Dia of the Dead

by Brinson, Brit

  Mason turned toward us with a moan. Kaci and I backed away from his black-eyed gaze slowly.

  “We have to do something, Dia,” she said quietly.

  “Yeah, run!”

  Mason was a runner. He was on our heels as we headed back toward the set, snapping his teeth and growling fiercely. We passed the graveyard and barreled through the doors to the other side of the building.

  “We need to split up, Kaci.”

  “Uh…no we don’t.”

  “He can only chase one of us at a time. If we split up, then maybe we’d have a better chance of losing him.”

  “That sounds crazy.”

  “It’s better than him catching both of us. We need to decide and quickly,” I said.

  We were headed toward the end of the hallway. If we were to go left, we’d circle around to the other side of the set. If we were to go right, we’d head toward the stairwell leading to the basement.

  “Fine.” Kaci slowed down to turn right.

  I crashed into the wall. Something in my shoulder popped. I didn’t have time to harp on the pain shooting through my arm because I had to keep running. I pushed myself away from the wall a split second before Mason slammed into it and ran, clutching my arm with him after me.

  “Even as a zombie he doesn’t want me,” Kaci whined from the opposite direction. Her cries—along with the rest of her—disappeared down the stairwell.

  I kept moving— adrenaline numbing the pain—and took another left back toward the set. As I passed the mirror covered in Mason’s lip prints, I noticed that I no longer heard his growling over the thud-thudding of my terrified heart. I turned my head, half-looking over my shoulder and half-watching where I was going to see where he was. He’d stopped chasing me. He had become distracted by his reflection in the mirror once more.

  “That was easy.”

  Mason was handled, at least for now. I didn’t want to stick around to see who popped up next. I slowed down a bit to save some of my energy and went off to look for Kaci and the others.

  NINE

  The props department was empty and all but destroyed when I returned. Trashed props were everywhere, workstations were crooked or overturned, and the television glowed blue through a large crack in the screen. I let go of my arm; it fell limply at my side. The adrenaline rush from running had waned and my arm hurt something wicked. I walked through the room, careful not to bump it on anything and salvaged a few things I thought would be useful.

  I grabbed a katana sword and unsheathed it. The sword’s silver blade gleamed in the light. It looked to be in good shape and pretty legit. With my hand wrapped around its handle, I felt as badass as one of the heroines in my favorite comic book. The katana was her weapon of choice, and it served her well as she slashed through zombies to survive. I hoped it could do the same for me, especially since my run-in with the wall left my right arm almost useless. I sliced the air with the sword in my left hand to get a feel for it. I felt a little off-kilter as I twisted and turned my wrist in the cutting motions I’d learned during swordplay training for the show. I prayed that if I needed to use it, I’d be able to.

  I carefully pushed the sword back into its sheath and winced as I tucked it under my right arm. I placed the rest of what I collected—a couple of smoke bombs and Joe’s lighter—inside my satchel. I was thankful I still had my bag strapped across my body even though the weight of it slamming against my side was sure to leave a bruise on my hip. I had everything I needed. It wasn’t much but it was better than nothing. I crept toward the door and peeked my head into the hallway. I didn’t spot anyone approaching from either direction. Repositioning the katana so that I wouldn’t lose it, I dashed down the hall.

  I ducked into the darkened wardrobe room and flipped the switch on the wall. For once,a light worked. From the looks of things, no one had been to Wardrobe yet. Everything was untouched and in its place. I closed the door behind me with a muted click of the lock and removed the katana from under my arm. I sat it on the counter in front of the mirrored wall and went over to the clothing racks with the wardrobe forDia of the Dead. I shifted through the hangers. My hand stopped on Dia Muerto’s black catsuit. I moved it aside to find what I had come for: the utility belt.

  I grabbed its hanger and carried it over to the counter, laying it beside the sword. It had been repaired and looked to be okay. I maneuvered the satchel off with one hand and sat it on the counter. I took out whatever I thought could be useful and put it into the pockets of the utility belt: smartphone, my iPod and wallet, the smoke bombs and the lighter. The last thing I needed was my lip gloss. I couldn’t go anywhere without it. I put a little on and looked at myself in the mirror.

  The gloss made things seem…normal. The feeling was fleeting though. Once my eyes set on the specks of dried blood on my cheeks and the odd lump poking out from where my shoulder was supposed to be, I was reminded that normal was a thing of the past. The rules of the game had changed again. I was no longer fighting to keep Dia Muerto alive. I was fighting for Dia Summers. The show—my career—none of that mattered at the moment. I had to get off this stupid lot and to my mom.

  Mom!

  I’d forgotten about her while running for my life. What if she was in danger as well? My chest tightened thinking about it. I had to get in contact with her. I stuffed the lip gloss into one of the pockets and searched frantically for my phone. I found it and turned it on. There was enough battery life left and just enough bars to make a call. I called her. The phone rang and rang, a knot in my stomach twisting with each one. The call eventually went to voicemail. What if things were fine at home and she was okay there? I didn’t want to freak her out to the point where she’d put herself in danger to find me. I took a deep breath and tried relaxing enough to leave a calm message.

  “Mom, stay put. You don’t have to come to the studio. I found a ride. I’ll be home as soon as possible.” I whispered as evenly as I could manage. I paused for a moment. “Love you. Love you so much.”

  I pressed end and turned the phone off, tucking it into one of the pockets. I looked in the mirror at myself again. I was so close to giving up after BB’s party. Not even a day ago, my biggest problem was getting kicked out of a party. Leaving Lavender before the party was over and having my picture taken by the paparazzi waiting outside was an earth-shattering event and now it was so insignificant. I couldn’t give up on myself. Not now. Not until I found my mom and we figured out plan C together. I had to find the rest of the group and we had to find safety. I wiped away a stray tear and put my game face on.

  It took a few tries but I managed to get the belt snapped around my waist. I slipped the katana into a loop and returned to the costume racks. I grabbed a large floral scarf from one of them and tried making a sling. I wasn’t exactly aces at using my left hand. I gave up and stuffed the scarf into one of the belt’s pockets.

  I headed toward the door and opened it a crack. There was just enough room for me to get through and reach across my body to grip the sword’s handle. I crept out into the empty hallway. The confidence I felt a few moments ago while holding the sword disappeared once I realized I had no idea where I was going. Uncertainty gave way to fear. Suddenly every creak of the building settling or flush of air from the A/C became a direct threat of zombies. The katana didn’t stay in its resting place for long.

  I sliced the sword through the air with a metallic swoosh, feeling a little more together with it at the ready. But it wasn’t enough to keep a wave of dread at bay. I needed direction, quick. Danger could’ve been lurking behind every corner. The last time I had seen Kace, she was heading toward the lower level. Letting the sword lead the way, I ran down the hall toward the stairs.

  The rubber soles of my shoes squeaked too loudly on the slick linoleum. Gritting my teeth, I decided to just go with it, moving slower and more stealthily to mute the noise. A hunch led me down the hall with a white-knuckled grip on the katana. I crept toward the only open door on the floor, anxiety flutter
ing in my stomach with each step.

  Kaci wasn’t in Mason’s dressing room like I’d thought she’d be. The only person— er—former person was what was left of Amber. My eyes trailed along to her corpse. Splatter from Brendan’s blows with the mallet had begun to congeal, leaving dark stains on the wall’s red paint. I swallowed hard, stopping myself from puking all over everything.

  I turned to leave and froze. I backed away from the door slowly, my breath catching as I slid against the wall, hiding from view.Dia of the Dead’s director, Sloane, walked down the hall with a blank expression on her face, oblivious to the fact that one of her arms were hanging on by only a tendon. Her eyes were black behind the broken lenses of her glasses that teetered on the end of her nose.

  I snuck another peek at her then hid back behind the wall, clinging to it with my eyes closed like it would somehow make me invisible. My arm hurt like hell and I was tired, but I stood there with my eyes shut so tightly, white dots danced behind my eyelids. I wished with all of my might this wasn’t happening. I listened to her growls and my heart beat faster. She was hungry, and if she found me, I’d be her next meal. I listened until the grunt and drag of Sloane’s walk was farther away before I felt brave enough to move. Taking a few breaths, I built up the nerve to venture into the hallway. Sloane was at its end and with nowhere left to go, she bumped into the wall, backed up and bumped into it again. She was stuck in a loop, like Mason and his mirror. If no one disturbed her, I doubt she’d be able to free herself of it. I snuck across the hall.

  I patted my hip, checking to see if the katana was still there as I opened the door to her dressing room. I relaxed when my hand hit the sheath and turned on the light. An explosion of warm pain enveloped my right eye. I stumbled back a few steps, seeing bright spots as my eyes watered. I tried opening my eyes and saw a retreating fist blurred by tears. Another blow struck me in the chest. I staggered back into the wall, dropping the sword and cupping my boob. It hurt more than my eye and shoulder combined. The blow felt it’d taken me from a B-cup to a negative A. I kneaded out the pain, mumbling swears that would’ve made a sailor blush.

  “Oh, crap. It’s Dia.”

  Several hands lifted me up roughly. I yelped in pain at the manhandling of my bad arm. Someone hissed for me to shut up. I opened my eyes, the left a little easier to open than the right. Three blurry figures stood in front of me.

  “My arm.” I winced and tried to pull away.

  “Sorry.” The voice was familiar.

  “Close the door,” another voice commanded.

  A set of hands let go of me and a figure brushed past to close the door quietly.

  The rest of the hands let go. I tried opening my eyes wider but my right eyelid hung lower blocking all but a small sliver of my vision. I gently wiped away the tears and Brendan, Reagan, and Kaci came into focus. Each of them looked a little guilty but relieved. I smiled a small half-smile. It was good seeing them all in one piece.

  “So which one of you gave me the shiner?” I pointed to my eye a little too closely, mistakenly poking the tender skin and shed a few involuntary tears.

  “Uh…sorry about that,” Brendan said sheepishly.

  “Did you punch me in the boob too?”

  His cheeks turned red.

  Reagan raised her hand. “That was me. Thought you were a zombie.” She shrugged.

  “What happened to your arm?” Brendan asked, coming closer to me.

  “I think I dislocated my shoulder.”

  “How?”

  “Running…from Mason,” I said in a low tone.

  “He’s—he’s one of them?” Brendan asked.

  “Yeah.”

  Brendan hung his head, hiding his face. I moved toward him and stretched my right arm to comfort him without thinking only to have the pain shoot through it again.

  “I’m sorry, Brendan. I know you and Mason were close,” I said through clenched teeth; my eye, arm, and boob all still throbbed in pain.

  “Mason was my bro.” He rested his hand on the nape of his neck, his face still hidden from view. I thought I heard a sniffle in his voice, but I couldn’t tell if he was crying. He walked away from the group, retreating to the other side of the room. “What happened?”

  “Kaci and I left him for a few minutes and when we came back, he was a zombie,” I mumbled.

  “Why did you split up?” Reagan asked loudly.

  “I don’t want to get into it.”

  “Why not? If one minute Mason was alive then the next minute he’s not, don’t you think the rest of us—as his closest friends—deserve to know why?”

  “It’s not important,” Kaci said. “Here, Dia. For your eye.” She handed me a red freeze pop.

  “Sorry. It’s all I had in my mini fridge that was cold,” she said.

  I thanked her and placed the freeze pop under my eye, the cold soothing my aching skin.

  “It looks like you need some help with your arm too. Maybe we can try popping it back into place?” Her voice was as shaky as her trembling hands. I didn’t want her anywhere near my arm.

  “I think it’ll be okay,” I lied. If I breathed too deeply, my arm hurt, along with the lingering pain from the blow to my boob. If anyone was going to snap me back together, it had to be someone with a sure hand.

  “No, Dia, you’re not okay. That lump is kind of squicking me out. Ew.”

  “Wow. Thanks, Kace,” I said dryly.

  “We need to fix it ASAP.” She came for me with outstretched arms, her hands ready to grip and snap.

  I recoiled, moving my shoulder away from her.

  “Kace, don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t really trust you to do it. You freak out too easily and I don’t think you’d be able to manage.”

  “Oh.” She took a step back.

  “I think I can do it.” Reagan laced her fingers and stretched them away from her with a few pops of her joints as she stepped forward.

  “I have a bit of practice. Once BB broke her nose while we were vacationing in St. Barts, and I had to re-break it so it could set better when her plastic—the doctor got to it.” Her eyes brightened as she spoke of her sister. But the moment was short lived. The light in her eyes soon dimmed and her slight smirk faded as the cloud of her sister’s fate settled back over her.

  “Anyway…I think I can handle it,” she said stiffly.

  No one else volunteered to help. Since Reagan seemed to be the only person with any relevant experience, I had to trust my arm to her. She went over to Kaci’s vanity and grabbed a hairbrush from one of the baskets filled with hair products and came back over to me.

  “You may want to bite down on the handle of this.” She held the brush out for me to take.

  I handed the freeze pop back to Kaci and looked at the brush.

  “Why?” I asked skeptically.

  “It may help.”

  I looked at the black handled brush with strands of strawberry blonde hair tangled in its bristles.

  “I’ll pass.”

  “Suit yourself.” Reagan shrugged. She sat the brush down on the coffee table and came back over to me. She placed a hand around my forearm and the other on my bicep. I flinched but it didn’t stop her.

  “This may hurt a bit,” she warned. “No…itwill hurt. A lot.”

  Before her words registered in my brain, she yanked and twisted my arm, jamming my shoulder back into its place. I yelped in pain as fresh tears streamed down my face. Reagan released me from her grip and dusted her hands together.

  “All done,” she said with a smile.

  I wanted to thank her—I really did—but I was afraid that if I opened my mouth, all that would come was a colorful variations of a word that began with “b” and ended with “h.” I clenched my jaw and nodded my appreciation with a pained expression. She shrugged again and joined Brendan on the couch.

  I looked down at my arm. Reagan had left reddening handprints on my skin. I tried moving it. It was better than before but it still hurt like he
ll when I tried to rotate it. It would probably be a few more days—if not weeks—before it would be back to normal. I fumbled with the flap to the pocket with the scarf and had a difficult time getting it open.

  “Let me help. What are you trying to get?” Kaci asked setting the freeze pop she was still holding onto the floor at her feet.

  “I have a scarf in there,” I said. “I figure my arm is wrecked and I can use it as a sling.”

  “I’ll get it.” Kaci opened the pocket and fished out the scarf, pulling it out like a magician with a trick up her sleeve. She shook the large square of sheer floral fabric and held it up to her chest.

  “What am I supposed to do now?” she asked, a puzzled look on her face.

  “I’ll show you.” Brendan stood up and took the scarf from Kaci. He folded it in half, creating a triangle from the cloth.

  “Stand up a little straighter, Dia,” he said. “I wanna make sure it’s tied tight enough to support the weight of your arm.” He moved forward, pinching the ends of the scarf between the thumb and forefinger of both his hands.

  I straightened up and he leaned in, his hand lightly brushing against my neck as he tied the scarf in a sturdy knot. The place where his skin made contact with mine tingled. I fought the urge to giggle as he positioned my arm in the opening of the scarf. His touch caused a rash of goose pimples on my arm. I looked away from him as he readjusted the scarf to shift the burden on my arm’s weight so that it could sit more comfortably on the opposite shoulder.

  “There. You should be good for now but it needs to rest. Don’t move it too much.”

  “Thanks, Brendan.” I smiled.

  He smiled back.

  “Now that Humpty Dumpty’s back together again, what’s the next move?” Reagan asked from the couch.

  “I don’t know,” I sighed. “I think we should try to get somewhere safe and I don’t think that’s here at Bixby Studios.”