all." She giggled. "I've been looking forward to it."

"Don't be so shy, let me see it."

"Oh, I don't know," she said.

Sport pulled it off her desk. "Whoa."

"What?" Pete yanked it out of his hands. "What is this?"

"Your suicide note," she said, with a giggle. "It'll be useful the next time you sing that song." She squeaked when she shrugged and turned back around in her chair.

The announcement on the screen at the front of the room stole her attention before she got back to her notebook.

JO

"Who do you think signs up for these things?" her brother asked.

"The same girls who are willing to sleep with you," her sister answered.

"Jerk."
"Moron."

"Jo likes to sing. Maybe she'll do it."

"Oh right, can you imagine? Flipping her hair and tripping over her high heels?"

Jo's jaw jutted forward. She was careful not to let her hair do anything too flamboyant when she shook it off her face.

GERRI

Some guy had his hands in Gerri's hair. She couldn't remember his name, but with the way he used his tongue, he didn't need one. He'd be remembered.

"Gerri, holy monkey zombies, have you seen the ad?"

She pulled her face free, and the guy moved his mouth to her neck. He definitely got bonus points for handling interruptions well. Still, he really needed a wardrobe change. She wasn't sure how she felt about a fixer upper. Nelly shook the screen. Gerri focused on Nelly's face. "What are you talking about?"

"The ad! Have you seen it?"

Gerri took hold of the screen and read the heading. "Wait. What?" She pulled it free of Nelly's hand and patted the guy on the head before pushing him away. She read the whole thing. Her jaw dropped.

Nelly said, "It's totally mine," with a proud smile like she believed she already had it.

Gerri pouted her bottom lip at her best friend. The ad said they were only taking one girl from each school. Some days, it was like Nelly was new to this world. She didn't want to break her poor little heart, but Gerri knew that spot was hers. "Oh, honey."

EUREKA! NEWSFEED

MEET TEN GIRLS AUDITIONING FOR DEADLY DIVAS

THE NEXT BIG THING: DEADLY DIVAS, WHAT IS IT?

THE STUFF OF DREAMS, OR NIGHTMARES? WHAT ARE DEADLY DIVAS?

ARE YOUR DAUGHTERS AUDITIONING? HOW TO STOP THEM!

Chapter Two

SADIE

There were three rounds to tryouts. Round one was the meet and greet. Round two was the panel with the big wigs. Round three had something to do with fighting, but it wasn't very clear. Sadie had stages to her outfit for the rounds. She had more to prove than the other girls, which was nothing new for her.

For round one, she had a leather cord stitching together the slit on the left side of her dress, hiding her leg. It restrained her movement quite a bit, and she'd built her meet and greet strategy around that fact. Just like with everything in life, you had to give as much as you could right from the start, because you never knew how long you'd actually have someone's attention before they wrote you off.

Anthony, her brother, had listened patiently while she talked through her strategy, never pointing out that he thought she was terribly pessimistic. They knew each other well enough that he didn't have to say it. He just smiled at her while she talked. He was one year younger than her, which meant that unless he dropped out of high school—meaning he'd be automatically drafted, something he would never do—he'd be put into the draft lottery one year after she was already in. They called it a lottery, like you had a chance, but if there was any kind of system to it they weighted down the names of the poor. The kids further from the city center nearly all went to the wall to fight. The inner city kids still went, but in half the numbers. She was sure that seemed awful enough to them, but it was everything to her. She'd be fine if she were drafted. She was tough, a survivor. The idea of taking out some undead and seeing the other side of the wall almost excited her. But her sweet little brother? Who wouldn't eat meat on the rare day they got it because he thought rabbits were cute? She'd do anything to lower his chances of being drafted. The ad didn't say she'd have that power, but it was a chance. That was all she needed.

They wanted girls who could fight? Who could sing? Who had personality? Not. A. Problem. She could take the place of all five girls, if that's what they wanted. She needed to make it clear they could send everyone else home; she was there and ready.

The tight braids on the sides of her head wound up to the curly Mohawk, both sassy and functional as it hid her six-piece-set of rainbow throwing knives and kept her hair out of her eyes. She came slinking into the room, pulled three from her hair, and tossed one above each judges' head before belting out the funkiest version of
Somewhere Over the Rainbow
she could come up with. She'd made it through the chorus before they swallowed down their shock.