Dead Over Heels

by Alison Kemper

  The fog plays tricks on me. A tree trunk is a zombie. A boulder is a zombie.

  That lump of trash on the shore? Another zombie.

  I draw closer to the lump of trash.

  It’s not trash.

  It’s not a zombie.

  It’s a boy in a blue work coat and camo pants.

  Instantly, the world slides back into view with crystal clarity.

  “Cole!” I yell. “Cole!”

  And I’m running. Sprinting. Forgetting the pain in my body.

  Cole lays sprawled on the shore, lips blue, eyes closed.

  I put my ear to his mouth. “You’re still breathing!”

  The wound on his bare arm gapes in the pale moonlight. Two burns crisscross one another, the skin angry and red. Beneath it, clear as anything—teeth marks ring the mass of black blood.

  I need to go. I need to run. Fast. Before he wakes up.

  But, wait. Why isn’t he awake? Didn’t I float for a while? At least an hour? Maybe more? Long enough for him to transform?

  I’m being stupid. He must’ve been knocked out going over the rapids. Any second the unconsciousness will wear off. He’ll wake up. He’ll be one of them.

  Tears choke me. “Oh, Cole.”

  Alarm bells scream in my brain. Leave! Run! Before he wakes up!

  My fingers trace his cheek. His skin is ice-cold. Why is he only wearing a T-shirt? Where is his jacket?

  Damn. It’s wrapped around that rock at the bottom of the sleeping bag, back on the island.

  Memories rush back in a blur. Cole helping me put on my clothes, my purse, my jacket. He didn’t even worry about himself. Maybe he already knew he wouldn’t make it out of there alive.

  Tears trickle steadily into the corners of my mouth. “Oh, Cole. I’m so sorry.”

  Maybe he’ll stay unconscious? Maybe I can drag him out of here?

  Yeah, where? To Glenview? How many miles is that? With a bad foot? There’s no way.

  Really, I’ve got only two options. If I stay with him, he’ll wake up. He’ll turn and bite me. That’s it, end of story.

  Or I could leave him. Hike the remaining miles to town. Find my parents and warmth and shelter and safety.

  Maybe I can return with help?

  I shake my head sadly. That won’t work. Bethany can’t be far behind. She’ll be searching for us. And she’ll find him before I can bring back help. She might even find me before he wakes up.

  His words spiral back to me. Anything happens to me, you keep going. Find your family.

  Tears course down my cheeks. Three days ago, I couldn’t have cared less about this boy. And now, to leave him, to lose him again is the worst kind of torture. For a few seconds, I can’t catch my breath for crying.

  I put my head on his chest. It is stone cold.

  I’ve got to move him away from this icy water—that’s the least I can do. He’s heavy, but I’m surprisingly strong, adrenaline giving me all the help I need. I’ll camouflage him. Hide him. At least until he wakes up. Then maybe he won’t be eaten. Or freeze solid.

  I start piling leaves on top of him, like he did when I fell in the river.

  My rational brain is screaming run, get away. But I push it back.

  Once he’s covered—everything but his face—I stroke his forehead, white and cold as a fish.

  “I—I’ve got to go, Cole. If you were awake, you’d tell me to leave. I’m sure of it.”

  It takes a few minutes to find my voice again. “If I—if I ever meet your dad and Jay—I’ll tell them you searched for them. How much you loved them. How good you were to me.”

  I choke on my own words. I brush strands of dirty hair from his forehead.

  “Thanks for keeping me alive, Cole. For saving my sorry ass all those times. Last night, at the island—”

  But I can’t locate the words to tell him what that meant to me. To have a boy look at me that way, kiss me like that. To tell me I was strong. No one had ever done that before.

  “We would’ve been good together, wouldn’t we? I wish we’d had our chance.”

  I lean in and brush a soft kiss against his lips. My stomach flutters, remembering the way he responded yesterday—how good his lips felt, moving against mine.

  Today, they are still. Still as death.

  I can’t linger. Bethany could be here any second. I force myself to stand, to not glance back, to move toward the river.

  The stupid river. It was supposed to protect us. To keep us safe. I trusted this river. I hate this river. If I never see this river again, it’ll be too soon.

  I start jogging alongside it, ignoring the constant stab of pain in my shoeless foot.

  I can’t help it—I glance back over my shoulder. Cole is just a lump of leaves.

  The trail drops lower into the valley and he disappears from my view.

  I’m stumbling. Trying to go fast. But I can’t see for all the tears.

  The dense fog hides me, muffling all sound. I force my feet to keep going. To pound out these last miles to Glenview.

  Physically, I’ve left Cole, but my imagination is still back with him, visualizing him on the ground, buried in leaves. And the zombies catching up.

  I sob into the filthy sleeve of my jacket. I can’t think about it. Can’t bear it.

  I can picture Mr. Beaver and Bethany. Smelling him. Uncovering him. Their voices triumphant when they find him.

  With a sudden jolt, I realize he’ll be eaten. He’s unconscious. Unable to fight off the other zombies. My feet stop.

  God, what’s happening back where I left him?

  Tears cloud my vision. I turn to face upriver again, gazing in the direction I just left. For a long moment, I just stand. Then I start to run. Uphill. Frantic to get back. My heart trying to bust through my chest.

  “Please,” I pray, sobbing, retracing my steps, “please still be there.”

  Cole is exactly where I left him, alone, covered and serene. His breathing shallow, but normal.

  “Screw it,” I say to the river. Then I shriek, “Screw it! I won’t leave him!”

  I don’t even know who I’m screaming at. Cole? Myself? The universe?

  “He didn’t leave me that first day at the cabin. He fought his way to me, made me get a coat. I didn’t even know him then, but he didn’t leave me!”

  I’m tired. So tired. Dizzy with the effort of running. My foot throbs with each beat of my pulse.

  I collapse to the ground, just inches from Cole’s body. I half dig, half bury myself beside him, the brown leaves crunching between us. I catch the scent of him, blood and woodsmoke and the forest. He is warm and solid and no matter what my logical brain tries to tell me, he is still Cole. I cuddle into him, crying, sobbing, knowing this can’t end well for either of us.

  Was it only a few hours ago that we held each other in the sleeping bag on the island?

  Dawn draws closer, my stomach growling, my clothes freezing to my body. Frost coats us in silver. The fog lifts and through the tree limbs, the moon rides low and pale. I try to stay awake, to keep guard, but I’m too tired, too sore, too banged up and heartsick. I doze fitfully, listening and waiting for the boy beside me, for his rhythmic breaths to turn to growls, but I no longer have strength to struggle—I let exhaustion take me.

  Chapter Twenty

  I wake to sun—brilliant and clear, shining through the trees. Flashing. Darkness, then flashing. Like someone’s flipping a light on and off. Or shining sun on my face with a mirror.

  A mirror…A mirror…

  My eyes fly open. The mirror in my compact. Cole talked about using it for an SOS. Can I signal someone? Am I close enough to Glenview? I sit up fast, leaves sliding off my body.

  Beside me, Cole hasn’t changed. Shallow breathing, regular pulse. His eyelids pale lavender like a fading bruise.

  The purse strap still lies across my chest. I’m so accustomed to its weight—I’d almost forgotten it’s attached to my body. Did the mirror break when I went over the fal
ls?

  I unzip my purse and rattle through the damp, assorted junk: lip balm, matchbook in a canister, last of the antibac gel, allergy pills, dead phone, flyers we didn’t use for the campfire…Yes! Compact. One side is hopelessly shattered. The other remains partially intact. One shard might be large enough to reflect sunlight. Would it flash as far as Glenview?

  How the hell should I know? I’ve got no clue where I am.

  Should I climb to a high spot? Like on the ridgeline? Maybe someone could spot my distress signal from there?

  Fumbling in the leaves, I give Cole’s hand a quick squeeze. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”

  Some small part of my brain registers that I sound a little nuts. I might still have a concussion. Or maybe I’m just going insane from spending four days on the run in this damn forest, my life in constant peril.

  I head uphill. Every inch of my body aches with the effort, but I’m functioning on pure adrenaline at this point. My ears strain for far-off groans or the stomp of many feet. I know they will come soon.

  The landscape feels different here. Leaves still coat many of the tree limbs, their color somewhere between faded scarlet and brown—the same shade as dried blood.

  I’m guessing we’re out of the mountains now and deep into the valley near town. I picture that panoramic map from the observation tower. Just how close to Glenview did we float? My brain is so freaking fuzzy.

  I find the highest spot on the ridge and pick the tallest tree—an oak that towers over the valley—then pull myself up on its branches. Damn. This zombie apocalypse has been a crash course in tree climbing.

  Perched in a top branch, half shrouded by leaves, I clutch my bit of mirror. Is it three short, three long, three short? Or the other way around? Thrusting my hand through the leaf cover, I begin alternating flashes: three short, three long, three short, three long.

  In the whole wide sky, there is not one hint of cloud. It’s like the weather is playing some clever game. After days of damp mist, sunlight sparks through the cold, clear air, brightening the horizon in every direction. Bethany could spot me from miles away. I make sure to only face downriver, sending flashes in the direction of town.

  After ten minutes, I decide this is stupid. No one’s going to see this signal. I need to get back to Cole. I need to think of some other plan. I need to…well, I don’t know what the hell I need to do. If only my brain would work.

  Climbing down makes me woozy. I must’ve burned through the beef-stew calories. My shoeless foot aches with each step against the cold, rocky ground. I pick my way along the path back to Cole, sliding in places on the embankment. The trail looks different. I swivel my head around, trying to get my bearings. This isn’t right.

  I top a rise and discover I’m standing in someone’s yard. A tiny wood cabin sits tucked behind a screen of cypress. The back door stands wide open. This place must’ve been hidden from view, blocked by trees and the natural rise of the valley.

  My heart gives a jolt. Maybe it’s a hunting cabin! Maybe there’s a weapon! Maybe there’s a phone!

  Yeah, or maybe there’s another zombie-in-a-creepy-shed waiting for me.

  I take slow, deliberate steps to the decrepit deck. The ancient boards creak beneath my single sneaker.

  I peek in the open door.

  Nope. No phone. No weapon. Containers line the floor.

  What is with these rednecks and their meth labs?

  I’m not sticking around to find out if there’s another monster hiding in a tub. I bolt from the cabin, frantic to get back to Cole.

  He’s right where I left him, just slightly upriver from the cabin.

  He still looks so strong. So well. So handsome. It makes my heart hurt.

  A single leaf falls, then suddenly another, propelled by the breeze. I watch as leaves spin and scatter around us. Beside me, the river rushes cold and fast between the white-frosted banks. Sun sparks on the ice crystals.

  It annoys me that landscape appears so calm and pretty. I want the rocks to scream and the trees to cry—to mirror the anguish brewing inside me. Cole was bitten. And I couldn’t save him.

  I sink to the ground, my limbs heavy with exhaustion and hopelessness. There’s no way anyone in Glenview saw that signal. I must still be miles from the reserve center. That was one big, pointless waste of calories.

  Beside me, Cole twitches suddenly. I study him, startled. He might wake up at any second. And I’ll be screwed when he does. He moans like he’s having a terrible dream.

  Or changing.

  I pluck a nearby rock off the ground, hefting it in my hand. For the first time, I’m scared of Cole.

  I’ve got to face facts. I’m a sitting duck. The zombies will attack me from all fronts—Bethany, the country club horde, the Beavers—and Cole. A terrible, aching hollow fills my chest.

  So, what am I gonna do? Sit here clutching a rock? I won’t last two minutes.

  “I can’t do this,” I say aloud to Cole. “It’s hopeless. Pointless.”

  I suddenly realize—if he were awake—my words would totally piss him off. Move your ass, he’d tell me. Act like you got some sense.

  Somewhere, deep inside, something sparks to life. It’s like peeling back layers of an onion. Beneath the skin of exhaustion and hunger, beneath the layer of fear and pain, I find a small round lump of something hard and stubborn—my sense of survival.

  I don’t want to die. I want to see my parents again.

  I’ve got a brain! I need to use it. I need to fight, to plan, to make an effort.

  The zombies are coming. And I refuse to be one of those idiot girls in horror movies that just stands there and screams, too stupid to live.

  Still clutching the rock, I use my other hand to dump out my purse. Think, Ava, think.

  Junk. It’s all just junk.

  Sunlight catches the clear tube from the EpiPen. The tube with a single match in it.

  “If only we had some matches,” I whisper to Cole.

  An idea blooms. I stare hard at the magic purse, then at my rock. My eyes flit back in the direction of the cabin.

  I can’t outrun Bethany. But can I outsmart her?

  I glance upriver, where I know she’s working her way toward us. How much time has elapsed since I escaped her at the falls? Enough to walk here? I might’ve been passed out while I drifted on that log, but I still have some sense of having covered a long distance. The river is broad and the current fast—and Bethany’s armies are stupid and slow. With any luck, I might just to be able to pull this off.

  A slow smile spreads across my face. “Come on, Bethany,” I whisper to the wind. “I’m gonna mess up all your plans.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  I stand in front of the cabin, considering my options. Plotting. Planning. Hurrying.

  Wind kicks up from every direction. Leaves blow, swirling around me and the yard.

  The interior of the cabin is only a few hundred square feet—a main kitchen-living room combo. A tiny bedroom and bathroom. The siding is nothing but wood. A half-rotted deck sits outside the back door—well, at least, where there used to be a door. Now the frame gapes open—the inside of the house dark and dank.

  A tree line stands roughly fifty yards from the back door. In the summer, this backyard would be choked with weeds, but by now most have died, leaving a surprisingly clear stretch of dead grass.

  I’ve already peeked in the cabin windows, rattled the front door. If anything’s hiding inside, it would’ve come out to eat me by now. I stand on the rear threshold of the house, peering into the gloomy interior: only a filthy, threadbare couch, an assortment of equipment, and endless, endless containers.

  I hope like hell this works.

  I address Cole’s unmoving body, which I’ve hauled up from the river. “Come on, Cole. You’ve got to help.”

  It takes the better part of twenty minutes to drag him through each of the rooms.

  “Please don’t explode, shack,” I say aloud. “Please
don’t spontaneously explode.”

  I peek out the window to the river. “Please don’t show up yet, Bethany. Please stay with your army this time. And please walk slowly. Very, very slowly.”

  God, I must be losing my mind.

  I lug Cole through the empty doorway and across the backyard. He’s not a small guy, and the effort leaves me sweating and gasping for air. My shoeless foot feels like it might fall off with the next step. But I can’t stop to rest. I tow Cole up the hill. Not all the way to the ridge, just to the tree line, where I hide him behind a clump of brush. His dark jacket and camo pants blend with the brush.

  “Stay here,” I pant.

  I stretch the collar of my T-shirt until it covers the lower half of my face.

  “Okay, AP chemistry,” I say, striding back to the cabin. “Don’t let me down.”

  I enter the structure. Some of the containers aren’t labeled, but most are. I’ll stick with those.

  I check the first metal barrel with a bright orange “flammable” sticker. Phosphine. My brain shuffles through its mental filing cabinets. Phosphine…dangerous, right? But dangerous how? Like phosphorus mixed with chlorine? That’s what the word sounds like.

  No, I’m not gonna chance that one. I’m trying to figure out a way to survive—no point in asphyxiating myself in the process.

  “Come on,” I whisper to the containers. “Hurry. Something different. Something familiar.”

  If only Cole was awake. I remember him rattling off the names of the compounds. But he’s not here. It’s all up to me.

  I take another peek out the filthy window. Still no sign of Bethany, but that could change at any second.

  I tilt my head to read the label on a white jug, about the size of a bleach container: ethyl ether.

  I’ve heard of that one. Not something I’d want to breathe, but if I remember right, it’s used as an antiseptic. And most importantly? It’s got a “flammable” sticker.

  I’d like to take my time, to hunt for something more familiar. But time is one of the many, many things I don’t have.

  “Okay, ethyl ether,” I say, hefting the jug. “You’re today’s random winner.”

  I take a deep breath, unscrew the lid. Holding in my oxygen, I dump a splash of the clear contents on the floor.