by Lisa Acerbo
Faint footfall whispered from behind her and brought her back to the present. Turning, Jenna peered up at Quentin’s sincere smile. Large and scruffy, his arrival reminded her of an endearing Golden Lab ready to show some love.
“Emma wanted me to give you this.” He handed Jenna army dog tags and shrugged. “She said it was for good luck.” Emma, who took care of the sick and the wounded, liked to play mom, but she was tough as nails and serious about her science and medicine.
Jenna accepted the gift, shoving it into the pocket of her jeans. “You know those healers and how they’re into all that voodoo and mysticism.”
Quentin smiled at her joke and Jenna felt a wave of nostalgia. He should be catching a wave not sending her off to battle with good luck chachkas. In another world, she’d be happy to join an attractive mid-twenties surfer with an I-don’t-care attitude in doing exactly that.
What were they all doing here? How did this happen?
“Good luck.” He merged back into the darkness.
“Thanks,” she called after him before taking a step in the opposite direction. Another crunch of glass detonated under foot. “Damn it.”
Caleb’s smirk left her with an overwhelming desire to smack it away. How was he able to sidestep every obstacle while she flailed about, clumsy? All thanks to those gifts he never earned. Envy made the silence simmer between them.
Not a liability. The thoughts bounced through her mind. Can’t sell myself short.
With the aid of a watery light seeping through boarded-up windows, his back her guide, they treaded forward.
A laugh tickled her dry throat, and she bit hard on her lip to stop it from escaping.
The march toward possible death continued.
If the Streakers weren’t enough for the humans to deal with, the New Race had a liking for human blood. She couldn’t understand them and their need to feed or their fate, one so different from the other survivors.
Those freakish red eyes. That’s the least of the changes.
Biting harder on her lip, she attempted to clear her mind of the stress-induced gibberish running through it but couldn’t.
Good news for her and the other survivors, the New Race in her group avoided leaving trails of lifeless, chewed up bodies. Yet, while she lived with the New Race, Jenna still clung to the belief they were kin to the Streakers. Mythology and lore had come to fruition. Vampires and zombies running amuck, and with them, death in heavy doses for humans.
The gun barrel slid down in her moist hand. The dog tags from Emma scratched against her thigh. As she trudged onward, only Caleb’s back continued to guide her.
Where were Gus, Jackie, and Victor hiding?
At this point she’d even be happy to see George.
Maybe not George.
No one approached. Jenna had a sinking suspicion she was on her own with Caleb.
This is it. My fate is sealed. Pausing a beat, she listened for the thump of footsteps. No one follows except death.
She threaded her way from one dreary corridor to the next, Caleb in the lead.
The light grew brighter through slits in the wood nailed over broken windows, and Jenna stopped. She needed numbers. It would be imperative to their survival to know how many Streakers waited. Heaving back the end of a splintered board, the world outside came into view. An eyeful of roaming, bloated, sunken-cheeked zombies greeted her. Two already clamored close to the entry. Three shuffled listlessly, heads bent, mouths open as if lobotomized.
Sensing dinner, their disfigured, swollen faces and cataracted eyes swiveled in her direction.
The undead first spotted from the roof had multiplied. Seven stumbling masses of excrement, rot, and death waited.
“Not good.” Fear knotted her voice.
Control it. Ask why it’s only the two of us. Does he want me dead?
More Streakers would arrive, numbers multiplying, but they were stuck outside for the present. The group had learned a lot even since Jenna had joined. Lives lost early on because of attacks like this taught some hard lessons. Now, every place the faction settled had to be secured. There were protocols and rules. Lots of rules for survival. Fighting with only one other person was not on the list. Yet, here she was alone with Caleb.
She gazed into the street for a last look and sucked in morning air only to inhale the rancid smell of death.
Zombies scraped and clawed. Time to kill the living dead.
2
Streakers outside sounded like rats digging through a wall.
She’d heard the sound often enough and hated it.
Jenna didn’t need to look through the window to see the undead clawing against the building, peeling their fingers, layer by layer, to the bone trying to dig through the brick. They were pressed together against the building like a stack of pancakes and shooting them with any accuracy would be near impossible while using up large quantities of scarce ammunition.
Inside, standing next to Caleb, it was gray and damp.
“Where’s everyone else?” Jenna worried her lip.
“We don’t need them.”
“The two of us alone?” She double-checked the ammunition in the gun, fiddling with the weapon as she spoke. “You don’t want more people here to help?”
“The Streakers are wedged against the building. Can’t shoot them often enough in brain to bring them down. The group’s ready upstairs and on the steps. They’ll deal with them if they make it by me. They won’t get past me.” He brandished a machete.
“I’m part of this little entourage.”
“They won’t get by us.” He emphasized the last word of the sentence. “I’ll kill most of them as soon as they enter the main hall. I’m much more accurate than a gun.”
“And with a much bigger ego. If you can take them, why am I here?”
“You’re going to cover my back. Don’t let Streakers make it to the stairs. We’ll take them down together. In the unlikely case there’s a straggler, the twins can practice their hunting skills on the leftovers.”
“Be serious, “Jenna huffed. “I counted seven of them and two of us.” She stepped into the expansive, main hallway of the school where a few steps away, mutilated faces and distended bodies waited.
“I don’t want to risk anyone else down here.”
“Except me.” Her ponytail whipped when she shook her head to clear it. “I’m confused. Am I’m going outside? I could go out the back and catch them unaware.”
They should’ve prepared before coming down. How’d she end up with one wall between her and the horde and no plan? She’d thrown survival lesson number one out the window all because it was Caleb in the dark corner of the hallway. Anyone else, she’d have been more rational, organized this whole little adventure out in detail before hitting the steps and standing before the double doors at the school’s entrance.
“Not right now. You’re better as my back up here. The entrance to the school is large enough that streakers can’t back us into the corners. It makes sense to invite them in here where we’re prepared and can spread out. There’s only one staircase that hasn’t been fortified and people are at the top waiting just in case.”
“Outside we have even more room.”
“There could be more undead around the corner.” He shrugged as if discussing a raccoon tipping over a garbage can. “No one wants to send you outside alone and risk your life.”
Jenna found the shrug irritating. “There are always more monsters.” Her words turned clipped. “Clarify this brilliant plan for me, please.”
“Letting them inside isn’t optimal, but Streakers won’t get beyond this room. Once they hit the shadows in here, they’re body parts.”
“They’re already body parts. Nothing more.”
“But they won’t be walking, reanimated body parts.”
She studied the entrance to the high school, considering the best tactical location. No corners. No stairs. Her foot planted on a torn, plastic banner proclaiming “Special Things
Happen Here.” She’d see if it held true after putting down some Streakers.
Those corpses wanted to wipe out the world by lunching on it. From all indications, they were doing a good job. Her mission since being rescued from the cemetery had become destroying every stinking, rotted moving undead bag of bones she could before they took her down.
A stacked jumble of long-toppled desks had decayed into rusted metal and splinters. They’d make a terrible shield. She turned to find some other form of cover, but Caleb blocked her view.
Peering into his eyes, she asked, “Am I worth losing? Is that why you made me come downstairs with you?”
He stepped back and studied her. “I’m not putting you in harm’s way. Nothing bad will happen to you. There’s only two of us so others don’t get hurt. I don’t want to accidentally slash one of the human with this. They won’t heal like the New Race.” The machete glinted in the little light.
“What could go wrong?”
“Not a single, damn thing.” His chin angled toward the door. “Ready to start this little party?”
“I’ll hang by the security office, but there’s no cover or protection.”
“After you open the door, bring as many down as possible from your position in the back. Anything gets by me that you can’t shoot, run upstairs for help. Don’t be a hero. What you don’t slow down when the Streakers first enter the hallway are mine to deal with. I told the group to be waiting, but we won’t call on them. You’re the best shot.”
She huffed and bit back a thank you.
He began to walk away but turned back. “If this goes awry, call for Ford.”
“One minute ago, you said you had it under control.”
“Please, Jenna.”
“Fine.” Jenna peered over her shoulder at the empty steps.
“Don’t miss.”
“I won’t miss the shot”—the words were clipped—“If I hit you, it will be on purpose.”
“Kidding. I trust you.”
She pursed her lips. Sure, he does, she thought. He just brought me down to dazzle me with his almighty fighting skills. It’s always a competition. Why can’t he pick someone else to spar with?
Caleb pulled her close and his frost-bitten breath made her dizzy. Their eyes met. “Nothing is getting into the gym behind us.” He pointed at the door. “Good?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be.” She stalled, gathering the strength to do what she needed to. “Wouldn’t you rather wait until after breakfast?”
“More will show if we don’t dispatch them now. I have no idea how they communicate, if they do, but when one arrives, others follow unless we take them out.”
He didn’t get the joke. Always so serious.
Swallowing the fear, she drew away from him. No matter how many times she dined with death, the rot and decay were always unnerving. Only fools felt different. Pre-game jitters. She shook them away.
Images of the cliché female character running into or out of harm’s way scampered through her mind. She’d loved scary movies growing up, especially when they’d been part of family nights with her terror-loving parents. The more gore the better for Mom and Dad. Then they became the evil, and this wasn’t a movie. She’d never run even when the fight lasted until death.
A laugh climbed her throat like a spider on the wall. She squashed it.
Striding to the entrance, she tore away the wood. When the last board came free with a snap, the door reverberated from the weight of the Streakers pushing against it.
The undead shrieked and clawed and chomped. She hated the chomping teeth the most. The endless gnawing and masticating unnerved her.
From the shadows, Caleb said, “Get by the stairs and cover me. I got this. Don’t put yourself in danger.”
“It’s not safe for you. It’s daytime. I’ll move after I open the door.” She braced her shaking hand on the knob.
After a second of hesitation, Jenna pawed at the lock.
She jumped when Caleb’s hand covered hers, stopping the turn of the knob clasped between her fingers.
Damn, he was stealthy.
“I worry about you.”
Her lips became a dash and she refused to meet his gaze though she could imagine his intense, red-eyed stare. “I’m fine.” Words erupted like a geyser. “If you’re so worried, get more people down here.”
“I don’t want you to get hurt, but others will just be in the way. Haven’t you heard the saying, ‘too many cooks spoil the meal.’ All I’m asking is you don’t put yourself in unnecessary danger like I’ve seen you do. I’ve got this covered.”
Tipping her head, she processed the words, but fell back into the habit of ignoring him. She peeked through a crack in a close by, boarded-up window, focus shifting to the Streakers writhing like a mass of maggots outside.
The undead scratched and tore at the wood, trying to get closer. Their malfunctioning brains unable to grasp the idea of using the doorknob.
Jenna squirmed herself, coming to terms with the fact she had to let them inside to destroy them.
Caleb whispered her name, but she disregarded him. He caught her shoulder, pulling her close.
“Listen to me.” They fit together like pieces of a puzzle. “Open the door and run. Be safe.”
“Stop playing my dad.” She tried to shrug away, but his tight grip refused to lessen.
Back off, she thought. I scorn you, scurvy companion. Thrice-double ass.
Damn, danger brought out the snark and the Shakespeare. “I’ll be careful, open the door, and lead them to you. That’s it. Then you do your thing, all right?”
“My thing?”
“Dispatching Streakers. Acting lordly. Our savior. Being the superhero.”
“What do you mean? I’m none of those things.”
“Whatever. I’ll stay in the shadows and cover your ass from the rear. And, yes, I’ll stick to your plan, whether I agree or not. My opinion obviously doesn’t matter.” She raised her eyes to his. “We good?”
“Yes.”
His grin irritated her. Anger drove her to want to open the door and fight the undead. Still, she recognized that at the worst time ever, he aroused some deeper emotions. Obviously, the end of the world had left her without much time or opportunity for sex even when others in the group didn’t seem to struggle with the same dilemma. It didn’t mean she had stopped wondering about the carnal act. In fact, recollections of life and love crept in most when she could be dead in the next few minutes.
Reign it in. This is crazy. An apocalypse can do that to a person.
“Did you say something?” Caleb asked.
“No.” Shut down the stupid one-sided conversation. Talking to yourself makes you look insane. You don’t want to appear that way in front of Caleb. Stop it. Focus.
With Streakers trying to kill them, she couldn’t go into a fight flustered. This little game of words was her mind’s attempt to stop her from obsessing about what was going to happen in a few minutes.
“Focus, damn it.” Jenna couldn’t banish the ridiculous notions.
His eyes met hers and his words turned soft. “You are talking to yourself. Don’t worry, I’ve seen you kick Streaker ass. You’re a superhero too, but superheroes still need to take care. Someone has laundry duty tonight if I remember the schedule.”
She watched Caleb’s lips form words and considered what it might be like to nibble on them, hearing little of what he had said.
“Right.” Heat rose the length of Jenna’s neck.
Did he discern the recent moment of weakness about him? That’s all it was, a stupid moment before she faced possible death. It was a normal reaction.
She filled her head with Rachel Platten’s Fight Song. Remembering the lyrics, a damn miracle, but one that kept the focus on staying alive and ignoring Caleb.
“Ready?” Stepping around him, she fiddled with the lock.
The double doors cleaved open. Sunlight spread throughout nearly half the huge foyer. Sprinting into th
e gloom, Jenna found her place at the bottom of the stairs. The smell of rotten meat wafted inside with the shambling monsters.
Hoisting her weapon, she focused on the entrance. Her first shot went wide. She huffed a breath and steadied the gun in shaking hands.
A streaker, flesh ravaged and shredded, advanced.
Caleb attacked the living dead, a hawk ambushing a mouse. The lethal machete caught the sun with each downward stroke. The long blade was sharp and longing for blood. The fight blurred, a photo out of focus.
Violence seemed easy and effortless for Caleb and he did it well. The head of a Streaker flew across the room. Another monster entered, putrid and skeletal. The Streaker was held together by little more than muscle and mucus, dirt, and dried blood. It jerked closer even with a dangling, stump for a foot.
Two more creatures stumbled across the threshold after it, their clothing in tattered remnants. Breasts careened sideways like green and gray pendulums.
Jenna dropped to her knees and gagged at the appalling stench the long-dead brought with them. Wiping tears from her eyes and spit from her lips, she rose.
Three. They had to fight three at once. One down. Seven total to kill.
Another shot. She stepped back with the recoil. The Streaker didn’t react. She let bullets fly as they shambled at Caleb.
She aimed and disposed of a zombie at the door, keeping it from passing the entryway. Body parts and blood sprayed the walls and littered the floor.
The clack of metal on the floor drew Jenna’s attention. Caleb had dropped the machete. He wrestled with a Streaker in the middle of the room, ripping it limb from limb.
Jenna fired at another, cursed how resilient they were. The bullets like bee stings for the undead. She dropped the ammo-depleted gun.
“Watch out.” Primal moans soaked the air. Another Streaker crushed the remains of its kind, demanding entrance.
How many were still out there? Had seven been the wrong count. That kind of a mistake could lead to death—hers and his.
She grabbed a lengthy. solid block of wood.
