by Alexa Dare
At her rush of air to expel the tooth, the small split at the corner of her mouth ripped.
Before her the yellowed tooth stopped bouncing on the carpet, a gash ruined the left half of her upper lip.
Time is so short…
She willed the man who promised her eternal life to live. With her mind, she urged his hitching heart to beat.
The barely-there weak pulse sped.
Thrum-thrum, thrum-thrum.
“We must hurry,” Nora said.
Yates opened his eyes, not quite as light and intense as his earlier model and cringed at the sight of her. “Give me a moment to recover, Nora Belle. Chest hurts as if I got hit by a hammer. You nearly killed me.”
“I brought you back.”
“You want us to put her down, boss,” one of the gunmen asked.
Ah, the men Hannah froze in place…
Nora forgot all about them and the teens.
The girls, fast becoming more trouble than they were worth, crouched at the back of the rooms behind desks.
“Old hag looks way past being put out of her misery,” the second thawed man said.
“Smells like it too.” The first chuckled.
“How rude. I saved you from being zombie fodder and sliced by falling ice, and you dare to—” Both her anger and her hunger churned deep in her guts, spewing into her chest. “You idiots, I wish you’d just drop dead, and see how this feels.”
The two men dropped with thuds in their tracks.
How?
She blinked…
Her only upper eyelid fell to plop in the middle of Yates’ ripped abs.
Scooting on his back, out from under her and along the floor, Yates brushed at his torso as if her lost lid and lashes were a tarantula crawling toward his face. He wheezed, “Hhn. Hhn.”
“Calm yourself, Yates. Your heart suffered quite a shock.”
Eyes popped wide, Hannah stood behind the now dead men. “You’re not thinking right.”
“Hey, stupid lady,” Peyton called out. “Remember that zombie thing? Those men won’t stay dead.”
Yates charged across the room, quite agile for a man who’d been so close to death, and checked the men’s pulses. “They’re dead, Nora. You killed them with a wish.”
Yates wrestled with the door handle. “The ice is melting, but we remain locked in.”
“I truly don’t have many wishes left.” Nora slumped into a student desk chair. Her heel bumped the chair leg. A snap crunched in her ankle.
“Help me, Yates.” Nora cringed at the flow of saliva urging her to eat. “In a new form, I will be whole and of use to you. If we move forward, before I am forced to…” She cut her gaze toward the dead men. Her jaw hinged open and closed as if already chewing. “Please.”
Yates, stance wide and mouth pulled into a toothy sneer. Fists propped on his hips, he asked, “How could you forget to bring our son along with us?
A rot-filled, snarling growl erupted from Nora’s throat, startling her.
Yates edged away.
“We’ll make the transfer,” said Nora. “Bring the woman.”
The gleam in Yates’ gaze jazzed. “Shouldn’t we try one of the girls first?”
“We don’t have time for testing.”
“If we fail—”
“I don’t have much time left. My brain is drying up, rattling around in my own skull. Besides, without more lamb on the serving platter, I’ll be forced to feed soon.”
Yates went to pretty Olivia.
The woman, blankly stared, much like Nora’s son had earlier. Olivia had gone from a weeping fool to catatonic .
As if lost in the woman’s fragile beauty, Yates placed his palm on her cheek and stroked the line of her cheek with his thumb. Never, even when Nora’d been living and a girl of a mere nineteen had he looked at her with such desire and caring.
“Yates,” Nora, her voice croaking, asked, “who chose me, all those years ago?”
Yates drew back, yet even though he glanced at Nora, his touch trailed the other woman’s jaw. “You were a fine young woman then.”
“Yet how was I selected?” If it were her last bit of truth, Nora had to know. “Did you drive by while I worked out in the fields in the farm? Or when I was in town picking up supplies?”
“Fine. You want to know, I’ll tell you.” His handsome rugged face saddened. “Doc picked you. He said with your wide hips and hearty ancestry, you were the perfect choice as a mother of one of his special children.”
Chosen for her hip width and strong genetics.
“Ah, okay.” Could a zombie actually feel her heart cracking and falling into tiny pieces within her chest? It would seem so. “I would have thought you picked me for my home-style cooking. You loved my fried chicken and white gravy.”
Yates grunted and yanked the woman to her feet and brought her before Nora. He asked, “Do you think our powers will continue to evolve and change?”
“Yes. It seems so.” Nora lost herself in his blue-eyed gaze. “When I almost killed you, I felt a new response.”
“I realize you didn’t mean to harm me.”
“Not just sorrow or regret.” Nora cast a glance at the girls who edged closer together. Probably plotting Nora’s demise. “When I touched you, I sensed an absorption of sorts.”
Yates held the woman’s elbow, his gentle actions rather touching. He cocked his head to the side.
“What was in the envelope with my name on it?”
“I meant to give it to you. Found it in the tank’s hull.” His gaze sidled away.
Always, the man told lies when the truth would do better.
“Do you care about those that have died because of us?”
“In death they found a purpose.” His cavalier shrug locked his fate.
“As shall you.” Nora grabbed Yates’ wrist. “I’ll ensure for you that there’s no coming back.”
The chest of Yates’ chosen vessel exploded. From his ruined ribcage, shredded camo, pieces of heart, and blood splashed both Nora and the woman.
Quaking like her skeleton might tear out of her flesh, Olivia opened her mouth and screamed.
Nora silenced the woman’s shrill shriek by placing her hand, minus fingers, upon her neck. A flowing of energy much like an electrical shock convulsed Nora in her seat.
Metallic-scented blood gushed from Yates, until his cheeks hollowed and his skin blued, then tinged to charcoal and shriveled.
“I thank you for your gift.” Nora yanked her grip from his wrist. Her pinky, in a delicate curl, stayed behind to drop to the floor with her former love.
She’d taken from Yates.
To the woman, Nora gave.
The brunette’s heart faltered and sped. Her pulse raced and slowed in drawn-out waves.
The essence of Nora slipped from her rotting brain. The putrid flatness of her dead tongue faded. Her vision dimmed. Through a grayish-blurred tunnel, a glowing green mist escaped from between her stilled lips.
The white haze hung between Nora and Olivia.
The woman inhaled, perhaps to scream again, and took in the wispy tendrils.
The trail of mist left Nora. Her sight left her. No sound reached her ears.
So this is death.
Chapter 29
Would the horror ever end? Inside the auditorium, Brody cringed.
Decomp foulness seeped under the door from the horde of zombies pounding and clawing to get into the Rocky Top Observatory’s auditorium.
So far, the unbolted stadium seats blocked the double doors from opening to give the hungry mob access to Brody, Uncle Merv, Irene, and the kids.
In huddles, the kids crowded into the front second and first rows.
Even scared, the poor kids, overtired by their trek through tunnels and from helping to pile the barricade of chairs, chowed down on Uncle Merv’s protein bars.
Not much talk, so no one mentioned the poor puppy, whose memory hung like a ghost dog in the dimness.
Heck, even
the one flavored like plasticky raspberries, though it set like a rock in his gut, tasted good to Brody. Chomping the last dried-out bite that glopped like overcooked oatmeal, Brody paced across the front floor-level stage area and eyed the snowy layer covering the glass ceiling panels that were once darkened by the black clouds.
White blocked out the ceiling to black. Only the sloshing white of the phosphorous water bottles provided light in the murky room.
Nighttime out? Dawn?
Hard to tell with strange storm clouds and thick snowfall.
Cold seeped into the room. Doubtful there were blankets stored in the audio/video control room but looking was worth a shot.
Dressed in unclean, stiff military clothes, he put the idea of a shower anytime soon out of his head, while squinting again toward the thick panes of glass… Had he heard a creak?
“Send out Nora’s boy,” a woman’s growling voice called from the hallway. “You do, and we’ll leave the rest of you alone.”
“Can’t get used to the Zs talking.” Junior grimaced from around a bite of a chocolate-coated bar like he might hurl.
“Zs.” Abe grinned. “That’s what the little twins call them.”
“The creepers being able to talk and reason, well, creeps me out. Not to mention the smell.” Revulsion slithered up Brody’s spine.
“I assure you that I can assist,” said Nora’s son.
Brody marched to the end of the row.
“Were you to grant me use of pencil and paper,” Vincent said in his careful clipped tone, “I shall certainly draw them out of existence.”
“Did you know you’d be trapping people that were aware of what was going on in their dead bodies?”
The pasty-faced teen’s mouth wormed as if his mouth didn’t know quite how to smile. “The sickness often chooses.”
“Bull crap, Vinny. You picked the virus for your mother on purpose.” Brody scowled.
“I did.” The pudgy dude shrugged. “Please, call me Vincent.”
“Yet you intend to sketch and cause more harm?” At his sides, Brody’s hands curled into fists. He shook his lower arms and wrists, forcing his fingers to loosen.
Not the kid’s fault his mother was apple-core rotten.
The woman had already been even before she had turned into a zombie willing to eat intestines like fried linked sausage.
Brody's upper stomach rolled, and he swallowed a swamp of thickened saliva.
“Just as you, Brody, I want the opportunity to right my wrongs.” Elbow on the armrest, Vincent’s right thumb and index finger came together as if he drew invisible sketches with his relaxed hand.
“Why should we trust you?”
“You have many reasons why you should not. Yet there are dozens outside the doors that might give pause as to why you should.” Vincent tilted his head to one side.
Unnerved by the possible study of the teen’s profile, Brody cleared his throat. “They don’t mean to bargain. They mean to have at us, no matter what we do.”
“Our power is rising. The tingle beneath my fingertips, the undeniable urge to do what I am meant to do surges.”
“No tingle.” Though a tight tug drilled his temples. “I’m only an enhanced model, not a reengineered version like you and the other kids.”
“I fought to make my way back to reality. I wanted to stay within the moving pictures inside my head. Next time, I fear I will not be able to find the way from the depths of the void to return to conscious reality.”
“You, uh, are going from stills to movies?”
“I have never seen one of these movies. Yet, as my powers grow, I can see that such a change in tactics is the next evolution of my abilities.”
“Uh, maybe, since considering the sketches you draw kill people and even turn them into zombies, maybe you might want to think happy thoughts. Very happy thoughts.”
“Each time our abilities cycle, the aftereffects are getting more intense. This last time, I was unable to draw, but the need to do so trapped me inside myself, where I indeed created the most brilliant art.”
“What kind of art?”
“I envisioned a world in which I would be accepted and where my talents might truly manifest and be validated.”
Brody snorted. “Welcome to teen angst.”
Vincent quirked a brow.
“Believe it or not, every teenager thinks they’re different, so much so they feel otherworldly at times. Most of us don’t feel like we fit in either.”
“Truly?” Vincent’s darting gaze caught the motion of his pinched together fingertips. He curled his fingers and trapped them under the press of his thumb. “Perchance I took my imaginings too far.”
Gulping from around berry-flavored sawdust crumbs, Brody trapped his breath. “What did you do?”
Vincent slid his gaze aside. “My mother, no doubt, seeks to use me to gain control of the situation. Let me go to her. The least I can do is provide a distraction. The most I may strive for is to deceive her and maybe turn things to the worse for her.”
“There’s too many of them and too little time to build the weapons we need.” Yet ideas, like the incoming tide, flooded Brody’s thoughts. “Although—”
Brody glanced at Merv, a sick man who grew less in girth by the minute.
Merv, eyes sad and his face weary, shrugged.
“Use your enhancement,” Vincent stood. “Stop her. Halt and undo as much of the damage for which we are already responsible. Our time to act is short, while the aftermath may soon prove eternal.”
“Vincent, you deserved better than the life your mother provided and the hand you were dealt. Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Want? My life has been structured to musts; therefore, I do what I must.”
Regret and dread, served with the same lumpy sauce gurgling in his guts, Brody extended his hand. “We make it out of here, and if there’s a means and a way, I’ll take you to your first full-fledged moving picture show.”
Vincent shook Brody’s hand in a strong grip.
“Send Hannah and Peyton back to us, if they’re okay, and you’re able.” The tightness in Brody’s temples drilled harder and his throat pinched hot. The burning behind his eyelids had nothing to do with the shift in the geometric storm.
“I shall.” Vincent stood. Back slumped like the top of a question mark, he lumbered up the stairs toward the foul aroma .
“He’s going out. He’s willing try to help us.” Brody bounded behind the kid.
“They’ll not bargain.” Merv slumped in his seat.
Irene huddled on her knees and lay her head in Brody’s uncle’s lap. Merv stroked her hair and shushed the woman’s silent crying with his touch.
“I have a plan.” Geez, talk about a software code loop.
How many times had Brody heard his conspiracy theorist brother rattle on about plots and plans?
“If Vincent’s on the up and up, we’re good to go.” Brody mimicked his long-lost brother and gave the sixteen-year-old and head-to-toe assessment. “If it’s some sort of ploy, you’ll get what’s coming to you, along with your mother.”
Vincent’s light gaze tracked sad, but, in his awkward slow-motion effort, he picked up one of the blue upholstered seats and set it aside.
“Uncle Merv don’t look so good,” said the girl who lost her puppy. “Do the snacks make his belly yucky?”
“Tastes like sweet dirt,” Isaiah chimed in.
“With real chocolate chips tossed in.” Junior handed a partially eaten bar off to Tonya, who in turn wrinkled her nose and handed it to Jeremiah.
“Okay eats,” the kid smacked his lips and patted his belly.
Brody stopped mid-stair step and called back, “Hang in there Uncle Merv. We’ll get you better food. Real protein, even if it’s the add-water kind.”
“You reckon they have meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and gravy?” asked Junior.
“Is there such a thing as add-water, already cooked spaghetti and sauce?” Tonya grinne
d.
“Right now, I could eat a tractor trailer load of vittles and not keep up with the wasting away. Something’s gone screwy with my metabolism. Through this next surge, I’m going to make sure my little Irene gets her voice back.”
Guilt squirmed like maggots in Brody’s belly, ramping his nose’s sensitivity to the decay wafting from beneath the doors. “If we can reverse the polarity of the fluctuations of the electromagnetic levels—”
“Son, I sorely regret ever letting Doc Halverson get his hands on you and doing that enhancement thing on us. I just wanted to give you the best advantage in life that I could. But I suspect your smarts are going to come in real handy in the next little bit.” Merv swiped at the too loose skin of his jowls.
Brody covered the steps two at a time and helped Vincent pull the chairs away from the right set of double doors.
“See you at the movies.” Brody patted Vincent on the shoulder.
Vincent’s ghostly eyes held a passel load of sorrow. He half-smiled and nodded. “Should our paths cross again.”
“You don’t have to do this.” Was the heavy load of responsibility weighing on Brody’s shoulders what his older brother, Cantrell, experienced while looking after Brody?
“I must.” Vincent wielded a chair before him. “Move back. I’m coming out. Take me to Nora, Queen of the Dead.”
A stronger wave of zombie stench blasted through the opening.
Vincent shoved the chair in their ghoulish, decomposing faces and pushed them back.
Growls grew louder.
Brody, then Abe and Junior, then more of the kids, pushed to slam the doors closed.
Junior brought a metal rod of a microphone stand from the stage area. Together, the three of them wedged the rod through the door’s handles.
The scratches and bangs on the double doors revved.
The children, herded by Tonya, scurried back to Irene and Merv.
“After we get the chairs in place,” Brody said, “we need to pull wire. Lots of it.”
“Wire?” asked Abe.
“All the copper wiring we can get.”
“Then?” Junior crossed his arms and gave Brody a one-eyed study.
“We go up and out.”
Into the storm.