A Mad Zombie Party

by Gena Showalter

  Frosty: This is a special day. I'm officially a HS graduate. Shouldn't I get an award???

  I'm proud of him. Graduating is a feat for anyone, but especially for a slayer.

  Me: Yes! I'll give U award--1 sandwich coming up

  Frosty: Cruel, Milla, Cruel. Where R U?

  Me: Gym, why?

  Frosty: Hoping U decided 2 go 2 kitchen & MAKE THAT PIZZA.

  Me: No chance

  Frosty: Speaking of, Chance w/U?

  Me: No, WHY???

  For some reason, Frosty's rage against Chance has only grown these past few weeks.

  Frosty: What R U wearing?

  Are you kidding me with this? He's been ignoring me all week, and now he's flirting with me?

  Me: Were U hit in the head this morning??

  Frosty: What? U don't want 2 coordinate outfits?

  Me: I'm naked. Wear the same outfit & meet me in the kitchen 4 that sandwich

  "I thought we agreed on pizza. And you are so not naked."

  I jolt, the smooth huskiness of his voice a caress to my ears. I look over to find him standing in the doorway, his shoulder pressed against the frame, his arms crossed. The tingles and aches only he has the power to cause immediately start up, and the heat he always ignites quickly spreads.

  "Congratulations on finally becoming a real man," I say.

  "Thanks. It was a long time coming."

  Could he be any more adorable? Longing sweeps me up and under. I want more from him. A lot more. I want to know everything. But I don't even know his real name.

  Our gazes meet. I wish he'd tell me how he feels about--

  --I'm standing in front of a swing set. The sun is shining so brightly, and I'm glad, I like the sun, but I don't want to be outside. The doors to the school are locked, though. It's recess, and I'm supposed to stay on the playground.

  My aunt says recess is the best place to make friends. But I already made some. Cole, Jackson, Greg and Robert-- everyone has a nickname.

  Cole told me to call him Sir, but that's not happening.

  Jackson is Bronx. Greg and Robert are Boots and Ducky.

  They're calling me Frosty.

  They see monsters--zombies. To them, I'm not a freak. I'm normal. And they're teaching me how to fight properly!

  I grin, but it doesn't last long.

  My cousin Tomas told Aunt Reba that Cole is the one who punched me in the face. She told me I couldn't hang out with him, that he's going to end up in prison. She doesn't understand. I practically begged him to hit me.

  A rock slams into my chest and I stumble forward, looking up to see a kid at the top of the slide. He throws another rock at me, but I duck and it sails overhead.

  "Aston is a dumb name." He snickers. "Are you a dummy?"

  The kids around him stop what they're doing to chant, "Dummy, dummy, dummy."

  A pat on my shoulder startles me. I turn to see Cole's purple eyes focused on me.

  "Ready for another lesson?" he says.

  "Yep. I am."

  "Good. I call this one mess with the bull, get the horns." He climbs the jungle gym with an ease that amazes me and reaches the boy who first called me a dummy. He pulls back his elbow and, boom, drills his fist into the other boy's nose.

  Blood sprays, and the kid drops, howling in pain--

  --the workout room comes back into focus. My foot gets tripped up on the treadmill and I propel backward. Frosty rushes over, catching me before I crash. My heart thumps wildly. I'm sweating again, and now I'm more than overheated. I'm breathless and wanting and desperate.

  Want me the way I want you.

  But he sets me aside and shoves his hands in his pockets.

  I rock back my on my heels. "So. Your name is Aston, huh?" What strikes me as strange? I wondered just before our vision. Did I cause it to happen?

  "Aston Martin, actually."

  Like the car? "No way. Seriously?" I bark out a laugh. What a perfect fit. Sleek, powerful and fast. But I don't want him to get a big head. "No wonder you didn't want to share it with me. I think I'll stick with Dijon."

  "Sweet pea, I can have you screaming Aston by the end of the day."

  I stop laughing in a hurry. He can. He so can.

  The air thickens between us, something I'm growing used to, and I clear my throat. "If you're here to drag me to the kitchen--"

  "No. Forget the food. I'm actually here to chat."

  "About?"

  He runs a hand through his hair. "I've been watching you practice. We'd already realized the white and red fires are opposites, but I've noticed your abilities--those that have remained--are the opposite of Ali's, as well."

  I ignore a wave of hurt. "You mean she saves, and I ruin."

  "I mean she controls zombies, and you control slayers. Her fire heals--or healed--while yours harms. But don't get your panties in a twist. I'm not blaming you. Rebecca Smith poisoned you, and for that, we'll make her pay. Until then... Cole, River and I have been talking, and we've decided to try filtering your blood."

  They've been meeting in secret, otherwise I would have heard rumors. Irritation has me snapping, "Fine. Whatever. I'll shower and meet you--where?"

  "The basement."

  Where Tiffany has been living? Why let her know what we're up to? I open my mouth to protest, but Frosty is already gone. I hurry to our room, shower and dress in a tank top, leaving my arms bare for easier blood donation, then I make my way to the basement.

  Frosty waits at the entrance. He stretches out an arm, offering me a hand. I'm so surprised, so uncertain about how I'll react to contact, I hesitate before accepting, and his eyes narrow to tiny slits. At the moment of contact, I gasp, tingles sparking with new life, heat rushing through me.

  Is this what Chance experiences every time he touches Love? What Cole experiences with Ali? What Frosty used to experience with Kat?

  I try to draw my hand back. I hate the thought of being enraptured by him while he feels nothing for me. But he tightens his hold, surprising me further, and draws me deeper into the basement, a room that has been utterly transformed. Three plush black recliners surrounded by a vast array of medical equipment and several rolling trays.

  Tiffany is strapped to one of the chairs and sleeping soundly. Ali rests beside her, wide-awake and without straps. Cole stands behind his girlfriend, an avenging angel ready to protect the reason his heart beats at any cost, and a pang of envy shoots through me. Reeve and Weber are here, too, arranging needles and vials on one of the trays.

  "Here." Frosty leads me to the only available chair. "Reserved just for you."

  "Thanks," I mutter, easing down.

  He stays beside me, but he will no longer meet my gaze.

  "What's wrong?"

  "He doesn't want you to do this," Ali says.

  I frown. "We're just filtering my blood, right? No big deal."

  "It's a little more involved than that." Reeve putters around the equipment. "We know that what affects the spirit affects the body, so whatever is going on inside your spirit will manifest in your blood, even in the smallest way. So, we're going to put you on dialysis and filter out as much Z-toxin as possible and hopefully rid you of thanatos. Afterward, we'll inject you with a serum we've been working on, one that should strengthen dynamis."

  Should. My gaze slides to Ali. "Has the serum not been tested?"

  "No. You and I are the lab rats."

  "Something I object to," Cole says.

  Frosty nods. "Agreed."

  Too bad. "I'll go first." Let me suffer the effects if something goes wrong. "If I survive, and it works, Ali can be next."

  "No," Frosty says, sharp and stinging. "Why don't I go first?"

  "I'll go first." Cole crosses his arms over his chest.

  Ali shakes her head. "You guys aren't the yin and the yang, so you can suck it. Us girls got this."

  Before a word war can kick off, I ask, "Why is Tiffany sedated?"

  "We took a sample of her blood, wanted to know if she's ta
inted like the rest of you. The results were inconclusive." Reeve taps the belly of a syringe and squeezes out excess liquid. "As for the slayers, everyone but you has lost every ability except the one to separate spirit from body. I blame whatever poison Tiffany used."

  Anger rises--Tiffany!--but I beat it back. I don't want to accidentally unleash a stream of energy.

  Cole meets my gaze. "You're one of us now, and if you don't want to do it, you don't have to do it."

  I'm one of them? Seriously?

  A smile breaks through, and I can't stop it. I catch myself rubbing the Betrayal tattoo, not because I feel guilty but because the word has lost its power over me.

  "I want to," I say. "What are you waiting for, Reeve? Let's get this party started."

  I hate this. I hate this so freaking much I'm close to snapping. How can I stand here while Milla is turned into a test subject? What kind of man does that make me?

  The kind who wants to save his friends, who knows this might be the only way to return them to their former glory.

  Right. But is that a good enough reason?

  I sweat bullets as Reeve pushes the tray closer to Milla then sits beside her. It's time for dialysis, and that's fine. People do that every day without complications. Kat did it four times a week. It's the serum I'm worried about. It's uncharted territory. Milla could be hurt. Or worse.

  Panic nearly overwhelms me, but I remind myself Ali has gone through something similar. When she was infected with massive amounts of zombie toxin and the antidote couldn't save her, she was certain dynamis was a cure-all. We refused to try. We'd never used our fire on another slayer, had only seen what it could do to agents--the same thing it does to zombies--and we didn't want to risk her life; she continued to grow worse until the zombie side of her completely took over the human side and only then, when faced with losing her anyway, did we relent. In minutes, it worked.

  Had we used it in the beginning, we would have prevented months of suffering for Ali.

  And yet, as Reeve ties the tourniquet on Milla's arm, I say, "I think we should come up with another plan."

  Milla peers up at me with a hefty dose of confusion. She looks so tiny in the leather chair, so vulnerable and in need of a protector.

  I have to step up and be that protector. I will.

  In the past few weeks, I've learned so much about her. I know her in ways she may not know herself.

  As a child, she failed to save her sister from her father's wrath. At least in her mind. Four months ago, she failed her brother, her entire crew. Now she'll do everything in her power to help--even if it means harming herself in the process.

  "You aren't a lab rat," I tell her.

  "I am today. If it hurts, it hurts. I can handle pain."

  "You handle it better than anyone I know, but that doesn't mean you should have to."

  She links her fingers with mine. "I want to do this. I have to. The problems started with me, and they'll end with me."

  "Besides, there's not much risk involved," Ali says. "Because of the vision, we know Milla lives long enough to save you...which means she'll live through this."

  Always we come back to the vision, and I'm sick of it. She might not die today, might only wish she did.

  Milla releases me. "You heard her. I'll live."

  There's a bitter quality to her tone I don't understand. Does she think I care only about using her as a shield? That the only reason I want to save her life is because she'll one day save mine? That has never been the case, and it never will. In the beginning, I tolerated her presence for Kat. But now...hell. I just don't know.

  I don't know anything anymore.

  Kat's death broke my heart into a million pieces. Her insistence that I date other girls broke the pieces. I had nothing, was nothing, and had to put myself back together; whatever mortar I used changed me. I'm not the same. I'm a different guy, with different needs...and different desires.

  And right now those desires revolve around a punk-rock Barbie with a bad attitude and a heart of solid freaking gold.

  "I don't care about my future," I say. "I care about yours."

  Her eyes widen. She shakes her head as if she's certain she misheard. "You...you...what?"

  Ali rubs the bridge of her nose. "Can't say I'm surprised by this. We've all noticed the vibe changing between you guys. And we need to talk about that, we really do."

  "We really don't." My love life isn't her business.

  "But whatever's going on," she continues, unabashed, "you can't stand in the way of answers."

  I ignore her. "Milla, I would rather you--"

  "No. I'm not playing I would rather with you," she says, her features soft and vulnerable, beseeching me. "I have to do this. We'll talk about the other thing later."

  If I continue trying to stop this, she'll fight me, really fight me, and maybe even hate me. So I do the only thing I can. I step back, allowing Reeve and Weber to get to work. Milla is poked and prodded, her blood filtered for hours, and finally she is injected with the new serum.

  We wait, tense, as one minute bleeds into another and she has no reaction. I begin to breathe again.

  "I don't--" Suddenly she gasps, her back bowing. A scream rips from her. Then, just as suddenly, she goes limp and quiet, her head lolling to the side.

  My panic returns. I kneel before her to gently tap her cheek. "Milla."

  "Don't worry. This is normal." Reeve chews on her bottom lip. "I think."

  "You think?"

  Cole comes over to place a hand on my shoulder. "I wouldn't have agreed to this if I thought Milla would be harmed."

  "Give her time," Reeve says.

  "I know you've softened toward Milla." Ali meets my glare without flinching. "But she isn't right for you, Frosty. She--"

  "This may come as a shock to you, but you don't get a vote about the way I live my life." My phone vibrates in my pocket. I check the screen, find a text from River.

  Guess what I C in the sky? Rabbit cloud.

  Attached is a picture of the cloud in question.

  Well, well. A zombie nest is stirring.

  Another text comes in.

  & get this. There's a cloud shaped like a tombstone right next 2 it. I swear I see the letters RIP in the center

  A tombstone...a hint that the zombies are stirring at a cemetery? Shady Elms, perhaps. I wouldn't be surprised.

  "Zombies will be on the prowl tonight." I show the photo to Cole.

  "Capture them," Reeve says. "I need to study them, find out if Rebecca altered them and if so, learn more about their new toxins. That way, if our serum doesn't work or if Milla has a relapse, we'll be better equipped to deal."

  Cole arches a brow at me.

  I nod stiffly. I never thought I'd reach this point. A desire to capture zombies rather than kill them. But for Milla's health...

  Yeah. I'll do it.

  "I've never tried to capture multiple zombies but River has," Cole says. "I'll get with him. The rest of you meet us in the gym at six. We'll head for Shady Elms when the sun begins to set at seven."

  If Milla's awake this evening, she'll insist on going with us. I can't let that happen. She's been through too much today. "You got a sedative?" I ask Reeve.

  "Of course." She digs through a drawer on the cart. "I don't think you need one, though. You seem calm now."

  "It's for Milla. Later."

  Bronx shakes his head. "Mistake, bro."

  Better she's pissed at me than injured--or worse.

  Reeve hands me a syringe, and I stuff it in my pocket next to my phone. I crouch in front of Milla, trace my thumb over the softness of her mouth. Her eyelids pop open and she jumps to her feet, gasping for breath she can't seem to catch.

  "Hey. Hey," I say, straightening. "You're safe. You're all right."

  "No." She shakes her head. "It's still inside me, and it kills me, thanatos kills me and, and, and--" She clutches at my shirt, frantic. "The serum didn't... It couldn't... Only made the flames stronger..."


  "Hey." I comb my fingers through the silk of her hair. "I'm not going to let you die. You have my word on that."

  As she sags against me, I wrap my arms around her and hold on tight.

  "I'm sorry, Milla, but we need to check your blood one last time." Reeve approaches, empty syringe in hand.

  Milla nods and I continue to hold her, unwilling to let go. I need her comfort as much as I need to give comfort back to her.

  Reeve sticks her, fills the belly of the syringe. A few minutes pass as Weber readies the specimen and exams it under a microscope. I know it's bad news before the guy even speaks. I can see the disappointment shining from his face.

  "Milla's right," he says. "The red fire has already contaminated the blood we cleansed. In fact, I can see the essence of the red flames in her cells, feeding off everything it encounters. This virus--or whatever it is--used the serum as a power source. And she's right. If she lights up now, thanatos could feed off her, too."

  A tremor shakes her, but she remains quiet.

  Enough of this. I lift her. "Let's get you to bed. When you wake up, I'll make sure pizza is waiting for you rather than some lame sandwich." I resort to humor because, if I don't, I'll rage.

  She softens and curls against me, conforming to the hard planes of my body. "Frosty?" she whispers, and my hands clench on her.

  "Yes." I climb the steps, careful not to jostle her.

  "Do you believe we'll beat Rebecca this time? Once and for all?"

  "I do. We'll do whatever proves necessary."

  "Yes. Yes, we will," she says, and there's a note of finality in her tone I don't like. "Whatever proves necessary."

  *

  I expect Milla to want to rest. I should have known better. The moment I place her on the bed, she sits up and says, "You guys lost dynamis, and I need to know if I lost it, too, or if it's still simmering inside me, just covered, covered, covered up by the red flames."

  "You heard Weber. Those red flames could hurt you now."

  "They're hurting me anyway."

  A muscle ticks below my eye. "And just how are you going to tell if your dynamis is covered by thanatos?"

  "By looking with my spiritual eye, where the fire--fires--burn." She turns away from me. "I'm doing this with or without your approval."

  Stubborn girl.

  "Fine." But I'll be watching her. I'll step in if I detect the barest hint of unease.

  I remain by the bed, on high alert as one hour bleeds into another. Milla hasn't moved from the bed. She's oddly relaxed, as if she's meditating.

  I'm due in the gym in ten minutes. If I'm going to use the sedative on her, there's no better time. She's distracted.