Zombie Queen

by Mary Martel

  When she finally lets go and takes a step back, the smile she shoots me makes my stomach clench in the best way possible. Letting my eyes drift down her body to take stock of where she might be injured, her shirt has me questioning her sanity again.

  “Do I even want to know?” I ask, pointing at the graphic.

  She snorts softly. “Probably not.”

  As Russ helps Graham get Sam to his feet, Emerald’s beautiful eyes meet each one of us before spinning on her heel and announcing over her shoulder, “My swords are my best friends, and Satan is my sugar daddy. Let’s ride to hell, boys.”

  Emerald

  A woman on a mission.

  That's me at the moment, all me.

  A Hot Topic would do nicely. Or, better yet, a Spencers. I think that perhaps I could nab him a giant dildo to go with his personality after I find what I'm looking for.

  Like I said, a woman on a mission.

  Back in the day I used to love going to the mall. With my mother. With my sister. With my friends. Heck, sometimes I'd even go by myself. Even if I didn't have money to burn, I'd still wander around window shopping while sipping on a soda I bought in the food court. After, of course, buying one of those giant, salty, delicious pretzels with a small container of hot, gooey cheese and sitting down at a small round table where I'd eat and people watch. People watching was always fascinating. Window shopping I could do for hours, and eating food that was delicious but not good for me was always something I had been down for.

  Sighing, I turn the corner and stop dead.

  There they are!

  And, better news, they are right across the way from each other. I thought this had been a smart move, putting them so close together. Everyone shopped at Spencers but not everyone shopped at Hot Topic. I figured a lot of people went in there to do some people watching though. For sure. But I also figured, the people who shopped at Hot Topic definitely shopped at Spencers.

  Or at least that's my opinion.

  Not that any of it matters now because for obvious reasons people aren’t going to the mall to shop. Though given the state of the place, they had come here to loot after the world had gone to shit. Which, I guess, I have no business judging them for seeing as I’m here to do a little looting of my own.

  I swear, back in the day I had been a good girl and just the thought of walking into any store and walking back out without paying for something probably would have had me breaking out in hives.

  Now I just don't give a shit.

  Underneath my boots, glass crunches, and not a small amount of it. To the right of me I find the source. Jewelry store, all the cases inside smashed to all hell, empty of whatever precious metal and rock they had housed and kept safe. I shake my head and keep moving, my eyes always scanning, never staying longer than two seconds in one place, knowing it's far too dangerous to remain dormant for long.

  My legs eat up the space, all the while sidestepping a turned over bench and a whole bunch of shit that did not belong out here but probably ended up there during the looting process. That's to say, clothes, shoes, purses, once glittery headbands, all mixed in liberally amongst garbage and debris.

  People are disgusting creatures, and they eventually ruin everything. Even, it would seem, the goddamn mall.

  How sad is that?

  The windows to HT weren't blown out, but the one on the right side of the entrance looks like someone had taken a baseball bat or maybe a crowbar to it. There is a huge spot that has been nailed and spiderwebbed out. What looks an awful lot like old blood and long strands of black hair are stuck to the center of the broken glass, and they look like they've been there for a good long while.

  I do not think about this. If I allowed myself to feel something every time I saw something disturbing or completely fucked up, I would likely curl up in a ball and cry like a little baby back bitch.

  And, for obvious reasons, I do not have time for that, nor the patience.

  The door is already propped open with what looks like some type of complicated metal clothing rack that has these metal hooks sticking out of it. This does not stop me.

  Carefully but hurriedly, I move in and climb up over the back. My boots hit the floor on the other side with a soft thud and my body goes wired at hearing it. I tense as I stand still, listening.

  I give it a minute.

  Then two.

  Nothing.

  My eyes scan the dark store while my ears strain. It's a fucking mess, but the good news is there's a whole lot of shit that got left behind. I just might need to dig through it, and I can do that. Hell, it's better than digging through a dumpster, and there are no stinking, rotting corpses lying around for me to have to wade through. So there’s that.

  I swing my bag around to the front and hug it to myself with one arm while unzipping the top with the other. Thankfully, there isn't much in there for me to root around through. Grabbing hold of my Maglite, I pull it out, shove it under my armpit, zip the bag shut again, and swing it back around to my back.

  I'm not about to set it down on the floor and accidentally get separated from it if shit gets hot around here. I’ve had learned the hard way, not with people of the living, breathing kind, but the dead and moaning obscenely kind.

  Never again. No siree.

  Clicking the Mag on, I shine it around the room. Thankfully, nothing scurries away. Rats are on a whole other level of shit that scares me. Their little, beady, intelligent eyes... Just no.

  I move deeper into the room and decide to start in the far back left corner. Only because I can see a swath of bright pink sticking out of a pile in the far right corner of the room. As funny as the pink would be, it wouldn't work for what I'm looking for because if memory serves, all the really girly shit in here, well... the sizes ran stupidly small.

  Not in big boy sizes.

  It takes me forty minutes of digging before I come up with what I'm looking for. In that time I also find two band tees for myself and a sweet purple and black plaid tank top that I fold up as small as I can make it and stuff it into my backpack. They are dusty, dirty with grime, and will need to be washed before I can wear them, but that's more than alright with me. They’ll be kickass when clean.

  The shirt I found for my wild man though? Black tee with white lettering across the top that reads I'm her bitch with a white arrow underneath that points to the side. I sit my Mag down and start folding my loot when I realize it just keeps getting better.

  The letters freaking glows in the dark! How fabulous is that?

  Swallowing down the sudden laughter that comes over me, I shake my head. I can't wait to see him wear it.

  Clicking off the Mag, I pocket it back inside the bag.

  After giving the room one last cursory glance, I head out. I got what I came for plus a few extras for myself. I'm good to go.

  I pause at the door to listen and when the sound of silence greets me I head across the walk way towards Spencers.

  Now that place?

  Gold mine.

  Spencers is actually more preserved and in better shape than HT had been. It also smells worse because there are rotting corpses lying all around the floor.

  Taking my bandana out of my bag, I carefully fold it in half diagonally. Then I wrap it around the bottom portion of my face and tie it off at the back of my head. It cuts the smell down to just about bearable.

  If I don't pay attention to the dead bodies or the thick layer of dust and grime I can almost pretend that it's just any old day, and I'm out shopping in the dark. Almost.

  Digging my Mag out of my bag again, I get down to business.

  Now, this is where I strike gold and find more than what I'm looking for.

  A light brown tee in a giant's size with a huge cartoon gorilla on the front holding onto a tiny banana jumps out at me, and it’s perfect for Noble. It goes in the bag.

  Up next, I find an off-white tee (or I think it will be off-white after I wash it!) with an orange tabby cat on the front that says Meow u
nderneath the cat in huge bubbly letters that glitter. Graham, whether he likes it or not, is going to wear the damn thing.

  Then another one catches my eye with a giant green pot leaf on the front and immediately decide it's perfect for Joseph and stuff it inside. He looks like he could have been a stoner before all this shit went down.

  Another one for Kemp, this one baby blue with pink words on the front that say Sit on my face. It goes in the bag with the rest, and I can't help but cackle like a crazy person just thinking about that man wearing it. There was zero chance of holding that laugh inside; it was far too good.

  A journal with a cute little cow on the front makes me think of Sam, so I grab it, too. Maybe it’ll remind him of home. And for Russ and Dex I grab some gummy candies in interesting shapes (meaning hilarious) and rainbow-colored dick suckers. Those are more for me than them because I will get a huge kick out of watching them eat ‘em.

  I can't leave without getting everyone at least something; it wouldn't be fair.

  I’ve almost made it to the door when something on the left catches my eye, and I pause mid-step with my boot lifted in the air and everything. My heart stutters in my chest as something viciously painful tears through me.

  A large gray bin pushed up against the wall is full of novelty stuffed animals and cute little dolls from television shows. The one that catches my eye is a cute little Strawberry Shortcake.

  Amy.

  Pain and horror tear through me.

  Christ, Amy.

  When we were little girls someone gave her a Strawberry Shortcake doll for Christmas because she'd been obsessing over the show. She dragged that thing everywhere with her for years. I remember my father finally having enough when it got to the point where it was so raggedy and old that it had become an embarrassment to him to be seen out with it. He threw it in the trash, and she'd cried her eyes out for days, she'd been so devastated.

  I place my hand over my chest, covering my heart. The pain is so extreme I can do nothing but stand there and wait for it to pass through me.

  It's stupid and not going to bring her back to me, nothing can do that, but it seems like maybe a good way to keep her with me in any way that I can. I'll never forget her; it'd be impossible to do that. But maybe this way I can have something to hold in my arms and press tight to my chest when the pain of missing her becomes too unbearable, and the urge to cry overcomes me.

  Fuck it, I think as I grab one of the little Strawberries and stuff it in my backpack.

  Then, because I feel raw and can't stand still anymore because I feel like I might come out of my skin if I do, I get the fuck out of there and make my way home.

  My lips tip up in the ghost of a smile.

  Home.

  I have a feeling home would never be a certain place but more of where the people around me are.

  The guys, my guys, they give me a place to call home.

  In an unsafe world where I've lost so much, even parts of myself, where I've been forced to harden my heart and stain my soul, they give me something so beautiful and unexpected that I know I'll fight to the death to keep it. I'll fight to the death to keep them, and I know without a shadow of a doubt that they would do the same for me.

  And that feels fucking great.

  From Mary

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  Mary Martel is a Wall Street Journal and USA Today Times bestselling author who has written over 20 books.

  She grew up in West Michigan but has spent the last nine years living in the Northern Plains of North Dakota with her husband and two daughters.

  When she’s not writing, she’s reading a good book, lately a reverse harem one, drinking wine, and enjoying the chaos that is life.

  Brandy Slaven lives in Tennessee with her husband and two wild children. If you can't find her creating worlds with her words, you will find her with her nose in a book at the beach or hiking at a state park.

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