by Emma Shortt
“They’re in both directions, cutting off our escape,” she whispered, trying and failing to keep her heart from racing. “Look.”
Tye followed her shaky finger and cursed softly when he spotted them. Several figures were standing on the roofs of the houses, their horrible, elongated forms outlined against the gray sky. Jackson counted five to the north, four to the south, equivalent to two other packs, and that was unheard of. Zombies never banded together in groups of more than five. Never.
“There could be more,” she added, swallowing against the words. “Waiting on the ground.”
“There’s too many,” Tye growled. “There shouldn’t be this many. What the fuck are they doing?”
Jackson adjusted her position, unwilling to think about that right now. There were far more important things to consider. Like staying alive, that one being fairly high on the fucking list. “There’s no way we can fight a pack each,” she said. “Not right now. We’d be as good as dead.”
Tye grunted at her words, most likely because he didn’t want to admit the truth of them, but there was no avoiding it. Already Jackson’s arms ached from the confrontation with the first pack. Her heart was beating far too quickly, and she was beginning to shake. That was all normal, the expected aftermath of a fight-for-your-life kinda situation, but it also meant that her reaction times would be slower, her swings a little less forceful. Fuck.
“Ideas?” she asked.
“Not any you’re gonna like.”
“When do I ever?”
“We need to split the two packs,” Tye said after a moment. “Lead them in opposite directions, separate them, pick them off one by one.”
His meaning hit and she frowned. “Split us up, you mean.”
Tye shrugged. “It’s the only way. Just like when we first met, remember?”
Jackson nodded slowly, the memory of that first meeting so vivid, even now. She could recall perfectly the moment she’d realized that the man running down the street was actually alive. The first person she’d seen in what had to be well over a year. A few minutes later and they’d had no choice but to separate, Tye calling out the name of the street he was hiding on as he ran in the other direction, taking a pack of zombies with him. She’d worried all night that she’d imagined him, that he wouldn’t be there when she went looking. Only he was, and a full month later they were still surviving. Two friends, maybe the last two friends, against a never-ending number of the undead.
Cheery.
“Say we do this,” she said quickly. “What’s our meeting place?”
“We’ll meet by that chick store. The one you said looked like a Barbie brothel.”
Yes, she remembered it. The sign had said Kelly’s Clothing Boutique and the swooshy pink doors and windows had been oddly intact. “It’s maybe a ten-minute sprint from here,” she said.
“So I’ll take that,” Tye said, pointing to a house with its door hanging off. “I noticed a side alley behind there, leads onto a green. I’ll follow it around, baiting the bigger pack, and then come out at the end of the street. You head in the direction of the rec center and get the others to follow you. We passed it earlier remember? It’s only a couple of blocks over from the Barbie brothel, wait there for a bit, then double back.”
Jackson shivered as the zombies groaned. “Jesus, Tye, this feels like a bad idea in so many ways.” She sighed. “I swear it’s got fuck-up written all over it.”
“What other options do we have?” he asked, rotating his shoulders and taking a deep breath. Readying himself Jackson thought, the plan already clear in his mind. “Don’t tell me Jackson the bad-ass is scared.”
She glared, as, no doubt, he’d meant her to. “Scared I’ll have to come save your ass when the zombies corner you.”
“You know they’ll never take me alive.”
“That’s what worries me. You might be a dick ninety percent of the time but you’re the only friend I’ve got to watch my back. I’m not ready to lose you yet.”
He laughed, the soft, completely inappropriate sound echoing in the small space between them. “You won’t lose me. I promise. And even if you did you’d do fine. You’ve survived two years and then some. Skinny little thing like you—makes no sense and yet here you are.”
Jackson shook her head, not to deny his words, but to agree with them. It didn’t make any kind of sense. “And if the plan goes to shit?”
“We’ll find each other again. Don’t we always?”
“Always doesn’t mean the same thing anymore,” she said eventually. “You know it doesn’t.”
He shrugged. “It means what it means.”
“Which in today’s world is precisely nothing.” Their eyes met—his brown to her green and Jackson sighed, knowing when she was beaten and wishing to hell that was not the case.
If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride…and all the zombies would disappear…
“If you’re not at that store in an hour, one hour, Tye,” she said. “I’ll find you and kill you myself.”
He nodded solemnly and straightened from his crouch. “I don’t doubt it. Now, come on. Let’s do this.”
And so they did.
Chapter Four
Luke watched from his hidden position as the pack of zombies he’d been following for the last fifteen fun-filled minutes stalked up the street. There were four in total, three males and a female. For once, thankfully, they were all dressed, though Luke could tell that it wouldn’t be long before they joined the naked throngs of the dead. Modern clothing simply wasn’t up to lasting two years and then some in the elements.
He took a step forward, the breeze—working in his direction he was glad to see—fluttering against his neck. A moment later and he halted. A second pack was joining the first, groaning and howling and looking pissed off. This one was slightly bigger, five members in all, and Luke sighed. Three were completely naked—it was not a pretty sight.
He edged along the wall, eyes narrowed as he tried to work out where they were heading. The street housed a number of businesses but also some apartments. Could someone be hiding out in one of those? Maybe even scavenging for supplies?
Luke had no idea. He didn’t have the zombies’ sense of smell.
Talking of which…the bastards must have picked something up. A scent? A noise? Whatever it was it was enough to make them run. They sped up the street, and even though it pained him, Luke couldn’t help but marvel at how fast they could move. Easily as fast as a living person. Though maybe not as fast as someone superfit, like a mechanic.
He almost grinned as he followed in their wake.
A few moments later the combined pack came to a halt, stopping directly in front of one of the stores. Luke frowned, slowed, and edged a little bit forward. Who the fuck would be hanging around in—he looked at the sign—Kelly’s Clothing Boutique? Groceries yeah, gas, hell yeah, but dresses and skirts? He shook his head in disbelief. Surely those items would be low on the list of any self-respecting survivor, and were in no way worth the risk they were so clearly taking.
A shiver ran down his spine as he watched the zombies pause just outside the store—no more than a few yards from Luke’s hidden position behind a stinking Dumpster—their breathing rapid and almost hoarse. He watched as one, he’d once been a man in life, snarled at a female next to him. Its face was screwed up in the horrible manner all their faces were. Almost animalistic, certainly predatory. The sight of it, and the sound of its death groan raised the hair on Luke’s arms and he gritted his teeth.
In the very early days, the news—what little there was of it—insisted the zombies had lost all mental abilities and were surviving only on instinct. Luke suspected the news stations had been full of shit. They ran in packs, they growled and snarled at one another, and lately the packs had taken to banding together to share food—something unheard of up till now. To Luke that kinda suggested some sort of evil mental process was going on. Like a clique of teenage girls.
The com
bined pack stepped forward now, their movements jittery, yet smooth. The dead did not move like the alive. Their limbs were more flexible, more fluid—though how that worked from a biological viewpoint Luke had no idea. In the end though, it didn’t really matter. It was all about the effect—not the cause. And the effect was this, them fanning out around the door into a loose arc, one of their standard hunting techniques. Luke shivered slightly at the glint he could see in their eyes. Clearly they were thinking food, could smell whoever, or whatever, was inside. Yeah, they had more than instinct going on. He was certain of it. Something ticked inside them, Luke just didn’t know what.
Another bunch of death groans rent the air, followed by the sound of glass breaking, and Luke knew he had to act immediately. If they actually got inside the store, the person in there would have no chance, and he’d still be alone, losing his only chance at a chess partner.
Taking a deep breath, he took two grenades from his pocket and crouched down. His ax—now strapped to his back—dug into his shoulder slightly, and Luke shifted before popping the pin from the first grenade and throwing it over the Dumpster. It landed right in the middle of the pack. They looked down at the noise, groaned, and made to disperse. But they were not quick enough. A severed arm, gushing with yellow pus landed right to the side of him and Luke grimaced. Another limb joined the arm, though it was hard to tell what type.
Luke waited a minute or so, popped the pin from the second grenade, and threw it into the melee. It took out a few more and a splash of blood hit the Dumpster. A good job he was hiding behind it or else he’d have been covered.
Ignoring the twitching limbs and pus—there was always pus—snaking its way toward him underneath the Dumpster, Luke pulled a Glock19 from each side of his waistband, positioned them at the ready, and edged out. Four zombies remained. He put a bullet in the first, dropping it in one. The second turned and bared its teeth. Luke promptly shot it and it fell on its buddy with a gurgle and a shudder.
Luke clenched his hands around his guns and eyed the final two creatures. One had been a woman in life. Her black hair reached almost to her waist, and her breasts were obvious beneath the dirty sweatshirt she wore. He could just make out the words “Sports Mom on Patrol” printed across it and he realized immediately who she was. Not surprising, he’d had to shoot more than one person he’d known in his former life. Still…a mixture of anger and regret slithered down his spine as he looked at her, holding her almond eyes for just a moment. Recognition did not flare in those eyes and he pushed the regret away. She isn’t Lily anymore, he told himself. She’s dead.
The other zombie was a fairly large man, but not muscled, more like fat—and this was clearly obvious due to the fact he was naked. Luke shot him first. He did not hit the ground. Shit.
The zombie eyed him in a way that Luke could only describe as calculating and Luke edged back slightly. How many bullets was this going to take? He fired another one. It hit Fatombie right in the stomach but it kept on coming…almost sauntering. Bastard.
Another shot, missing the head by a bare inch and almost hitting the dead Lily. She growled, turned, and strode into the now-open store, dismissing him without even so much as a no-thanks. Fuck. He hoped the person, whoever they were, could take her down. Though the female ones were worse than the men, so that might be an issue. They were often lighter and sprightlier. He’d once seen one jump from two stories and still get her man. Intestines and all.
“Come on then, you bastard,” Luke said. “Gimme your best.”
The zombie launched forward, groaning as he did so, but Luke held his ground, firing both guns, riddling it with bullets. With a mere inch between them, Luke leaning back to stay out of the way of its elongated fingers, a bullet found its mark and buried itself in Fatombie’s head. It hit the ground, and Luke let out the breath he’d been holding.
Thank fuck for that.
He paused for just a moment, taking in the scene around him, trying to get himself together. His palpitating heart combined with his lack of sleep was making him slightly light-headed, not a good combination. He took a deep breath and gave himself a mental shake, just as something that sounded like a roar reached him.
Luke swiveled round, and zeroed in on the wreck that was now Kelly’s Clothing. His first thought was oh shit, it really is a person. His second, slightly more depressing thought, was that the roar belonged to a man. His blonde fantasy dissolved, his head pounded, and he ran toward the store, intent on making the Lily zombie pay. Though in all fairness it was hardly her fault. I’ll be doing her a favor, he told himself. She wouldn’t have wanted to live like this.
That was Luke’s intention at least. Only he didn’t expect to be confronted with another pack, plus Lily, eyes glinting, mouths open, emitting a series of horrific death groans.
His last thought was, fuck, where’s the whiskey when you need it?
Chapter Five
Jackson wasn’t sure how long she’d been waiting in the rec center, it might have been fifteen minutes, maybe even a half hour. Time seemed to stretch, or sometimes even compress, when adrenaline was calling the shots, and she had no wristwatch to tell her how many seconds had ticked by.
Part of her was antsy to head back out. The waiting was almost agonizing. But the sensible part, the bit that had kept her alive for so freaking long, held her in place, hands clenched around Mandy, legs shaking ever so slightly. But was that any wonder? Jackson had ran her skinny ass off, through gardens, side roads, over fences, managing to lose her half of the super-sized pack in the process.
Hiding out until she calmed some, and could be sure they were well and truly gone, was the sensible thing to do, and she’d taken plenty of precautions to ensure they couldn’t find her. The Lynx aftershave from the last of her stash, splashed on the entrance door, would help. Jackson wasn’t sure when it became common knowledge that the zombies had an issue with certain types of aromas, that they avoided places that stunk a certain way. It seemed like one of those facts that just was. Like cellulite.
The pole she’d found on the floor of the room that housed the swimming pool gave her an extra line of defense. Jackson had pushed it through the heavy double doors, barricading herself inside. She decided to wait in the swimming pool room because of that one door. One way in, one way out, and if the pack found her, she imagined she could create a funnel effect. Picking them off just as Tye had suggested.
Tye. Her heart clenched in a nasty sort of way as she imagined him sprinting to the boutique. She hoped to God he made it. That he’d managed to kill the pack, or better yet shake them off.
Though they’d only been together for a month, he was like a brother to her. A big, annoying brother yes, but one all the same, and Jackson knew that losing him would hurt. A lot. Because despite what she’d said, she had no desire to be alone again. Two years of the solitary life had been plenty and then some.
“Be safe, Tye,” she said, the words coming out as almost a croak, making her abruptly aware that she was ridiculously thirsty.
She lifted her left hand and swung her backpack off her shoulder. The food they’d risked so much for suddenly heavier than it should have been. Jackson rooted around a little until she found her flask. It was half-full of boiled and cooled rain water, and she drank almost all of it in one go. She would have liked to have poured some on her hands to remove any splatters of zombie gore that might be clinging to her skin, but there was none to spare.
She cast the swimming pool a quick look but there was no doubt that the water in there was stagnant. She’d be risking an infection having it anywhere near her. It would rain tonight. The clouds had been threatening it all day. You’ll have to wait till then, she told herself, imagining standing out in the downpour, shivering and cursing. For one moment that image was replaced with the wondrous memory of a shower. A hot shower, with strawberry-scented shampoo and vanilla shower gel. She closed her eyes as she imagined the water beating down on her shoulders…
A muted bang f
illed the air. The sound so alien in the quiet world that Jackson froze, her hot-water fantasy wiped away in a mere moment. What the hell was that? It sounded familiar and yet she could not place it. Another bang, this one entirely different and far too close. Metal on metal…crunching. Please let it be Tye. Let it be Tye.
Something groaned.
Jackson swung her backpack on without even thinking about it, hefted Mandy and ran to the side of the door.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Her whispered words were for herself. A way of controlling the panic that was already flooding her body—banishing the exhaustion that never seemed to go away unless she was doing this. Fighting for her life.
A second death groan rattled through the air just as another bang sounded, something almost like an explosion, but Jackson had no time to consider it. The zombie was so close, on the other side of the door already. Where were its pack mates? Why the fuck hadn’t she heard it get in?
Another groan and Jackson swallowed unsteadily, gripping Mandy tight. She knew what she had to do, and she had to do it fast. Because one thing was for sure, it didn’t groan because it kinda felt like it. It was calling other zombies to it, and they’d come. They always did, and after today who knew how many of them would answer the call? The rules were going the same way as hers used to do after one too many sangrias.
Do it fast. Funnel it through. “I’m coming, you bastard.”
The zombie hit the metal with a shriek. The sound of her voice, no, the sound of food, fueling its rage. But it was hitting from the wrong way. The door swung out, not in, so for the moment, she had the upper hand. Lifting the metal pole that ran through the handles, Jackson took short, swift breaths. Filling her lungs, flooding her body with oxygen. She was going to need it.
Another shriek and it hit the door again. Jackson pushed the pole away, where it rolled until it hit the dirty pool water. She swapped Mandy to her right hand and gripped the left handle. She had to time this right. Another bang and she moved into action. She pushed the door open just as the zombie pulled back to attack again. The edge of the door caught it in the face and it howled.