A Living Dead Love Story Series

by Rusty Fischer

  When she walks to the bench, just when she’s flush with it, I lunge with the ice pick. It slides in a smidge past her ear, slick and stiff all the way. I feel her thick, black, oozing Zerker blood splooge across my hand, but I hold tight.

  Her good eye gets big. She drools some more, quivering on the end of my weapon, hands flailing at her side. I’m there when the lights go out, standing just out of range at arm’s length. She slumps to the ground, taking me with her, the weapon still half stuck in her skull.

  I yank it out and stand above her. The Zerkers on the fringe creep forward now, grumbling. Then they stop.

  A voice behind me says, “Finish it, Maddy.”

  I turn. “Dane?”

  “You have to. To make sure.”

  I shake my head, and he snatches the Eliminator from my hand. It’s glossed with black Zerker blood, but he doesn’t even pause before slicing across her throat, through her spine, until her face lands, horror-mask-side-down, a few inches away.

  She looks almost peaceful now, without her exposed teeth shining.

  Behind us, without much fanfare, Stamp and Courtney bend toward the playground dirt, using their cold, gray hands to begin digging a shallow grave to hide the Zerker body and its head.

  Lucy stands around awkwardly, then kneels to help.

  Stamp gives her a smile, like, oh, what fun it is to bury Zerkers in a playground in the night!

  Dane hands me the Eliminator, nods toward the other Zerkers drifting into the tree line. With the others busy, he moves closer, wiping Zerker blood onto his khaki pants. “What did she mean just now? About what you let them start?”

  I look up at him helplessly, shaking my head. “It’s too late now, Dane. And I don’t owe you explanations anymore.”

  He clenches his jaw but finally nods. “You’re right. You don’t. I just thought you seemed upset and might want to talk about it.”

  I stare at him in disbelief. “This is hardly the time, and you’re hardly the person I’d go spilling my guts to now.”

  He nods, scanning me from head to toe before turning his attention toward the Zerkers, who are disappearing one by one into the stand of palms bordering the park. “Fair enough,” he grunts, nodding toward them. “How many?”

  “Six,” I count on the fly, but they’re moving fast.

  “Wrong,” he says, pointing a blood-blackened finger at something above their heads.

  There, in the shadows, lurks a seventh.

  Chapter 30

  Jeepers Sleepers

  Why didn’t you go get them when you had the chance?” Lucy paces in the living room, velour sweatpants whoosh-whishing as she keeps throwing her hands in the air, soap opera style. “They were right there!”

  “There are procedures,” Dane says coolly, leaning against the kitchen counter. Behind him, Courtney casually spoons fresh brains from one of his plastic Sentinel-sanctioned to-go containers.

  I wonder how she can be so poised about it. It kind of makes me wonder if the Sentinels eat the real thing a lot more often than the rest of us do.

  Dane levels his gaze at Lucy and continues, “It’s more complicated than that. What if there were more in there, hiding, waiting for us to rush back, guns blazing? A lot more? What if they wiped us out our first week in town? What if nobody were here to call in the Sentinels until it was too late? Then where would your precious Seagull Shores be?”

  She paces some more, nodding. “Okay, okay, I guess. But what now? What if those goons are ransacking the town as we speak? Going house to house?”

  Dane shakes his head. “We’ve already put in a call to the Sentinels. They’re aware of the situation and on standby. But without a confirmed sighting of Val, they’re not willing to commit any reinforcements. For now, it’s just us.”

  She shakes her head, hands up in a can-you-believe-this-shit motion, but no one nods in an I-know-right way because we’ve all been there, done this before.

  The Sentinels suck; let’s face it. There’s a reason undead folks call them zombie cops. Like real cops, they’re never around when you flippin’ need one.

  Dane looks at Courtney spooning her brains. Then at me. Then at Stamp. Then at Lucy. “Listen. It’s late. Your parents must be freaking out.”

  I watch her face, but it’s fairly placid. Like, No big deal that it’s nearly midnight and I almost just got bushwhacked by a half-faced undead jogger and I’m the only person breathing in the room, and, oh, by the way, there’s a chick eating brains right out of the fridge.

  He adds, “Get some rest. We’ll walk the streets tonight, make sure nothing else happens. Tomorrow we’ll all go to school, see what develops. Maybe one of them will show up or slip up and we can find out where they’re staying and track them down.”

  Lucy nods, as if this is a good idea.

  It’s not, but maybe she doesn’t know that yet.

  “Come on.” I grab her messenger bag from the counter. “I’ll walk you home.”

  “No. Really. It’s just next door. Don’t be silly.”

  Dane nods at me.

  “Yeah, well, we were just in the park, and look how much trouble we got into there.”

  She bites her lip and frowns as I slide open the back door and walk to the patio. “Come on.” I stare her down, giving her no way out, waving her outside like a puppy who has to go number one.

  I wait for her at the gate. Looking up, I see the light in the same second-story window, the rest of the house as dark as the midnight sky that surrounds it.

  “Thanks,” she says, shutting the gate behind her. In the yellow dark of my zombie vision, I see the dirt stuck under her fingernails from digging a grave for Jogger Girl. “I’m fine. Just watch me from here. Really.”

  Her voice is insistent, which turns up my radar another notch.

  I shake my head and take her arm a little more forcefully than I intended. I forget sometimes that she’s a Normal. Then again, nothing’s really been normal about this Normal since we met. Which is kind of why I want to meet the parents who spawned this little type A go-getter. Once and for all.

  “I’d like to see your folks,” I say, dragging her toward the front stoop. “Thank your dad for all that awesome moo shu.”

  “Oh, he . . . won’t be home yet.”

  “You don’t say.” I knock on the front door. Pound on it, to be more exact. “Well, maybe I can apologize to your mom for keeping you out so late tonight.”

  “No, he and Mom . . . work late. Every night.”

  I nod. Try the door. It’s locked. “Then I should probably stay with you, just tonight. Make sure no Zerkers get you.”

  I’m expecting a nervous chuckle, a shake of her head, something.

  Nothing.

  She stands there on the front stoop, clutching her messenger bag, not rooting around for the key, not moving, not speaking.

  I sigh, turning the knob, turning, turning until—snap and crackle—the door pops open.

  I wait a beat for the sound of a distant TV or someone calling out, Lucy, is that you, dear? For a kitchen light to turn on or a pot of tea whistling or a grandfather clock ticking in the foyer.

  Nothing.

  Inside it’s dark and empty. No easy chair for Dad to sit in after a long night over the wok. No TV for Mom to watch her soap operas on. No dinner table. No chairs. No Halloween decorations.

  In the dark kitchen: no dishes, no forks, no knives. Just a counter full of greasy wrappers from Burger Barn and lots of crumpled soda cans. Energy drinks, mostly, their overly tall cans empty and crunched.

  Like this place belongs to a teenager. Living alone. On permanent spring break.

  I walk upstairs and turn halfway up.

  She’s still in the doorway, looking at the floor.

  My voice is a mix between disappointed and more disappointed. “You coming?”

  She looks up, a pained expression on her face.

  “There’s Zerkers out there, remember?” I remind her.

  She steps in qui
ckly, shutting the door behind her, leaning against it with her back to squeeze it all the way shut. Suddenly, I feel kind of stupid about breaking the lock that way.

  The rooms are empty, all of them, except the one with the light on upstairs. There’s a sleeping bag on the floor, a big shiny laptop open next to it, the screen blue, in sleep mode. There’s a little dorm fridge humming in the corner, some random magazines scattered about, more zombie books, a few cell phones—the cheap, disposable kind you get in gas stations and charge with cash.

  I stand in the middle, my sneaker nudging a book called Living with the Living Dead.

  I turn to her very slowly. “What gives?”

  She follows me into the room, slumps against the far wall dramatically. “I knew you’d find out.” She picks lint off one of her velour knees. “I knew you were too smart to fall for it.”

  “Fall for what?”

  She waves a hand around the room, looks up at me as if she might cry. “All of it. The stupid zombie books. Me living right next door. Really? Right next door? Not two doors down, even? Being able to hack into the school system like that dude from Facebook or whatever. The driver’s license. The school schedule. Just all of it.”

  I try not to wince. I kind of actually did buy all that stuff. Man, am I unprepared for being Vanished. “You mean, no dad who owns a Chinese restaurant? No brother who can hack into school computers?”

  She smirks. “What? Do you fall for every Asian stereotype?”

  “You’re the one who kept showing up with Chinese food, saying it was from your dad’s place, jackass! You’re the one who told me your brother hacked into the school board, got me a driver’s license, whatever.”

  She looks at me, nonplussed. Her elbows rest on her knees, her palms up. “I never thought you’d believe me. I kept waiting for you to call BS on me every time I spun another lie.”

  “Then why’d you say it?”

  “They told me to say it. It’s only my third assignment. What do I know? I thought maybe you understood the code or whatever.”

  “What assignment? Who’s they?”

  “The Keepers.” When all I can do is blink and keep my jaw from hitting the floor, she adds, almost sheepishly, “I’m a Sleeper.”

  Now it’s my turn to slump to the floor, resting an arm on her humming black dorm fridge as I lean against it. “I can’t with all this living dead James Bond crap anymore. The hell is a Sleeper?”

  She looks at me as if I should already know, then looks away, then back. “Don’t you know? What, is this your first assignment too?”

  “I’m not on assignment, Lucy, remember? I’m Vanished. I shouldn’t even be here.”

  She looks at me, blinking.

  Then I remember she asked me a question. “And, no, I don’t know what a Sleeper is. Nobody tells me anything, apparently. I’m like the Rodney Dangerfield of Sentinel City.”

  “Sleepers are like civilian sympathizers with the Keepers. Like secret agents. Undercover. You know, kids like me go to school and sniff around, but grown-ups work in hospitals or police departments or whatever, where they can look for evidence of Zerkers.”

  I shake my head, not because I don’t believe her but because in all that time I was training with the Keepers, nobody said a word about Sleepers. Not one. “So you don’t really go to Seagull Shores Prep School?”

  She gives me bitch-please face. “I don’t go to any school. I’m nineteen.”

  I look at her differently. She could be nineteen. Then again, she could be sixteen. Or twenty. With her baby-doll T-shirts and hipster messenger bag and goofy barrettes and knee socks, how should I know how old she is?

  I shake my head.

  The dorm fridge vibrates against my rib cage. Every few minutes there’s a clink like the fan is on its way out or something, and it shoots out a musty smell.

  “But why? How? In what universe would you and Vera ever be in the same room together?”

  She looks away, talking to the wall. “When Zerkers attack someplace, when they infest a town like, say, Seagull Shores, what do you think happens? Afterward, I mean. Once the dust settles and the fires go out and the soldiers or whoever leave. What do you think happens then?”

  I look at her thoughtfully, trying to form an answer. I should know, I suppose. It did happen to my town. But I ran so fast and so far that I never stuck around to find out what happened to those who survived.

  The most I saw of what happened to Barracuda Bay after we killed the last Zerker was in my rearview mirror. I guess I fast-forwarded through the part she’s talking about. Beyond my dad and a couple of my friends’ parents, a teacher or two, I never really wondered what happened to folks who lost kids or brothers or sisters or moms or dads.

  When I don’t answer, she stares at me with cold eyes and starts speaking with a voice to match. “Say your whole family gets wiped out and you’re seventeen and you’re wandering around town in some clothes the Salvation Army gave you, wondering where you’re going to sleep that night, and some chick in blue cargo pants comes up to you and gives you a bag of hot, greasy Burger Barn and money for a hotel room and new clothes. Suppose she sticks around all week, checking in on you, feeding you, and one thing leads to another and, well, you do the math.”

  I picture Lucy as she describes it: wearing sweatpants and a flannel shirt, maybe, thrift shop stuff like I stole for Stamp and me. Dirty and hungry, dazed and confused, wandering around. No home, no car, no money.

  My voice sounds loud after staying silent so long. “So Vera, like, recruited you?”

  I think of me, sitting in Sentinel City that first night, Vera sitting across from me, a file as thick as a phone book between us. She knew everything about what happened in Barracuda Bay and afterward in Orlando. Pictures, files, phone calls, bank records, pay stubs, the works. Why would it be any different if she wanted to recruit a Normal on the outside?

  “That happened to you, Lucy? Your family? Zerkers?”

  She nods. I think of the few missions Dane has been on since becoming a Sentinel. He never says much, but I know of a few semi-infestations that have happened since we’ve been in Sentinel City. There was that cluster in Tennessee back in January. And something in Georgia. That one even made the news.

  “When?” I ask her. “Where?”

  “It was a few years ago, up in Tallahassee.”

  I wrack my brain. I was still a Normal then, two years ago. “You mean that train full of hazardous waste that ran off the tracks?”

  She chuckles. “Yeah, that’s what they told everyone. Kind of like the way they told everyone what happened in Barracuda Bay was a school fire, right?”

  I nod. She has a point. Vera always said the Sentinels were the muscle stopping Zerker infestations but the Keepers were the brains of the outfit. Maybe this is what she meant.

  I look at her, chin up. “But it wasn’t hazardous waste?”

  “It was Zerkers. My dad was a professor at a community college up there, a feeder school for FSU. He taught graphic design. My mom was head of the nursing school there. My brother was on the lacrosse team. It was a real family affair, except for me. I was still in high school.”

  “What happened?”

  “Kids had gone missing at the college.” She pauses to collect her thoughts.

  I blink twice, remembering Hazel and the Curse of Third Period Home Ec.

  “Nothing like what’s going on now, nothing so fast like this, but enough that Mom and Dad would talk about it at dinner, you know? Anyway, one day during classes, I guess somebody pulled the fire alarm. Everyone was in the halls, going outside, when they just started . . . feasting.

  “It was the afternoon. I used to ride my bike up after school. Dad had a class break around then, and he’d take me for ice cream. My brother might stop in, sometimes with a new girlfriend. Mom was usually too busy with department meetings and such, but every once in a while she’d surprise us.”

  Her eyes go a little blank as she stares at the wall just to
the left of me. “I heard the screaming from a block away and sirens coming. I got close enough to see Dad’s car in the staff parking lot, and then a bunch of bloody people started chasing me. People but not people. Like the people we saw tonight. I was on my bike, so I could outrun them, but if I’d gotten off or fallen, we’d be having a very different discussion right now. Or maybe none at all.”

  We both chuckle dryly, and I doubt she even realizes she’s doing it.

  “I just kept pedaling and pedaling, until I was halfway across town and couldn’t hear the sirens anymore. Something caught on fire eventually, a car crash or something at the college, but by the time it got put out and I tried to make it back home, home was gone, burned to the ground. I had a little cash—lunch money, pocket change. Some gift certificates left over from my birthday. I ate junk food and slept in the park and found a paper one day with the names of the dead. My whole family was listed there. All three of them. A little while later, I met Vera and she fed me, gave me a place to sleep . . .”

  She’s still looking toward me but not at me. I wait a beat, then two, until finally her eyes focus and she lasers them in at me. “I’ve been a Sleeper ever since.”

  “I’m sorry, Lucy.”

  She doesn’t blink. “From what Vera told me, your story’s not much better.”

  It kind of makes me queasy to think that Vera told a Normal about me but not as queasy as Lucy must feel, all alone in the world, with a cold fish like Vera as her only friend. And I use that term loosely since, once upon a time, I thought she was my friend too.

  “No, but I still have my dad, you know?”

  She does know. I can tell. She nods and smiles, sniffs a little but never cries. It makes me wonder how many times, if ever, she’s told that story. She nods, and I don’t want her to dwell.

  “But what do you do? On these assignments, I mean. Where do you go?”

  She shrugs. “Whatever they want, within reason. Since I look so young, mostly I just hang around in high schools, wherever more than a few kids have gone missing in a certain time period.”