Out for Blood: Phil's Story (Talisman Series)

by Brenda Pandos

  “Three up, three down,” Coach said.

  Burnt plastic permeated the air. I glanced at the spot where the light had flickered in the thick tree line, finding nothing. Elle raised her hands again and moaned, before demanding I throw her practice grounders for warm-up.

  “Knock it off!” I threw the ball extra hard.

  Once the first batter appeared, I placed my palms against my knees and squatted in the ready position, nervous about keeping my back to the trees. Three quick outs was my secret wish. At this point, all I wanted was to get home. This day had already felt excruciatingly long.

  But behind me, the trees rustled and my heart took off. My head whipped around and I expected something to stumble out at me, gross and undead. What if I’d destroyed the only thing that would stop a zombie from coming inside and attacking us? I studied the trees when the crack of the bat drew my attention away. I turned in time to see the ball coming for me.

  I raised my glove and moved backward. “Got it!”

  Keeping my eyes on the ball, I tripped on something hard and round. My ankle twisted, tipping me over, and I fell directly into the foliage. I half-expected to land on solid ground beneath my butt, but all that was there was air. Then I thudded onto the rocks and continued sliding down a sharp decline. Tumbling over, I slid head first into the dry creek bed with an oomph.

  Once the momentum stopped my body and the racing of my brain lessened, pain ricocheted everywhere. I bit back a wail and tears trickled down my cheeks. Beyond the stars flickering over my vision, birds jostled the leaves of the trees, taking flight in the bright sky. With my head spinning, I lay still, afraid to get up. Thoughts of a trip to the hospital and a cast from ankle to thigh rocked through me. Just my luck to break something right before my Advice Meeting.

  “You okay?”

  I startled at the male’s voice and gasped, struggling to right myself. Something other than pain jolted down my side as cool, blue eyes under a shock of dark hair met mine. My breath caught and I forced down a swallow. Cute—so cute. I couldn’t form anything coherent for a second, other than zombies didn’t talk.

  “I—I’m fine.”

  He quirked his head, scanning the length of my body. “I doubt that.”

  Warmth rushed through me while under the gaze of this mysterious guy and my brain filed through all the faces of my potential mates online. His was one I’d definitely remember, especially with those eyes, and yet this was the first time I’d seen him. How did he escape my stalking? Was he on the unapproved list because of his blue eyes? From another province perhaps? One thing was for sure: he most definitely wasn’t a zombie.

  “Here.” He reached for me and clasped my hand. His grip was strong and warm as he pulled me to my feet. But there was something between our palms, something flat, yet stiff with pointed edges.

  He squeezed my hand hard and leveled me with a convicted look. I felt a rush of blood hit my cheeks when he held on a little too long.

  “What is this?” I peered into his anxious eyes. Did he expect that I should know him? What was between our hands?

  “Shhh—” he said, cautiously. “I just—need to tell you—”

  He looked around nervously, then dropped my hand when the shouts of my teammates called from the ridge.

  “Abby?” I heard Elle scream above the rest. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I called while my heart revved to a sprint. I fingered the thing he’d given me, trapping the evidence inside my palm, as my chest filled with terror. My mouth opened and shut, then I scanned the trees for hidden cameras. If I was caught with what I’d suspected he’d given me, we’d be arrested, no questions asked.

  The strange, cute guy moved backward into the trees, blending in with his grey and black clothing. I wanted to ask him where he was going. The only thing echoing in my head was the Civilian Handbook.

  Rule 6.1: Paper is illegal. Do not make, manufacture, or use paper in any way. Report all violations of this law, or suffer a year in prison.

  The sweat in my palm softened the pointed edges of the note. If I kept my hand closed, the EA wouldn’t see. But then how could I read what it said?

  “Abby?” Elle screamed again. “Where are you?”

  I moved away from the guy and back toward a trail leading up the side of the ravine to the field in a rush, panicked over the paper, panicked over everything.

  “I’m coming.” I warred with a weird sense of being torn. My numb feet stumbled forward, knowing the correct response would be to run and report him. Another part of me wanted to help him. He wore vintage clothing from the pre-zombie era and black Converse shoes I’d kill for and had only seen in the museums. Where in the heck did he get his hands on paper? And why would he trust me with it? One quick glance at his wrist—no DOD watch. I wanted to ask him, but then I knew the EA was listening. Time ticked on slowly as we looked questioningly, into one another’s eyes.

  When I looked up the trail once again, my teammates’ feet were rushing toward me, stirring up dirt everywhere. I turned back to the guy one last time, but the blue eyed stranger was gone.

  His note, though, burned in my palm. And then, as the girls rushed down the trail toward me, terror flooded me. If I were caught, I’d be detained for who knows how long. I moved to the tall grass, stooped over to pick up my glove and stuffed the note under a shiny black rock, praying no one would notice.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Careful to remain under the cloak of darkness, I sucked in the precious air and pulled the black hoody tight around my face. Feeling naked without my DOD watch on, I quickly scanned the softball field for signs of life. If anyone caught me here, I’d have a lot of explaining to do. That was if the undead didn’t get me first. I shuddered and pushed away the thought.

  I’m safe. There hasn’t been any sightings for… for a super long time, I reminded myself. Besides, I had to go. I had to know what the note said.

  Sneaking along the edge of the field, I darted stealthily in the shadows, fighting the cold. The chilly February night was in direct opposition to the unseasonably warm day we’d had earlier, yet I couldn’t get Blue Eyes out of my mind—his clothes, his shoes, his eyes, his illegal paper. And no matter how hard I tried or as stupid as breaking curfew and sneaking out was, I knew I wouldn’t be able to fall asleep until I knew what the note had said.

  Across the street, Elle’s brother Landon’s bedroom light beamed from the swanky remodeled apartments, perks of being a top security monitor for the EA. Courage burned through my veins as something he’d said replayed in my mind. The reason the EA insisted on everyone wearing their watches at all times was because cameras had difficulty deciphering people’s faces in the dark. He’d know, with all the sneaking and breaking of rules that he did. I never broke the law, ever. One, for fear of getting caught, and two, for having the stress take years off my life.

  There was something in the way Blue Eyes looked at me that I couldn’t shake. The huge risk he took to transfer this information to me, one the EA couldn’t intercept and why paper was illegal in the first place, drove me mad with curiosity. Giant computers in the EA shrines held all interactions between people, conversations recorded by DOD and messages off people’s flat screens, and only through a warrant were those private interactions allowed to become known. Of course Landon said that was bullshit, which is why I’d removed my watch before sneaking out.

  My heart thumped as I looked over my shoulder toward the street. Landon’s apartment overlooked the field and if he spotted and reported me, or my mother found my unattended watch next to my flat screen, playing a recording of me sleeping in the background, I’d be dead. Though we lived in a crime-free society, she’d send everyone on a hunt to find me. I’d be arrested and forced to talk. Then they’d implant a DOD band on me—one I couldn’t take off, ever. I would be branded a criminal.

  Bands of light from the security tower tried to penetrate the dense trees and the proof of what I’d destroyed with my fly ball came into v
iew. Wow. I’d knocked the container off its hinges. But where was the gun? Had I knocked that off, too? And why hadn’t anyone come to repair it?

  I stepped into the tree line, feeling a cold rush of bitter wind cycle through the grasses and around my ankles. Hugging my arms to myself, I traversed the path from earlier, my feet stumbling in the darkness. My mind began to wander. What if a zombie could sneak over the wall now that there wasn’t a functioning gun? Were they smart enough to climb? I inhaled, sniffing for rotted flesh, and trudged down the path quickly. The dank dust flooded into my nostrils as my heart raced harder. A rustle in the leaves made me freeze. With wide eyes, I choked down the bile and held my breath, anticipating a feral groan. The walking dead, according to the survival manual, only reacted when they saw living flesh or smelled blood, but you weren’t to tempt fate.

  Rule 21.2: If you’re in need of help, press your emergency button and call for backup immediately, especially in an attack with the undead.

  Of course, without my watch on, that wasn’t a possibility for me.

  I waited, and after hearing nothing else, I continued down to the end of the trail. Zombies didn’t know to hide or be quiet, but I didn’t want to bring attention to myself with a flashlight. Barely able to see the path, let alone a miniscule slip of illegal paper, I knelt down with a wish and a prayer.

  Brushing my hands through the grass, hoping spiders and bugs kept far away from me, I searched. My thigh throbbed in pain from the fall earlier, as I scoured helplessly for the rock. It had to be here.

  Where is it?

  Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted the gleam of black in the moonlight. I reached for it, counting my blessings, when something large scuttled through the brush behind me. I squeaked, snagged the rock and slip of paper, and straightened my legs. Holding my breath, I stared to the other side of the dry creek bed toward an illusive dark shape standing at the base of the giant stone wall. I cocked my arm back, ready to pelt whatever it was with the rock. A breeze blew in from the spot, bending back the grasses toward me, revealing it wasn’t a person, but a hole in the rock wall. Then a flash of white scooted past on the other side.

  A grunt followed.

  My heart leapt into my throat and I sprinted up the trail before I could think. The moan of what had to be a zombie filled my ears. Quelling a scream, I ran to the field, still staying out of the light. I cleared the fence and turned, my chest heaving. The nighttime noises took a backseat to the blood pulsing heavily in my ears. I scanned back and forth, but nothing came out of the trees. I waited to be sure as guilt snaked through me. The most responsible thing would be to report a sighting, but that would mean admitting I was breaking curfew. Maybe I’d just imagined what I’d heard.

  Unsure what to do, I ran to the street to find an overhead light. I unfolded the damp note sticking to my palm.

  Scrawled in charcoal, I read, “Don’t meet your future self tomorrow. Please.”

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