by Lisa Acerbo
Quentin pointed at Aiko and Caleb. “You can’t get close the windows without burning yourselves. You saw what happened to Victor before.”
“I’ll do it,” volunteered Jenna.
“You will not, missy.” George’s lips twisted into an ugly sneer. “Don’t you ever stop causing problems? You’ve caused enough trouble.”
“What does that mean,” she asked.
“This is a man’s job, not for a silly, little girl.”
“George, relax. You both go, and I’ll come with you,” Quentin said.
George’s eyes remained full of malice.
“Are you three enough?” Gus asked. “If you want more support, I’m in.”
“We need you here in case Jenna screws it all up.”
George’s smile crawled like a spider. “I’m sure she will.”
Jenna clenched her fist. “You’re being an ass.”
“Stop wasting time. This bickering has to end.” Gus’s voice cut through the tension. “Can anyone tell me what’s in the lobby big enough to block the hole in the window?”
“The concession stand.” Aiko stepped forward, sheaved her knives. “The glass is broken, but it’s pretty big and bulky. Looked well made too. Caleb and I will push it forward, but the humans will have to move it the final few feet to the window and brace it there.”
“There needs to be more than the three of us,” Jenna said.
“I’ll help,” Billy said, “for Eric.”
Silence met his words.
“I’ll go too.” Gus placed a comforting hand on the teen’s shoulder.
“The rest of us will make sure to cover you from the rear.” Peter emerged from the shadows. The sullen, exotic, New Racer held the nickname “Godfather” around camp. Sedate and older, his dark, slicked-back, oiled hair and intense brown eyes on a six-foot, four-inch frame only added to the mystery of his background, which he never shared.
He scared people almost as much as the Streakers.
Jenna nibbled her bottom lip. When Peter called for someone, they damn well better go and be quick about it.
Focus on the present. Must stop Streakers from eating us all.
An image of Eric roared into her mind, and she fought back the threat of tears.
“Sounds like a plan,” Quentin said. “Let’s move now before more Streakers get in.”
“Jenna, you with us?” Gus asked.
“Ready and willing,” she replied.
She stomped to the door, separating them from the lobby and the horde of undead.
Quentin’s breath tickled her shoulder. Jenna accepted the machete Aiko offered.
The rest of the group fanned out behind them.
She paused at the entrance, noting the flaking gray plaster. Nothing scratched or thumped. It was too quiet.
They pushed the seating out of the way. The handle creaked, and the door cracked open. She peered into the darkness beyond. A pale white hand shot out, slapping the door before anchoring to the camouflage jacket. More hands reached and grabbed at her clothing. The relentless tug on the jacket jerked her step by step toward the mass of Streakers that rammed themselves into the theater entrance. Feet braced, hands behind held her in place. Until they didn’t.
Undead tugged her closer, teeth-gnashing, hoping for a taste of flesh. Even as the machete slashed and her legs kicked out, the horde invaded. The machete hacked at the Streaker’s arm. Each cut drenched the room with a retched stench of death. Even when weapon met with bone, the limb refused to separate from its master. Two dull, lifeless eyes stared at her, so decayed she could no longer tell a color.
From close behind, two gunshots exploded.
Ears ringing, she staggered back. Another Streaker stepped over the silenced body of the first and shouldered its way through the door.
Caleb slammed a bat against its skull, which popped and exploded on to the carpet.
Would this ever stop?
A third monster struggled over the fallen bodies.
“At least six more out there,” Aiko yelled.
Emma caught the Streaker’s attention and drew it into the theater.
Jenna followed the others into the lobby, ears full of chiming bells. The door to Theater One slammed shut, sealing her fate. Hiding in the shadows and avoiding the undead, they reached the bulky concession stand made of panels of pressed plywood.
The concession stand squealed when thrust forward.
Streakers turned and stumbled in their direction.
Shots rang out. Jenna’s machete was at the ready. The undead staggered nearby. The gunfire dispatched three before they could get too close. Caleb and Aiko made quick work of the bulky concession stand, prying away bolts that locked it into the floor and moving it toward the broken window. When they could go no farther, they lifted the concession making it look like it weighed no more than a few pounds and heaved it at the front. The stand held. Caleb and Aiko returned to the shadows.
Her turn now.
Jenna grunted, sweating. She and Quentin labored side-by-side to wrangle the heavy concession stand the last few feet to form a barricade in front of the broken glass. Muscles protesting, she shoved.
Movement slithered around her. Jenna spotted two grotesque figures lurching along the street outside, stumbling over the debris littering the otherwise empty sidewalk.
Billy shifted position and tugged the corner of the heavy wood concession.
They’re so close. Jenna glanced over her shoulder to make sure nothing inside wanted to eat her. Trust Caleb and Aiko. As long as they engaged the living dead inside, she’d be okay to finish this.
She thrust with all her might, and the hulking concession stand shot forward a few inches. The movement forced another look outside. Numerous swaying undead, drenched in gangrene, converged on the theater. The mass of undead joined together to form a sea of rotting flesh.
“More coming,” Jenna shouted. “We need this done.”
With a final surge of strength and panic, they angled the concession stand against the window.
“It’s too low. They’ll just climb over it.” Fear laced Billy’s words.
Outside, death moved closer.
Without warning, Caleb approached from the shadows, holding another tall, heavy counter. “Move.”
Stumbling out of the way, Jenna watched in horror.
He stormed into the sunlight, placing the counter atop the concession, barricading the window against Streakers.
Caleb’s burning flesh filled her nose, but she ran forward and dragged him back into the darkness.
Charred flesh triggered the three remaining Streakers, who dragged decayed body parts closer. Quentin and Billy kept two at bay. A zombie, bones splintering through melted skin, ran at Jenna, reaching out hands lacking digits. Machete raised, she stood poised to decapitate the creature.
With an ear-splitting shotgun explosion, the Streaker’s skull sprayed across the carpet before it jerked violently and crumbled.
George admired his handy work. “See, little girls like you need protection. You should stay out of the fight and in the kitchen like women should.”
Ignoring the older man, Jenna refocused her attention on Caleb’s limp body. “Someone help me. Tell everyone what happened.”
Billy ran back to Theater One, banging on the door for entrance.
Peter came over. Caleb remained limp and unmoving.
“What now?” Her voice hitched.
As Peter examined Caleb, the rest of the group went to work securing the lobby and reinforcing the windows. Anything moveable added to the barricade. A remote theater became the holding cell for undead body parts that would never rise again.
“He’s burned pretty bad. Much worse than Victor was. I’ll have to find him some sustenance, or he might die,” Peter said. “Do you know anyone willing to donate some blood?”
11
Translucent film drifted in front of her eyes and then settled in the corner of the room and every time Jenna’s gaze sh
ifted, the haze moved.
Woozy. Must be my eyes. Why does it feel like someone is rubbing steel wool all over my skin?
Red stains permeated the bandage covering her wound. Her gaze flew to Caleb.
She had volunteered the blood to save him. Not one-hundred percent, but his burns were healing rapidly, even after a few hours.
Her gaze lingered. His skin morphed slowly from burnt charcoal to baby-bottom pink.
She didn’t understand the experience. Having him suck blood from her slashed wrist wasn’t pleasant in the current circumstances. It wasn’t the horror movie she’d expected either. He’d needed so much.
“Jenna, are you paying attention?” Gus placed a hand on her arm. “Thoughts about the plan to get out of here?”
“Sorry. Not myself.”
“You should rest.”
“Why do we even need to ask her?” George rubbed a gnarled fist against his stubble.
“I’m fine.” The words were as sharp as a needle. “I like the plan. I mean it’s not great someone has to play decoy, but New Racers are fast and have a better chance of eluding the Streakers. It’ll give us time to use the fire escape from the roof and get into the cars and out of here.”
“We’ll rendezvous with them in four blocks. Let’s all hope the New Racers move quick, and we’ll gun it out of here without a long line of Streakers in tow,” Aiko said.
“What about the pile of cars?” George’s voice carried from where he leaned against a wall. He hadn’t washed from the Streaker attack, none of them had, and blood and Streaker remains stuck to his arms and shirt.
While Streaker bites and guts didn’t infect the last humans, who appeared to have some natural immunity, bites could lead to nasty infections. Most people survived those if treated quickly enough with antibiotics. Undead also never stopped attacking, so most people perished. Dinner for the already dead.
Stay here and sleep. Humans were the last of a dying breed anyway. Why get up and keep searching for something more? Nothing better than death? Sure, the virus that killed off most of the population doesn’t affect the last survivors. Thank the gods for immunity. One by one the undead took everyone important. Jenna shook the stupor away. Snap out of this. Pray the doom and gloom wasn’t a side effect of the blood donation.
“Let’s hope we’ll have enough time to move any cars or junk blocking the roadway before the Streakers catch up. We have to head out of town a different way than we came in and there’s no telling what the roads are like. We don’t have many other options.” Gus sounded like a sergeant trying to motivate his troops to head into a battle they couldn’t win.
Gus was worried about their escape. It was going to be a difficult night with no guarantee of survival.
“Let’s get cracking,” Aiko said.
Emma vacated her comfortable theater seat and came over. “You okay to help? We have a lot of organizing to do, but I’m happy to give you a medical pardon.”
“I’ll be okay. I pull my weight around here.” Nausea bubbled in her stomach and her arm ached, but she helped organized the supplies people had brought into the theater, making sure they were easy to haul and ready to go.
When done, fresh air beckoned. Jenna climbed the stairwell toward the roof and rested her head against the iron rail, once probably erected to keep people from trying to jump. She peered over the spokes.
Not how to go. Too horrible. The last way anyone would want to die would be to jump into the waiting pool of Streaker hell.
Below, undead aimlessly roamed but no longer crowded against the theater’s glass entrance; they’d fallen out of attack mode. The hastily erected concession stand fortress was surviving well enough to create a buffer. Above, the sun sank lower. Clouds swept in like galloping horses. The wind shifted and rain was imminent.
Perfect. Everyone’s job became a little more complicated with bad weather.
People became ill-tempered when rain made the most basic tasks harder to accomplish. Tonight, the rain could slow the New Racers on foot and the human drivers.
Just dandy! Jenna sighed. Break’s over.
A few hours later, in the gloomy drizzle of sunset, Jenna’s bones ached with the chill. The entire party moved to the roof with the group’s belongings. Cat meowed incessantly from the duffle bag Jenna had shoved him inside. In the hours since the group had barricaded the entrance and windows of the theater, at least a dozen new Streakers had lined the street looking for entry. Now, they began to demand it. Decayed hands bulleted through the broken glass causing shards to fall alongside pieces of flesh.
They’d get inside soon enough. The group’s makeshift barrier would not hold forever. Downstairs would soon become a death trap.
From the roof, the group had a bird’s eye view. They planned the route the New Racers would use to lure the Streakers away and everyone agreed on a meeting spot a few blocks south. The vehicles lined the road in front of the theater. It would be easy to escape if the group could make it to them once a diversion occupied the Streakers.
So many “ifs.”
“Caleb and Victor, you’re staying with the humans,” Peter ordered. “You’re not at full strength, and we can’t worry about you.”
“I’m fine.” Caleb said. Aiko gave him a sideways glance and he fell quiet, nodding in agreement.
New Racers, who would be decoys, started their descent. Some chose to use the fire escape ladders, cascading down like concluding a rock-climbing expedition, graceful and fluid mountaineers. The New Racers, including Aiko and John, jumped from the roof without effort. No matter what method they descended, they reached the ground with impossible speed and elegance.
The Streakers noticed. Their attack on the movie theater doors and windows came to a halt. Instead, they shambled toward New Racers who attracted their attention with taunts and threats. Aiko flung pebbles with deadly accuracy into the eyes of the undead. The exchange lasted only a few seconds before they ran, leading the undead away.
The rest of the group hurried into action, throwing supplies before descending the fire escapes.
Jenna was driving this time. Making it into a vehicle was a relief, but this was only the beginning. The lack of Streakers was a huge reprieve for the group. They’d all slept little and fought too many zombies in the last few weeks. And Eric was gone.
The undead would be back soon enough. Get going.
She switched the SUV into drive. Emma rode shotgun and Caleb reclined on the back seat with the duffle bag containing Cat on his lap. Jenna was surprised at the relief at having Caleb in the car with her, rather than him being one of the New Racers attempting to outrun the undead.
“You okay?” she asked in the general direction of the back seat before angling the SUV in line with the caravan of vehicles.
Emma turned and placed her hand on Caleb’s forehead.
He swatted it away. “I’m fine. Just tired. I’ll be ready to destroy a whole new band of Streakers after a few hours of R and R.”
Jenna’s body relaxed but only for a moment. Knowing they still had to get out of the town caused her knuckles to turn white against the steering wheel. Four blocks along they stopped at the intersection where everyone had planned to meet. Jenna watched through the rear-view mirror. Caleb sat and scanned the streets. Seconds later shadows turned solid. Doors opened and banged shut.
“They’re all here.” The line of vehicle hitched forward.
Movement outside caught Jenna’s attention. Just a shadow. Just a tree. Just . . . Damn. Not a tree. Not a shadow. “They’re here.”
“You’re right, and they’ve brought reinforcements.” Caleb twisted to peer out the back window.
Streakers slunk and staggered around the corners of the buildings, beginning to fill the road in front of the line of vehicles.
“Move! Move!” Jenna screamed the words at the line of cars, even though no one could hear her in the other vehicles.
The SUV lurched forward.
Drivers hit the gas pedals, s
peeding away.
A Streaker crashed into her door. Fingers clawed at the window, leaving behind a streak of human flesh. A finger bone cracked against the pane of glass. Gas pedal hitting the floor, she jammed the steering wheel a hard right and then left, throwing her passengers sideways. The crunch of a body infiltrated the interior.
“Sorry.” She bit hard on her bottom lip to keep from screaming and maneuvered the steering wheel violently, slamming into the Streaker again. The feline meowed from the back seat. Caleb grunted. The Streaker staggered and fell. Jenna reversed and aimed the vehicle in its direction. Bones crunched under the wheels.
“That’s how you do it.” Jenna peeked over her shoulder. “How’s Cat.”
“You’re a cold-hearted woman.” Caleb said. “Except when it comes to the cat you said you didn’t want.”
The caravan moved throughout the rest of the town without problem. At the edge of Pittsfield, getting through the debris piled was tiring but uneventful. The group found a partially cleared area. After scattering a few tires and discarded car parts, the vehicles continued their trek. High Point Inn now only hours away.
On the highway once again, Caleb turned around in his seat, surveying the scene to make sure it was free of undead. The caravan advanced along the dark roads unencumbered for many miles. Jenna relaxed, able to laugh when she heard Caleb’s snoring from the backseat.
“I’m glad you still see the humor in this situation,” Emma said.
“What do you mean?”
“You are always so serious. I thought the fact we were almost eaten by Streakers might put you in a bad mood.”
“Bad mood?”
“Euphemism. I was being nice.”
“I’m not so horrible.”
“You’re able to laugh at poor Caleb snoring when he’s sound asleep.”
“That’s different. I’m relieving the tension from almost being killed tonight.”
“It was stressful for everyone. We fought hard to survive.”
“We? I don’t remember seeing you out on the main lobby fighting the undead.”
“I was there in spirit.”
“Big help.”
“If I didn’t know better, I would believe, Ms. Jenna, are giving me attitude.”
