“Trixie! Behind you!”
Something grabs my shoulder, and I try to elbow its nose. It’s one of the zombies’ missing limbs. Like we don’t have enough trouble with the fully intact ones. This one glides through the air into the already smashed-up hardware store. I can only hope they aren’t smart enough to use weapons. Wait! Brainstorm! Seeing a clearing through the carnage, I run past two deputies through the window of the hardware store. There are only a few aisles in the small shop. I run up and down them, finding nothing but bolts, paint, and a crawling two-limbed zombie, which I step over. Where are the chain saws and sledgehammers?
I’m halfway down the third aisle when something rattles in the back of the store. I eject my empty clip and push in a fresh one. Leading with my gun, I walk toward the back wall, checking the other two aisles as I pass. As I make my final careful step toward the end, teeth clamp down on my hand right below the pinky. With a howl, I drop the gun and pull my hand away, leaving a small chunk of my skin in its mouth. The zombie lunges before I register it. We fall to the ground with me on the bottom. All the air escapes my lungs as my head thumps on the hard floor. Immediately, the zombie starts wrestling me, snapping at my neck with only my shaking arms holding it back. If I survive this, I really need to work on my upper body strength.
I have about ten seconds before my arms give out and it latches onto my neck like a leech. I can’t use my mind because it’s holding onto my wrists with a boa constrictor grip and it’d just take me with it. I glance behind him but don’t see the gun. It makes another attempt at my neck, moans of longing coming from its throat. My arms lower several inches. The second zombie I stupidly forgot about hops toward us, looking for her share of the meal. At least I’ll be dead by the time that one starts chomping down. My arms lower another inch as I whimper.
Then I see it.
The machete, nothing but a foot and a half of cutting power, rests on pegs on the back wall. The metal blade is almost glowing from the streetlights outside, shining like the Holy Grail. It’s not a sword but it’s the next best thing. The machete floats off the pegs, moving slowly at first, then flying like a rocket into my attacker’s head. Its body jolts, loosening its grip momentarily. I fling the corpse against the back wall. It crashes into the tools, falling to the floor amid saws and shovels. I flip to my belly. The zombie fragment, which is now close enough to touch, is yanked by invisible strings into the cash register. She flips over the counter, taking the register behind it with her. I’m on my feet the second she’s out of sight, running toward the first one, who’s struggling to stand. I pull the machete from its head with a sick sucking noise. The machete swipes through the zombie’s neck and arms, severing all three limbs. It won’t cause anymore harm. The second one finishes standing when I reach her, but I go behind the counter and cure her of that. Is it wrong that I’m enjoying this so much?
I emerge from the hardware store with two armfuls of potential weapons: shovels, pickaxes, hoes, and the two machetes. I tuck my gun into my waistband. I’ve got something better now. Outside it’s bedlam. In the two minutes I’ve been fighting for my life in the hardware store, all the zombies have made it past the deputies, a few of whom now sit in their squad cars while the zombies surround them, pounding on the glass. A few windows are now nothing but shards. On the plus side, only a handful of people litter the streets and those who remain fight with nothing but bloody arms and legs. In most cases, it’s three against one. A car maneuvering around our SUV draws both the attention of the living and the dead as it speeds down the road. Trying to avoid zombies, it swerves but not in time. The driver clips the corpse. He jumps out of the SUV before the car even comes to a complete stop, running toward the injured zombie. Before the Good Samaritan can get his nose bitten off for his trouble, I pull the zombie toward me with my mind like its on wheels. I drop all but my machete and with a swift swipe, off comes its head. The Good Samaritan gawks first at the headless zombie then at me, the wild-haired machete-wielding lady. The man jumps back into his car, zooming away between the undead.
My attention turns to one of the few brave deputies covered in blood, who hits an old man with the butt of his gun. The corpse won’t let go. I pick up one of the shovels.
“Hey!” I shout. The deputy strikes the zombie again before looking at me. I toss him the shovel and the second he catches it, he swings. The old man’s body falls to the ground with his head at an odd angle. Off the deputy runs to help a civilian. A woman bleeding from the collarbone comes up to the pile, gets a pickax, and returns to help a man fighting off two corpses. Immediately, four more people, not one in pristine condition, take a weapon and return to the fight. Oliver materializes like Houdini just as a man picks up the machete. Snatching it out of the man’s hand, he says “Mine” with a smile. The man stumbles back. Good to know other people have the same reaction to his little tricks. Instead of the machete, the man takes a shovel and jogs off. “I thought I lost you there for a moment,” Oliver says.
“I’m not that easy to get rid of.” I smirk and go to help a blond girl about to be cornered by three zombies. Swiping away, I cut off a head, then another, finally an arm at the elbow. The headless creatures turn from the teen before falling into line next to each other like books on a bookcase. I cut through their torsos at the waist and they topple. The teen, who I realize is the girl from the Beauty Palace this afternoon, stares at me with a slack jaw. I wink and run off to the next potential victim.
I hack, cut, slice, all but mince fifteen of them, only using the gun when I have to. It’s as if I’m possessed. Heads, legs, waists, nothing is safe. I’m like a homicidal ballerina, graceful in my carnage, twirling with my machete on Main Street. After I eviscerate one, I spin to the next. I don’t know how long I have been chopping away at anything that smells of decay, but when I can’t breathe, I stop to look around.
Body parts lay scattered everywhere, some twitching, others moving toward the few humans left. Around those are pieces of skin and congealed puddles of yellow embalming fluid. I’m covered in the stuff, even my face and hair. Only a few people and zombies remain locked in battle. Shovels hit heads, axes cut legs. A deputy checks the pulse of someone lying on the ground. Nearby, Oliver swings his machete through the neck of a near-skeleton. Even though he’s covered in the same dead junk I am, he still looks like a freaking model. So unfair.
“Oliver!” I shout. “I’m going to head the oncoming ones off at the pass!” Before he can say anything, I run in the opposite direction, past a few bleeding people helping others in the same condition. Oliver shouts something like “Watch for—” but I don’t hear the rest. The road is clear up to the woods. Looks like the villagers get a temporary respite. Just as I get to the edge of the woods, an elderly man with no eyes in a tattered suit lunges at me. I grab him with my mind and push him into a tree. He falls to the ground, and as I pass, off comes his head. I embark into the woods with only a moment’s hesitation. I think I’m forgetting something.
TEN
I KNEW I FORGOT SOMETHING
The cemetery is about half a mile uphill through dense, dark woods. I really should have brought a flashlight. Even with my better-than-average night vision, all I see are big black vertical lines until I get close enough to feel bark. Weaving around the trees, I continue toward, I hope, the cemetery. Twigs crackle to my left. A stumbling dark figure moves closer, and I walk to meet it. The second I smell death I bridge the gap, machete held high. Head and legs slice off, and I move on.
A few minutes and another zombie later, I realize I’m lost. Not surprising, since I got lost in my own school even after three months. There is no more uphill, which means I must have stumbled onto a plateau. I change direction for a few feet, but it’s still flat. Great. Wonderful. Leave it to me to—
The cell phone chirps, and my heart leaps into my throat. I unclip the cell with shaking hands. “Hello?”
“What is your status?” a man asks.
“Who is this?”
> “Chandler. What is your status?”
“Um, I’m in the woods making my way to the cemetery taking out stragglers. Oliver is still in town with the remaining zombies. We got hit bad, a lot of injuries.”
“We’ll send a cleanup crew and get Doc over there. Are you injured?”
He had to ask. All of a sudden, my whole body aches, and my bites sting like the dickens. I had totally forgotten I was in pain. Gotta love adrenaline. Too bad it wears off. “A few bites, nothing—”
A long, animalistic howl echoes through the woods, making the birds fly from their perches. I nearly drop my phone. Oh fu—dge. I’ve remembered what I’d forgotten. My breathing comes out in short spurts as what I pray is a bear growls not terribly far away.
“Alexander?” Agent Chandler asks.
Oh, I’m still holding the phone. I press it back to my ear. “Have you by any chance got Will yet?”
“Negative. Operatives are still tracking him. I suggest you double time it back to the town and wait for backup. A team has been dispatched with incinerators.”
“Way ahead of you,” I say as I run back the way I came. I was off the second he said negative. Honestly, I have no idea where I’m going since the ground is still fricking flat. Branches hit my face even after I brush them aside. It doesn’t help that I can barely breathe after only thirty seconds of intense running. After zombie-busting for what feels like hours, I’m pooped. Me and my bright ideas. “Let’s go into the dark woods and chase zombies!” That setup alone should have stopped me. But noooo, I had to play the hero and now Will’s—
Something on the ground stops my legs, and I tumble onto something soft. It’s covered in sticky liquid, and smells like—
A hand grabs my arm, and I push it away with a shudder. I crab walk backwards a few feet. I’m still close enough to see that the zombie on the ground is ripped to pieces. Poetic justice, if you ask me. The hand that grabbed me is attached to the only limb left on the caved-in torso. I don’t see its head anywhere, but a leg twitches a foot away. Carved in the leg is a claw mark. So not good. There’s another howl, and it’s definitely closer this time. I can’t move. My body has shut down from stupid fear. In the distance, but not far enough distant, branches break, and there’s a faint snort. Okay, think, Bea. Remember your training.
Werewolves. Big. Very fast. Huge teeth and claws. Often track by scent, so he’s drawn to my blood. He’s faster and can find me anywhere. Best option: get off your behind and RUN! So I do. Machete in one hand, gun with silver bullets in the other, I run in the opposite direction of the breaking branches. The cracking sound and odd snorting continue getting closer behind me. Tree branches smack me in the face, but I don’t care. He’s hunting me. Just keep running, and when we get to town they’ll … oh no. I stop running. If he’s hunting me, then he’ll follow me into the town. No one will be safe. Crud, now what am I going to do?
My cell chirps. “Alexander,” I say through the pants.
“Are you in town yet?” Chandler asks.
“I can’t, I’ll lead Will right to them.” He’s silent for a second. I’ve stumped him. I am so dead. “Chandler?”
“Hold him off as best you can until the team gets there. Do you have any idea where you are?”
“None.”
“Then just stay where you are and make some noise so they can find you.”
“Okay. But what should I do if—”
“Whatever you have to.” He hangs up.
I clip the phone back and eject my clip. Four bullets, great. Alexander’s last stand and little ammo. Hope he doesn’t get close enough for me to use the machete. “Help!” I shout. “I’m here! Over here! Help me!” I repeat myself a few times. Please God, let them hear me.
I’m on my third rotation of “Help” when branches crack louder than ever behind me. I twirl around, gun and machete at the ready, but see nothing in the darkness. Please be a zombie. A girl can hope, right? I spin again when more branches break to my left. He’s circling me. “I could really use some help here!” I scream at the top of my lungs. “Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God.” He growls behind me. Once again I see nothing but night. “Will … ” I whimper. More branches break. “It’s me, Beatrice.” A low growl. “Oh God, oh God, oh God,” I whisper. “Just go away! Please just go away.”
I see him. He starts as nothing more than a blob of black slowly stalking toward me. My first reaction is to run, but rationality says he’d chase me. I’d be dead in ten seconds. Instead, I raise my shaking hands holding the gun and the machete up high. “Will, I don’t want to hurt you.” He keeps walking and growling. Boy is he big. Werewolves don’t lose height or weight, but when they change, it redistributes. In front of me is a six foot three, two hundred twenty pound animal with teeth and claws sharper than hypodermic
needles. He resembles a regular wolf with long snout, vertical ears, four legs, a wagging tail, and very visible ragged teeth. He’s only a few feet away when he stops. You have to shoot him, you idiot! His head arches back and out comes a loud yowl. Shoot him now!
I aim as best as I can with a shaking hand as my finger curls around the trigger. He lowers his head a second later, studying at me. He bares his teeth again, saliva dripping, but doesn’t move. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear he’s looking at me, waiting for me to make the first move. Why isn’t he attacking? Heck, why am I not shooting?
A gunshot not too far away draws our attention. It came from behind him so he turns. A golden opportunity. I lift him off the ground, my head throbbing with each pound of his weight, and fling him as far as I can in the opposite direction of the shot.
I run.
My legs pump so fast I’m not sure they belong to me. “Help! I’m here!” I fire the gun up in the air in case they can’t hear me. He’s been chasing me almost since the moment I took my first step. It might be my imagination, or the pounding in my ears, but I think I can hear his paws hitting the ground right beside me. Don’t think about it, just run. “Help m—”
My left foot falls into a hole. This time I drop sideways, rolling down a tiny hill like a log. I lose the machete but keep a strong grip on the gun. That is until my head bangs into a tree. Ow.
The world spins even though I’m lying down. My head throbs even more than before. I manage to sit up, but then rest my head against the tree. This brings white spots. Okay, I think I have a concussion if I remember the symptoms correctly. The spots start to fade as soon as they start. Thank God I didn’t pass out. A growl across from me quickly changes that opinion.
My hand moves for the gun beside me, but I’m not quick enough. I blink and his snout is inches from my face, teeth bared, his paws on either side of me, straddling me. He breathes in short bursts right beside my face, his hot breath smelling of rotten flesh. My eyes water and it takes all my willpower not to let them become full-fledged tears. He’s going to eat me.
I try to pick him up, but the concussion must have impaired my psychokinesis. Go to Plan B. My hand begins inching toward the gun again. Werewolf Will’s eyes move from my face, to the gun, then back to me. He responds with a low menacing growl, complete with more teeth. My hand shifts back to the ground, and the noise stops. I’m out of ideas. I can’t think over my pounding heart. Seconds tick away like hours as neither of us budges. His green eyes study my face as if it was a piece of fine art. How can his eyes be so human when the rest … There’s no anger in those eyes. No malice. Just sadness. “Will?” I whisper. His lips move into a snarl as his snout moves closer. My eyes close and my breath literally stops. This is it. Please just let it be quick.
But instead of teeth on my face, a soft, wet something moves up my cheek. My eyes fly open. We’re face to face until he moves to my other cheek, licking from jaw to eye. Oh. My. God. This is too frigging bizarre. He returns to my other cheek, caressing it with his tongue. I must taste good. Or this is a werewolf French kiss. As if that wasn’t creepy enough, his snout tenderly muzzles where he just licked. This is not how
I imagined our first kiss. “Um, Will?” I whisper.
He moves away so our eyes can meet. I can’t read his face, but I’m not terrified. Weirded out but not scared. If he was in human form, I’d be flattered. I have the strongest urge to touch him. His fur’s the color of his regular hair and probably just as soft. But there isn’t time. As twigs and leaves crackle near us, the growling starts again. The scary teeth are back too. No more Mr. Nice Wolf. The mood is dead and so am I if I don’t act.
I do it without even realizing it. Will glides away, hitting a tree ten feet away. His brown body jerks from the force of the impact as I grab the gun and aim. He’s on his feet, fur standing on end and all those jagged chompers visible. Springing from his hind legs, he flies toward me. This time there is no hesitation. I close my eyes and put pressure on the trigger.
Someone beats me to the punch. A loud puff of air shoots beside me. My eyes instantly open and see something silver hit Will’s body. The moment it hits, his body jerks sideways as he yelps. He lands in a heap, skidding inches from my feet, his tongue lolling out. He doesn’t move again.
“Elephant tranquilizer,” a girl says. I look up. Nancy holds a huge rifle, a satisfied smile on her red lips. She pulls the bolt back, aims, and shoots Will again. “Totally works on contact but doesn’t last that long. We should be able to get him back to mobile command now. Were you bitten or scratched? Are you okay? That was, like, so intense.” She holds out her free hand and helps me up.
Mind Over Monsters Page 16
