Dead Over Heels

by Alison Kemper

  He swears and stomps farther up the creek. If I’m going in the meth shack, it’s pretty obvious I’m going alone. Still barefoot and clutching my sneakers, I carefully pick my way up the bank into the dead grass. I’ve made it about ten steps before Cole grabs the hood of my jacket, jerking me backward.

  “Do not go in there. Are you that stupid?”

  And then, he actually slings me over his shoulder in a fireman’s hold.

  Every ounce of blood in my body is replaced by boiling oil. “Let me go!” I wriggle in his arms like a child having a tantrum.

  No response. I struggle, but he’s simply stronger than I am.

  He finally sets me back down, feet-first in the water. I try to step away, but his hands clamp on my shoulders. We stand, inches apart, glaring into each other’s eyes. I fight the urge to smack him with my sneakers.

  “You ain’t going in that shed,” he orders.

  “You’re such a douchebag sometimes.”

  He grits his teeth. “You get pissed every time I try to save your life. Pretty soon I’m gonna stop trying.”

  “Go for it.”

  Fury clouds his face, turning his silver-blue eyes to ice. “I oughta do myself a favor. I oughta march you back to Bethany and let the two of you kill each other. It’d make my life a hell of a lot simpler.”

  I throw his hands off my shoulders. “Guess what, you tool, it’s not my fault your girlfriend’s been drinking crazysauce and has to act like a total bitch. Why the hell would you date someone like that?”

  His eyes widen a fraction. And then a slight smile tilts his lips. “Are you mad because I have a girlfriend?”

  My mouth drops open.

  Is some small, teeny-tiny fraction of my brain upset because Cole is dating someone?

  “No!” I scream, not caring if every bear and zombie in the forest hears me. “I’m mad about the lack of food, about the cold, about endless walking, about going the wrong direction—yes, I know we’re going in the wrong direction! I’m not stupid! But mostly I’m mad about not knowing for sure if my parents are okay! I’m mad because all my friends, my relatives, everyone I know has turned into a creepy corpse-creature!”

  His smile dissolves. He glances at the trees nervously. “Stop yelling. Yelling is a bad idea.”

  I fight the urge to shove him again. “You can sing your fool head off, but I can’t yell?”

  “I’m tired of you not listening to me.”

  “And I’m tired of you bossing me around. And I’m tired of your know-it-all attitude. But mostly I’m tired of your stupid ex putting us in danger. Forcing me to walk in the wrong direction. I need to get to my parents—before they come looking for me. I think it’s time we split up.”

  His face goes white. I’ve obviously shocked the hell out of him.

  “I’m going in that shed,” I tell him. “I’m going to look for food and warmer clothes. And then I’m going south—which is that direction,” I point over my shoulder, “and on to Glenview.”

  He recovers quickly. “And I’m going up this creek,” he grinds out, between his teeth. “And staying the hell away from Bethany and her zombie soldiers.”

  “Fine.”

  “Fine.”

  “Bye.”

  “See ya.”

  He spins on his heel and marches away, his open jacket flapping behind him like a bird taking flight.

  I tear my eyes away and stalk in the opposite direction, surprised by the sudden, painful tightening in my chest.

  Chapter Ten

  I will not look back. I don’t care where Cole goes, what he does. He could march straight back to Bethany—together they can be king and queen of the zombie redneck forest. I don’t give a flying fart.

  Jaw set, I approach the weathered skeleton of the cabin. The place is a horror show. Corrugated metal walls rusted beyond recognition. A tiny window caked with grime. Paint peeling off the door in long, puckered strips. I barely touch the latch and it falls into the dirt.

  Ever so gently, I ease the door open a few inches.

  Scritch-scritch-scritch. Inside the cabin, something scurries. I leap back, startled, but the noise stops just as quickly.

  Get a grip, Ava. Probably a mouse.

  I can’t help myself—I glance back at the creek. Cole obviously meant what he said. He’s gone. Nowhere to be seen. On his way up the mountain without me.

  Fine. I turn back to the half-open door. He can keep walking in that cold-ass water. I’ll hide out in this nice, warm cabin. With the mice. And maybe some lethal chemicals.

  With a squeak, the door swings fully open. My eyes fight to adjust to the dimness. Cobwebs and dust coat everything. And by everything, I mean a bunch of random equipment. Propane tank. Portable stove. An old tub, green with mold, plastic hoses dangling over the edge. Containers, some labeled with chemical names, like “ethyl ether” and “chloroform.”

  Yep. Definitely a meth lab.

  So maybe this isn’t the best idea I’ve ever had. I probably won’t find a few cans of soup lying around. Or a comfy chair to doze in beside the fireplace.

  I should leave now. Run and catch Cole.

  The thought burns bile in the back of my throat. I’d have to apologize. And admit he was right. He’d give me one of his lectures. Call me “City-Girl” again in that condescending tone.

  Suddenly, the cabin appears more promising. I’ll make the best of it. Even if I have to share with mice and four drums of ethyl ether.

  Miraculously, there’s still glass in the tiny window. This is a good thing. It’ll keep the wind out tonight. I’ll haul a few of these containers outside, prop the door shut, and get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow morning, I’ll head back to the river and follow it all the way to Glenview—on my own.

  I don’t need Cole. Not one bit.

  I take a few steps across the wood floor.

  Scritch-scritch-scritch. On the far side of the room, hoses in the bathtub wriggle against the porcelain.

  I freeze. Mice. Just mice in the bathtub.

  At that moment, a hand grips the side of the tub. A gray hand, marbled with burns and rot.

  I open my mouth, but no sound comes out.

  There, rising from the bathtub, is a meth-head zombie—scabbed and gaunt, with deep hollows under his eyes. Greasy hair hangs in strings across his wild face, and it’s probably safe to say his clothes were dirty even before this whole zombie-apocalypse thing went down.

  “Rawwwr!” he says, obviously upset about being awoken from his nap.

  My heart tries to leap out of my still-open mouth.

  “Rawwwr!” he repeats, heaving himself from the tub.

  Slowly, carefully, my feet edge back toward the door—one step…two…

  My toes find the threshold of the cabin. My eyes stay locked on the creature. He stumbles closer. Lifts his arms.

  I should scream for Cole. But he’s too far away. Plus, my mouth still isn’t working. I close and open it, but no sound comes out.

  Okay. My mouth might be broken, but my legs sure as hell aren’t.

  Bam! I haul myself through the doorway, fling the door shut and launch myself into the cover of the thicket behind the shack, praying the brown stalks will hide me from view.

  Then I remember the zombie can track me by scent. Oh crap. The cover of the thicket won’t help at all.

  The creek! I’ve got to get back to the creek. Crunch, crunch, crunch. My footfalls are too loud in the dead grass. Shoulder-high stalks whip my face, forcing my eyes closed. My feet tangle.

  Wham! My elbow slams the ground. It takes only an instant to recognize what I tripped over. A body. Or what’s left of one. Jeans, expensive polo shirt. No face or head. Flies explode in a cloud, buzzing in my eyes and ears.

  “Aaaaaaagggghh!”

  Great. So now I can scream.

  “Rawwwwr!” Behind me, the meth monster homes in on my scream and starts moving closer.

  And then, somewhere ahead, another voice. Cole’s. “Ava!” A p
ause. “Ava, is that you?”

  “Rawr!”

  I’m on my feet again, sprinting, screaming. Rubbing my face to erase the smell, the feel of the flies.

  “Run, Cole! There’s one of those things in here! And a body! A dead body! A chewed-up body! With no head—” I’m babble-screeching, boiling over with panic.

  Another lump appears on the ground, half hidden by brush. I veer away.

  “Argh! Make that two bodies! Two dead bodies. Both eaten! Both rotten! Run away!”

  “Where are you, Ava?” His disembodied voice rises out of the withered field.

  “Aren’t you listening? Get out! Before it finds you!”

  “Quit screaming, you idiot! You’ll lead it right to you!”

  I clamp my mouth shut. The world goes quiet.

  Is there no end to this damned thicket?

  I force myself to stand still. I’ve got to be smart…take a moment to get my bearings. Figure out where the creek is. Where Cole is. Wind whispers through the stalks. My breath comes in short gasps, my pulse pounds in my ears.

  Get your bearings, Ava. Get your—

  A thrashing noise from behind—close behind—and before I can turn, hands clamp around my arm. I spin in place, hoping I’ll look into Cole’s face.

  Instead, the meth head jerks me close, his breath reeking of rot. There are only three teeth left in his head, but I know that’s enough. Enough to spread the virus.

  Scarred fingers dig into my jacket, wrenching my arm close to his face. He smiles a gap-toothed grin, baring his yellow teeth. Then he sinks them in my wrist.

  “No!” I shout, bracing for pain.

  Oh my God! I’m infected! I’m about to turn into one of them!

  The pain never comes.

  The zombie pulls away, sputtering on down from my mom’s jacket. A hole gapes in my sleeve, revealing bare, unbroken skin. The zombie spits feathers in the air.

  He bends in for another try.

  “No!” I scream again, bringing my leg into a high kick. I don’t do all that Zumba for nothing.

  My sneaker connects with his gut. The meth head doesn’t even flinch.

  No brain function. No nerve endings. No pain.

  He realigns his three teeth with the skin showing through my sleeve.

  “Let go!” I scream, but he’s too strong, I can’t wrench free.

  “Hey, Tweaker! Over here!” Cole stands a few feet away, a tree limb clutched in his hands.

  Thwack. The branch slams the zombie in the head.

  But Cole’s got the wrong angle and it doesn’t knock out the zombie. It doesn’t even make him mad enough to release my arm.

  “What are you doing?” I scream at Cole.

  “Rescuing your ass again.”

  “I don’t need rescuing!”

  With my free hand, I unzip my jacket and spin, expecting to leave the zombie still spluttering on feathers and holding my jacket. But his grip is too tight. I can’t break away.

  “I’m sick of you, Cole!” I fight to maneuver my arm away from the zombie’s gaping mouth. “Acting like I’m helpless and you’re doing me some big favor hanging around.”

  With my free hand, I rake my nails across the zombie’s face, expecting to draw blood. Instead, skin from his cheek pulls away in a long flap of dangling flesh.

  “Ewwwww!” There’s no time to freak out. Cole gives up on the branch and takes a running leap, tackling the zombie.

  Worst. Idea. Ever.

  The crankhead won’t release me, and the three of us crash to the ground, tumbling in a pile of twisting limbs and gnashing teeth.

  “Ow!” I screech.

  Now I’m pinned under the zombie, his body covering mine, cold and clammy like he’s been on ice at the morgue. His breath blows putrid against my face. Cole rolls, grabbing the zombie’s tangled hair and yanking his head back. I’m safe from his teeth—for the moment. But he won’t release his death grip on my arm.

  A few inches away, Cole’s face turns scarlet with effort. “Kill it!” he yells.

  “You kill it!”

  “I can’t. I’m trying to hold his damn head still.”

  Cole repositions—sitting on the zombie’s head, using his weight and both hands to keep the monster in place. His knee rests inches from its mouth. One quick tilt of the head and Cole will be infected. Looks like it’s my turn to do the rescuing.

  “Hurry!” he yells. “Get the branch or something!”

  Still pinned by the lower half of the zombie’s body, I stretch, twisting my arm behind him, trying to reach Cole’s pants.

  His eyes go wide. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “I’m getting your knife. I’m gonna stab this MFer!”

  “Other pocket.” He arches his back, trying to bend closer. “And Ava?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Hurry.”

  I stretch for the other side of Cole’s torso, but it’s so far. Good Lord. This is like some sick game of Twister. “There’s no way my arm can reach.”

  “Stretch.”

  “You stretch!”

  “I am!”

  “Stretch more!”

  And there it is. The pocket. My fingers slide in, grasping the metal of the knife. I pull it free, fumbling, struggling to open it with one hand.

  It falls in the dirt.

  “Dangnabbit!” Cole yells. “I can’t hold him any longer.” He wrestles hard, striving to keep the thing’s skull in place. Struggling against its superhuman strength.

  The rest is up to me.

  I find the knife, grasp it in my right hand.

  “Firm grip!” Cole splutters. “Don’t drop your weapon!” He leans in, his breath coming hard, energy ebbing away. “Pretend the knife is an extension of your arm.”

  I raise the blade to the zombie’s neck.

  “No, not there! His head! His brain!”

  “What?”

  “Didn’t you ever watch a zombie movie? You gotta stab it in the head!”

  Deep breath. I must do this. Can’t delay.

  I imagine the knife becoming part of my arm. I take careful aim at the zombie’s face and slam the blade in his eyeball.

  Squilch. Milk-colored fluid explodes on my hand. But I don’t let go.

  “Rawr.” The blade keeps going. Deeper. Through the thin bone behind the eye socket. Into the soft part of his brain.

  The zombie sputters once and goes quiet. Cole’s limbs slacken, no longer fighting.

  “Is it a trick?” I whisper, finally pulling my arm free.

  “I don’t know.” Cole leaps up, rolls the zombie off me. “We better cut off his head. Just to be sure.”

  “Please tell me you’re joking.”

  Cole removes his knife from the eye socket with a sharp, sucking sound. For a second, we both watch the figure on the ground. Whatever it is now, it was once a human being.

  “Dammit,” Cole mutters, raising his arm. “Damn it all to hell.” He slams the blade into the creature’s throat.

  Decapitation is not easy, like in the movies. It’s more like trying to slice a watermelon with a dull knife. Slow and awkward, with a lot of sawing and hacking. Black blood spurts from the wound.

  I turn away, retching, but my stomach is empty; nothing comes up.

  The head rolls from the torso. Cole and I stand tensed, still staring at the zombie like the headless body might rise up at any moment and try to fight us again.

  “Let’s go,” I beg, putting a hand on Cole’s shoulder. My fingers are still covered with eyeball goop. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Cole doesn’t move. He just stares at the head and gulps big lungfuls of air.

  “Come on, Cole, let’s leave.”

  He’s paralyzed. Horror-struck. I can’t imagine how much strength it took to wrestle that zombie. How messed up it was to cut off its head.

  “Cole, we gotta go,” I whisper, moving my fingers to gently take his elbow.

  It takes him a few seconds to answer. “Hellfire,” he
says, his face tense. “I can’t take any more of this.”

  My mind flashes through the day’s events. My fall in the river. Bethany. Being shot at. Being bitten. I can’t dwell on these things. Or I’ll freak, too.

  With a sudden snap, he closes the knife. His eyes have gone blank and hollow. “It’s time to find a tree,” Cole orders. “Or another deer stand. Before dark.”

  I drop my hand from his shoulder. When I speak again, my voice sounds an octave too high. “Remember what happened last night when we stayed in the open? I don’t want another tree or deer stand. They’ll catch us. I want to keep walking.”

  His icy eyes swing to me. I expect him to argue. To break into another round of swearing. To tell me it’ll be just as dark as last night, that I’m being dumb. I’m primed for it—ready to have it out with this boy. We stand in the brush, leaning over the decapitated zombie, staring each other down. Both wound too tight, ready to snap.

  And then Cole exhales. It’s like watching all the fight seep out of him. His shoulders droop forward until his chin hits his chest. “I hate to break this to you, Ava, but not all of us got sleep last night. One of us kept watch while the other one slept.”

  His words are firm, but not mean. He’s just stating a fact.

  A fact I’ve conveniently forgotten.

  For the first time, I notice purple shadows under his eyes, deep as bruises. Everything we’ve gone through today, he’s handled with zero sleep.

  My face burns scarlet. In an instant, my anger evaporates, leaving the feeling I’m being a little selfish. “I never said thank you.”

  He peeks at me again, and something in his expression loosens a notch. “Well, you’re welcome. But seriously, I’m about to fall down where I’m standing. We gotta find a place to rest.” He jerks his head in the direction of the shack. “One that ain’t full of zombies and poisonous chemicals.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The tree we’re in—Cole called it a pin oak—stands in a flat bog beside the creek, limbs stretching over the water. Dead, crinkled leaves cling stubbornly to its branches, rattling every time the wind kicks up. Making it hard to hear if anyone’s approaching.

  The last thing I want to do is sleep in another tree, but I understand Cole’s reasoning. We’re high enough to be out of harm’s way, but with the creek and the bog—and the zombies’ fear of water—we’re not in a position to get trapped.