Waking Up Dead eodl-1

by Emma Shortt

  Luke reached out and patted her on the shoulder. “I’m really sorry.”

  She opened her mouth, closed it, and then opened it again. “We should never have split up. I knew it was a bad idea. For fuck’s sake.”

  “Then why—”

  “We had no choice,” she snapped. “Zombies were everywhere.”

  “I am sorry,” he said. “I didn’t realize. I only expected to find one person, but it all makes sense now.”

  She dropped her head in her hands. “It always does. Nasty, nonstop, horrible, fucking sense.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said again, mainly because he did not know what else to say.

  Silence held for a moment, just a moment, then she lifted her head. “Forget it.” She bit the words out. “Just forget it.”

  Her tone may have been harsh but Luke could see the pain behind it, and he knew exactly what she was feeling, had experienced the same emotions many, many times. He looked away in an attempt to give her some space. Glancing over the windows again, checking the vending machine, the swimming pool, the showers…eventually though, he came back to the woman. He couldn’t help it. Couldn’t quite accept that she was actually sitting next to him. It felt unreal to him and yet…clearly she was not suffering from the same intense emotions that he was. She held her drink in her hand and scowled at something he couldn’t see.

  Luke struggled for something, anything, to break the silence, and after a moment settled on her bare legs. “Don’t take this the wrong way,” he said slowly. “But why the hell are you dressed in panties and boots?”

  She lifted her drink, swallowed some more soda, and scowled again. “My jeans got covered in zombie pus and I have an open wound.”

  “You’ll freeze.” He made to shuck off of his jacket and pass it across to her, but she waved his offer away.

  “I’m fine,” she said. “My jacket is Gore-Tex. Weighs less than a pound, all weather resistant.”

  “You’re lucky to have that.”

  “It wasn’t luck,” she replied. “I peeled it off a dead woman.”

  “How…resourceful.”

  She shrugged. “Not resourceful enough, or I wouldn’t be sitting here freezing my ass off.”

  Luke felt something completely inappropriate to the situation stir as he imagined that ass and maybe it was lack of sleep, or the weirdness of actually talking to a person, but he couldn’t seem to stop the words that fell from his lips. “You’re welcome to sit on my lap and get warm that way.”

  She turned and met his gaze, narrowing her eyes at his teasing words. “You’re welcome to get to know my blade a bit better.”

  Luke laughed. He couldn’t help it, and inexplicably, considering their dire situation, felt his spirits rise. Yes she was giving him a death glare, and yes she’d just lost her friend, and yes the zombies were everywhere…but she was so fucking cute. Maybe there were possibilities here, assuming they survived, of course, but then wasn’t that always an assumption?

  “I’m Luke by the way,” he said—thinking perhaps he should introduce himself before he really tried to hit on her.

  She narrowed her eyes a little more, tilted her head, and then a heart beat or two later, smiled back. A little dimple appeared in the left corner of her face and Luke swallowed, his chest suddenly feeling painfully, and oddly, tight.

  “Jackson,” she said.

  And then the pounding began.

  Chapter Seven

  How many were there, Jackson wondered. Five, ten, fifteen? There was no way to know, and with the way her day was going she wouldn’t be shocked to find the entire cast of Firefly, fully zombified, trying to bash their way in. She eyed the vending machine—which was holding firm—and ran her fingers along Mandy’s hilt, comforted in a totally fucked-up way by the feel of the wood. Options played through her mind, plan after plan discarded.

  “Is that your last name?”

  She looked away from the seemingly unavoidable future kill zone and met Luke’s eyes. Luke who was, she had to admit, a surprise in more ways than one. When she’d first heard his deep, rumbling voice, shock had filled her, and then he’d dragged her through the door, muscles bulging and testosterone seething, and the shock had amplified. Jackson wished she could say it was purely due to the fact that he hadn’t tried to kill her, but that would be a lie. It had an awful lot to do with the fact that he was absolute freaking man candy, almost on a par with the Serenity captain himself. Maybe it was weird thinking that—what with the shitty situation and all, but she couldn’t help it. He was gorgeous. There was no getting around that fact. He was also, clearly, slightly odd. What else could explain the fact that he looked completely relaxed? That he was asking her stupid questions and inviting her to sit on his lap?

  “What?”

  “I’ve never met anyone called Jackson before,” he said. “It’s a cute name.”

  She gaped. “There are zombies pounding on the door.”

  He took another swig of his can. “I know.”

  “The Lynx didn’t stop them,” she added. “It should have but it didn’t.”

  “They must have skipped around it,” he said slowly. “Either that or it’s not strong enough. But look, there’s no point whispering. They know we’re in here.”

  Jackson frowned as she realized that was exactly what she had been doing. “Built-in reaction.”

  He shrugged. “They won’t leave until they’ve eaten us. Makes no difference keeping the noise down.”

  “We’re kinda fucked then.”

  “Jackson,” he said, almost like he was testing her name on his lips, “I’ve been fucked so much over the last few months I might as well be a hooker.”

  “Not much call for hookers these days.”

  “The zombies certainly don’t need them, that’s for sure.”

  “Let’s hope not.”

  For want of anything better to do, Jackson drank some more of her soda. The caffeine hit her system and her stomach gurgled. Christ, if she wasn’t careful, she’d need to pee soon, and there was nowhere to actually do so. Nowhere that didn’t include Luke.

  She placed the can on the floor, next to his, and eyed him in the same way she had the vending machine. Part curious, part assessing. He stared back at her, a small smile playing around his mouth.

  “Could be worse, though,” he said.

  Jackson raised an eyebrow. “You think?”

  “It can always be worse. Imagine if they were flesh-eating zombies who could fire bolts of acidic spit out of their mouths. It’d eat right through the door.”

  He smiled some more, inviting her to join in with the joke and her stomach gave a funny little flip. He was just so…big! All muscles and man and her body was reacting exactly how it should to such a sight. She bit down on her lip. Stupid body was clearly not taking into account the fact that a horde of the living dead were on the other side of the door.

  “I was just imagining they were the cast of Firefly,” she said, then wondered why.

  Luke shook his head. “I refuse to believe River Tam is a zombie. No way. No how.”

  “You’re a Browncoat,” Jackson said softly, surprised. “You didn’t strike me as the Whedon type.”

  “Appearances can be deceptive.”

  “Always.”

  One of the cans in her pack was digging into her back so Jackson shifted position, trying to order her thoughts as she did so. So much had happened in such a short space of time her head was practically spinning. Creepyville. The zombie attack. Another survivor. What were the chances that she’d run into two in a month when she hadn’t really seen anybody for almost a year? First Tye and now Luke.

  Tye. Jackson shivered and closed her eyes, a mix of panic and worry filling her, quickly followed by a hot spurt of guilt. Here she was lusting over a random when her best friend was probably hiding out waiting for her, because there was no way he was dead. Not Tye.

  She scowled as she recalled the fix they’d been in just a week ago. Camping by the sh
ore of Lake Michigan they’d been attacked by a pack. Tye had ended up falling into the lake with a zombie grappling on to him. She’d sped over, planning to jump in after him if need be, but he’d emerged just a few seconds later, holding the zombie’s head. Where its body was she didn’t know, and Tye didn’t say, simply asking instead if the water they’d been heating had boiled yet.

  He survived that. Of course he would survive this. Jackson had no doubt. She just needed to find him, and if he wasn’t at the Barbie brothel, he’d be heading for the interstate.

  We’ll always find each other.

  “I’m not seeing an obvious solution,” Luke said, eyeing the room, and pulling her thoughts away from her lost friend.

  Jackson took one last, tiny sip of the soda, wincing at the syrupy sweetness, and wiped a steady hand across her lips. “We need a plan,” she said after a moment. “It would not be an understatement to say that no one else in the world has ever needed a plan more than we do now.”

  Luke nodded his agreement. “That we do.”

  “What weapons do you have?” she asked, the practicalities filling her brain. “And please tell me many grenades, a slew of guns, and a rocket launcher strapped to your thigh.”

  He laughed. “Just the ax, I’m afraid. You?”

  “Just my machete and a small knife strapped to my ankle.”

  “Right…”

  A particularly loud thump sounded, and Luke looked at the door. “They want in, the fuckers.”

  Despite the fact that knowing wouldn’t change anything, Jackson asked the question. “How many do you think there are out there?”

  Luke shrugged. “It was one pack, from what I could tell, though it looked as though there were three packs working together. Plus someone I used to know from ages ago—she was my friend Pete’s wife, Lily. Who the hell knew she was still around?” He shook his head. “So four. I think I might have got one before I made a run for it but who fucking knows? You know how it goes in those situations. It’s fight, run, and then try and work out what the heck went down.”

  “What happened to the other eight or nine?” she asked.

  “I took care of them,” Luke replied.

  “On your own.”

  “Yep, with my bare hands.”

  She eyed his muscular form and swallowed. The man was fit, no doubt about it. She could well imagine him taking on half-a-dozen zombies, and he’d probably be smiling while he did it. “Serious?”

  He laughed. “Of course not. I had the grenades. I threw the last two at the remaining pack, but I don’t know if they did much beyond giving me time to make a run for it.”

  “Geez, at least try and keep the illusion of masculine strength.”

  He laughed again.

  A plan was forming in Jackson’s mind now and it seemed a do-it-or-die sort of deal. One of those crazy plans that she would, a million plans later, marvel at, and thank the crazies for it working. A particularly loud groan sounded, kind of confirming her thoughts. “I think we should just go for it.”

  “Huh?”

  “They’re gonna get past the vending machine eventually. That’s a given. Why don’t we pull the vending machine back slightly and drop it to the floor? We’ll leave just enough of a gap for one to get through.”

  “Funneling them?”

  She nodded. “Exactly. The longer we wait, the less chance we have. Because, and preaching to the choir here, I know, the more that are out there, the less room we have to maneuver or get away.”

  Luke shot her a long look and Jackson almost felt like she was going to blush—which was ridiculous. She had never been a blusher. Well no, that wasn’t true. She might have been once, a few years ago. But she certainly fucking wasn’t now.

  “Well…that does seem like our only option,” Luke said slowly. “I have a safe place not far from here that we can go to, but…” He paused and eyed her from head to toe. “You sure you’re up to it?”

  Jackson rolled her eyes. Oh, so it was like that, was it? Luke thought her a weakling girl. Well nothing else could rile her as much as a man doubting her skills. So she was skinny and short, she got that. While Luke was all tall and sculpted…damn was he sculpted… But Jackson had grown up with two brothers, had dated a cage fighter, and had won the Atomic Fallout burger challenge three years straight. She knew how to use what she had. This long in the land of the zombies? You had no choice but to harden up. It was do or die, and Jackson was a do-it kinda girl.

  “Yeah, I’m up to it, and I’m thinking it’s now or never.”

  To punctuate her point Jackson stood up, dropped her pack next to her feet, and heaved Mandy. Together they’d taken down countless numbers of the waking dead—hiding did not always work. Time to take down a few more.

  …

  Luke watched as Jackson—was that really her name?—hefted her machete and smiled. She looked like a good gust of wind would knock her over and he seriously doubted her ability to take down one zombie, never mind two. Christ, he was probably going to have to kill them all himself. Ordinarily not an insurmountable problem, but with zero weapons beyond an ax and running on hardly any sleep, he was already mentally crossing his chest and making his peace.

  “If for some reason I don’t make it,” he said grabbing one end of the vending machine, “head north along Everdeen Park. You’ll find a huge gate with a stone dragon either side—Harry Potter style. There’s a gap on the left side of the hedge. Slip through there and follow the hedge around. Eventually you’ll come to what looks like an overly large shed. It’ll have a girder propped up against it—keeping it shut. Go through there, make sure you close the door behind you, splash some Old Spice, and look for a trapdoor. It’s right in the corner, next to one of those ride-on lawn mowers. Open it, splash some more scent, and head down. Follow the path below, don’t take any of the turnoffs, and you’ll come across another door. Metal keypad coded.”

  “You serious?”

  “Yeah. Code is one-two-three-four.”

  “Original.”

  “Workable, sweetheart.”

  “What’s there?” she asked.

  “Everything you need to survive. Only don’t use the second door next to the bathroom. It opens a trapdoor that leads to the house above and the zombies hang around up there in their spare time.”

  Jackson took the other side and gave him a nod. Together they pushed the vending machine across the floor, giving them a good few of inches between it and the door. The zombies on the other side howled.

  “How have you got a coded keypad working? There’s no electricity.”

  “Generator run,” he explained. “The whole bunker is completely self-sufficient.”

  “Impressive,” Jackson said. “Ready to let it drop?”

  The vending machine wobbled as they leaned back—toes out of the way. A moment later and they pushed it, making the machine topple like a drunken stripper. It hit the floor with a crash that sent the zombies into overdrive. They bashed at the double doors, and Luke could see that they were already beginning to crumple.

  “It’s good to know you have somewhere for us to go, Luke,” Jackson said, stepping back toward the pool. “But I’d rather we get there together, to be honest. I’ll watch your back, you watch mine.”

  He grinned, because whether Jackson realized it or not, those were the first words she’d said that hinted they would be leaving together. That she wouldn’t be running off in the other direction the moment they were zombie-free. That thought made his heart race and Luke gripped his ax, a surge of energy coursing through him.

  One of the doors buckled about halfway up, separating from the other and creating a gap about a half foot wide. “Good job we used this instead of the crate,” he said “They’d have gotten in by now.”

  “That they would.”

  “They’ll have their gap in a minute,” he said, as the door continued to buckle inward.

  “Yep.”

  They stood back, side by side, and Luke took a deep breat
h, ready to shield Jackson when the time came. He was the man, after all. But damn, what he wouldn’t give right now for a grenade or two.

  The double doors juddered, the metal screeched, and then the left one came away from the frame completely. Luke was impressed to note that Jackson didn’t even flinch, because there, outlined against the crumpled metal, was a pack of three zombies. The dead Lily was conspicuously absent and Luke wondered if he’d finally killed her, as well as the other one. He figured he must have. Otherwise they’d be here.

  As he watched them, they watched him and Luke noticed that two of the three had that same calculating look in their eyes that he’d seen more and more of as the weeks went by. Late at night, alone in his bunker, he’d found himself wondering if the zombies were becoming more intelligent. Perhaps they were, as time went on, getting back some of the human traits that had disappeared. Half of him sort of hoped so. Maybe they’d get back a sliver of humanity, but the other part—the part that had seen so many of his friends die, and had spent so long fighting the bastards—was angered beyond belief at the thought of them becoming smarter. Surely they’d just get better at hunting their dwindling supply of food—which was him and Jackson right now.

  “You ready for this?” he asked, tightening his grip on his ax.

  “Always am, Luke. Always am.”

  The gap between the doors was just big enough for two to fit through, at a pinch. And that was what they did. Two females—it had to be, didn’t it?—slithered through the hole and came at them full pelt.

  They went straight for Jackson.

  Luke lifted his ax and swung at the one closest but it growled and jumped out of his way, so that he severed only a hand rather than an arm. He lifted to swing again but a massive male was coming through the door now, bits of skin flaking off from the tight squeeze, and Luke had to turn and swing at him.

  The ax took off most of the arm—just like he’d wanted to do with the first one. Pus and blood shot out and Luke dodged it. Another swing and the ax embedded itself in the dead thing’s chest. Luke grunted in satisfaction, but the grunt turned to a growl when the blade wouldn’t come back out. Fuck. It was stuck in the chest bones. He heaved and pulled but the dead guy moved swiftly and an arm wrapped around Luke’s torso, squeezing him hard.