DeadBorn

by C. M. Stunich

  “I don't want to do this,” I say and when I look up and meet Holly's eyes, I know that she doesn't either. We both hesitate just long enough that the girl manages to crawl out onto the roof.

  “And I love you for that,” Holly says sadly as she drags the end of the baseball bat along the floor and follows the DeadBorn outside. I join her and we both watch apathetically as the zombie walks right off the edge of the roof and falls to the cement below. When we step forward to look, there's a patch of crimson, like a sunburst radiating out from her body. The fall doesn't immobilize her for long though and it only takes a second for her to stand up and start walking again.

  The girl is moving mindlessly through the grasses and across the parking lot, heading straight for the water hags. Some part of me wants to call out to her, beg her to stop, but I know I'll only be making a fool out of myself. That little girl's as much a monster as the one that chased me in the warehouse or the one that killed Dawson's parents. When she reaches them and they start to tear her apart, I have to look away.

  “She uses them to track me, you know,” Holly says suddenly. When I glance over at her, I see that she hasn't taken her eyes off of the scene below. She's watching it with a haunted expression that scares the crap out of me, not because I'm afraid of her, but because I'm afraid for her. “The children, I mean. She uses them to search for me.” Holly pauses and when I open my mouth to ask her a question, she forges on, voice dark and intentions darker. Something inside of Holly has just snapped and I can see that she won't rest until she's taken care of the monster behind the scenes: Patricia. “When she comes for me, with her legions and her demons and her magic, I'm going to find a way to get to her.” Holly moves closer to me and lets me put an arm around her shoulders. She sniffles slightly and even though the street lamps have thrown her face into shadow, I think I see fresh tears brimming there. “And I'm going to kill her. I'm going to kill my birth mother.”

  ***

  Twenty-Four Hours After …

  Holly and I are sitting on the roof, side by side, with the grandiose majesty of the oak tree towering above us. In the distance, the sun is beginning to rise, bathing the lake and its gruesome inhabitants in a golden wash of color. Little brown and white moths land on our hands and legs, tuck their wings against their bodies and think that we can't see them.

  “I've had dreams about her for several weeks now,” Holly says and I can see from her stricken facial expression that she feels guilty about this. “Pieces of a person I've never met. I didn't even know who she was until yesterday. You believe me, don't you?” Holly looks up at me like she's desperate for approval, desperate to see that I still love her and that I don't think any less about her.

  “Of course,” I say and then Holly starts to cry, big sopping, heaving tears that leave her gasping for breath and clutching at my hand with shaky fingers. Her blue eyes are so watery that they look like the ocean on a clear day, a tropical paradise of emotions that makes me love her even more than I thought possible.

  “And that's the problem,” she says as she gently withdraws her hand from mine and wipes at her face angrily. “You believe me and I've lied. Or at least held back the truth.” I don't say anything, just turn my attention back to the horizon and wait. She'll tell me; there's no need to probe.

  “Galen, I know a lot more than I've let on. I'm a fucking liar, a useless, horrible piece of shit liar.” Holly slams her fists against the shingles on the roof until they're bloody and then pauses as my arms go around her and pull her to me. When I breathe in the scent of her hair, I only smell Holly. I don't smell the blood or the carnage or the sticky sweet tang of death, just Holly. Only Holly.

  “I would never think that,” I say. “Never.” Holly shakes her head but doesn't pull away. I think I know now why she did before. She was ashamed at herself, ashamed at these supposed secrets that seem like such a big deal to her but mean nothing to me. So she had dreams about her mother before this all started. So what? There was nothing she could've done about it, no way to know that there was actually some kind of threat. People dream everyday and not all of them come true in a big way, not like this.

  “There's all sorts of thing I haven't told you. Like about the hearts,” she says and it takes me a moment to figure out what she's referring to. “The demon DeadBorn steal the hearts from people's bodies. That gives them the power to exist here. It's why some of the corpses don't rise; they can't. They're already embroiled in the magic in a big way.” I think for a second and then make the connection. She's talking about the fire faces. It makes sense to me, so I nod.

  “Why didn't you just tell us that?” I ask, wondering about Holly's choice to keep things secret. She stands up abruptly and starts to pace the edge of the roof. I hate seeing her so close, imagining her body tumbling through the air like a doll, cracking against the cement like the DeadBorn child did not so long ago. I would never get over that.

  “I thought that you'd be suspicious, they'd be suspicious. Especially Dawson.” She continues walking until she hits the back of the building and gazes out across the waning darkness. “I didn't want to give it all up at once in case you guys thought I was full of it.” Holly pauses and glances back at me. “But I want you to know that I didn't hold back anything that I thought could help us. That much, at least, is true. I never did know how to kill them. Still don't.” I follow after her and stand just a few feet away, trying to give her the personal space I think she needs even though all I want to do is hug her to me, kiss away those tears and convince a smile to grace those pretty lips.

  “I won't hold any of it against you,” I tell her honestly and I know that she can tell I'm giving her nothing but the truth. “But Dawson … ” Holly shakes her head.

  “I'm not going to tell Dawson,” she says. “Or Valerie. Or … ” Neither of us can say Martin's name. We're all so scared, so sure that he's going to die. It's like there's a ghost in the room, hovering over us, whispering strange things into our ears. “I'm only telling you,” she says as she watches a herd of elk move through the grasses. The refuge is actually quite beautiful, something I would've enjoyed a whole lot more without the given circumstances. As things stand, I can barely look at the elk. They're a reminder of a different time, a different place, where I wasn't fearing for my life every second of the day.

  “That's a good decision, I think,” I tell her as she turns around and comes back over to me, folding herself in my arms and pressing her cheek against my chest. She feels so little and delicate although I know that's an illusion. Holly is the toughest person I know, both inside and out.

  “After I kill her,” she whispers softly, voice nearly disappearing in a summer breeze that ruffles the golden grasses and sweeps through my hair like careful fingers. “I don't know what might happen. Most of the DeadBorn are still under her control. Once they're freed … ” Holly takes a deep, gasping breath and burrows into me. “I don't know what they'll do. That's why I need you here, safe. I want to make this place a fortress before she comes. That way, whatever happens to me, I'll know you're here. I need that.” Holly turns her face up to mine and stands on her tiptoes so she can kiss me on the lips. Her mouth feels needy and I have to resist an urge to grab her hips with my hands, pull her against me and spend the whole day getting to know her body. “Promise me that when the time comes, that you'll stay inside, that you'll let me go do what I need to do.”

  “I promise,” I say, but in my heart I can't be sure that I'm telling the truth.

  CHAPTER 14

  Inadvertent

  Twenty-Nine Hours and Thirty Minutes After …

  Ooze spitters, I write, not yet seen but according to … I almost can't write Martin's name. When I look down at him, it already seems like he's dead. His skin is so ashen and clammy, and his eyes haven't opened since Holly and I came down here. Valerie and Dawson say he was out the whole time they were here, too. I decide though that if I were Martin, that I wouldn't want people forgetting about me and continue. Acc
ording to Martin, they're tall, maybe eight or nine feet, with skin like green leather and bulbous lumps on their backs. They spew acid and can melt cars, metal, even people. I pause and decide that's all I've got for that entry and move on to the next.

  Lopers. I write the word down and then pause, glancing over at Holly. She's still awake, too anxious to sleep.

  “Everything okay?” I ask as her head slowly turns towards me. Her eyes are bloodshot and her lips are dry and cracked. She's having a hard time being trapped in this windowless bathroom while I, on the other hand, love it. It feels like nothing bad could happen in here, not really. I can even fantasize that Martin might live because who dies in a bathroom anyway, right?

  “No,” she admits and then stretches her arms above her head. I know that no matter how much she wants to leave though, that she won't. Holly won't let me leave her sight now, not even to pee. She makes me go in the urinal while she sits behind me and stares, munching pretzels and unwrapping golden caramels. She also tells me that she has a new appreciation for my penis which I like but don't know how to respond to. “I want to get out of here, do something. I want to check on Valerie and Dawson.”

  “Then go,” I tell her as I glance down at Martin. Holly thinks that at any moment he'll die and turn and kill us all, so she won't take her eyes off of him. “Run up there real quick and look. He's not just going to up and die; I'm sure we'll have a warning of some kind.” Holly purses her lips, but I can see that the anxiety is eating away at her. “Go. Quick. I'll even sit near the door, just in case.” Holly looks me straight in the eyes and then nods.

  “Just for a second though. I'll be right back.” She pauses as she stands and looks down at me with loving eyes. I scoot away from Martin and prop myself up against the wall that's farthest away from him. “Be careful, Galen.” I smile back at her and eventually blow her a kiss when she refuses to leave.

  “Hurry,” I say, trying to spur her into action. Holly stares at Martin for a long while, takes a deep breath and then turns around, busting out the door and disappearing out of sight. I turn my attention back to the notebook and try to figure out how to describe the lopers. They're the typical zombie, first and foremost. I put pen to paper and start to scribble notes. Any corpse that's been raised by Patricia's magic. They smell like shit and look like it, too. I wouldn't be surprised to see one that's covered with maggots or swarming with flies. They're much quieter than the bone bags, but fairly easy to hear coming. That is, if the stench of rotten flesh doesn't warn you first.

  “Galen?”

  The sound of my name draws my attention away from the paper and to Martin's pallid face. He's awake now, eyes gazing up at the white ceiling with bewilderment and a sense of wild fear that I would wipe away if I could. He knows he's going to die. I can see that in his expression as plainly as if he'd said it aloud. I set my notebook down and crawl back across the floor so that I'm looking down at wide, brown eyes.

  “Yeah?” I ask as I lean over and put my hand on Martin's shoulder. I want him to know that no matter what happens, he isn't alone. He tears up, but the drops don't fall. They stick to his face and quiver with the silent sobs that he doesn't have the strength to let out.

  “I miss my mom and sisters,” he tells me and although I don't know the full story, I sympathize, grabbing his hand and squeezing. “Do you think they're waiting for me?” I haven't the slightest clue what to say to this, so I feel lucky when Holly comes back into the room and sees what's going on. “Do you?” Martin asks desperately as if he's fading away even now, drifting into the ceiling and disappearing from this hell on earth.

  “Of course,” Holly whispers as she flashes him a genuine smile and then bends down to press a kiss to his lips. I'm not jealous, not in the least, because I know that Martin needs and deserves all the affection he can get in his last few moments.

  “I'm afraid,” he whispers as he turns his head towards me. I try to smile to reassure him, but I don't know if the intention translates to my face. I don't want to sit here and watch my friend die. I want to run away and hide, bury my head in the sand and hope that everything goes away. But it isn't that simple. Nothing ever is.

  “Don't be,” I say to him, trying to make a joke out of the whole situation since I know that that's what Martin would've wanted. He would've said something completely inappropriate and downplayed the severity of it all. I try to return the favor. “You managed to survive a zombie apocalypse without being bitten. That's pretty impressive.” Martin chuckles softly and sighs as he lets his body drift further away from him.

  “I guess it is,” he tells us as his eyes become glassy and I can see that his mental capabilities are fading rapidly. “Too bad I didn't get to see what happens after.” Martin grins widely and the expression gets stuck on his face like a bad mask. “You know, the cool dystopian societies and all that … ” He sighs deeply, chest sinking below the blankets to a surreal level. “Thought I was … ” He pauses here and takes a deep breath, leaning forward as if he has something to tell me. What I don't expect, and what I'm sure Holly doesn't expect either, is for Martin to lean forward past Holly's arms and bite down on mine.

  I scream as his teeth pierce my skin in a way that human mouths were never meant to. The intelligence in his eyes drops away as if it was never there in the first place, leaving him an animated piece of flesh, just like the other DeadBorn. In less than a second, Martin's turned into a zombie and bitten me, doomed me to death along with him. I try to jerk back, but I can't get free, relying on Holly to help me through the pain as she grabs her baseball bat and in an ironic twist, has to save me while she's there supervising, not while she's away. She beats Martin in the head, shouting words that I can't hear as this strange, static whisper tingles in my forearm and starts to crawl towards my shoulder.

  I'm saying something, too, but I can't even make out my own words. I'm blinded by pain and blood and can't even grasp my own thoughts above the din. My pulse is thumping in my ears, warning me that I've been poisoned with a venom of the worst kind, one that's invincible, one that no person before me has ever seen. I'm going to die, turn into a zombie, and help in the hunt for Holly, deliver her to her mother and never know the pain I've caused.

  When Martin's teeth finally separate from my arm, I slump back into the wall with a groan, blood pooling around my hand and sinking into the fabric of my pants. Holly continues to beat the corpse until it's a crimson heap of meat, a useless lump of flesh that doesn't pose any further threat. There's no time to mourn Martin as Holly drops to her knees beside me and rips off her shirt. She ties it around my upper arm with several, strong knots and then looks me in the face, searching for some hint that I'm still in there.

  “I'll be right back,” she whispers and fear floods my veins with cold. If I die without her here, I don't know what I'll do. And I'm going to die, I just know it. The bite doesn't feel like I think it should. There are ethereal sensations there that tell me that Martin was right. A bite does a zombie make. Apparently, it's a part of popular culture for a reason: it's true.

  “Holly, no!” I shout as she sobs and stumbles out the bathroom door and away, leaving me with the fleshy mass that used to be Martin. I feel even worse when I see that it's still moving, quivering with magic, desperate to get at me even though it's a physical impossibility. “Holly!” I screech as my arm goes completely numb below her makeshift tourniquet. It seems like hours that she's gone although my logical mind tells me that it's only been minutes.

  When she returns, Holly has a screwdriver in one hand. I can't even fathom what she's planning on doing with it as she threads it into the knot of the tourniquet. Then she begins to spin it, and pain crashes over and through me, smashing into my brain and knocking me to the floor of unconsciousness.

  ***

  Thirty-Seven Hours and Two Minutes After …

  I drift in and out of consciousness, navigating between nightmares with the same skill that dream-Holly is guiding our imaginary boat. The steering whee
l is a screwdriver and I notice that each time she spins it, my arm feels lighter, like there's a good possibility that it'll detach itself and go drifting off into a sky that's filled with crimson clouds. When it starts to rain, I find that I'm soaked in blood, just dripping with it. It burns my skin and sluices between my lips, desperate to get down my throat. But Holly stops it by dropping the steering wheel and putting a bottle of water to my mouth. She forces me to drink nearly all of it and then whispers quietly in my ear.

  “You're alright, Galen. You're okay. I'm here; I'm right here.”

  My eyes snap open and Holly's still there, only we're not on a boat. We're lying on the floor in the hallway and I've got a pillow under my head and a blanket around my feet. When I try to move my arm, it doesn't respond. When I try to look at it, Holly grabs my chin and keeps my gaze away.

  “How do you feel?” she asks me as I blink my eyes and focus on a series of nature photographs that line the wall behind her head.

  “Alright, I guess,” I tell her honestly. “Maybe a bit tired, but that's it. My arm doesn't even hurt anymore.” I try to look at it again, but Holly still won't let me. She kisses my lips a hundred times and I can tell that she's been crying for awhile now. Her face is blotchy and sad and there are lines there that I've never seen before, valleys of stress that connect her lips to her chin and her eyes to her ears. I've put Holly through hell. “I'm sorry,” I say, feeling guilty for not taking her worries more seriously. I shouldn't have gotten so close to Martin. Holly knew, she knew, and she was right.

  Holly brushes blonde hair away from my face and runs her thumbs across my eyebrows. She's crying again, and I can tell that something's wrong. I just don't know what it is yet. Obviously, I haven't turned into a zombie, which is pretty amazing since I could feel the magic coursing through my veins like poison. I don't know why it works that way, but it does. I know it. And Holly does, too. Otherwise she wouldn't have done what she did with the screwdriver. Now that I'm awake, I understand why. She was tightening the tourniquet, cutting off the flow of magic to the rest of my body. She's so fucking smart, I can't stand it.