I palm the syringe.
"You're making a big mistake." Kat appears at my side.
For the most part, she's stuck to her once-a-day visitation schedule, but there are times she's granted permission to pop in whenever she wants. I've found those are the days she's on a rampage about something.
"I've made a mistake before, kitten. The time I thought I'd made a mistake." I whisper, hoping Milla remains in her calm, unaware state. "What are you doing here?"
"Good news. I received permission to fix this particular mistake."
Milla opens her eyes.
Damn it!
"Mistake?" she asks.
"That's right." Kat anchors her hands on her hips. "Zombies will be on the loose tonight, but Frosty Dearest is planning to fight them without you."
"Zombies?" Milla throws her legs over the side of the bed and stands. She grabs her swords from inside our shared weapons case and straps them to her back. "I'm going with. Don't argue."
"What about checking for dynamis?" I say through gritted teeth.
"Well, well. Someone certainly changed his tune." She flips her hair over her shoulder. "I didn't see it, but I'll continue my internal scan later."
I glare at Kat. "Thanks for nothing."
She blows me a kiss. "Also, Milla, he has a sedative in his pocket, and he plans to use it on you." Her smile is pure evil. "I do whatever's necessary, too." With that, she vanishes, there one moment, gone the next.
"You what?" Milla reaches a hand into my pocket, yanks out the syringe and has the needle uncapped and positioned at my neck before I realize her intent. "Do you really want to travel this road?"
"A weak partner can get a stronger partner killed."
"I'm not weak. I'm ready. And when did we become partners?"
"Today." And partners do not sabotage each other. I glare at her. "Fine. I'm sorry. I just don't want you getting hurt."
Her features soften, but only slightly. She recaps the syringe and tosses it into the trash. "I can't make any promises." She pops a clip in her .44. "But I'll survive. I always do."
Good enough for now, I suppose. I tweak the end of her nose. "You're a brat, you know that, right?"
"Yeah, but you're brattier."
This is true.
We head to the gym, and though we're right on time, we're the last to arrive. Cole's in the middle of a speech.
"--River and Milla in the van with Justin."
"And me." Where Milla goes, I go.
Cole nods. "The rest of us will leave our bodies here and head to the cemetery on foot. We need to make sure Rebecca and her agents aren't hiding nearby. River, when he arrives, will be in charge. I expect you to obey his orders as if they come directly from me. And remember, the goal is to capture zombies in one piece."
"But two halves will be accepted," Gavin says.
Chuckles sweep the room.
River spends a good chunk of time explaining his plan. Namely, he and Milla will bag and tag the captives. I don't like it, I don't like it at all, but protesting would embarrass Milla so I remain quiet. For now.
"All right." Cole nods. "Let's do this."
I climb into the back of the van and help Milla do the same. Justin takes the wheel and River the front passenger seat. Cole, Ali, Gavin, Jaclyn, Love and Chance leave their bodies behind, as ordered, and take off on foot.
As we speed down the road, I peer out the window. The moon is a hook. How fun would it be to hang a tire swing from it? The stars are absent, and there are only two clouds in the sky. The one shaped like a fluffy bunny, and the one shaped like a tombstone.
"When I'm a witness--" I begin.
"Finger crossed that doesn't happen anytime soon," Milla interjects.
"Like these zombies will get the best of me. Woman, you've met me, right?"
She flips me off.
"Anyway." I tweak her nose, a new, favorite habit. "I'm going to shape a cloud into a penis."
"Of course you are. Because you're the most mature person I know."
"Okay, what would you shape, Miss Prim and Proper?"
"An angel. Giving people the finger."
I chuckle.
We arrive at Shady Elms and discover the others are still searching the parking lot, surrounding streets and forest for any sign of Rebecca's agents. When they finish, declaring we're in the clear, we approach the cemetery's perimeter. Zombies are indeed out tonight. There are too many to count, a sea of rotted spirits that seems to stretch for miles.
None of the zombies are able to step past the Blood Lines we poured soon after our last battle, but that doesn't stop them from trying to push past the invisible wall.
"Don't you see," Milla says, pointing. "The same zombies. Look there, there and there. And there! Four versions of the same zombie."
Ali's eyes go wide. "But...that's impossible. Right?"
"Rebecca." Gavin says the name the same way anyone else would say cancer. "Every human has one spirit. Just one. Are these...I don't know...clones?"
"We'll find out." Cole looks to River. "You're up."
Frosty takes my hand and gives a comforting squeeze. I'm irritated with him for even thinking about sedating me and leaving me behind, but I'm also amazed by the concern he keeps showing for me. Plus, I'm worried about him and River--about everyone. Old fears of losing the people I love dog me. And the dog has rabies.
"You'll want to help us," River tells the others, "but don't. Stay out here and wrangle the collared zombies we toss at you. If you're in there and you're bitten, the horde could be cleansed...as things stand right now, it's not likely, I know, but we can't risk the ruination of the samples Reeve needs."
I remove the metal collars from my backpack and hook them to my belt loops. Collars we stole from Anima because they place zombies under our control.
"Ready?" he asks me.
I nod. "Ready."
River hands Frosty a vial of Blood Line neutralizer. "Use this only if we get hurt and you have to swoop to the rescue."
"Won't we have to use it to get the collared zombies out?" Ali asks.
"No. Once they're collared, they're tangible and they can move past the Blood Lines just as we do while we're in bodily form."
Frosty kisses my forehead. "Be careful. Or I'll be pissed."
More concern from him. It's... I don't... Wow. "Ditto." It's all I can manage.
River nudges me, and I force myself to focus. Zombies. Battle. Collars. Nothing else matters right now.
"I hope you know what you're doing," he whispers, and it's clear he's not talking about our mission.
I pretend he is, though. "I do. Try to keep up."
"Milla--"
I surge forward. He isn't far behind. Because we're still in our bodies, we pass the Blood Lines, no problem. But the moment we do, zombies stop trying to claw their way free and turn toward us.
I slow. River steps out of his body--which the creatures will now ignore--and rushes ahead of me. Pop. Pop. Pop. One zombie after another drops, felled by a single bullet. A path opens up and I make my move, separating from my body while ripping a collar free. Spinning, I end up behind a zombie coming in hot and slap the metal around his neck. He goes still instantly, the electrical pulses in the metal disrupting his ability to function.
He's now tangible to those in the physical realm--not to mention visible. If civilians show up tonight...well, I won't worry about it. Frosty and the others will take care of it.
After tagging four more zombies, I slip back into my body and drag the first to Frosty...who steps past the Blood Lines to help me. Does he never freaking listen?
"Take him to the van," I command before returning to my brother rather than the other collars. The horde around River has thickened and needs to be thinned.
We press our backs together, just like in the old days, and fight the fiends while guarding each other. I step out of my body to swing my sword, then spin back into it, only to step out again and spin in the other direction to chop, chop, chop a
t the creatures. Limbs fall around us. Heads roll. Black goo sprays. The scent of rot saturates the air, strong enough to gag me, but I've learned to ignore it.
Red eyes glow in a darkness illuminated only by Justin's supercharged headlights, and teeth snap at us. No matter how many creatures we fell, the mob never actually thins...until Frosty disobeys orders yet again and comes in guns blazing. He shoots until I hear telltale clicks to indicate he's out of bullets. But it doesn't matter. He twirls the weapons in his hands and ax blades suddenly glint in the moonlight. He uses them to slice through putrefied brains.
"I've got this," River says. "Tag the fallen."
I rip the rest of the collars from my belt loop and pick off the zombies Frosty has immobilized.
"Take this one past the line." I push one of my conquests Frosty's way and return to my post behind my brother. The process repeats three more times, the three of us like well-oiled cogs in a machine...until I lose my brother in the sea of undead bodies.
Where is he?
I search, and yeah, okay, maybe I'm a little too frantic about it, losing focus. Fingers tangle in my hair, jerking me backward. I don't fight the fall but arch my back so that I roll when I land, kicking my feet up, somersaulting backward and nailing the one who grabbed me in the chest. I jump to my feet and punch him in the eye--the eye pops out. Sometimes I fight dirty. Who am I kidding? I always fight dirty. I grab a dagger and stab him between the legs. A groin amputation. My favorite. I nail him with a collar, ending his fight.
"Remind me never to make you angry." Frosty confiscates my last collar and snaps it around the neck of the female he just gutted.
"Don't worry," I say. "Your precious is safe from me."
"Well. Maybe I can change your mind about that," he replies, and...and...
What! "Let's get our bounty out of here and find River."
We return to our bodies and pull the remaining collared zombies toward the Blood Lines. Frosty is strong enough to drag two at a time, but I can only manage one; we have to return for the others. On our second trip, we're beset by another starved horde. So many it's as if we've felled none. Arms reach for us, mouths chomp at us, and we have to be careful. These creatures can ghost through our bodies and reach our spirits; they can still bite and infect us.
A zombie who is lying on the ground, camouflaged by leaves, suddenly sits up and clasps Frosty's ankle, reaching past flesh just as I feared. Frosty trips, falls...lands on his knees.
Teeth...about to sink into his jean-covered calf. I act on instinct, pushing my spirit out of my body and diving on the zombie, stopping the bite from happening. I release a stream of energy, just like I've practiced, tossing every slayer into the air as the zombie and I crash into the ground.
Even as impact knocks the air from my lungs, I punch the bastard again and again.
"Milla!" Frosty calls in warning. "Behind you!"
I hear the approaching grunts and groans too late. A zombie has snuck up and now clasps my arm. He gnaws through my shirt, and a thousand pinpricks of pain spear me, each of my nerve endings suddenly scraped raw. Red fire erupts from my hands unbidden, quickly traveling up my arms...down my chest, and I can't stop it.
I might as well have rung a dinner bell.
Zombie after zombie falls on me, the next several seconds nothing but a feeding frenzy. I writhe and I scream, but it does no good.
"Milla!" Frosty and River shout in unison. "Milla!"
They're stuck in the air, and as my emotions go haywire, they're probably being suffocated. I have to release them. And I can. I can! I'm not helpless. I've practiced this, too. I simply have to take control.
I force myself to look past the pain, to look past the fear...to look past everything...and finally reach a place deep, deep, the center of hope, where I'm in Frosty's arms, and he's worshipping me. His hands and mouth go everywhere, no part of me taboo. And when he looks at me, he sees me, not a substitute for Kat.
"I'll be here in the morning," he says, "and every morning after." Because he can't get enough of me. I'm the most important part of his life.
As the heat plaguing my skin fades from my awareness, I hear a whoosh and multiple thuds. Thank God! It worked! The slayers are falling from the sky.
I gather what strength remains, which isn't much, to punch and kick away my tormentors. Dose after dose of toxin pours through my system. More than I've ever endured. More than anyone has survived, I'd guess.
"I've got her," Frosty says. "Clear the path."
"On it," River answers.
Tremors rock me so forcefully I have to be causing some sort of earthquake. Hungry... Mmm, something smells good, so good, and I want a bite of it now, now, now!
"This is the antidote, Milla," Frosty says. "The concentrated one. Don't fight it." A sharp sting in my neck, a cool rush of liquid flows through my veins.
The hunger fades until the only things I can smell are musk and sweat.
Frosty sticks me a second time, and the pain fades, too.
"Come on." He forces me to my feet and wraps an arm around me to hold me upright. He drags me forward. "Come on, come on, just a littler farther..."
We pass the Blood Lines.
"Now!" River shouts. "Now!"
The other slayers lob grenades into the cemetery. Boom! Boom! Boom! One explosion after another lights up the night. Flames lick at the sky, smoke rising like a giant black mushroom. Lights, flames and smoke only slayers and other spiritual beings can see. And feel.
I choke and cough as wave after wave of fetid heat washes over me. Soot burns my nostrils, coats my throat.
My knees give out, but Frosty still has his arm around me and makes sure I ease to the ground. He whips off his shirt and holds the material over my face; the cotton acts as an air filter. I'm too weak to fight him, to tell him to take care of himself not me--and then I'm too unconscious.
I wake up however long later in bed. I'm alone, the sun streaming bright golden rays through the crack in the drapes, highlighting the small mural of flowers I painted beside the bathroom door. The bowl of fruit resting on the dresser. The array of makeup scattered across the vanity. The faux fur throw cascading over the edge of the bed.
A stack of clean clothes rests beside me, a note waiting on top.
Sweet pea,
Everyone made it home safely. The collared Zs are in a cage in the basement, hungry for a Tiffany dinner, which is probably why she's ready to sign over rights to her soul if only we'll let her go. (Guess what my answer is.) Oh, and just so you know, I was tempted to give you a shower while you were out--wait till you see yourself. But then I remembered the way you de-nutted that zombie. I decided I wanted to keep mine (they're bigger) and let you do the washing yourself. You're welcome.
Frosty
I can't look that bad.
I march into the bathroom, catch a glimpse of my reflection--and a small scream escapes. I'm not that bad. I'm worse. Mascara coats the underside of my red-rimmed eyes. There are black streaks at the end of my nose and around my mouth. My hair sticks out in tangled spikes, and several bites are scabbed over on my neck and arms.
Dude. I might not ever get clean.
I linger in the shower, giving the hot water and scented soap a chance to soothe me, at the very least. Rather than allowing my hair to dry naturally, I actually break out the blow-dryer and curling iron. Goodbye hideous hag. Hello femme fatale.
I do the makeup thing and dress. Of course, the clothes Frosty picked for me are, in a word, minuscule. A scrap of a tank. The world's smallest pair of Daisy Dukes. For once, at least, he included a bra and a pair of panties.
I exit the bathroom to find Frosty leaning against the door, his arms crossed, his biceps a thing of beauty. My heart nearly drops into my feet, and I'm suddenly wracked by tremors. He's taken a shower, too, his hair damp and darker than usual. His navy blue irises burn with savage masculinity, and they are pinned on me, devouring me.
He's so beautiful, and...still off-limits?
He looks me over slowly. "You are too damn perfect to be real."
This is a dream. This has to be a dream. "My boobs are too small." I realize what I've said and groan. I did not go there.
He smiles. "They aren't. Trust me."
Right. If my body isn't good enough for a boy, his brain isn't good enough for me. I know this. And yet I return his smile as if he's just revealed the secret to world peace.
"How do you feel?" he asks.
Pleasantries. Those, I can handle. "I feel surprisingly healthy."
"Good. I can yell at you without guilt."
"Yell at me?" I splay my arms wide. "But why?"
Eyes narrowing, he advances on me, a predator stalking prey. "I told you what would happen if you got hurt. Well, you got hurt."
Yes. He told me he'd be pissed. And clearly, he is. Far from cowed, I shiver. "You should make an exception. I got hurt saving you."
"Don't fool yourself. That zombie got the drop on me, yes, but I had an antidote in one hand and a dagger in the other. I would have been back on my feet in seconds, and he would have been in pieces."
"Oh."
"Oh, she says." He stops directly in front of me, pinches a lock of my hair between his fingers and sifts the strands. "You owe me an apology."
"Why? Why are you even upset about this?"
"Because--" His lips press together, a muscle ticking in his jaw. "Just because."
"Why?" I insist, and oh, good glory--to borrow a phrase from Ali--I'm breathless. He's so close to me. He's touching me. And he's so freaking intense. "Tell me."
"I'm upset because--" Again he goes quiet. His inhalations are as fast and shallow as my own. His gaze lingers on my lips, and when my tongue comes out to lick--desperate for a taste of him--his pupils dilate and like spilling ink, the black spreads over the blue. His grip on my hair tightens. "I hate what you make me feel." His voice lashes out only to crack at the end.
I fist the collar of his shirt. "What do I make you feel?"
Frustrating silence. Crackling tension.
A low growl causes his chest to vibrate. "I feel... Damn it, I feel..."
"Tell me."
"I feel like I can't get enough. Like I have to have more, will do anything for more. And damn it, I'm getting more." He cups my nape and yanks me against the hard line of his body.
I gasp. He swoops down, his mouth smashing into mine. His tongue thrusts past my lips, demanding entrance.
A Mad Zombie Party Page 23
