That’s what he was doing now to Trudy—assessing her for injury.
While everyone was knee deep in blood, my sister and Bullseye came up beside me.
“Is it just me or is this a little freaky?” she whispered.
“I’m freaked,” confessed Bullseye.
“Everything’s freaky,” I said. “Almost everyone we know is dead and creepy government people are after us. Now, Trudy Aiken has blood for snot. It’s like we’ve fallen into the Twilight Zone and this is what’s been submitted for our approval.”
“Huh?” said Bullseye.
“Bad joke,” I said. “I watch too much TV.” We all looked at each other and right on cue said, “Not anymore,” and giggled.
Just then, the weirdest thing happened. A wild turkey came running out of the thick woods behind the big drum grill. The turkey burst through the pine trees and scrambled onto the deck, ran right past the crowd of adults, the three of us, and back into the woods again.
Sure, I was used to seeing wild turkeys. They were all over Littleham, especially in the summer when they hatched their chicks, but seeing one on the back deck of Swifty’s was so random that I almost didn’t know what I was looking at.
“Was that a turkey?” I said.
“Looks like,” said Trina.
“How weird is that?”
“Pretty weird.”
On the heels of her words, the pine forest exploded and a whole flock of wild turkeys came running on to the deck. One minute my aunt was talking, and the next, Trudy Aiken was on the ground, Freaky Big Bird was covered with blood, and a whole bunch of Thanksgiving dinners had descended on us from nowhere.
Andrew squawked and shot up into the trees. Newfie bolted out from under the table and snapped at a few of the monster birds as they ran past. There must have been at least twenty of them, and Newfie’s deep, bellowing barks filling the early evening air only added to the bizarre vibe.
To make matters worse, this guy named Eddie, who looked like he had fake hair, starting wailing. “What’s this?” he cried. “What’s this?” He pulled his hands away from his head and they were filled with blood, too. A thick stream of dark red was slowly oozing out of both his ears. He kept bringing his hands to his head and pulling back more and more of the stuff, but he couldn’t stop it from oozing through his fingers and splashing on his shoes. All of a sudden, he looked woozy, and his eyes rolled up into his head until you could only see the whites.
“This is not happening,” whispered Trina under her breath as she shook her head back and forth. Bullseye involuntarily grabbed her hand and put two fingers in his mouth. I was just stupefied.
‘This is not happening’ was right.
Eddie with the fake hair wobbled for a moment. Then he dropped to his knees and fell backwards. His head thudded on the deck with a clunk. That had to hurt. The sound was hollow and deep.
Aunt Ella and another guy named Randy Stephens, who Eddie with the fake hair had been palling around with since Site 37, squatted down next to him.
“Eddie,” she screamed. “Eddie, can you hear me?”
“Eddie,” shouted Randy Stephens, hoping for a response. “Say something. Please.” Randy was a tall beanpole of a guy with a funny, high-pitched voice. He was probably gay, which was cool by me. The adults had been whispering about him ever since we saved everyone.
Randy put his hands under Eddie’s head and cradled it, ignoring the blood that was pouring out his ears. My mother was there, too, frantically wiping the gooey mess away with paper towels. I was watching a scene out of an end-of-the-world-plague movie.
Well, I guess that’s what it was, but still.
To top everything off, Newfie started barking louder and louder as the turkeys disappeared back into the forest. I turned around to tell him to can it when I noticed he wasn’t facing their direction anymore. He was facing the spot where they had come from, and now I knew why.
At least a dozen poxers came staggering out of the woods, making a bee-line for the adults.
10
THIS I COULD HANDLE. This made sense to me. Now I realized why the turkeys had burst out of the woods. They were being chased by poxers—if you could call what the poxers were doing ‘chasing’.
“Game on,” I said.
Something scary sparked in Bullseye’s eyes. He let Trina’s hand go and pulled his fingers from his mouth. Why was he so unfazed by all this killing, even though they were just poxers—even though they didn’t matter anymore? Less than a week ago, each and every one of them had names and families and friends. They all ate take-out food and played board games on family night and rooted for their favorite sports teams.
They were people.
I tucked my worry deep in the back of my head. Maybe I would pull it out later when I had time to examine it—when we actually didn’t have to save everyone. Again.
“Time to fry,” said Trina and reached for another roll of paper towels that was on our picnic table. She had a lighter in her jeans, which was practically a necessity, and got ready to burn.
“What else is new,” muttered Bullseye, pulling out a handgun he had stuffed into the back of his jeans.
“Not the best place to be keeping that, buddy,” I said. “We’ll talk about it later.” He eyeballed me but I didn’t care. We had more pressing problems at the moment. “Poxers,” I yelled as loud as I could. “Get everyone inside.”
What happened next was utter chaos.
Aunt Ella and Randy Stephens grabbed Eddie with the fake hair under his arms and legs and hoisted him up. It probably wasn’t that hard, because the guy looked like he weighed less than one of those wild turkeys. They headed for the back door of Swifty’s.
Freaky Big Bird just sat there and screamed and screamed. I think between the blood and the poxers, her brain broke. Dorcas Duke and Nedra Stein pulled at her by her bony arms.
“Get your ass moving, Felice,” Dorcas screamed at her, but Freaky Big Bird wouldn’t stop and the poxers were getting closer. So she hauled off and slapped her hard across the face. “Move it or die you Skinny Minnie,” she bellowed at her.
Nedra Stein yanked on Freaky Bigbird’s arm one last time, but it was no use. She was frozen to her seat and the poxers were coming fast.
There was something odd about them besides the fact that they were all dead. Then I realized what it was. Every last one of them was Asian and wearing the same t-shirt and fall jacket embroidered with a ‘SeeAmerica.com’ emblem.
Oh, sure. Come to the states for a foliage tour, check out the sites, get turned into zombies. I bet SeeAmerica.com’s slogan was ‘We’re dying to show you America’.
Then I remembered the bus where we stole the gas and Tattoo Guy died. It was a tour bus. Everything made sense now.
The closest poxer, a middle-aged woman with a camera around her neck, caked with muddy dark stuff that I didn’t want to even think about, put her foot up on the deck. Dorcas immediately sprang into action. She took a deep drag off her cigarette so the end glowed red, stepped forward, and ground the butt right into the middle of the poxers forehead.
At first, I didn’t think a cinder was going to work, but then the poxer started to shriek and the flames took hold. I took a deep breath and made a solemn promise never to judge people who smoke ever again.
“Dorcas, back away from the fire,” I screamed. “She’s going to blow.” Dorcas back-peddled several feet but she wasn’t fast enough. The little Asian woman became engulfed in white heat and the hot fire licked at Dorcas’s wizened face. The poxer squealed its final song and exploded, raining black fiery tar over everyone, including the adults. Dorcas’ shirt sleeve and pant leg caught on fire. Like the tough old bird that she was, she stood there and slapped at the flames with the palm of her hand until the cloth was left black and smoky.
Nedra Stein got hit, too, and for a second I thought her hair was going to catch on fire. Instead, she brushed the gooey tar away and managed to pull Freaky Big Bird off the picnic table—not t
hat it mattered.
Felice LeFleur was in shock.
“Leave her,” Trina screamed, and forcefully grabbed both Dorcas and Nedra by their arms, whirled them around, and shoved them toward the back door to Swifty’s. They didn’t need to be told twice.
Some of the poxers had gotten hit by flaming Asian tourist chunks, and started to burn, too. The ones who hadn’t got hit still kept coming. Somewhere close I heard gun fire, and I knew that Bullseye was shooting at the tour of the dead. I didn’t have time to worry about him right now. I had more important problems.
My mom and dad were kneeling by Trudy. He’s a solid guy and my mom had years of tennis and yoga under her belt. Still, nothing prepared them for her bulk. They tried to lift her but she was just too heavy.
“Help me,” he cried. “Help.”
In slow motion I turned to see the carnage. Bullseye had wasted all his bullets. He was backed into a corner between one of the picnic tables and the railing, and now two poxers that looked around his age were staggering toward him. Trina was dragging Freaky Big Bird across the deck toward the door. Other poxers with bullets in their legs, downed, were still crawling toward us.
Just us.
Always us.
So I did the first thing that came to my mind. I put one leg on the edge of the double drum grill and pushed as hard as I could. The hot grill lifted up and tipped over, spilling fiery coals everywhere.
The shrieking started immediately, but I didn’t have time to look. Instead, I raced to help Bullseye.
Be like Jimmy, I thought, as I barreled into the first poxer, low, like I was taking down someone in wrestling. He was just a kid. In another life, I would have felt bad about taking down a kid like that, but I didn’t. The poxer fell into the second one and they both toppled over. Newfie was right there by my side. The gentle giant turned into a killing machine, ripping and tearing at both of them.
Bullseye scrambled over the picnic table, ran to my parents, and sank his hands into Trudy Aiken’s side, grabbing onto the tight stretchy fabric around her waist.
“Pull,” he screamed, and put all of his twelve-year-old might into it. His added strength got her moving.
I ran to them too, and together we all dragged her toward the back door of Swifty’s. Newfie came running after us, his muzzle covered in grossness. I couldn’t even imagine the kind of taste he had in his mouth. I promised myself that as soon as we were safe inside, he was getting a can of the best dog food Hollowton had to offer.
“Andrew,” I yelled, even though I had doubts that birdbrain even liked me. The crow dutifully flew down from the fir tree and landed on my shoulder. I guess sharing potato chips had its perks. Hell, if that’s all it took, maybe I would rip open a bag and offer Prianka some.
As we stuffed an oversized Trudy Aiken through the back door, I turned and saw the damage we had done.
There were monsters there—dead chunks of monsters. They had come out of the forest to kill us but we killed them, instead.
Killing was easy. We burned them like the demon fiends they were. Still, through it all, I felt nothing, like I was the one who was dead.
Not them.
11
“WHAT’S WRONG WITH them?” cried Prianka.
My father and mother were on either side of Trudy, mopping up a never-ending flow of blood that poured from her nose. She wasn’t conscious anymore—just a bleeding bag of blubber.
Try to say that five times fast—bleeding bag of blubber, bleeding bag of blubber, blooding blag of bloober, bloobing bug of bleeber, blagging blub of blugger.
Nope—can’t do it.
“I don’t know what’s wrong,” I whispered. “You saw what happened.”
Freaky Big Bird was crouched down in the back corner by the old-time candy display. She was shaking uncontrollably while Dorcas and Nedra tried to calm her down. That Dorcas was unreal. Her clothing was still smoking.
Eddie with the fake hair was a mess, too. Aunt Ella and Randy Stephens had laid him down on the ground in front of the cash register, and put one of those hand-made quilts under his head. Blood soaked the mismatched patchwork.
Prianka fell into me, her arms going around my neck, her head on my chest.
“I can’t take this,” she said, her words sounding muffled against my shirt. I would have been a complete moron to pass up the white flag of truce. I put my arms around her and my chin on top of her head. More than anything, I wished there was something I could do, something I could say—anything.
Bullseye walked past us with a scowl on his face and a fire extinguisher in his hands. He threw open the back door a little too hard because I don’t really think he meant for the wood to almost splinter. A few seconds later I heard the foam spraying out of the nozzle.
Jimmy and Trina came up to us. Krystal was sucking her thumb and holding on to Jimmy as tightly as she could.
“Wow, man,” he said in a low voice. “This thing with Trudy and Eddie looks bad. I mean, really bad. Are you guys okay?”
“I don’t know anymore,” said Prianka. “One minute we were finishing dinner, the next, there was blood everywhere.”
“It’s so gross,” said Trina. “And what was that all about with the turkeys and the Asian poxers? Talk about weird.”
“What about Bullseye?” Jimmy said. He caught my eye. His face looked serious.
“He’s cool,” I grimaced, not believing my own words. “He’s out back putting out fires.” Frankly, I didn’t know if he was okay or not. Fighting poxers was nothing new. He was used to doing that. Still, something creepy was going on with him and I didn’t think I was the only one who noticed.
“We’re lucky none of the poxer goo landed on the roof or we’d be sleeping in the bus tonight,” Trina said as she looked around the room. “Where’s Sanjay?”
Prianka squeezed me tighter. “He’s by the stove. Newfie and Andrew are with him.”
“What about Poopy Puppy?” I asked.
“Poopy Puppy’s a doll,” she said into my shirt. Oh yeah—right. I pulled away from Prianka, kissing her forehead lightly.
“I’m sorry for whatever I did.” That was the best I could muster. “Are we normal again?” Her big brown eyes found mine. I get why she was mad, I think, but I was just too tired to worry about it anymore.
“For now,” she answered.
“Good. It’s not the hill I wanted to die on, anyway.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s just something my parents always say. I guess it means that it’s not worth being angry about.”
Prianka half-smiled.
“Then no, it’s not the hill I want to die on either,” she said,
“Good answer, Patel.” I kissed her again. For now, I didn’t have to worry about the two of us, which was a very good thing, but I did have to worry about what the hell was going on with Trudy and Eddie. I went over and crouched down by my mom and dad.
“What’s happening?” I asked my father. Trudy looked awful and her skin was turning white.
“I don’t know,” he said. “Look at her blood. It’s almost black.”
I didn’t want to look. I had seen too much blood already. She could’ve been bleeding purple with pink polka dots for all I cared. I was over the bodily fluids. They were flat-out nasty.
“It’s almost what the zombie’s blood looks like when they explode,” said my mother. “But she’s not a zombie.”
My father shook his head. “I . . . I’m not sure.”
“So is she alive?” my mother asked.
“Um, yeah,” I said, echoing my mom. “Is she living? Do we need to hold a mirror to her mouth to see if she’s breathing? And if not, is she . . .” I choked on the word. It was so bizarre to even think about. “Is she changing?”
“Into what?” my father said. See, adults can be so stupid some times. You have to be on top of them every second of the day or they’ll slip into dementia or something equally as heinous.
I swallowed a
nd it made a weird, froggy sound.
“Into a zombie,” I said.
“How? She hasn’t been bitten. We’re immune.”
“Don’t ask me. You’re the doctor.”
My mother wiped dark blood away from Trudy’s face. The flow was slowing down, but it was still there. I felt bad for ever thinking anything bad about Trudy Aiken. She could have handed us over to Cheryl The It. By now, she could have been in a nice, plush government facility where they may or may not have fed her to poxers to see how long obese people take to change.
She could have been eating pizza, pizza, pizza.
Instead she was here.
“Doug?” my mom said to my dad. “Could she really be changing?”
Before he had a chance to answer, Trina came over and crouched down next to us. “So next time we plan a family outing, could we go to Disney or something? Frankly, I’m not having any fun.”
“Amen to that,” I said and we both automatically high-fived each other.
“Doug?” my mom said again, her eyes bright with a fresh sheen of tears. He didn’t answer her. He didn’t move at all. My sister and I didn’t either. None of us could bear to utter a sound as we watched a bubble of blood form at the end of my mom’s nostril, burst, and dribble scarlet horror down her face.
12
AWFUL CAN’T BEGIN to describe what happened next. I think I’ll always have nightmares about the blood. My mom had what my dad called a ‘petit-mal’ seizure. Her eyes rolled up into her head and she fell back against the hard floor.
“Molly,” my dad gasped, but his words were drowned out by a disgusting gurgling sound. Lanky Randy Stephens—the guy with the weird voice who everyone thought was probably gay—literally puked blood all over Eddie with the fake hair, but it didn’t matter because Eddie was already covered in his own gore.
Felice LeFleur passed out when she realized fresh blood was dripping from her ears, too. Finally, Nedra Stein got sick. She knew what was going to happen so she took one of the quilts and huddled in a corner away from everyone else. Bleeding from several orifices is never a lady-like thing to do, but Nedra handled herself like a debutante.
The Dead (a Lot) Trilogy (Book 2): Wicked Dead Page 5
