Magic, Mystery & Zombies: YA starter set

by Elle Klass

  She continued to sob as Bryce paced back and forth. Noting his nerves I asked, “What is it?”

  He tucked his arms behind his back and stopped pacing. “I went home and checked on my dad. He… he… didn’t look right. His skin was pale and he kept muttering we-yak, we-yak, over and over. When he noticed me staring at him he charged me, yelling we-yak. His eyes were glassy and crazed. I just stood there until he grabbed my arm and bared his teeth. I… I… kicked him between the legs and he went down. Then I slammed the door on him and shoved a chair beneath the knob. I locked the house up tight before I left… him… there.”

  He sucked in a deep breath. “I left him there, Maddie! He’s one of them!” he said, his voice trembling.

  “I’m sorry Bryce,” I said, offering him my hand. He didn’t take it, but started pacing again.

  My dad, still on the couch and not saying a word, finally spoke, “I’m sorry to hear about your father. I’m Bill, Maddie’s father.”

  Bryce halted in front of him as if he hadn’t noticed him until that moment and nodded, “I’m Bryce, a friend of Maddie’s,” then continued pacing.

  “How do you know each other?” my dad asked, perching his chin on his folded hand.

  My mom returned to the living room with a single duffle bag and her purse.

  “This is Bryce, Mom. I’ll explain everything when we get to safety. Right now, we need to leave.”

  She glanced at Sarah and joined our embrace. “I’m so sorry, Sarah. She was a good mom, a good person.”

  “I have my father’s Pacifica, there’s plenty of room for everyone,” Bryce stated as we exited the house. It surprised me how easily my parents agreed to it. I guessed seeing someone they know zombified changed their minds. Let them know I wasn’t insane, and assured me I wasn’t dilly whackers in the head. I sank into the backseat with Sarah. Her arms wrapped tightly around me.

  Out the window, I spotted my neighbor’s tabby cat, sitting in the grass, his glowing eyes following the van as it drifted out of the driveway.

  “Stop!” I hollered. He was in the dream. I didn’t leave him then, and I wasn’t going to now.

  The van stopped. “What, Maddie?”

  “The cat.” I leaned Sarah onto my mom’s shoulder and threw open the van door. He meowed at me when I scooped him up then I remembered we needed meds. I jogged back to the van and peeked inside. “I forgot something. Be back in a sec,” I said, rolling the door closed.

  The cat under one arm, I fumbled with my key in the lock. These things never worked when I was nervous or scared and I probably should have dropped the cat off in the van when I went back to it, but my brain wasn’t processing like normal. I pushed the door open in a hurry and it hit the round, plastic wall protector. Jogging through the house, I dropped the cat onto my parents’ bed, then grabbed the trash can in their bath, dumped its contents onto the floor and scooped all the various prescriptions and over-the-counter drugs into it.

  A gunshot rang through my ears. I jumped, nearly dropping the trash can. I caught it between my knee and other hand then fumbled with it as I stuffed it under my arm and snatched the cat, stuffing him beneath the other, and sprinted towards the door -- my heart pounding like a hard rain. A gunshot meant a zombie. My premonition was becoming a very real -- too real -- reality.

  Dark clouds were moving in fast, making the evening darker than usual. Even in the reigning blackness, I made out Bryce’s form standing in the doorway. “Get in the van, Maddie, before more of them show up.” He held a huge gun pointed in the air. Its barrel the length of my arm. Knowing little about guns, I assumed it was a shotgun. A trail of blood spilled across the sidewalk, leaking from a man. He lay face down in the grass and the back of his head had a huge, gaping, sloppy hole in it. Brain matter oozed out onto the lawn. I recoiled, giving his body a wide berth. Yuck!

  Without stopping, I ran to the van. My mom slid the door open and I dropped the drug-filled trash can onto the floor along with the cat, then jumped inside. The cat meowed, then padded gingerly around our feet and onto Sarah’s lap. She snuggled him to her chest as Bryce stepped into the van, handed my father the shotgun, and cranked the motor.

  Chapter Four

  Bryce drove past the closest freeway entrance; I assumed to avoid any traffic jams or zombie attacks. I glanced behind me. My mom had scooted into the third row, the duffle bag on the seat beside her. She gave me a weak smile as she sat, more silent than I’d ever seen her, but otherwise fine.

  Bryce mentioned his family in the dream. The way he said it, I assumed he meant more than his father, but nobody else occupied the van, so where were they? He only mentioned his dad turning. Curious, I leaned forward. “Where’s the rest of your family?”

  “My mom took my younger sister with her to Italy. They’re fine,” he said, sounding annoyed.

  “How do you know?” I glanced toward my father as he stared at me through pale, glassy eyes. I shifted my gaze back to Bryce and said in a low voice, “Weren’t they in your dream?” I hadn’t asked him about the details of his dream. I guess because most of it we shared, or I plum hadn’t thought about it.

  His voice curt, he responded, “Yes and they’re fine, like I said. Once we get to the boat I’ll call her.”

  I felt my dad’s eyes on me and turned my head. “Maddie, he’s driving. Leave him be.”

  I nodded and pushed backwards into my seat, when the van stopped abruptly. It jolted me forward, my shoulder hitting the back of my father’s seat.

  “And buckle up!” Dad ordered. After a deep breath of frustration he asked, “Where are we headed?”

  The seatbelt clicked in place I responded to my father’s question, “Your boat.”

  In a proud voice, he responded, “Ole Earnie. He’ll take us anywhere over the water. A fine seaworthy sailboat he is.” Most people identify their boat as a she but not my father. He always uses male pronouns as if the boat was actually a man.

  Leave it to my dad to forget zombies and life or death situations and focus on his boat. I heard my mother release a slight sigh and I wondered if she thought the same thing I did. There was plenty of room in the van, but the tension between us made the drive take forever.

  I gazed out the windshield as Bryce eased the van around two people standing in the street. They lurched forward, one rigid step after the next. Other than their strange movements, they appeared normal, not covered in blood or with their entrails dragging on the ground.

  I glanced at Sarah who was staring at the cat while she petted his soft fur. He purred in response, so loud I heard it from the seat next to her. I was glad she wasn’t watching out the window. She didn’t need any reminders about her mom. I blinked back tears at the thought, while Bryce maneuvered the van through the zombies.

  My eyes glued to them, one a woman, who stared blankly as we passed. She was fully intact. I turned towards the other, who, on closer inspection, was more obviously a victim before turning zombie. His button up shirt drooped off his shoulder and deep bites covered his neck.

  We neared the marina when the dark sky opened up and rain beat against the van, water drizzling over the windows and Bryce turned the wipers on high to wipe it off the windshield. A gold truck and a white SUV were parked at the other end of the marina, but we didn’t see any people.

  “We should wait until the rain stops,” suggested my mom, finally speaking.

  My father agreed. Sarah and I sat quietly. I had plenty to say but chose to bite my tongue for the moment. The rain didn’t bother me and I didn’t think sitting in the van was the smartest idea. We were sitting ducks. I had the knife in my bag and wasn’t afraid to stick a few rigor-stricken deaders in the head.

  We all swapped glances, staring at each other when something beat against the window beside my father. We all jumped. My eyes widened as I stared at a man in a uniform. His bald head glowed from the marina lights. It glistened like a halo circling his round face. He shone a flashlight at us and motioned for my father to roll the w
indow down.

  He wasn’t a zombie, as they lacked the brain power and intelligent thoughts. The rain outside slowed to a trickle as my father unrolled the window.

  “Can we help you?”

  “You need to get going. It’s not safe out here,” he said in a quivering voice as he chewed on a toothpick, swishing it from one side of his mouth to the other.

  My father cleared his throat. “I have a vessel here,” he said in his firm ‘I mean business’ voice.

  “Have you checked it yet?”

  “Not today. I know the owners and have docked my boat here for years. What’s the problem?” my father asked, as if the apocalypse wasn’t happening and life was hum-drum normal. I imagined his eyes narrowed as he studied the uniformed man. My guess was he was a rent-a-cop.

  Bryce glanced at me from the corner of his eye. We’d checked it and knew it was locked tight. Even if zombies were on the boat, they weren’t inside it.

  The man’s cheeks twitched as he let out an eerie laugh. “You won’t be talking with the owners anymore,” he said, pulling a gun and holding it to my father’s face.

  Bryce spoke then: “That baby blue one over there. That’s ours.”

  “Get out, both of you,” he turned the flashlight past my father and straight into my eyes. “Looks like you’re planning a family vacation. The rest of you stay here.” He moved the flashlight and an array of colored dots muddled my vision.

  Bryce and my father swapped momentary glances. My father gulped as he unbuckled his seat belt and stepped out of the van. Bryce followed, and I watched in terror as they walked towards the baby blue yacht that was twice the size of my father’s. The man followed behind, holding the gun to their backs.

  I looked around. The shotgun was propped against the dash in front of my father’s seat. I glanced toward my mom who shifted nervously. Her eyes fixed on me.

  “Don’t do it, Maddie,” she ordered, as if she’d read my mind. Those days were over. Without looking back at her I climbed into the front seat.

  Bryce and my father were in trouble. I had to do something, so I grabbed the gun, twisted in my seat, and brought it to my face. I’d never shot a gun other than in video games, but I’d seen tons of movies. It couldn’t be that difficult. I clicked the lever thing on the topside of the gun. I knew that was the safety.

  “Maddie, your father can handle him” she said, her voice quaking. I imagined her wringing her hands together like a dishrag.

  From the corner of my eye, I watched Sarah lift her eyes off the cat and stare towards me. I met her gaze and she nodded her approval then mouthed, Be careful.

  The men drew closer to the boat with each second I wasted. I pushed the door open, snuck around the side and observed my surroundings. I felt like a hunter in the wild carrying the big shotgun, but acted more like a detective on a cheesy cop show. As I moved around the van, I spotted a crate identical to the one where I found Bryce in my… our dream.

  I scurried towards it, doing my best to step over and around the large puddles so as not to make splashing noises that would catch the creepy bald man’s attention. Upon reaching it, I crouched. Placing my back against the wet wooden side, I slid around it and onto my knees and peeked out. Bryce and my father stepped onto the boat, I used the man’s shining head as a guiding light. He was still behind them.

  Taking a deep breath, I moved back around the side and out of their view. The nose of the shotgun rose over the top as I held it straight and fired. Its recoil hit my upper thigh and I screamed as I doubled over, the gun hitting the ground. My leg throbbed and I knew I’d have a nasty bruise.

  Weighty footsteps sloshed through the standing rainwater as I pulled myself together and glanced around the side of the crate. My face squeezed tight as I cringed from the ache flaring from my leg and spreading through my body. The man rushed towards me, the gun in his hand at his side. I stood, my leg unsteady, and held the gun towards him. I cocked it. Movie people always made the mistake of talking in real life. This was different, and he was a very genuine threat; there wasn’t time to waste or think. I pulled the trigger and fired a shell. The sound cut through the silence and the man dropped to the ground.

  I cocked it again and aimed straight towards him. He writhed in pain, holding his leg. Bryce and my father rushed towards him. Bryce sprinted like a gazelle; my father’s movements were slow and unstable. Almost like he was a… I swallowed hard and squelched the thought. He was fine, going to be right as rain soon. I ran-limped around the crate, holding the gun downwards towards the bald, uniformed man struggling on the wet cement. It was a lucky shot that I hit him at all, but I didn’t want him to know that or show my weakness.

  Bryce snatched his gun while my dad knelt and spoke with the man. Dad, no! My hobble picked up as I moved towards them. My father glanced at me. “We need to get this man to the van and patch his leg.”

  Blood trickled from his blue rent-a-cop style pants. He twisted his head and glared at me. His eyes burned into mine. “You dumb girl! The noise attracts them.”

  How dare he even speak?! I pressed the barrel against his forehead. “You have no right to talk after holding my father and friend at gun point.”

  “It’s empty,” Bryce said, as he leaned over and grabbed it then flipped the chamber open.

  “We don’t have time for this. Don’t you get it?” the man urged.

  I jammed the gun against his skull. My dad glanced at me and shoved the gun off his head. “Get back to the van, get your mom and Sarah. We’re leaving,” he stated in a firm no-nonsense voice. “This man is coming with us.”

  I rolled my eyes and dragged myself towards the van, splashing hard through the standing rain puddles, cringing in pain with each step, but I tried not to let it show. Drip drag drip drag rang through my ears. I drew closer to the van. A shadow moved spastically through the darkness and a gentle waterfront breeze swept my hair back, sending a whiff of dead with it. Oh crap!

  I lifted the gun and cocked it towards the menacing shadow. Maybe it wasn’t a dead person, maybe it was still alive, only hurt. In my dream I was Zombie Girl, a ruthless killing machine, but in real life I was a simple suburban teenager whose only killing experience was squashing bugs. I gathered my courage. If I could shoot at the man, I could shoot at the thing moving towards me.

  I dragged myself close enough to see its glazed, blank eyes. It was a woman with short bobbed hair and a gaping hole in her chest surrounded by a crimson red stain. I lifted the shotgun and pulled at the trigger, but it jammed. Crap! And my knife was inside my backpack in the van.

  She drew closer with each drip drag. In the dream, we didn’t have guns but primitive weapons, and the zombies’ movements were slow. I turned the gun around and ran towards her, forgetting the pain in my leg, and swung the butt at her head. Down she went, dropping like a brick.

  I glared into her eyes as she growled at me. Positive she’d lost her humanity, I smashed the butt of the gun repeatedly against her skull until it was a mess of brain matter and blood. From behind, someone grabbed the gun as I stood above her, breathing heavily.

  “Let’s go, Zombie Girl.” I turned to see Bryce’s face wearing a somber expression, his trusty shovel in his hands. “Are you ready?”

  I raised a brow. “What?”

  He pointed his shovel past me. “They’re coming.”

  My eyes traced his shovel. Several jerking shadows moved towards us and all I had was a jammed gun. It worked well enough to take down the zombie woman -- it would have to do. Bryce and I nodded at each other and sprang into action, his shovel whacking hard into the head of a man. He dropped and Bryce swung again.

  I veered the gun at another, a chunk of flesh missing from its neck as if something had snacked on him. He collapsed, his hands reached for me, grazing my legs. I jumped back and smashed the gun with so much force his face it caved.

  Another came at me, his arm dangling by a thread ligament. Yuck! I took him down, and then another. They stank like maggoty tr
ash. I cringed as I struck another, pounding the gun butt into its skull until it stopped wriggling.

  “Overkill. He’s gone. Impressive work with the butt of a rifle,” said Bryce in a low voice.

  Rifle? What was the difference between a rifle and a shotgun? They were both large guns and I assumed a shotgun would do just as much damage as the rifle I held in my hand.

  I glanced at the bloody mess that was left of his skull, then the impressive pile of zombies and counted. Eight, we’d taken down eight. It was a surreal moment as Bryce grabbed my hand and we sprinted back to the van. I slid the door open. “Now’s our chance, let’s go.”

  My parents and Sarah stared at me with widened eyes.

  “That was amazing, Maddie,” voiced Sarah in an I-can’t-believe-it voice.

  My lips involuntarily turned upward into a smile as I reached for my mother’s hand to assist her out of the third-row seat.

  Once out of the van, she wrapped her arms around me. “How did you…? I didn’t know you…” She stumbled over her words.

  With the rain gone, the air was muggier, and steam rose from the river, giving the entire marina an unnerving atmosphere. “It’s OK, Mom,” I said, “we don’t have time. We need to go.”

  She nodded.

  Bryce in the lead with the shovel and my father at the tail with the rifle he took from me and unjammed while we scurried towards the boat. The man I shot gimping along with us. I guess we couldn’t leave him and it appeared he wasn’t hurt so badly he wouldn’t survive. The blood no longer leaked from his wound. My thigh ached with each step as I ran-limped and something pointy in my pocket poked at the sorest spot on my leg making the pain shoot through my entire body.

  Bryce climbed on board first, assisting my mom who, in turn, helped the rest of us as Bryce hurriedly pulled up the anchor and untied the boat. He climbed the stairs, followed by my father, and the engine cranked, sputtered, then caught.