“No Martin,” Holly says as she guns the engine and the women fold over like chimps, knuckles to the dusty ground. “I don't think they are.” When they start to run, their hair billows out behind them like seaweed, shimmering slimy in the bright sun. They move faster than should be reasonably possible given their awkward, four-legged status. I close my eyes as Holly turns the vehicle towards the refuge building. I can't keep them closed for long though as my nerves are getting the better of me and I know that it's better to see danger in advance rather than let it sneak up on you. I turn around and gaze past Martin and Dawson's gawping faces out the back window. As we move up the hill, the water zombies or whatever it is that they are, start to drop away and are replaced by others along the lake's edge. When we hit the pavement of the parking lot, they stop completely and stand howling at a spot where the grass fades into damp dirt and slopes into the lake.
We all think that Holly is going to turn around and drive us back the way we came when she pulls into a parking space and turns off the engine.
“Are you freaking insane?” Dawson shouts at the top of his lungs. “Those water hags are going to fucking kill us!”
“No they're not,” Holly replies calmly as Dawson unwittingly names the wrinkled women. I decide that in the first spare moment I get that I'm going to start a DeadBorn Dictionary. Knowing the enemy is half the battle. Or at least that's what my guild used to say when I had time for online games. Then I started making videos and I couldn't find time to get out from behind the camera or away from Holly. I don't miss them, though I wished I'd paid more attention. As strange as it sounds, I think some of the rules of those games would apply nicely to our current situation. Or maybe I'm just as crazy as Martin. “They can't leave the water.”
“And how the hell do you know that?” Dawson shouts as Holly gets out of the car and stares. The women (and they're all women which is actually pretty strange) are clawing at the air like there's a force field separating them from us. Some of them are pacing back and forth with their knuckles pressed to the gravel while others are standing silently and staring. I climb out of the car, too, and come around the back where I grab Holly's hand and try not to catch the milky eyed gazes leveled on my face like I'm the answer to all that ails them. More than any of the others, these DeadBorn seem angry, like they've been wronged somehow and we're all to blame for it.
Suddenly Holly is stumbling forward and Dawson is behind her pushing and waving the baseball bat around threateningly.
“You answer me when I talk to you!” he screams and I can see that he's fucking lost it. Not everyone can cope with strategy and stress. It's a survival technique that's been bred out of humanity for the last several decades. Obviously Dawson doesn't have it. Normally, I'm not a violent guy, but when I see Holly fall, this bit of me just snaps and I find myself pulling my fist back and letting Dawson have it right in the face. His nose cracks beneath my knuckles as agony spikes through my hand and travels up my arm in a wave where it hits me like a brick. I pull back and clutch my hand tight against my chest while the water hags howl and drone in a discordant dirge that makes my ears ring.
Dawson doesn't fight back. Instead he just slumps to the ground and starts to keen. His wailing mixes with that of the zombies and drowns out the false cheer of the song birds in the nearby tree. Holly rises to her feet and reaches out a hand.
“Let me see it,” she demands and I let her check my knuckles for injury. They're sore and I'm betting that the skin will bruise, but it hasn't split. That's more than I can say for Dawson. His nose is bloody and dripping ten times worse than mine had at the rest stop, and his upper lip is cracked and swollen. Holly doesn't check him though and I can tell that although she doesn't blame him for his outburst, she isn't willing to completely let it go either. “Doug lives right through there,” Holly says as she points to the opposite side of the parking lot. “Galen and I will go get the key while you two unload the car. Put everything next to the front entrance and stack it neatly. Once the door is open, I want to be able to get it all in quickly.”
“But shouldn't we stick together?” Martin asks and I wonder if that's one of his rules or if he just doesn't want to get left alone with Dawson. “I mean, what if some of those things come while you guys are gone?” Holly tosses Martin the car keys.
“Leave us here,” she says simply and checks her pocket for the revolver. I bend down and grab the baseball bat that Dawson dropped to the pavement. “Forget about us and run. Galen and I will be okay.” Martin must somehow sense that it's better not to argue with Holly and just nods his head. He doesn't look very happy though and stares down at Dawson with no small amount if distrust.
Holly starts across the parking lot at a brisk pace and I follow, trying to keep my eyes roving the trees around us. If I see Holly get attacked or killed, my soul will never recover.
“Tell me what you're thinking, Galen,” she says and I hear the sadness in her voice. She looks over at me through strands of dirty, blonde hair and tries to wipe them away from her face. They get stuck on her lip and she frowns.
“I'm thinking that you're the only person in the world that I'd want to get stuck in a zombie apocalypse with.” I try to smile, but my words aren't funny and the expression dies away as quick as it came. “I believe that if anyone could save us that it'd be you, and I think I'm about as useful as a twig when it comes to fighting those things.” Holly's already shaking her head.
“Don't talk down about yourself, Galen. The only way to feel better is to talk yourself up.” She pauses as we step over the curb and start down a gravel pathway towards a small, white trailer that's nearly buried behind a sea of blackberry bushes and the thick trunks of oak trees. “I'm a good shot,” she says and then smiles. “Your turn.”
“I'm good at following orders.” Holly chuckles and adjusts the gray sweatshirt she's still wearing.
“I'm a fast runner.”
“I'm not unbearable to look at.”
“I'm decent in a choir.”
“I'm lucky to have you.”
“I miss my parents already.” We stop playing the talk yourself up game and stay silent for the few final feet to the trailer door. When Holly sees that it's already open, she pauses for a moment and steps back, holding out her arm to let me know that she doesn't want me to move any further. “Doug?” she asks, pitching her voice so that it carries across the quiet nature around us. “Are you in there?” We both hear some shuffling, but nobody responds. Immediately, we're both on high alert. I raise the baseball bat and Holly pulls out the revolver. Remembering Martin's advice, I turn my back on Holly and press my spine against hers so that between the two of us, we have a 360 degree view. “Doug, if you're in there, you better answer me because if not, I'm going to fire a warning shot through the screen door.” More rustling from inside the trailer. There isn't any movement in the trees around us which is good because I'm sure that if a fire face shows up I'll lose the little bit of bravado that I've got going. “Get ready, Galen,” she says as her body tenses behind me. “If there's one in there, we have to kill it, okay? No more running. We need to make a stand somewhere.” I nod and although I know Holly isn't looking at me, she knows I'd never abandon her. Besides, trying to kill a single DeadBorn is a lot less daunting than facing a massive army. If we're going to try it, I can't think of a better time.
Holly fires the gun once and waits.
“Doug?” she queries and I wince as another shot goes off. “Oops,” Holly says and I turn around to find her running up the steps to the trailer.
“Where are you going?” I ask, terrified that she's going to open the screen door and get a loper to the throat. Holly doesn't answer, so I chase after her and close the trailer door behind me. If something sneaks up from behind us, we won't stand a chance and although I'm terrified at the thought of being trapped in close quarters with one of those things, I don't think it's likely. The trailer smells like patchouli incense and burnt macaroni, not rotten flesh.
“Where do you think he'd keep the keys?” I ask as I glance around, unsure where to even start my search. Holly shrugs and sets the tabby on the floor. It immediately goes back under the table and crouches in the corner behind a cardboard box full of plastic dishes.
“I have no idea.”
***
Ten Hours and Seventeen Minutes After …
It's three o'clock now and Holly and I have searched the entire trailer from top to bottom. There's no sign of the keys, not in the kitchen drawers or the bedside table or in the bowl on the counter. I want to scream in frustration, but I keep the emotion to myself and pet the cat who's now decided that we're safe and is spending its time rubbing against our legs. Holly has declared that the cat is coming with us to the refuge office. She doesn't say if we can get in, but the words hang in the air and tease the hairs on my arm. The thought of nightfall is frightening enough, but the idea that we might have to spend it either in the car or in this trailer is too horrible to think about.
“We should probably check on Martin and Dawson,” Holly says as she looks out each window in search of zombies. When she decides the coast is clear, we grab the cat and our weapons and step out of the trailer. When we get back to the parking lot, the car is empty and the two boys are sitting on a bench next to the front entrance with all of our bags stacked next to them.
“Let me guess,” Dawson begins and although his face is swollen and crusted with dried blood, he forges on. “You couldn't find the keys?” Holly says nothing, but Martin smiles at us both.
“Can I hold him?” he asks and I glance down at the cat. At first it was happy to be picked up, but now that we're outside, I'm having a hard time holding onto it.
“Be careful,” Holly says as I try to pass the tabby into Martin's arms. She bounces up and down on her heels and only stops once the cat has safely been transferred.
“Now what?” Dawson demands as he glares at Martin out of the corner of his eye. Holly glances over at the glass doors of the entrance and the blinking light of the security panel on the wall. I wonder briefly how long it will take the electricity to go out if the DeadBorn aren't stopped. Days? Weeks? I push the thoughts down and try to focus on Holly's blue eyes. They're so pretty, like two circles of topaz in her pale face.
“Obviously Doug is around here somewhere,” she says as she kneels down and pulls boxes of ammunition out of her father's bag. “My guess is that he ran into something he shouldn't have.” Dawson frowns and squeezes his fingers around the edge of the bench. I step forward threateningly and he stiffens.
“Cool it, lover boy,” he growls and looks away toward a bird blind that's nestled in the golden grasses nearby.
“Either we'll find his body or … ” Holly trails off and rises to her feet. She hands me a gun and points at a metal piece on the top. “This is the hammer, Galen,” she tells me and her voice isn't the least bit condescending. I appreciate it and smile. “You have to pull this back before you take a shot. Got it?” I nod and take the cold metal in my hand. The gun is small and silver and a lot heavier than it looks. “Go take a practice shot,” she says. “Just one though; we need to save ammo.”
“And if you find this guy and he's been … transformed or whatever – ”
“Turned,” Martin supplies and even Holly glares at him.
“What are you going to do, fight him? These things are freaking invincible.” Before Holly can speak, Dawson holds up his hands and keeps talking. “And let's just say for the sake of argument that you do kill him or it or whatever. What if he doesn't have the keys on him? What if he dropped them in the fucking forest or something? We can't just do things on a whim. We need a plan.”
“Then we break a window,” Holly says confidently as if she's already thought of this. “I don't want to since the breaking glass could act as an alarm system, but if it comes to that then we'll do it. Give Galen and me an hour.” Dawson rolls his eyes as I raise the pistol in both hands and fire off a random shot into the distance. The power of the gun is phenomenal, leaving me with a small surge of adrenaline.
“Take me instead,” Dawson says as I turn around and meet his eyes. “I'm a better shot.” He keeps his dark gaze on mine and then grumbles under his breath. “If that even matters.”
“It doesn't,” Holly tells him and I wonder if she knows that from her dream or if it's just something she's observed. “And I'm not going anywhere without Galen, so sit tight and protect Martin.” She kicks the bag of guns and points at the second baseball bat. “If we hear shots, we'll come right back. If you hear shots, get ready, just in case Galen and I are killed.” I swallow hard at this and stick the gun in the waistband of my pajama pants. It falls out and clatters on the pavement.
“Just in case?” Dawson says sarcastically as he picks up the revolver and hands it back to me. “You mean when, right?” Holly ignores him, gives the cat one last pat on the head and gestures for me to follow after her. She sticks her gun and a handful of bullets in the front pocket of her sweatshirt and takes the baseball bat from where it's tucked under my arm.
“Keep your gun ready, aim for the legs or the head and don't shoot unless I tell you to, okay?” I nod, but Holly stops us, makes me look at her and locks eyes with me. “Promise me.”
“I promise,” I say and we continue walking across the parking until we reach the gravel path that leads towards the trailer. Holly stops and gazes down at the silent surface of the lake. The hags are still there, but they've stopped moaning and are now standing still as statues. Their hair and clothes ruffle gently in the afternoon breeze as they keep their gazes locked on the water like it's a lifeline and maybe it is because I see that most of them are sopping wet.
“What are you doing?” I ask Holly as she continues to stare. She looks so vulnerable with her pink shorts and borrowed shoes, blood smeared around the edges of her face and a quiet desperation burning in her eyes. I want to hug her, squeeze her small body against mine and breathe in the scent of her hair. Instead, I turn my attention back to the hags and watch them as carefully as Holly is.
“I'm observing,” she says simply and in the way that Holly always gets me, I get her. It's a nice feeling. “Want to bet that Doug stumbled into one of these things?” She looks over at me, but I can't take my eyes off the hags. One of them has just stepped forward and is walking into the lake, disappearing beneath the blue waters with each careful step. After a moment, her head is the only thing visible. This is where she pauses and waits, cold, milky eyes staring blankly at nothing. “I don't see a body,” she continues. “So unless they dragged him into the lake, I'm guessing that he's become one of them.” I finally pull my eyes away from the bizarre scene in front of me and look at Holly. “A zombie, I mean,” she explains.
“How much do you know, Holly?” I ask and she looks away. The breeze tickles her hair and lifts it up in an arc, trying to tug the tips away from the crusted patch of blood that they're stuck in.
“I know that she's going to come for me,” Holly whispers and we both watch as the hag reemerges from the lake and walks right back to the spot it came from. Several moments later, another copies the motion and disappears into the water. “I know that you'll never be safe if you're with me, but that I'm too afraid to let you go.” I'm not entirely sure what she's talking about, but I can't help myself; I step forward and wrap my arms around Holly's neck.
“I love you,” I say and seconds later, a man stumbles o
ut of the woods and straight into the arms of the enemy.
CHAPTER 8
Melee
Ten Hours and Forty-Nine Minutes After …
My first instinct is to fire the pistol, but I know that I'm not good enough to take the shot. I could end up killing the man that I'm trying to save. I move back from Holly, certain that she'll take care of the situation, or at least that she'll try. When she just stands there, I start to panic.
“Holly … ” I say and then pause. The man and the water hag are tangled together in a vicious brawl, one that doesn't look quite … human.
“Zombie,” Holly says and I watch as the man, who I presume was once Doug, groans and gurgles while blood pours out of his newly damaged throat. He can't have been dead long, but dead he is. His eyes are glassy and sightless and his dark skin is torn and shredded. He's a loper now and there's nothing we can do to help him.
“Shit.” The two DeadBorn are flailing their limbs and gnashing their teeth at one another. I'd been under the impression that they were on the same team. Not so much anymore. A howl goes up from the other water hags and I watch as several of them drop their knuckles and come charging towards the battle. It's already painfully obvious that Dead Doug stands no chance. One of his arms has already been severed by the water hag's ragged nails and is now crawling across the ground like something from The Addams Family.
And it's coming up the hill towards us.
“Holly,” I say and we exchange a nervous glance. She then hands me the baseball bat and pulls out her revolver. Gunshots slice through the air like a knife and pepper the flesh of the arm with holes. It doesn't stop it though, doesn't even slow it, not even when one of the fingers comes flying off and lands at my feet. I stare at it, shocked to see that it, too, is still moving. “What the hell?” I ask, but Holly's three steps ahead of me as always. She puts the revolver away, takes out the baseball bat and smashes the finger into a bloody lump. Only then does it go still. We don't have time to rest though as the arm is still coming for us. I can't imagine that it would be much of a danger, but it wouldn't be wise to ignore it either.
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