Zombified (28 page)

Another gun-toting junior stopped us and told us to pull the car down by the beach. We were lucky to get there early. Once the spots on the beach and by the house were taken, everyone else was going to have to park along the road and walk up.

A bunch of other cars and trucks were already parked near the beach. They were arranged in two semicircles. A couple of dozen yards separated the two lines of cars. We parked in the outer ring. We left our weapons in the car, but we also popped the trunk so we'd be able to get at everything easily.

Michael and Dillon and Zander stood in the back of a huge pickup that had been lifted to ridiculous heights. Three plastic trash cans took up most of the truck's bed, each one filled with ice and a keg. That seemed like a lot of beer to me, but I guess there'd be a few people showing up. I wondered how much time they'd have to drink before things got interesting.

“Hey, dudes,” Zander called out to us. “Want a beer?”

“Actually, yes,” I said. Phil gave me a look and I told him I wanted to have one now and then I'd stay dry. “I want to be completely sober later, but I also want to have a beer at my senior kegger.”

He and Cody also asked for one.

The three bros in the truck took a lot of joy in pouring the beers.

“Here you go,” Mike said. “Eat, drink, and be merry.”

“For later we kick some zombie ass,” Dillon chimed in and they all laughed.

I wondered how much they'd already had and whether or not that was going to be a problem. Seemed a little too late to worry about it now.

As we sipped our beers, we watched some kids stacking wood for a bonfire. The beer tasted good. They'd actually gotten something quality rather than just settling for Budweiser or some other crap. I approved. Not that they'd care.

“I like this place,” Cody said. “It'd be cool to come here when we weren't worried about hordes of the undead, you know?”

“Yeah,” said Phil. “Maybe I'll have a place like this one day and we can all hang out together.”

Cody gave him a look that I wasn't able to interpret. “Sure,” he said. “That'll be cool.”

“Where's Hannah?” I asked.

“She'll be here soon,” he said. “When we were in the car, she texted me to let me know that she and her friends were on the way. They needed to stop and buy ammo before they headed out of town.”

“Well, it's good they're coming prepared,” I said. “She seems like a good one.”

“She is,” he said.

Phil pointed down the beach. “Hey, there's Lance and Sarah. I'm going to go say hi. Want to come?”

“Nah,” Cody said. “I'm going to wait for Hannah and them.”

“Me, too,” I said. Cody shot me a look, but he didn't say anything.

One of the cars parked near the beach started to play some god-awful music. I think it was Kid Rock. A couple of kids gave one of those whoop/yells that's really just a cry for help.

After Phil walked away, I took a step closer to Cody.

“What's up?” I asked him.

“What's that supposed to mean?” he asked.

“Don't play dumb with me,” I said. “I saw that look you had when Phil talked about hanging out in the future. He may have seen it, too, but he doesn't know to be concerned about it.”

Cody sighed and took a long drink of his beer.

“Do you really think there's going to be a lot of hanging out between us in the future, Courtney?” he asked. “You guys are leaving, headed off to wherever doctors and famous freaking cartoon guys head off to. I'll be here. I'll go to Chemeketa and then, if I'm lucky, I'll get a job at some factory. The potato chip plant if I'm
really
lucky. When will we hang out?”

I didn't know what to say, but I felt sick to my stomach. Maybe the beer wasn't as good as I first thought.

“And it's cool,” he said. “It's fine. I want Phil to go off and be successful. You, too. We give each other a lot of shit, but I'll be happy if you go away and become a success. Go win the doctor equivalent of the Stanley Cup, why don't you?”

We each sipped our beers.

“Well,” I said, “I for one hope you do get a job at the potato chip factory. Then you can send me bags of those sea salt and pepper kind.”

He laughed.

“See,” he said, “you're okay. I'll be fine here.” It sounded like he was trying to convince himself.

“Hey, baby!” Hannah and her crew came walking toward us. She had an assault rifle—I think it was a Smith and Wesson—tricked out with a scope strapped across her chest, but the rifle was done up in pink and black camouflage. Pink. And black. I bit back vomit.

She walked right up to Cody, smacking her gum like a cud, and laid a big ol' kiss on him. It was like they were using their tongues to check each other for cavities. Her friends looked as disgusted as I felt.

“Hey, girl,” she said to me when she finally came up for air.

“Hello, female,” I said, and she laughed.

Cody looked dazed by it all. Yeah, I guessed he really was going to be okay.

“I am so buzzed about tonight,” she said. “I've been waiting to put this to some use, you know?” She slapped the rifle that was doing such wonky things to her boobs.

“I'm glad you're ready,” I said. I nodded my head in the general direction that my boyfriend had headed. “I'm going to go find Phil.”

As I walked up the stretch of sand, I noticed that the semicircles had been filled, and so had the spaces up by the cabin. A steady stream of people were now walking up. Things would be in full swing soon. Soon.

I felt all giddy with anticipation, but afraid, too. It felt like Christmas when Leatherface was handing out presents.

Phil found me watching the people arrive. He sidled up next to me and put his arm around my waist. It felt good, dispelling all thoughts of nominally religious holidays and horror movie bad guys.

“How were Lance and Sarah?” I asked.

“It's going to start getting dark soon,” he said.

“Their relationship?” I asked. “Gee, and I thought they were really doing well.”

“Ha,” Phil said. He didn't laugh; he actually said the word “ha.”

“I mean the sun will go away soon and it will become dark,” he said. “Outside. Where we are now.”

“I guess you're right,” I said. I snuggled in closer to him for a second. “I wish the sun would never go down. Maybe that'd keep the zombies from coming.”

“Maybe, but then we'd never be done with this.”

“Whatever, Mr. Practical,” I said.

Crystal Beals found us standing there, and I tore myself away from Phil to give her a hug. It wasn't as satisfying, but I was glad she still liked me enough to give me one. While we embraced, I looked up at the rows of cars and noticed Warren standing there all by himself just watching us. He didn't have a gun that I was able to see, but he did have his sword strapped to his back. At least he came somewhat prepared. After a second, he made eye contact with me, then slowly shook his head and wandered off. What the hell was that about?

Crystal broke away and we talked for a few minutes. She was back to her old, cheerful self. Good, I'd worried that I'd done some damage to what we seemed to be rebuilding. I was also happy to see she was sober.

Actually, I noticed that most people were taking it easy, beer-wise. Mike and the organizers might have a lot left over at the end of the night.

After Crystal moved on to talk to other people, the evening became a long parade of people coming up to say hi. Everyone who'd been at the summit meeting said hello (well, everyone but Warren). A bunch of other people, too. Elsa and that whole crew had shown up together, and while Carol and Brandi weren't exactly exuberant, they at least spoke to me and didn't spit at me even once. I chalked that up in the progress column.

It was interesting to watch all of the social groups mingling a bit. Everyone laughed and talked, and there were hugs. Awkward hugs since most everyone was packing serious firepower. It was heartwarming to see, like an after school special sponsored by the NRA.

Sooner than I'd have thought possible, it was full dark. Some of the boys started throwing gasoline on the bonfire. Everyone stopped what they were doing. Gabe reached into a box of Molotov cocktails someone had prepared, and pulled one out. He used a silver Zippo to light the rag that stuck out the top. Then he used the flaming rag to light a cigarette. It looked cool, but I wondered why he wasn't more concerned about dying in a huge ball of fire. Once his cancer stick was lit, he threw the bottle into the middle of the pile of wood.

There was the sound of breaking glass, then the whole thing went up in a mushroom cloud of flame and smoke. I felt a rush of wind as the fire sucked the surrounding oxygen into itself, and I was immediately hot.

I was glad they'd started the fire. It was going to be a couple of hours before the moon came up, and we'd need the light.

Phil seemed to be the only one who wasn't watching the fire.

“It might be time to call the cops,” he said.

Calling the police was step one in the plan.

“Why?” I asked. “Is it time?”

“They seem to think it is,” he said and pointed out toward the trees.

A ragged line of zombies had come out of the tree line and stood watching us.

“Yeah,” I said. “I guess it's time.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

S
omeone killed the crappy music, and everyone fell silent as they watched more zombies make their way out of the trees.

No one screamed; no one flinched. Not outwardly, at least. My own heart started thudding in my chest and my mouth instantly went dry. I wanted another beer in the worst possible way.

Beside me, Phil took out his phone and dialed 911.

I worked up some spit to wet my mouth, and said, “Get in position, everyone.”

A bunch of us split off from the group and ran to the outer ring of cars. We'd arranged them to use as defensive positions—something to stand behind and use for cover and as braces for aiming. Cody and I got to Phil's car at the same time. I threw the trunk open and he pulled out our shotguns and ammo.

Phil came up after a second and grabbed his gun, too. We all braced ourselves against the car. Then we sat.

“Wait until they get close,” I shouted. “Don't waste your ammo! And wait for my signal before you fall back.” I hoped falling back wasn't going to be necessary.

I stared down the gun barrel at the runners who just stood there. What were they waiting for? Some sort of signal? And where was Brandon? The fire cast long, disorienting shadows and made it hard to see too much detail. I didn't see Brandon, but I knew he was out there somewhere.

On some cue that I was unable to make out, the zombies hissed, and then they came running at us. Maybe the worst part was that they ran silently. Whenever you see a scene like this in a movie, the rushing army always yells as they approach, but these guys were completely silent. I heard my breath, and my pounding heart. And their pounding feet.

“Hold on,” I said.

Phil's cell phone started to ring, but he ignored it.

The zombies had covered nearly half the distance to us when a figure came running up from behind us, leaped onto the trunk of the car, then launched itself toward the zombies.

Warren. He hit the ground running and sprinted toward the monsters, drawing his sword as he went.

“What the hell is he doing?” Cody shouted.

He hit the wall of runners and two fell as he swung his blade. Several of the zombies altered their course to intercept him and he kept swinging and they kept falling.

The mass of the horde kept running at us, though.

“Get ready,” I said.

Warren was surrounded now. He kept up the sword work, but I heard him drawing in ragged breaths from where I stood. He must have been getting tired.

“Ready,” I said. The line of runners were just yards away.

Warren screamed as one of the zombies he'd cut down but hadn't killed grabbed his leg and bit it. He plunged his sword into the thing's head.

“Fire,” I screamed.

I nearly went deaf from the volley of rounds everyone let loose. It was like the whole line of zombies hit a wall as the bullets and buckshot tore through them. The monsters fell and they didn't get back up. A deafening silence came over all of us as we took in what we'd done.

A yell went up across the line. The idiots were celebrating.

Then they saw Warren and they went silent again.

He limped back toward the group, his leg bleeding freely.

“I think I may have messed up back there,” he said.

“Look!” someone shouted, and they didn't mean to look at Warren.

More zombies had come out of the trees. We'd only survived their first wave.

Warren looked from the zombies back to me and Phil. Or maybe just to me. I've never been sure. He smiled.

“Saves me from having to ask you to shoot me,” he said.

As fast as he was able, which wasn't fast, he ran back to get his sword, pulled it out of the zombie's head, then kept running toward the tree line.

The runners took this as their cue to attack. They roared wordlessly and came for us. The ground beneath my feet rumbled as they charged.

“Same as before,” I yelled. “Hold your fire until they're right on us.”

Warren collided with the line of runners. He might have taken out a couple, but then they overwhelmed him. A strangled cry was cut short. I thanked whatever deity was out there listening that the approaching line of ghouls blocked my view of what happened to him.

The zombies reached the piles of their dead buddies, and I shouted, “Fire!”

Another volley, and another. They fell, but there seemed to be more to replace them. Did Brandon plan to bury us under sheer numbers?

A couple of guys started lighting Molotovs and pitching them into the mass of runners. Setting fire to the zombies running at us didn't seem like a big improvement, but after a few seconds, the zombies who'd been set ablaze fell over and just burned.

“Keep it up,” I shouted.

Too soon, the guys ran out of their homemade bombs.

Several zombies reached the car we hid behind. Kids stood and backed away; some just ran back to the next line of cars.

“They're getting through!” Phil shouted. I heard more screams, and then some of the kids were firing into our own lines. That made more gaps. I saw where this was going.

“Fall back to the next line!” I shouted, and I heard the order repeated.

I ran full-out to get behind a truck. I shouted for the people already there to start firing. Zombies started to fall. More kids came up and joined us, firing the whole time. The runners weren't able to get past the cars.

Then I heard someone shout behind us.

“They're in the water!”

Everything slowed down for a second, moving in slow motion as I turned from the charging zombies, back toward the beach. I'd felt earlier like there was something I'd forgotten, and I'd worried it might get us killed. But it wasn't something I'd forgotten; it was something I hadn't even considered in the first place.

Zombies were emerging out of the lake behind us.

How long had they been there? Hours? Days? They'd sat there patiently just waiting for the signal to attack. Dammit, I couldn't wait to get get my hands on Brandon. Even if I was going down tonight, I wanted to take him with me.

A few kids stood on the grass near where the sand started. “Start shooting them, you jerks!” I shouted.

A few did, but not enough. They seemed stunned.

I put my hand on Phil's shoulder. “You have to hold those zombies back. I have to go deal with this other thing.”

He nodded, then turned back to the task at hand.

“Keep shooting,” he yelled.

I ran down the line of kids firing toward the trees, tapping shoulders as I went.

“Come on,” I yelled. “Down to the beach!”

We ran and joined the few kids already there. I knelt down and started shooting. The kids I'd tapped knelt down on either side of me and did the same. I hoped the others would follow our lead.

I got why they'd been freaked out. Watching the zombies rise up out of the lake, water dripping down them, it was just plain unnatural. It was like an image out of an old EC horror comic. I wondered if Brandon had chosen that tactic partly because it was creepy as hell.

I glanced back at the few people still just standing there, gawking.

“Get down here and help if you want to get out of here alive,” I shouted at them.

I went back to the task at hand and drew a bead on a zombie. I pulled the trigger and there was one less undead asshole in the world. I repeated the process again and again. I reloaded whenever I noticed I'd run empty, and I hoped each time that some speedster wouldn't choose that moment to go to town on my butt.

More shouts and screams from up by the cars. There was no way I could leave what I was doing to help or even check on them. I had to hope that Phil had everything under control.

The line of zombies emerging from the water had slowed. Were their numbers dwindling? Were we winning? I allowed myself to smile at the thought.

And then the shooting up by the cars stopped.

Just before I looked up to see what was going on, I noticed that the zombies down on the beach had stopped.

“Courtney?” Phil called.

He stood with his shotgun dangling from his right hand. He looked exhausted, and he had black zombie gore splashed across him. One of the runners must have gotten close.

I stood, sparing another glance at the zombies near the lake. They were still playing a creepy game of freeze tag.

I ran up the slight incline to where Phil stood.

“What is it?” I asked. “Why's everyone stopped shooting?”

Phil was the only one looking at me. Everyone else faced the woods and whatever was out there. More zombies was my guess.

“What is it?” I asked again when I reached him. His response was to turn and look where everyone else was.

A single zombie stood alone in the middle of the grass, an army of runners standing well back from him. Of course it was Brandon.

“What the F?”

“Right,” Phil said. “It's an interesting development.”

I stepped out from behind the line of cars. The space between the first and second line was filled with bodies. Most of them zombies, but a few were my classmates. I turned away from them. When this was all over, I'd make sure and look at all of them, study their faces, and memorize their names, but for right now, there was still a job to finish.

When he spotted me, Brandon roared, a horrible, animal sound. Spittle flew from his lips.

“Hi, shithead,” I whispered.

He roared again like he'd heard me. It was a sound that reached way deep inside of me and touched something old—something that remembered the roar of ancient predators that hunted us humans. I wished he'd stop that; I'd probably pee my pants if he did it again.

I looked at the kids gathered around and found a girl a little bit bigger than me.

“Give me your sweatshirt,” I said to her.

“You're already wearing one.”

“I didn't ask for a report on my clothes, Tim Gunn,” I said. “Just give me the sweatshirt. Please.”

She didn't look happy, but she started to strip it off.

Phil walked up next to me. “What are you doing?” he asked.

“This is all about me and him,” I said. “He thinks we have unresolved issues. Fine, I'm about to resolve them.”

“Why don't we just kill him?” he asked. “One well-placed shot ends this thing.”

“Who knows what he's told his army to do if anyone interferes,” I said. “I think the safest thing to do will be to face him.” I smiled up at him. “You know I can take him, right?”

“How is that even a question?” he asked.

The girl held out her sweatshirt to me. God, it was pink.

“Thanks,” I said. “I'll buy you a new one. You won't want this one back.”

I pulled the sweatshirt on over my own, doing my best to keep the sleeves from bunching up. I needed some protection. If Brandon wasn't able to bite or scratch me through my clothes, then he couldn't turn me into a zombie. I thought that two layers of shirts and a pair of jeans ought to do the trick.

“Open the trunk for me,” I said to Phil. He followed me to the car. Its windows had been blown out, gaping holes were torn in the quarter panels and doors, and the tires on the passenger side were flat. All of the cars in the outer ring looked like that.

“Sorry,” I said. “I hadn't thought of that. You can have my Subaru.”

“Sweet,” he said. “I've been jonesing for that.”

He popped the trunk and I grabbed my trusty wrecking tool.

“Time to do something stupid,” I said as I hefted the tool.

Phil snaked his arm around my waist and pulled me in for a kiss. It was a real stunner. Like, I saw stars.

“Kill him once for me,” he said.

“I'll do my best,” I said. “More of that when I get back, okay?”

“I'll be here.”

I stepped past that first line of cars, and then there was nothing between me and an army of the undead. Nothing but Brandon, anyway.

My heart beat too fast in my chest, and I drew breath in great gulps of air. I had seldom recognized up until that point when I was doing something truly stupid, but my whole body was yelling at me that this was really damned dumb. Single combat was something we'd left behind back when Richard the Lionhearted was kicking the crap out of Jerusalem. But here I was about to revive the grand old tradition.

Brandon roared at me again and that did it. I'd had enough. I didn't want to hear that voice ever again.

I shot back my own roar. “Go to hell!” And I started running.

He charged across the grass, snorting and grunting, black spittle flying.

I ran for all I was worth, my lungs burning, my legs pumping. When we were just a few feet apart, Brandon leaped at me. I fell on my back like I was sliding into home plate and raised my tool, and the nail-puller caught him in the belly. I held on for dear life and got a hot load of zombie guts dumped on my chest as a reward.

I bit back vomit and stood up as fast as I was able. Brandon looked down at himself and roared again. In pain, maybe. But no matter how much it hurt him, that wasn't an injury that might keep a zombie down. I brandished the tool.

“Let's go, you creep!” I yelled.

He eyeballed me, then jumped over his own intestines at me. He hit me harder than I expected and I went down on my back with him on top of me.

The stench of rot was almost unbearable. But there was nothing like fighting for your life to keep your mind off your sense of smell.