A Mad Zombie Party

by Gena Showalter

  He hooks a lock of hair behind my ear. "I promised you more than one. I'm addicted to the taste of you."

  Hot shivers cascade through me. "Let's pretend, just for a minute, that you're a normal guy and I'm a normal girl, that we just got back from a date and we're standing at my door."

  "Yes." His pupils flare, a full eclipse of desire. "I lean in to kiss you good-night..."

  Breathing is impossible. "And I wait, excited and nervous."

  "I hold out as long as I can, savoring every torturous second, but you smell so good, like roses and pecans, and I'm so worked up already, have wanted you all night..."

  "I ache for you, and when I can stand it no longer, I wrap my arms around you. Like this..."

  We're both panting. We're both trembling. Deep down I know he sees me, sees who I am, what I am, and he likes me anyway.

  "I whisper your name...and then...finally I kiss you." His lips press gently against mine, his tongue seeking entry.

  I open willingly, urging him inside, and he...utterly...worships...me.

  This kiss is the total antithesis of the last one. There's no maddened rush to reach the finish line. No violence behind our actions, just languid relish. I've never been kissed like this. I'm not sure if it's a hello or a goodbye or both. But there's meaning to it. A promise.

  When he lifts his head, his lips are red and slightly swollen. His eyes are wild, in direct opposition to his movements. I expect him to dive down and kiss me again, only harder and hotter, but he traces his thumbs over the rise of my cheekbones, his gaze never leaving mine, and I decide this is better.

  "I haven't slept in days," he says. "Want to nap with me?"

  In his arms? "Yes." I don't care that I've only just woken up.

  He sheds his weapons and gets comfortable on the bed. I crawl to him and rest my head on his shoulder, drape my arm over his stomach and bend one of my knees over his thighs.

  "What if I have the nightmare?" I ask. "What if I catch fire?"

  He plays with the ends of my hair. "I'll burn and I'll get over it. I've got you where I want you. I'm not letting go."

  I hold Milla in my arms as she dozes. Sleeping is impossible for me, my mind a roller coaster of activity. I can't stop thinking about our kiss--can't stop craving another. I told myself I'd let her go afterward. I'd walk away and never look back.

  But I kissed her and cuddled her closer, and now the thought of leaving her warmth and softness... Yeah, I'd rather eat nails.

  I'm falling hard for this girl, and one way or another, I'm going to lose her the way I lost Kat. Even if we both manage to survive the vision, her brother still stands in our way, whether he supports us or not. I'll never be content playing second string to River--I was second string with my aunt and uncle, and it sucked--just like I know Milla will never be content playing second string to Kat.

  The thing is Kat is no longer my first priority. But River will always be Milla's.

  Maybe she senses my tension. She mutters my name and stretches like a pinup, lifting her arms above her head, arching her back.

  So beautiful.

  The urge to touch her overwhelms me, and I shift her still-dark locks through my fingers, the strands like silk. The blood in my veins heats, boils...one touch isn't enough, will never be enough.

  I should get up. Leave.

  Too late. She blinks open her eyes and gasps. "You're still here."

  "Where did you expect me to be?"

  "Honestly? Anywhere else." A slow smile blooms. "But I'm glad you stayed."

  There's a clench of desire low in my gut.

  A hard knock sounds at the door. "Zombies are headed toward the house," Cole announces. "Gear up."

  Zombies? Headed this way?

  Mills and I scramble out of bed. The last time zombies approached a home I lived in, they wore bomb collars and destroyed everything in their path, distracting us and allowing Anima's most lethal agents to close in.

  "Don't try to ditch me out there," Milla tells me, a tremor in her voice. She straps on the holster for her short swords. "Stay by my side."

  No way in hell. The less time I spend with her during battle, the less likely Ali's vision is to come true.

  "Frosty," she says, exasperated.

  I ignore her and rip open the door. Other slayers are rushing out of their rooms, their expressions a mix of fury and dread. We congregate in the weapons room, hurriedly gathering extra daggers, guns and ammo.

  "There are probably two hundred zombies," Cole says. "Justin and Gavin were on patrol and spotted them. In our favor, they aren't wearing collars so there are no bombs. Also, when our boys tried to engage, they were ignored. The hordes are acting just like Milla when she searched for Love."

  "But I scented slayers," she says. "Why would zombies ignore Justin and Gavin?"

  "The serum draws like to like, remember." I hand her my favorite guns, the ones with retractable axes, and show her how to work them. "But why aren't zombies fighting other zombies right now?"

  "They scent Milla." Kat appears a few feet in front of me, her features tight with worry. "They hunger for thanatos."

  "But she's not lit up with red flames." Ali slams a clip in place. "How can they scent it?"

  "As with any fire, heat and smoke waft. In this case, spiritual heat and smoke," Kat replies. "And it's only growing stronger."

  Milla flattens her hands over her stomach, clearly horrified. "I don't feel hot. Don't see any smoke. Should I wear one of the suits?"

  "No. Let the hordes come," I growl. "Let them ignore us while trying to get to you, unable to reach you. Because yes, you'll ride the pine."

  She stiffens, but nods.

  "And if they can't scent you," Cole says, "they might attack any humans nearby. That, we can't allow."

  "Okay. No suit," Milla says.

  A thought--what if something goes wrong?

  Worry twists my insides. Did Kat feel this helpless every time I went off to battle? Countless times she tried to stop me. Don't go. Stay with me. I always resisted, helping and guarding my friends far more important than saving myself from a few injuries.

  "Be on the lookout," Cole says. "Smith might try to use our distraction against us and snatch Tiffany."

  Bronx smiles an evil smile. "I wish her good luck with that. I set some wicked-ass traps around Tiff's cage."

  No wonder I admire the guy so much.

  "I'm thinking we need to stay together, just in case zombies turn on us," Ali says. "If someone gets bit, we do whatever it takes to inject him--or her--with antidote. Speaking of, Reeve and Weber played with the formula so that it works on anyone who's built up an immunity." She opens a case filled with instruments that look like EpiPens. "Take as many as you can carry."

  I stuff a handful in my pocket, and everyone else does the same.

  "I'm sorry," Kat says, at my side now.

  Milla's head is high as she walks away, offering privacy.

  "I know," I say. Kat did what she thought was necessary to protect me. Just like I'll do what I think is necessary to protect Milla. She learned from it, and now we move on. "You're forgiven."

  Her shoulders slump with relief. "Frosty the softy," she says with a half smile. "Thank you."

  "Let's talk later, okay?"

  Kat nods and disappears.

  Ali leads us to the roof. I close in on Milla and walk at her side. If anything happens to her...

  Nothing better happen to her.

  Halogen lights are anchored to the iron fence surrounding the property, and for the first time since I moved in, those lights are glowing. I take stock, watching as the hordes breach the property line and step into the high beams. Zombies in front hiss as they fall back, and the next in line step over them...only to hiss and fall back. But the creatures are determined to reach Milla and won't be deterred. Soon, even as their spirits sizzle, they are push, push, pushing at the gate.

  "Milla," Cole says, "you stay up here to act as our bait."

  Her nod is c
lipped.

  Bait usually gets eaten. Not this time. I'll die first.

  His violet gaze scans the rest of us. "Fight to kill." He steps out of his body, the new version of him grabbing the handrail that hangs on a nearly transparent wire, already covered in Blood Lines. He slides down, down, flying over the gate, landing just behind the crowd of zombies.

  Ali is next, then Chance, Love and Jaclyn.

  River pounds Milla's fist. "If I kill more zombies than Frosty, you have to do my laundry for a month."

  "No way. I would rather eat a zombie," she says.

  "I'll take that as a hell, yes." River steps out of his body and flies into the action.

  My gaze follows him, and I see--

  No way. Just no way. His spirit ghosts through two of the zombies. Zombies are spirits, not bodies. The two should have collided. There's only one explanation. Those weren't zombies but humans dressed as zombies.

  Rebecca's agents are hidden in the masses.

  Shit, shit, shit. I search the sea of rot, but it's too hard to tell real from fake. Except--

  There! A collar is hooked to the zombie's belt loop. Not zombie. Human. Has to be. The agents hope to collar us.

  I tell Milla, and she pales.

  "We're in trouble," she says as she, too, scans the sea.

  If the volts in the collars are strong enough, slayers will die in minutes. Or, maybe the goal is to make us solid to the touch, allowing agents to carry us away without civilians able to watch or cameras able to record.

  "I have to disable the agents," I say, remaining in my body as I grip the rail.

  "Go. Warn the others." Milla gives me a push, and I drop, wind slapping against my face.

  I let go just before I reach the end of a wire: a giant oak. Landing is jarring, considering I'm moving at what has to be a thousand miles per hour, but I recover swiftly and roll with my momentum. As I straighten, I palm two semiautomatics and spray bullets in every direction. I'm in the physical realm, so I don't have to worry about hurting my friends, who are in the spirit realm. Grunts ring out, groans of pain soon following.

  When I run out of bullets, I drop the empty clips and jam the end of the guns onto new ones, which are currently strapped to my thighs. Then it's once again party time.

  I stop only when Milla's flying form comes into view. She kicks the agent sneaking up on me and sends him to his back, allowing me to shoot him. She lands and rolls, and every zombie in the immediate area stops to face her.

  "Go back," I snarl. "Now!"

  "Clearly you need someone on your six." She withdraws her own semiautomatics and shoots up the area behind me.

  More grunts. More groans.

  I whip around to watch three agents topple. Damn it! Like the other one, they'd almost had me.

  Zombies head straight for Milla. I drop my guns and reach for my swords, then step out of my body to remove any arms and legs that reach her way. Different parts soon form a wall between us and the rest of the horde.

  When I return to my body, I look for Milla. There! An agent stands behind her, one arm snaked around her neck, the other around her waist. She bucks against him, slamming the back of her head into his nose. Howling in pain, he loosens his hold and she's able to break free by jamming her elbows into his stomach, then latching onto his arm, at the same time ducking and yanking him over her head.

  I palm a gun and, while the guy is down, shoot him in the chest.

  As zombies scale the wall of parts, I move in and out of my body. Milla cries out. I whip around. Two agents punch at her, keeping her distracted while a third sneaks up behind her, a collar ready to be snapped around her neck.

  No way in hell! I aim, squeeze the trigger. He flies backward.

  A frantic thud of footsteps behind me. I spin, ready to shoot, and come face-to-face with the barrel of a .38.

  "Drop your weapon," a hard male voice demands.

  Like hell. I go low and kick out my leg. Contact! He drops.

  I'm there when he lands, slamming my fist into his nose; cartilage snaps. His eyes close, his body going lax. I straighten--only to fly backward as pain explodes in my shoulder.

  I've been hit.

  Milla unleashes a blood-curdling scream, and I fight my way to my feet. Blood gushes down my shirt. Stars wink over my vision as I try to breathe. I step...step, moving forward. My knees give out, but it doesn't stop me. I crawl. Have to get to Milla... Can't let her get hurt...or worse.

  "No, no. Don't hurt him." Suddenly she's at my side, her soft hands pressing my wound to stop the flow of blood. "Stay still, Frosty. Okay? All right? Just stay still. I'll take care of you."

  Fog rolls in, but I manage to stay awake. "You...okay?"

  "I'm fine. But you... I didn't shield you." Tears spill down her cheeks. "Couldn't get to you in time. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

  I try to reach up and wipe those tears away, but movement is impossible. My muscles have seized. "No...tears. Not for...me." I have trouble catching my breath. "You...all that...matters."

  The tears only fall faster.

  "You have a choice," an unfamiliar voice says.

  "I know. I know. We die or we go with you calmly," she snaps. "You don't need the collars, and you don't need to hurt him. We'll cooperate."

  The tallest one smiles without humor. "I know you'll go with us calmly because, if one of you acts up, the other dies."

  We're disarmed, dragged to a van and stuffed in the back, and our friends have no idea, can't see us through the sea of zombies.

  A guard barks "Patch him up" before slamming the door. At least we aren't handcuffed or tied down. More than that, we're alone in back, a clear plate separating us from the driver and his passenger.

  I rip the hem of Frosty's T-shirt and use the material to bind his shoulder.

  "You should have...continued to fight." He's panting more heavily now.

  "And let them take you away from me? No."

  "Exactly why you...should have stayed...on roof."

  "My main objective has always been your safety. That hasn't changed." His skin is pale, and he's lost a lot of blood. He needs dynamis.

  Look inside...look inside...

  I've looked countless times and failed to find it.

  So what? Try again. Use faith.

  Faith. Yes. When faith is low, build it up with words and thoughts. "I can do this." I can.

  I sit back on my haunches, scoot away from Frosty--just in case thanatos escapes--and close my eyes. The mind is a beautiful, complex thing. It observes, stores. It's how my spirit communicates with my body. I go deep, deeper, enduring horrendous, blistering heat, at last spotting the smoke Reeve mentioned. I do my best to look past it, but it's just too thick.

  Still I go deeper. Pain consumes me, burning, burning, boiling. Sweat breaks out on my skin. My lungs constrict, making it difficult to breathe. A high-pitched scream assaults my ears, and I want it to stop, need it to stop.

  "Stop, Milla. Stop now."

  My eyelids pop open, and I slump over, the hideous burn fading, the scream subsiding. "I'm sorry," I cry. "I'm so sorry."

  He reaches out with his good hand to caress my cheek. "It's not your fault, sweet pea."

  But it is. I had one job, just one. Save him. "We'll be okay. Maybe...maybe we can ambush them when they let us out." I search the back of the vehicle, but it's been emptied of anything we can use as a weapon. Helplessness bombards me.

  "Whatever proves necessary," he says. "Survive."

  "Ditto."

  When the van suddenly jolts to a stop, I move in front of him, determined to protect him. He yanks me to his side. His body is weak, but his determination is strong.

  The back door opens, revealing three agents with rifles already trained on us.

  Guess we won't be doing any kind of ambush, after all.

  "Out," the one in the middle commands.

  Frosty gives me a comforting squeeze before he releases me. I slowly climb outside, where I'm swung against the side of
the van, my hands tied behind my back. Frosty follows me under his own steam, only to be given the same treatment, despite being wounded.

  I look around. We're in some kind of underground parking garage, but there are no other cars, no one to ask for help. We're herded to a bank of elevators and whisked to the eleventh floor, where I'm introduced to a nightmare worse than burning alive. The re-creation of Anima.

  A handful of men and women in lab coats are bustling around counters scattered with vials, beakers and equipment I don't recognize. I've heard of labs like this. Ali and Jaclyn were tortured in one. River was kept in one for weeks before being moved to the warehouse he "escaped." He was injected with mysterious serums. His spirit was somehow yanked out of his body by force. His mind was shocked. His skin was torched.

  Frosty and I are pulled apart. To be taken to separate rooms? But he erupts into action, throwing off his captors and tackling mine. I hit the ground, released as the guards do their best to defend themselves. Not that they do a very good job. Frosty is like a boy possessed. He head butts, throws shoulders and elbows and kicks. He bites off a piece of a guard's ear, then spits the bloody cartilage on the floor.

  A chorus of pain, a macabre soundtrack as one of the guards lunges at Frosty. I extend my legs, tripping him, and he lands hard, faceup. Frosty slams his booted foot into his neck, crushing his windpipe. The guy doesn't get back up.

  Even without the use of his hands, Frosty is a master fighter, and he's determined to protect me whatever the cost. I can do no less.

  "Put them in a room together." A dark-haired woman with hair as black as night and skin as white as snow steps into my line of vision. She's impeccably dressed in a black cashmere sweater and a pair of gray slacks that mold to her legs.

  Rebecca Smith in the flesh. The devil pretending to be a business sophisticate. How adorable.

  "If either one gives you any more trouble," she continues, "shoot the boy. He's damaged goods, anyway."

  Panic claws at me, ripping at my insides. "We'll behave," I insist, my gaze beseeching Frosty.

  Only two of the guards are able to crawl to their feet. They roughly haul Frosty to his. I stand on my own, only to be grabbed. I offer no protest. We're shoved into a ten-by-ten room with two-way mirrored walls and a padded floor. Anyone outside the room will be able to see us, making it harder to escape.