Lipstick & Zombies (Deadly Divas Book 1)

by McKay, Faith

  "Yes," they both said.

  "Alright. Anyone want to go first?" Sadie asked.

  Carrie nervously raised a few fingers off her knee, and Sadie nodded her permission.

  "I'm sorry." She took a deep breath and then quickly, like it pained her, said, "I don't know what to do to make it better because it's awful and embarrassing but I'm really, really sorry."

  "It's embarrassing for you?"

  Her neck jutted out with tension as she swallowed. "It's embarrassing being an asshole."

  "Whatever," Gerri said, and turned to the other girls to ask, "What do you want from us?" If Carrie thought the shock of her saying a naughty word was enough to win Gerri over, she had another thing coming.

  "To not murder each other, to start," Sadie said.

  "I wasn't trying to..." Carrie turned so red so fast that Gerri thought she'd overheat and pass out. She almost asked the girl if she was okay before catching herself. "Again, I'm sorry. I... I lost control."

  Carrie was clearly uncomfortable with Gerri's scrutiny, which encouraged her to deepen her stare. Gerri hadn't even known you could blush with your whole body. "Yeah, don't worry about it," Gerri told her.

  “Okay, I think we all know that Carrie did a bad thing,” Sadie said. “But I think we should talk about before that. I know you don't want to, and maybe it's partly my fault for telling everyone to give you space, but we all know you've been... going through something. I think it's time you told us what.” Sadie was looking at Gerri expectantly. They all were.

  This wasn't how things were supposed to have been by now. Gerri was supposed to be the leader of the band. Of course, she couldn't say anything like that—not after Carrie had outright accused her of wanting to be the leader, like it made her some kind of evil. But she was supposed to be. The girls were supposed to be looking to her for what to do next. People always used to do that. No one had been sure how they were going to function without Gerri when she went off to be a star. Somehow, they were already rehearsing for their first concert, and she was... the image of herself scared on the floor while the others took out the zombie kept flashing in her head.

  “I'm fine,” she told them. “You don't know me. This is just how I am.”

  “This is not how you are,” Sadie said. “We all saw you change.”

  “This is how I am when I'm stressed,” Gerri said. “You're all different, too. We're just busy. Everything's fine. Carrie's the one who tried to kill me. I don't know why you're making this about me.”

  “I wasn't trying to kill you!” Carrie had that freaked out look, the one she'd had when she'd been yelling at Gerri on the stage.

  “Right,” Gerri said.

  “I'm sorry,” Carrie said again.

  Gerri shrugged. “Don't do it again.”

  “I would never—I mean, I won't,” Carrie said.

  “Good.”

  Dee clapped the palms of her hands and said, "Well, yay! We're best friends again! Who wants cake?"

  "Cake?" Sadie asked.

  Dee's hand went to her hip and she asked, "You got a better suggestion?"

  Sadie put her hands up in surrender. "Don't do the hands-on-hips things with me, Princess Dee. It was an innocent question."

  "Is this really it?" Jo asked.

  "I don't think so," Meghan said from the doorway. The girls jumped. They hadn't heard the door open, or the security system beep.

  "How did you do that?" Gerri asked.

  Meghan let the door fall closed and ran her hand slowly over the walls, the kitchen counter, and the back of Gerri's sofa. She had everyone's attention, for a change. "You know, I keep telling you to appreciate this opportunity, but I don't think you've fully grasped any of it yet." She bent over and rested her elbows on the back of the sofa, looking at each of them in turn before continuing. "Yes, I mean the trainers, the exposure, the luxury, the opportunity to touch the lives of possibly every person left on this planet. You should appreciate the chance to do things very few people left in this world have the chance to do. And yes, Dee, you should appreciate the clothes. But you know what else?" She stood back up and shook her head with disappointment. "You should appreciate each other. You should have each other's backs. Not just because it's nice, or because it's good for the band, but because you're going to need each other. You think it's hard now? You just don't have any idea. And you can do it alone, most of us do all the hard stuff alone, but you Divas have been given the perfect opportunity to not have to. You can do all this together. And judging by today, you people don't get that at all. I hope you figure it out." She patted Gerri on the head, messing up her hair. Gerri looked up with a glare, and Meghan smiled, a rarity. "Are you okay?"

  Gerri flipped her frown to a smile.

  "Good," Meghan said. "Keep that fake smile up."

  "Thanks, honey," Gerri said, stretching her cheeks a little harder with the force of her smile.

  "Good work. Carrie?"

  She almost squeaked when she asked, "Yes?"

  "Now you're scared of me, huh?" Meghan sighed a laugh. "Forgive yourself. Even if the rest of them don't. Don't go crazy on us."

  Carrie reluctantly nodded. Reluctant because she was scared? Because she didn't think she could promise not to go crazy? There was no telling.

  "This was as much a failing on my part as it was on the rest of you. You can expect me to be keeping a much closer eye on the lot of you in the future. Now, get a good night's sleep, Divas! You're going to need it!" She turned back toward the front door, her clunky pink heels slapping against the tile where they'd been silent coming in. She clapped her hands when she got to the door and turned back around to look at them, eyes sharp and smile long gone. "Do you plan to sleep there with your eyes open? Get some sleep! I mean now, Deadly Divas!"

  They bolted up and into their own rooms, another day gone.

  EUREKA! NEWSFEED

  WHAT TO WEAR TO THE CONCERT: A REPORT FROM CARTER HALLIWELL

  EXTREMIST GROUPS THREATENING TO FIGHT DEADLY DIVAS

  DEADLY DIVAS: WHAT WE STILL DON'T KNOW

  THE DRINK EVERY DEADLY DIVA LOVES

  WHO IS THEIR FAVORITE DESIGNER? HOW DID SADIE LOSE HER LEG? THE TOP QUESTIONS YOU WANT ANSWERED!

  Chapter Twenty

  JO

  Another day of rehearsals. Meghan, true to her word, never strayed far from the group, and didn't tolerate them going off on their own during breaks. Jo had gone to the bathroom alone around lunch time, and apparently taken too long for Meghan's liking because she knocked on the door and asked what was taking so long.

  "What do you imagine I'm doing in the bathroom?"

  "I thought this was Jo. Is that you, Carrie?"

  "It is Jo?"

  "I was kidding. Oh, nevermind. Get out here!"

  It wasn't even the most awkward part of her day, and it would hardly compete with the worst moments of recent days, so she didn't feel comfortable complaining about it. Gerri did for her, though, and loudly defended their right to "piss in privacy" in front of the entire crew.

  It would have been funny if Noah wasn't smiling at Jo when Gerri did it.

  Dee had somehow found it possible to talk even more than was typical to compensate for the group's silence. Jo tried to kick in a few sentences a couple of times to aid her quest. It was like offering herself up for the slaughter.

  "And that's a day," Tammi announced. "You really are coming along. Marvin and I want to thank you for taking this so seriously." Tammi looked over at Marvin, startling him into a nod of agreement. His quiet, gruff manner sometimes made Jo wonder if he'd been a survivalist. She supposed that with people who'd been alive before the wall you'd have to label them all survivalists, no matter where they lived after. Plus—and perhaps this observation meant she was spending too much time with the others—no survivalist would have worn blue polyester pants.

  That little itch pulled her eyes away. It was like muscle memory. Her body knew Noah was looking and reflexively went to seek him out. She needed that secon
d of contact with another soul that understood. And for a moment, so brief it couldn't be measured, she'd find all that her memory was expecting. But then her mind would realign with the then and there, and that brief moment would tear her open bad enough that all the seconds and hours could do nothing to repair it.

  She didn't know if Noah knew he was doing it: hurting her, or staring. It didn't matter. She needed it not to matter.

  "You cool?" Sadie asked her.

  Jo's head was tilted down and to the side, so her hair kept her shielded. She gave Sadie a thumbs up to keep her from staring.

  "Let's get going, before Meghan's hands fall off from too much clapping."

  Jo walked past Sadie, who grabbed her arm and gently pulled her back.

  "You forgot your machete," Sadie said, and handed it to her. "You really okay?"

  "Yeah, thanks." Sadie must have taken classes on telling people things with looks, because she narrowed her eyes and slowly nodded at Jo in a way that let her know that Sadie knew she was lying. Sadie let her arm go only once she was sure she'd gotten her message across. She felt that same itch, telling her that Noah was watching her leave, but she didn't turn around once. And you can be proud, Jo, because it's getting you a lot. You barely even think of Noah now, right?

  The girls were improving her sarcasm, even if she still only used it on herself.

  When they arrived home, the group of them sat around in the living room, legs draped over the arms of chairs and food cradled in the crooks of their arms while they flipped through their phones—in much the same way they would have before the recent fighting. The only difference was Meghan perched on the kitchen counter watching them—or as she claimed, going over their to-do lists for the next day—and the lot of them never breaking to say a word to each other. Even Dee had decided she was relieved from her duties. Jo wasn't sure if everyone else felt as awkward as she did, or if it was just her, since she wasn't prone to spending hours exploring her phone. There was nothing to distract her from the silent war.

  "I have a dinner appointment," Meghan announced. "Big day tomorrow. Bed in an hour. Right?"

  "Yes, Meghan," Dee said.

  "Everyone?"

  "Yes, Meghan," Sadie, Carrie, and Gerri said.

  Meghan never bothered Jo for a response.

  Once she'd left, the other girls stayed in the room for another five minutes, possibly to make it seem like they weren't looking forward to parting ways. Jo waited for all of their doors to close and Gerri's music to start before slipping out of the apartment.

  JO

  Noah was still on the stage, waving to the crew as they left for the night. He let his hand fall to his side and took a long look at the field. Jo hadn't thought to ask how many fit in the audience, and once she thought of it she decided she didn't want to know. She didn't have stage fright, exactly, but she did have an aversion to knowing just how many people would be watching her sing and dance and end the second lives of corpses that may belong to their families or friends. It wasn't something any of the other girls mentioned, but it was always on Jo's mind. Even now, with everything, the corpses still made her think of Noah.

  He backed away and went through the door on the right side of the stage. With long, silent strides she stalked after him and was down the hall just in time to see a door closing behind him. She stuck her hand in before it latched shut and held it there, hesitating, waiting for her thoughts to sort themselves out, to tell her that she was being silly and should go back home; she didn't need to talk to him. But her thoughts stayed where they were, and they didn't seem silly to her at all. They seemed pissed.

  He stared at his desk, like he didn't know what it was for. His arms hung loose at his sides, his head lolled over the back of the chair, and the bottoms of his boots pressed against the edge of the desk. The surface was clean, like the rest of the room, all of his weapons tidily hung on the walls. Replace the desk with a bed and it would have been his bedroom back home. Tidiness was efficient, and efficiency was part of long-term survival. A messy bedroom is an invitation for groaning disaster, her parents always said. Their apartment at Last Chance Tower was anything but tidy, or efficient, but she didn't think the other members of the band would think it was a detriment to their survival. Not that they really thought about survival at all, at least not in the way she was used to thinking about it. She was still working on that.

  "Hey," she said.

  Noah kicked his chair back, jolted up straight, and stretched his right arm out to the wall, where the worn down old ax hung. It had a wooden handle and N+J carved at the end. She always called it a worn down old thing, but it was actually really tough. He kept it in good repair.

  His eyes met Jo's, and his arm fell a few inches, but otherwise he stayed frozen in place.

  "You still have that old thing?"

  "Of course," he said.

  She'd looked for it in his room, after he'd left, but she'd figured he must have had it on him, which made even less sense of how he'd been bitten. How was it so bad that he'd been taken down, weapon in hand? Where was his ax? There. It was there.

  "What's wrong?" he asked.

  She rolled her eyes. "You never used to ask stupid questions."

  He sat back in his chair and tucked in his desk drawers, which had fallen loose when he'd jumped up. He was trying to appear relaxed, but he wasn't, and that gave Jo the sliver of satisfaction she hadn't known she'd needed.

  "The band's still not right," Jo said.

  "I've noticed," he said. "I'm still surprised Gerri has turned out to be so... spooked. I thought she was tougher than that."

  "You're surprised she's spooked after seeing a man eaten right next to her?"

  "They all knew what they were signing up for."

  "Easy for you to say."

  “I'm sure they'll improve,” he said. It was such a measured response. So careful. So formal. So...impersonal. It left her feeling out of place.

  "Things with the band aren't easy,” she said, casually, pretending she didn't notice how strange it was. “It's not just the fighting. The entire situation is uniquely difficult." She scratched her head. She didn't know how to do this. "Do you know what the worst part is?"

  "What?"

  "That this is the kind of thing I used to tell my best friend,” she swallowed, “but he died. Did you know?"

  "Josie, I—"

  "I don't even want you to explain, because I think it's only going to make it worse.” She couldn't believe the strength of her own voice. She could do this. She had to do this. “Will I believe what you say? Will it be the truth? There is no excuse. You were only a few miles away. There was no wall between us—not like I believed. You were right here! There's no excuse that won't make it worse. And I've hurt enough, not that you'd know, but I've mourned my friend. He died. And this body in front of me... it's all a lie. How can I believe anything that comes from the lips of a dead man?"

  "I missed you."

  Her breath was caught in her throat, but she cleared it away. She needed to keep her voice strong—no wobbling voice, no broken up sentences. That was something to be saved for trusted people, not traitors. Shoulders straight, she told him, "See, even that's not as simple as it should be. Because you, whoever you happen to be now, miss the memory of someone I used to be. You don't know me. Not now."

  "Oh, come on—"

  "No. My best friend wouldn't have left me. I don't know why I came here. It's just hard, I guess, because no matter how long you've been dead, I still miss you. You don't look the same, you don't talk the same, you don't smell the same... but every once in a while you'll barely smile or you'll brush your hand past where your hair used to be, and it's like, oh, there he is." She leaned against the wall and let the blades do whatever they would to the back of her jacket. "It's cruel."

  "If you'd just let me explain—"

  "Because I owe you that?"

  "Because I owe you that!"

  "You're damn right you owe me that." She pushed off
the wall and punched her fists into the top of his desk. His cup of pens knocked over and rolled to the floor. "But I get to decide whether I want it, you know?" She looked at him, waiting for understanding from this new face. "Remember how we used to go out by the wall and say that we could imagine nothing worse than losing someone, and having them still walking around, there, but not really them? Well, I'm here to tell you, it's worse than we thought. So much worse."

  She'd first kissed him out by the wall, at their spot on top of a pile of boulders. After she'd made him promise they'd always be best friends, that they'd never let it become strange. People were always saying that some day Noah and her would become something more, and she'd wanted to know what that was, as long as he promised they wouldn't lose what they'd had. Of course, was what he'd told her. Of course.

  "You're not the same either," he said, finally seeing it. Once he said it, she knew that's what she'd come for. She needed him to see that she'd changed.

  " Yeah? Well, my best friend died. It changes a person."

  After weeks of skirting around each other their gazes met and held, and everything she'd said cemented between them. It used to be so easy for them to look at each other; it was something she'd taken for granted, assumed would always be easy. But it was true. They were different people. Not quite strangers, but unknown to each other all the same. What was the word for that?

  He looked away first, and with nothing left to say to someone she didn't know, she went for the door.

  "So that's it?"

  "What else is there?"

  "I can't believe we're not getting past this," he said. "I can't believe you won't even listen to me explain."

  "I can't believe a lot of things," she said. "You trying to make this all my fault is just one of them."

  "I always believed that whatever we had to survive, above everything else, there would always be us," he said.