Z-Town

by Eden Darry

  * * *

  Lane saw the door to the library open about the same time the huge grey chief zombie shot a bolt of whatever the fuck was in his mouth at her. She just had time to dodge and pull whoever was coming out of the library to the ground. She prayed it wasn’t a shuffler.

  She was aware of a second person stepping back inside. That was good. At least they were out of the line of fire.

  Lane scrambled up and off the poor person she’d flattened, grabbed their hand, pulled them up, and dragged them back inside the library. She leaned her back against the door, knowing they didn’t have much time.

  “Lane?”

  It was Meg. What were the chances? Pretty good, Lane supposed, seeing as this was where she said she’d be today.

  “We have to go,” Lane said.

  “What do you mean?” Meg asked, not moving.

  “She’s right,” the woman with her said. “He’ll break down that door like it’s nothing. We need to go out front, to my car. He’ll keep coming for us. I’m Wendy Moon, by the way. You must be Lane. Welcome to Provincetown.”

  Lane looked at the other woman—Wendy. How did Wendy know it was a bloke? And how did she know it would keep coming for them? Lane suspected Wendy knew something about what was going on. But that was for later. Right now, they needed to get away from here.

  “Come on, Meg,” Lane said and took hold of her hand. Lane tried to pull her along.

  “Celia might still be out there.”

  “We can handle Celia,” Wendy said, drawing her bag close again. “Him, not so much.”

  Meg’s grip tightened on Lane’s, and she allowed herself to be led to the front of the building.

  “Fine, but one of you needs to tell me what’s going on.”

  Neither Wendy nor Lane answered her.

  * * *

  Out front, all was quiet. Lane looked up the street and couldn’t see any more zombies. She guessed they were all still around the back of the library with the chief zombie shooting blue shit at stuff.

  Meg had stayed silent and passive—not her normal mode at all—and Lane guessed she was in shock. They all probably were. This was beyond anything Lane could ever imagine.

  “This way.” Wendy hurried to a beaten-up old hatchback parallel parked opposite. Lane wasn’t at all sure it would start. The thing looked like it was on its last legs. “She’ll start, don’t worry. She may be beat-up, but she’s as reliable as anything,” Wendy said as if she’d read Lane’s mind.

  The three of them climbed in, Meg in the rear and Lane and Wendy up front. “I need to do something first. Before we go to the police,” Lane said.

  Wendy started the car. “No, we go straight to the cops. He’s going to come out of there any minute—”

  “Then I’m getting out,” Lane said and opened her door. She knew they didn’t have much time before Chief Zombie came out—in fact, why was he taking so long?

  Lane felt Meg’s hand on her shoulder. “What is it you need to do?” It was the first time she’d spoken, and Lane was relieved she wasn’t catatonic or something.

  “The little girl—Joanne’s little girl. I need to find her,” Lane said, remembering how she’d caved her mother’s head in. She felt an almost paralyzing sense of guilt. “Joanne is one of them now. I need to find her daughter.”

  “Wendy, head to Joanne’s place. We can’t leave Lois,” Meg said. Her voice was stronger now and more Meg.

  “No. We should go to the cops—”

  “Wendy,” Meg said, “we don’t have time for this. I’m not leaving a six-year-old kid to fend for herself. And Joanne needs us too.”

  “No, Joanne is one of them now. I killed her. With a vase. I had to,” Lane said.

  Lane felt Meg’s hand squeeze her shoulder. “You did what you had to. We can talk about it later. Wendy. Joanne’s. Now.”

  Wendy sighed and put the car in gear. “Fine, but I’m telling you we should be going to the cops.”

  “We get Lois, and then we get the fuck out of Provincetown. We can drive up to Wellfleet or Hyannis. They’re a better bet than the cops here,” Meg said.

  Lane felt a little lost when Meg’s hand left her shoulder, and she sat back in her seat. Lane had barely heard the click of her seat belt when the car suddenly rose up off the ground and was hurled down the street.

  Lane grabbed the dashboard and gritted her teeth. The sound of screeching metal drowned out Wendy’s screams as they hit the ground and were dragged along the road by some invisible force.

  The car had landed upside down, and Lane fumbled with the seat belt clasp. Her fingers, greasy with sweat, kept slipping off the button. Suddenly, the car was lifted up again like a child’s toy, and they were hurled into a wall. Lane’s teeth clicked as her head snapped back.

  “Meg? Meg, are you okay?” Lane tried to twist her head around, but the car had landed up at an awkward angle on its side, with the crushed roof inches from her head.

  “Yes. You?” Meg replied.

  Lane closed her eyes in relief and swallowed a sob. “I think so. Wendy?”

  Beside her, Wendy stayed silent. When Lane looked, her eyes were closed and blood trickled from a small wound to her forehead. Wendy groaned. They had to get out of here. Fast.

  “Meg, can you get out?” Lane asked.

  “I think so. The window shattered, and I think I can climb through it,” Meg said.

  “Okay. That’s good. Try and—”

  Another loud boom. Fuck, the chief zombie was back. Had to be him that sent the car on a magical mystery tour down Commercial, and now he was coming for them.

  * * *

  Meg heard the boom and struggled to free herself from her seat belt. She clambered out through the broken window and immediately saw a problem. Lane’s window was directly against the ground, and an unconscious Wendy blocked her path out through the driver’s window.

  “Get out of here, Meg,” Lane called out. “Find Lois and run.”

  Meg looked up the road. The big grey zombie—he had to be a zombie, right?—was coming, and he had a lot of smaller zombies with him. There was no way she’d get Wendy out in time to let Lane escape. “No. I’m not leaving you.”

  “Yes you are. I might get lucky. They might think I’m dead and leave me alone. If I can’t get out of the car, there’s a good chance they can’t get in the car. Please, run. Find Lois.”

  Meg ignored Lane and shook Wendy. “Wendy, wake up. Wendy you have to wake up.”

  Wendy groaned but didn’t come to. “Shouldn’t have done it,” she sleep-muttered.

  “Seriously, Meg. Fuck off.”

  “I’m not leaving you here.” Meg couldn’t stand the thought of it. Lane had come looking for her. Had pushed her out of the way of that blue bolt or whatever the hell it was back at the library. There was no way she was leaving her here to die. Or worse, to become one of those people.

  “You have to. They’ll kill you for sure, but me and Wendy might have a chance. Just go.”

  Meg shook her head, but her resolve was wavering. There was no way she was getting Wendy out by herself. There was a chance the zombies would think Lane was dead. And there was a six-year-old out there who might need help.

  “Okay,” Meg said. “Okay, I’ll go. Do you remember the Squealing Pig?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Meet me there. I’ll go and get Lois if she’s not already left town. You and Wendy head to the Pig.”

  “Yes. All right. Now go.”

  Meg took off. She hurried down a side street she knew would take her along the beach. She could get most of the way to Joanne’s house without having to come back up onto Commercial. It would involve a little trespassing, but that was the least of her worries right now.

  Meg heard another boom as she slipped down the side street. She tried not to think about Lane trapped in the car. Lane would be okay. She had to be.

  Chapter Eight

  Lane closed her eyes and took shallow breaths, trying to hide. Wou
ld they know anyway? It seemed likely that a being who could shoot blue flames out of its mouth could also tell she was alive.

  And then there was Wendy. What if she came to, just as the zombies got to them? If they knew she was alive, it would stand to reason they’d check to see if Lane was too.

  At least Meg got away. Lane wasn’t proud of much in her life, but convincing Meg to leave when she’d been desperate for Meg to stay and help her get out of the car was something. Selfish and self-centred her whole life, she’d finally thought of someone else instead of herself. She’d hold on to that.

  The sound of moaning and groaning got louder. Another great boom. Beside her, Wendy stirred. Lane prayed she’d stay quiet.

  Past Wendy, through the window, Lane could see feet passing. None of the zombies seemed inclined to stop and investigate the car their leader had kicked up the road like a can. As they streamed past her, she tried to keep a rough count. Looked like about a hundred. A hundred people turned into God knew what by God knew what.

  If Wendy came to—and Lane prayed she did—she’d have some explaining to do. Wendy definitely knew something. The cut on her head had stopped bleeding, and Lane hoped she was only knocked out. If she was properly comatose or whatever, there was no way Lane would be able to take her with her. She reckoned she could drag her as far as the Squealing Pig, but not much further.

  Suddenly, the chief zombie was right beside the car. Lane held her breath as it stopped. She could see his bony grey legs. The remnants of what could be boots clung to them in scraps. What the fuck was he?

  The seconds ticked by, and he didn’t move.

  Then, the screeching of metal as something—she guessed him—pushed down on the car. Lane closed her eyes and prayed she wouldn’t be crushed to death.

  A crack as the remaining glass in the windscreen popped and shattered. Still the car was pushed down, and Lane felt her panic build. She wouldn’t scream—couldn’t scream. She’d wait this out. He didn’t know she was here. And being crushed to death was better than the alternative.

  Another boom, and then he called out in some foreign and ancient-sounding language. The car rocked as he let go. The zombies began to stream back up the road towards her. He knew she was there. They were going to drag her out and devour her. Just like Barb. Just like Ella.

  Lane squeezed her eyes shut. She thought about Meg. Brought her lovely face to mind. Lane imagined her as she had looked that first time they met. When Lane saw her on the stairs. Long dark hair. Beautiful. Meg was beautiful. Lane tried to let that memory be enough as she braced herself to be dragged from the car.

  * * *

  Meg groaned and opened her eyes. Too bright. She squeezed them shut again and pulled the blanket up over her head. Her throat was on fire, and her nose felt like someone had stuffed it full of cement.

  There were no two ways about it. She was sick, and it pissed her off. She never got sick—or at least never admitted to it. But there was no way of hiding this. Not even to herself. Her head throbbed, and just the thought of getting up made her want to cry.

  She would have to call in sick to work. She hated that because it would mean admitting this thing had her beat. She wasn’t due in for a few hours, so she’d sleep a little longer.

  Her phone buzzed. She sighed and opened her eyes again. Reached for it off the bedside table. A message from Lane. She shot back a quick reply about being sick and lay back down.

  When she woke next, she felt just as terrible but could tell she’d been asleep for hours. Shit. Work would be wondering where she was. She reached for her phone again with her eyes still squeezed shut.

  “Hey.”

  A soft voice and a cool hand on her head.

  “Lane? What are you doing here?”

  “You said you were sick, in your text,” Lane said.

  “I didn’t mean you had to come over.” Meg struggled to sit, and Lane gently held her down.

  “I wanted to. I brought medicine and stuff. Soup. And Mountain Dew. I remember you said you liked that when you were sick.”

  Despite feeling like someone had run her down and backed up over her, Meg felt something warm inside her. She wasn’t used to being taken care of. Usually would have railed against it. But with Lane, being cared for was welcome. She liked it. It made her feel safe.

  Meg started to drift off to sleep again.

  “I’ll be here when you wake up. I bought chicken soup.”

  Meg felt a smile ghost onto her lips as she fell asleep.

  * * *

  Meg tried to ignore the sounds coming from down the street. She tried not to think about Lane and Wendy trapped in the car or what might be happening to them. She also tried not to think about how badly she’d misjudged Lane. She’d forgotten about the time Lane took care of her when she’d been sick. Maybe she’d blocked out a lot of the good things Lane had done. She didn’t want to think about why that might be, either.

  Meg pushed on Joanne’s front door, and it swung open. Not locked. Not good. She didn’t want to risk calling out in case there was one of those people inside. She prayed Lois was with her aunt and well out of Provincetown. There was a chance Joanne had done as she’d promised and called her sister.

  Meg walked down the hall trying not to make a sound. She couldn’t help the floorboards that squeaked and hoped if there was someone in here, they wouldn’t notice. From her experience in the library, the zombies—or whatever they were—didn’t seem to notice you until you were on top of them. She doubted one would be standing there waiting to ambush her, but you never knew.

  Meg stuck her head round the living room door. A sofa was overturned, and a vase of flowers lay crushed into the carpet. There’d been a struggle—or maybe a chase. She followed the trail of flower gunk into the bathroom at the back. It ended abruptly by the bath. No one lurked behind the door.

  In Lois’s bedroom, things lay undisturbed, and Meg was relieved. Either the little girl was gone, or the struggle hadn’t happened in here. Joanne’s bedroom was another story altogether. The stink was like a wall. Meg imagined it seeping into her clothes and her pores, and she started to gag.

  The bed was soiled—soaked in gore, more like. Sheets pushed back and pillows tossed to the floor. A sticky stain spread out from the bed to the door. Meg didn’t want to think about what that might be. She thought maybe Joanne had died and come back to life in here. Jesus, she hoped Lois had been gone by the time Joanne died.

  The sound of scraping came from the hallway, and Meg’s heart rate kicked up. What the hell was that? She turned around in time to see legs dangling from the loft. Then someone dropped down. She’d forgotten about the loft. Easy place to hide. Too late, she’d realized her mistake.

  * * *

  Lane felt the vibration before she heard it. It came as a quiet rumble and then built in volume until it was a roar. At first, she thought it was him, the chief zombie. Then she realized the sound was coming from further up the road, and that the other zombies were ignoring their car completely and shuffling towards the noise.

  Beside her, Wendy groaned again and opened her eyes. Lane tried to turn her head towards where the noise was coming from, but the seat headrest was in the way. Outside the car, the chief zombie moved away from them. Lane took a chance.

  “Wendy,” she whispered. “Keep still. He’s right outside the car.”

  Wendy groaned once more and nodded.

  Lane watched as the chief zombie followed his minions down the road. She guessed they could see where the noise was coming from. It sounded like an engine. A big one. Lane hoped it was a bloody great tank.

  “Wendy, do you think you can climb out of the car? Out the window by you?” Lane whispered.

  Wendy nodded. “I think so. My head hurts.”

  “I know it does. But we need to go before they come back.”

  “Okay.” Wendy unclipped her seat belt and pushed herself up. She held on to the frame of the car and dragged herself out.

  Lane followe
d quickly. In the distance, she could see the zombies shuffling towards something. It was shiny and getting closer. What the fuck was it?

  “Come on, we need to get out of here. Meg’s going to meet us at the Squealing Pig.” Lane watched as Wendy reached back into the car and pulled at her bag. It was caught on something inside the car. Lane kept looking back up the road. “Wendy, hurry.”

  “One second.”

  “Wendy, now.”

  Up ahead, Lane could see the vehicle attracting the zombies was a bus in blue and chrome. It knocked zombies out of the way like skittles.

  “One second,” Wendy repeated, just as she pulled her bag clear. She stumbled slightly.

  “Shit, look at that.” Lane watched as the bus got closer. It had to be doing forty, and it was splattering zombies like bugs. For a moment, Lane thought it was going to make it through the horde. The bus weaved back and forth across the road. It’s trying to hit them, Lane realized and gave a silent cheer. It was almost through the horde, almost clear.

  Then, much like their car had been manipulated, the bus rose up from Commercial Street, flipped over, and shot along the road on its side like a toy. It spun around, taking out cars and porches and shop windows in a deafening, screeching, crashing roar.

  “Wendy, run!” Lane shouted as the bus careened towards them.

  Lane took off at a sprint. She ran into one of the narrow side streets and headed to the beach. When she looked back and saw Wendy struggling to keep up, she slowed down. Behind them, Lane heard the terrible sound of metal twisting and grinding. There was a loud bang, then the acrid smell of smoke. It didn’t take a genius to work out what had happened.

  Lane pulled up short, and Wendy crashed into her back. Wendy’s bag hit Lane in the side. “What the bloody hell have you got in there?” Lane asked and rubbed her bruised ribs, which stung. Wendy didn’t answer. From the weight, Lane would have said bricks, but things inside the bag clinked and clanked like cutlery.