Dead Over Heels

by Alison Kemper

  Ahead of us, a pair of tall metal fences loom above the road, laced with barbed wire. Behind the fence, I recognize the outskirts of Glenview, where the car wash and the Taco Bell sit near the overpass. I’ve never been so glad to see a Taco Bell in my life.

  The air thunders with a sudden volley of gunshots. Lots and lots of gunshots. Whatever was left of my hearing is gone now.

  This second burst of fighting is terrifying. Now that I know there’s the possibility of zombies grabbing the cart, the whole experience is ten times more real.

  The ATV stops rolling. I keep my eyes squeezed shut. Did they catch us? Are they coming for me? Am I about to be eaten?

  “Let go,” says a voice. A woman’s voice. “Let go of the machete. You’re okay now.”

  Soft hands smooth my hair. Mom’s hands. I open my eyes.

  I make some noise that is half shriek, half cry and she hugs me.

  I made it. I made it to Glenview.

  “Dad?” I whisper.

  “On his way down here.”

  Beside me, Jay and another man are loading Cole on a stretcher.

  “Wait! Wait!” I shout, knowing my voice is extra loud. Probably because I still can’t hear myself talk. Everyone stops.

  I wrench away from Mom and kneel beside the stretcher. “Please.” I grab Cole’s hand. “I have to know. Will he be okay?”

  Jay’s eyes gaze into mine for a long heartbeat. He understands the meaning behind the question. I guess it’s pretty obvious I care about his brother.

  I swallow hard. Waiting for the answer.

  Jay studies me, different than he looked at me all those times he cut our grass. Like he’s really seeing me. There was a point when I’d have been embarrassed for a boy to see me this way. The grit of four days. Blood—both red and black—streaked across my clothes. My feet shredded from running without shoes. Soot across my tattered jacket. But I feel strong and alive.

  Jay smiles. “Take a look,” he says gesturing at Cole.

  And when I move toward Cole and his eyelids flutter open, I might be the happiest girl in the world. He looks groggy and battered, but behind those long lashes, there’s no blankness, no white—only pure silver blue, like moonlight on a frozen mountain creek.

  His cracked lips part. “Hey, City-Girl.”

  “Hey, Banjo Boy.” Tears stream down my cheeks.

  Cole is not a zombie.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  I disentangle myself from the blanket, snuggling closer to Cole on the narrow cot. An hour ago, under the cover of darkness, I snuck out of my new barracks and ran halfway across town to the Glenview Health Department. My mom would freak if she knew. Ever since I arrived yesterday afternoon, she’s insisted on keeping me close.

  I have to admit—it was unnerving tonight, moving stealthily through the dark streets, the scent of distant zombies just beyond the perimeter, danger all around. A week ago, I wouldn’t have risked such an outing. I would have listened to my parents and stayed inside.

  But now…well, I’ve learned that sometimes it pays off to take risks. It’s just part of this new world.

  Plus, I needed to see Cole for myself. To make sure everyone is telling the truth—that he really is okay, that he’s not gray and scary, that something did happen to stop the virus. I’d only wanted a quick peek at Cole, maybe a hug, but the instant my body touched his, all those plans evaporated. I’ve spent the last sixty minutes in his bed.

  “I’m sorry,” he murmurs into my hair. “I got carried away.” His room in the health department—the town’s new makeshift hospital—is small and chilly. But it’s private.

  “Hah,” I whisper back. “I’m the one who should be sorry. You’ve been through hell the last forty-eight hours. I should be letting you rest.”

  “I feel fine.”

  I snort-laugh. “Obviously.”

  Together, we kiss softly in the dark. His fingers smooth my hair. I bury my head in his chest, breathing in the familiar, comforting scent of woodsmoke and boy.

  “Dad told me what you did. How you blew up the cabin. He said you started fighting off him and Jay. Doing a damn good job of it, too.”

  “No, I was about to lose it. I was half insane by that point.”

  His voice is anguished. “You shouldn’t have been there in the first place. You should’ve left me. I wasn’t worth it.”

  “To me you are.”

  Cole responds with silence.

  I exhale, feeling some inexplicable need to explain. “You didn’t leave me, Cole. At my house or when I fell in the river. I don’t know why, but you didn’t.”

  “I think you know why.” He hugs me tight. His voice is still choked with emotion. “It’s safe to say I’ll never leave you.”

  “I won’t either.”

  Our words hang in the darkness, solemn as a vow.

  “I been sitting here these last few hours,” he says, “just thinking about everything. I figure you knew what to do because of that paper you were writing. The one about rabies.”

  “Yeah. Mr. Beaver bit you and all I could think of was that line from my research about cauterizing the wound. It was crazy.”

  “The doc says I got a raging infection and third-degree burns from your cauterization.”

  I wince.

  Cole tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “He also says you probably saved my life. He’s in touch with some doctors at the CDC. Told them what you did. They’re gonna test the theory. See how many other times it’s worked.” He pauses for a long moment. “But there’s something else. The doc told me they’ve also found some immune people.”

  My eyebrows shoot up. “Immune? Like Bethany?”

  He nods. “Yup. Apparently they’ve got blood samples from three different girls on the East Coast. Some gene that makes them totally immune to the virus.”

  “Wow. You might’ve won the genetic lottery.”

  “Maybe. Or maybe you saved me. Or maybe Mr. Beaver just didn’t release enough venom or whatever. Either way, the CDC wants a sample of my blood—Dad and Jay’s, too.”

  “You’re leaving?” I practically choke.

  “No way.” He sets his jaw. “They’re coming here. We’re staying put.” He pauses to kiss me again. “This place—is it okay here?” he asks. “Does it seem…good?”

  “Yeah, Dad says there are seven full perimeters protecting downtown—barbed wire and sandbags. And lots of people with guns. You North Carolina residents sure like your guns.”

  Cole hesitates. “That ain’t really what I meant. Do you um…you think your family’ll stay?”

  Warmth ebbs through my body. He wants me to stay! I try to sound calm. “Oh, yeah. Dad’s already latched on to your family—they’re showing him how to shoot a crossbow. He’s shot more trees than zombies, but it’s weird, he acts almost…happy.”

  Cole’s fingers worry with the corner of the blanket. “And you? Would you be happy to stay here? In redneck hell?”

  I’ll be happy to stay wherever Cole is. But I’m not going to say that aloud.

  “Yes,” I whisper in the dark. “I’d be happy in Glenview. There’s a huge supply of EpiPens here at this health department. Plus, my boyfriend’s gonna teach me to hunt zombies, right?”

  “Boyfriend,” he says, “I like that.” His lips brush mine. “So whatever happens, we face it together?”

  “Together,” I reply firmly.

  I close my eyes and snuggle into his shoulder. A vision rolls out before me, like the one I’d had in the forest—an image of Cole and me, working together. A future where I’m an active participant, instead of just watching through a window. I can’t let my allergies hold me back anymore. If the last four days have taught me anything, it’s that I’m capable of adapting—of learning, surviving, and fighting back.

  Beside me, Cole goes very still, and I know exhaustion has carried him back to sleep. A sudden snore cuts through the darkness. I can’t help but laugh.

  It feels good to laugh again. To smil
e. To be safe and surrounded by people I love.

  Cole was right: there are still good things left in this new world. We might have to work harder to find them. But we will find them. Together.

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  Acknowledgments

  Releasing two books within seven months is an adventure. I wouldn’t have made it far without my editor and cheerleader, Kerri-Leigh Grady, and my super-agent, Kristin Vincent. Mega thanks to my crit partners Brigid Kemmerer, Sarah Henson and Cynthia Szuki. Thanks also to Gordon MacKinney, Mike Kalmbach, Anahita Eftekhari and Lauren Hild for reading “problem chapters”—in some cases on very short notice. I’d be lost without the many fab ladies of Entangled Publishing: Jessica Snyder, Stacy Abrams, Tara Quigley, Jessica Turner, Debbie Suzuki and Karen Grove. Last, a note of appreciation to the friends and family who understood why I didn’t answer my phone much these past seven months.

  About the Author

  Alison Kemper lives with her family in a tiny town in North Carolina. Their house is scenically situated between a prison and a dust-filtration factory. Find her online at alisonkemper.com.

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