Margo Quinn, Zombie Fighter

by Chambers, V. J.

  Zombies were grabbing for me, and I was having trouble keeping the door open and shooting. There were so many. Behind me, I felt Mick take the weight of the door. Okay. That would work. I stepped forward to let him get behind me. I kept shooting. I was hitting them, but I wasn't getting all of them in the head, so half of the zombies I shot just kept coming. I could hear the bus door opening and I quickly glanced over my shoulder to see Mick and the little girl getting on.

  In that moment, I felt teeth sink into my right arm. I howled, and tried to shake them off. It was my gun arm! I transferred the gun to my left hand and shot the one biting me. But now, they were all over me. Teeth were in my shoulder, in my belly, in my other arm. God, I was an idiot! Stravinsky always said, "Never take your eyes off the zombies."

  They could kill me. They could definitely kill me. I was being gnawed on from all angles. I could feel the hot gush of my blood draining from the bites.

  "Go!" I yelled. "Get out of here!" I was trying to shoot with my left hand, but my aim was terrible. I had nightmares like this sometimes. I wondered if I'd still be alive to watch them munch on my intestines.

  Gunfire.

  One of the zombies on my fell over, the back of his skull burst open.

  They weren't going to leave me? Idiots!

  I got my gun back in my right hand, pressed the barrel against one of the zombies' heads, and pulled the trigger. Zombie brains everywhere. I did it to another. And another. Soon there were no teeth in me. I scrambled backwards. The door of the bus opened. I threw myself inside.

  "You should have left me," I said.

  "Should have," agreed Jesse. I looked at him. He had two huge neck wounds. His arms and shoulders were covered in bites. "I figured I was worse off than you, so . . ."

  I pulled myself into a seat.

  The bus took off. Zombie guts splattered the windshield. Jesse turned on the wipers. We were at the marina within a few minutes. Jesse pulled the bus right up to our dock. "I think taking 301 was faster than Orange," said.

  "Yeah," said Mick.

  "Okay," said Jesse. "I'm gonna stay on the bus and cover the two of you—well, three of you—so you can get to the boat."

  "No," I said. "You're coming back with us."

  "Look at me, Quinn," said Jesse. "I'm not gonna make it. I'm losing a lot of blood."

  "You've got time to make it to Bird," I said. "You'll be more comfortable there. They have beds. We always take people back to quarantine."

  "That's to keep them from turning. To minimize the ability of the infected to infect more," said Jesse. "I'm not gonna infect anyone. And I don't want to be one of those things. Not even for a second. And they don't shoot you in quarantine until you turn."

  Mick shook Jesse's hand. "It's been an honor," Mick said.

  Jesse put out his hand for me to shake. I hugged him instead. We both winced because of our various wounds. I pulled back.

  "Margo," he said.

  I started crying.

  "I wasn't jealous," he said. "Not exactly. I just couldn't take worrying about you out here, when we were fighting. It distracted me. I thought if I ended it, I wouldn't be distracted anymore."

  "Did it work?" I asked.

  He looked down at his bloody body. "Not so much, no."

  "I'm sorry," I said.

  "We've got to go," said Mick. "They're coming."

  "Come back with us, Jesse," I said. I wiped at my eyes with the heel of my hand.

  He just shook his head.

  "We've got to go," said Mick again.

  The boat was only a few feet away. Mick carried the girl, and he and I made a run for it. Jesse shot the few zombies that came for us. I untied the boat and we floated backwards. I could still see Jesse at the door of the bus. The zombies were coming for him now. He put the barrel of his gun in his mouth.

  A bang. Jesse fell backwards. There was nothing to say, so I just grabbed the radio on the boat. "Quinn to HQ. We've got the girl. Repeat. We've got the girl."

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  Keep reading for the first chapter in The Toil and Trouble Trilogy.

  Witches, zombies, and the mob!

  The Toil and Trouble Trilogy, Book One

  by V.J. Chambers

  Chapter One

  “Why’d you drop out of school, Calabrese?” asks Brice. He’s lying on the bench inside the dugout of the community baseball field behind The Shakespeare Theater. It is close to midnight. Hours ago, Brice and I were in the opening night performance of Macbeth. Most of the other members of the play are over twenty-one, and they have all abandoned the opening night party for bars. Brice and I have been drinking backstage for over an hour. We have been drinking too much and too fast, but we don’t realize this, because right now, it feels too good to be buzzed drunk in the night air.

  I am sitting up, looking at the dark baseball field through the chain link fence around the dugout. “Family stuff.”

  School gets in the way. No one takes you seriously when you’re always trying to do algebra homework. And I’ve been trying to convince the family that I’m serious about taking over the family business while my dad’s in jail.

  “Too bad.”

  “Why? You sad you never got to ask me to prom?” I ask. Brice is one of those guys who really spreads it around. A real ladies’ man. Player. Whatever you want to call it. Generally, I’d steer clear of him, but tonight, I need a distraction. And being seduced by Brice Ventresca is better than thinking about watching Joey Ercalono gasp on his own blood because my first shot didn’t do the job properly.

  He chuckles. “Maybe.”

  I snort. “Whatever. No one asks me out.”

  “Because they’re afraid of your cousins,” says Brice. “You’re always walking around with half a dozen thugs. You think a guy doesn’t get the message that if he gets within a foot of you, those guys will break his face?”

  I look down at him. I haven’t ever thought of that before. Maybe my cousins do scare off guys. “I just figured I was butt ugly.”

  Brice sits up a little bit to crack open another beer. “Yeah, that’s part of the male gender’s evil plan. We’re in a conspiracy to convince all girls that they’re unattractive. It makes it easier to get into their pants.”

  I shove him. “Asshole.”

  His beer spills. “Hey!”

  I just laugh.

  Brice pushes himself into a sitting position, rubbing at the beer that’s spilled on his shirt. “You should apologize, you know.”

  “I’m sorry you’re an asshole.”

  “Hey, fuck you, Calabrese.”

  I keep laughing.

  Brice takes a big swig of his beer. “I was going to tell you that you were the farthest thing from butt ugly that I could imagine. But now that you’ve insulted me and spilled beer all over me, I don’t think I will.”

  I open another beer too. “Well, that’s sweet of you, Ventresca.”

  “Why don’t you call me Brice?”

  “Why don’t you call me Olivia?”

  He shrugs self-consciously. “Teachers at school always called you by your last name, I guess. Besides, it fits you. You’re all tough and everything.”

  I start laughing again. “Oh, tough, huh? You know, Brice, I really expected you to be better at this, given your reputation and all.”

  He leans his head against the back of the dugout. “What are you talking about? Better at what?”

  If I weren’t so drunk, I’d be too embarrassed to say any of this. “At, you know, getting in my pants.”

  He sits straight up, and beer sloshes out of his can again. “That’s what you think I’m trying to do?”

  “You’re not?” I feel disappointed, but not mortified, the way I’d be if I were sober.

/>   “No, back up.” He sets his beer down. “You thought I was trying to put moves on you, and you were cool with that?”

  I shrug. “It’s been a bad day.”

  Brice is staring at me. He doesn’t say anything. He picks his beer up and takes a drink. Then he sets it on the ground. He scoots closer to me on the bench.

  I can smell the beer on his breath. I tense up, but don’t move away.

  Brice’s arms come around me. It seems so natural the way one arm encircles my shoulders and his other hand settles on my waist. His face moves closer.

  I slam my eyes shut. This is happening, I think drunkenly. This is actually happening.

  Brice’s lips are against mine. His tongue is in my mouth. It’s nice. It makes me tingly. Tentatively, I move my tongue against his. Ooh. Nice. Even more tingles.

  Abruptly, Brice pulls away. “What did you mean, my reputation?”

  I struggle to even remember what he’s talking about. My first kiss has dazed me. I’ve thought about kissing guys before. Sure I have. But if I’d known it was going to be that nice, I would have tried to make it happen before. Plus, I’m thinking, if I’m reading everything right, that all I had to do was tell Brice I wanted to, and he was all about it. Maybe this whole thing is way easier than I thought. I stare at him blankly. “Reputation?”

  “You said I had a reputation. What are you talking about?”

  Oh. Right. I had said that, hadn’t I? What does it matter? I just want Brice to kiss me again. “You know, you’re Brice Ventresca. You’re always with girls. You’re like a player or whatever.”

  “I am not,” says Brice. He picks his beer back up again. “I’m totally stupid with girls. I dated Megan Pettacia for like three years, and we only broke up like two months ago. And since then, I’ve only like...” He takes a drink of his beer. “Do you really want to have sex with me?”

  I giggle. I can’t help it. I am completely wrong about Brice. He’s as clueless as I am. I hold up a finger. “That would probably be moving way too fast.” My voice sounds slurred, I realize. I am drunk. Good. At least I’m not thinking about Joey Ercalono.

  Brice nods. “Yeah, totally.”

  “After all, who wants to be the girl who had her first kiss and lost her virginity all in one night?” I drink some beer. I look at Brice. “Do you think that would be slutty?”

  “Uh...” Brice shrugs.

  “Do you want to kiss me again?”

  “Definitely,” says Brice. And he does.

  This time, I pull him close to me. I am drunk, and I feel completely free. I don’t worry about whether I’m doing it right or whether Brice will think I’m inexperienced. He knows I am. I have nothing to lose. The kiss makes me feel like I’m drowning in something warm and sweet. With my eyes closed, I don’t know that I’m in the dugout. It feels like I’m swirling in outer space, like kissing Brice has transported me someplace perfect.

  Brice puts his hand inside my shirt. I let him. It feels good, my skin going goose bumpy in response to his feather-light caresses. I lose myself in the sensation. If I’m doing this, I’m not thinking about Joey Ercanolo’s blank, glassy eyes, about the little bit of blood sliding out of the edge of his slack, open mouth. Now. Brice’s mouth. Brice’s hands. That is real. That is all I care about.

  To push the thoughts of Joey even further away, I put my hand inside Brice’s shirt too. His skin is warm and smooth. I can feel his muscles move under his skin. He gasps against my lips when I run my fingers over his ribs. I like the idea that I’m making him react.

  Brice eases me back on the bench, so that I’m lying under him. I don’t stop this either. Everything is tingles and warmth and excitement. My body feels taut, like something inside it wants to be released. I help him push my shirt up. I can’t control my breathing when he puts his hands under my bra. It’s too nice. Too good. I arch my back against the bench, wanting him to touch me more. He kisses my neck, my earlobe. A moan escapes my lips.

  Brice’s voice is breathy. His lips tickle my ear. “I thought you said...”

  Said? Said what? Does any of it matter? This feels good. I like it. I don’t care what I said. I’m drunk. I’m running from the memory of the man I shot today. I shot him over and over again. And he’s dead. He deserved it, sure, but it was me that killed him, and I... “Kiss me,” I say, and when Brice puts his lips on mine, I fumble to find the button on his jeans and undo it.

  He pulls back. In the darkness, I see his eyes searching mine. He looks confused, but not unhappy. “How drunk are you, Olivia?”

  “I want to,” I say. “I don’t care if I am slutty.”

  “You’re not slutty,” he says. He looks down at me, my clothes in disarray. “Well... Look, whatever you are, I like it.”

  Sure he does. Isn’t that what guys want, anyway? Willing girls? I unbutton my own pants and wriggle out of them, so that I’m lying on the bench in my panties. The air feels chilly against my skin. I shiver.

  Brice swallows hard. “Whoa.” His gaze runs over my body, up and down, then back again. “Um...we should...we need...” He yanks his wallet out of his back pocket. He has to sit up to go through it.

  I’m confused. I sit up too, hugging my knees to my chest. “What?”

  He pulls out a condom, looking triumphant.

  “Oh,” I say. “Good.” I feel a stab of panic. How drunk am I, if I’m not even thinking about things like that? Maybe I shouldn’t... But then I flash again on the way Joey’s body looked when the first bullet burst into his skin. I remember the way it jerked. I remember how surprised he looked. I kiss Brice again, desperately wanting the sensation to wipe it all away.

  Before I know it, we’re lying on the bench again, kissing furiously. My legs are wrapped around Brice. He’s running his hand from my knee, up over my thigh, my hip, and back again. The taut feeling is back. And so is the feeling of being lost. Being away, swirling in some warm dark place—a cavern of goodness. I don’t want to leave here.

  But Brice pulls away again.

  “What?” I say, propping myself up on my elbows.

  He’s struggling with the condom wrapper.

  I take it from him and rip it open. I hand it back.

  “Thanks,” he says. “I’m just kind of... This is...” He grins at me.

  He’s nervous, I realize. That’s what’s turned him into a bumbling idiot. It’s adorable, actually. Reassuring too. “Have you done this before?”

  “Uh...” He looks away from me. “Sort of.”

  “Sort of?” What kind of answer is that?

  “It’s kind of a long story,” he says. “I kind of don’t remember exactly.”

  I raise my eyebrows. That sounds strange.

  “There was this actress chick that I met last month and—”

  I unzip his pants to shut him up. “I don’t care.” And I don’t. Too much talking means there’s not enough warm tingly feelings. “Put the condom on.”

  “Yeah,” he says. “You’re really something else, Calabrese.”

  I bite my lip. “Call me Olivia.” For some reason, I don’t want him to think of me as tough right now.

  “Sure,” he whispers. “Olivia.” He kisses me again but doesn’t touch me because he’s busy with the condom.

  He’s done in a minute. I can feel him pressing against me. There’s nothing between us but the thin cotton of my panties and a piece of latex. My heart thuds in my chest. I feel frightened suddenly, unsure of whether getting myself into this situation has been a particularly great idea. There’s the whole fact that premarital sex is a sin, for one thing. But there are lots of sins. I’ve committed those too. This won’t be different.

  I touch his face. “Brice,” I say.

  “You okay?”

  Can he tell that this is suddenly real to me? That I’m realizing exactly what I’m doing? “Yeah,” I whisper. I wriggle one leg out of my panties. I spread my legs.

  Brice’s body settles against mine. It seems like he is wearing so many more
clothes than I am. He puts his lips on mine.

  I brace myself. Is this going to hurt? Don’t they say it hurts?

  Then I feel it. Him. Pressing against me.

  In completely the wrong place.

  I wriggle my pelvis, trying to move him into the right spot.

  It doesn’t work.

  Should I reach down and, like, move him? I feel too shy to touch it. I wriggle again.

  No dice.

  Suddenly, Brice’s entire body spasms.

  Jesus, I think. He didn’t even, like, get in me.

  But then Brice shrieks, and I know he’s crying out in pain, not pleasure. In the distance, I can hear the clock downtown begin to strike midnight.

  I look at his face, which is twisted in agony, his eyes squeezed shut. “Brice? Brice, what’s—”

  And he opens his eyes. They’re glowing bright red.

  I push him off me, screaming. Berserker. Brice is a berserker.

  And I was going to have sex with him.

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