“Well, she told us to leave her alone,” Dad said.
Mom sighed. “Will you leave her alone, Kevin?”
“I’m ready to go when you are,” Kaylynn said.
She stepped out of the RV, the dog following at her heels. Now that she was outside, she looked taller—maybe an inch or two taller than me. Her dark clothes and black hair stood out in the sun, her bat resting on her shoulder. She also had a blue Cubs cap on her head.
Dad looked for a second. “Changed your mind?”
“The people who argued about me last time are dead now.” Her voice had a chilling effect on the hot air. “The same thing’s going happen to you guys if you waste your time talking about me. So let’s go.”
“Just a moment, Kaylynn.” Dad turned his back on the girl and formed a tight huddle with Mom and me. “She’s not exactly a bright ray of sunshine, is she?”
Mom laughed. “No different when I met you.”
“I didn’t go around making choices for others.”
“What do you think, Jeremy?” Mom said.
I wasn’t about to say no out loud. “Sure.”
Dad turned back to the girl. “We’ll give you a ride to the next town. How does that sound?”
“Cool,” she said. “Hold out your hands for Chloe, please.” I’ve never owned a dog, but I knew why she had us to do that. The best way to gain a dog’s trust is to let them smell you. I think Chloe took a liking to us fast. She licked my hand several times. Her long tongue was warm and slippery. “Wait, I forgot something.” Kaylynn ran to the RV. “Be back in just a second!”
“We’ll take your dog.” Mom called to Kaylynn before she turned to me. “Stay with her, okay?”
I reluctantly agreed. Dad kept his distance as Mom guided the mutt around the front of the RV. A breeze tousled my hair. It needed a cut. When Kaylynn came back, she had this new chain around her neck. A dragon pendant made of silver or steel, a red gem set in its eye.
“I don’t know what your deal is, but I’m going to keep an eye on you,” I said.
“Good. Someone should.” I caught a close glimpse of her dark, navy blue eyes. They matched her baseball cap. To say I could’ve drowned in those eyes would’ve been corny to the extreme, but the cliché was a perfect fit. If only she’d stop glaring at me. “I won’t stay long.”
“You’d rather be by yourself? Why?”
A bee flew between us. I jumped back.
“I’m jinxed,” she said. “Get out of the way.”
She stepped up to me, raising her bat again.
“Our car is behind you, genius . . .”
“Get out of the way, you idiot!”
She pushed me aside. Hard. I was about to say something, but the approaching Stalker shut me up. He had torn overalls, stained with dried blood. Something had bitten a large chunk of skin out of his neck. Like a seasoned all-star stepping up to the plate, Kaylynn gripped her bat, swung, and smacked the guy in the face. I fumbled for my .45, but then the Vector did something I’d never seen a Vector do. He fell back, holding his face with both hands—growling in pain.
Kaylynn pulled me by the elbow. “Come on!”
We ran for it, just as the Vector rebounded—more venomous and determined than before. When the Explorer came into view, I called for help. Mom and Dad were too busy with the back of the car, but Jewel popped up through the sunroof, holding her new rifle.
She aimed the barrel right at us.
“Hit the highway!” I cried.
I pulled Kaylynn to the pavement and reached for the .45 in my pocket, in case Jewel missed. A thunderous boom and a half-headless Stalker ended my panic. His brains splashed over the trunk of a white VW Jetta like a ruptured watermelon, and fell to a heap on the road. Jewel was looking mighty pleased with herself. I hadn’t seen a smile on her face that wide since she’d taken down that zombified old geezer back in Iowa.
“Did somebody order a pizza?” she asked.
Kaylynn stared at me, incredibly close. “Pizza?”
“Uh—inside joke. It means, ‘Everything’s okay.’”
The girl kicked up her feet and headed for the Explorer, shaking her head. Jewel told me to hurry up, but something compelled me to examine the Vector—dead and motionless on the highway. He was a farmer, maybe from the house with the vinyl fence we’d passed earlier. As I pocketed my .45, a feeling hit me, a feeling I hadn’t felt in a long time. It made my stomach churn.
Had that Vector reacted to pain?
I didn’t know what to think.
Horror is my least favorite genre. I never understood how anyone could watch movies about morons dying horrific deaths, unless it was the perfect excuse for a girl to snuggle close to her date when the psychopath in a hockey mask showed up with a butcher knife. I was never that lucky. My exposure came mainly from watching late-night SyFy channel marathons. Then I discovered the zombie flick. I could tolerate those well enough—even if the majority of them were equally goofy with questionable, puppet-master aliens and bizarre Romero-esque theories explaining how people could rise from the grave and start feasting on others:
Radiation from a passing comet . . .
I guess that works?
“There’s no room left in Hell . . .”
Are you serious?
Slugs taking control of your body . . .
That’s . . . unbelievable . . .
A genetically engineered bioweapon let loose on the world . . .
A theoretical possibility? Now we’re talking!
When I heard the medical expert on the radio before the station died, I had a hunch that this was our problem. There had to be some kind of outbreak, one that resulted in getting infected by the smallest scratch or bite, and eventually turned people into mindless carnivores. This thing also turned the whites of their eyes red, like in that other zombie flick I’d slept through. A rage virus, they called it. I’m glad people didn’t turn into Vectors seconds after they were bit.
There was also that remake when a horde of twenty or so zombies ran up the stairs and stopped, because a guy was pointing a shotgun at them. Major IQ points slipped out of my ears during that B-fest. A real zombie wouldn’t hesitate. Ever. They don’t share their spoils with the other undead either, like in the movie where they equally divided their victim before eating him.
Pardon me, my good zombie, would you hand me his lung?
Sure, my undead fellow! Do sample his delicious kidneys.
Meh.
In spite of my useless movie trivia, our survival depended on separating the facts from fiction. Science fiction is the precursor to science fact, said some guy I don’t know. But he couldn’t have been more right! This was our fact now. Without military help, we had to deal with these Vectors. There had to be a reasonable explanation, and a way to stop them. Given enough time, maybe they’d drop dead on their own. Until then, we had to survive in any way possible. And sitting next to a certified hottie was strangely reassuring to me.
Kaylynn was wedged between my sister and me. Her dog was sitting in the back, the window half open. Five minutes later, Dad had no respiratory or swelling problems to speak of. Jewel started her interrogation, excited to be sitting next to another girl for a change.
“Where’re you from?” Jewel asked.
“North Dakota,” Kaylynn answered.
That explained her pale skin.
“How old are you?”
“Sixteen.”
She was older than me? I could live with that.
“Where’s your family?”
“It’s just Chloe and me.”
My mind went blank. How long was she alone?
“You’ll make her regret this, Jewel,” Mom warned.
By her expressionless face, Kaylynn already had.
“What music do you like?” Jewel asked next.
Kaylynn paused. “Music? It’s been a while.”
Jewel reached into her pocket behind Mom’s chair and pulled out her iPod. “Could you turn the radio o
n, Dad?” When he did, Jewel synchronized her iPod with it and settled on a Katie Perry song. She jammed to the beat of Roar while Kaylynn gave me an awkward glance.
Why the look? I didn’t listen to that stuff.
Dad let off the gas. “This looks like a good place.”
Jewel turned her music off—thank the universe—and looked out her window. The car rolled for half a mile before Dad applied the brakes and stopped at a turnoff. There was a house to my left, shrouded by trees. The girls leaned my way to see, except Kaylynn made it a point to avoid touching me, like I had cooties.
Being the gentleman that I am, I returned the favor and moved over as much as I could. In my effort to keep my distance, I saw a couple of gas tanks outside, in front of an abandoned aluminum shack. There were two Highway 92 signs at the end of the intersection. One of the signs pointed west. The other east.
Another city sign was at the corner of a tall grassy field: David City: from East to West, there’s only one.
Dad looked back at Jewel. “Ready for a lesson?”
She was out the door before Mom could object.
We spent the next fifteen minutes in the car while Dad taught Jewel how to use her new rifle. The thing looked really heavy for her. If she planned on using the roof of our car to support her arm, she wouldn’t have a problem. But what if she had to use it outside the car? This thought worried me the most. What if we had to leave the Explorer? What if Mom and Dad never came back from a raid? Aside from the Vector that she’d saved me from a few miles behind us, Jewel didn’t have a clue on how to face these things up close. If anyone knew my little sister better than my parents, I did.
Boom!
The 30.06 round made the car shake.
Chloe whined.
Kaylynn turned back to check on her dog and stared at our stockpile. She whistled. “Damn . . . you guys got a lot of guns. I’ve never seen so many stashed in one trunk before. Where’d you all get them?”
“My husband,” Mom said. “He was a gun dealer.”
“Cool . . . These aren’t all his, are they?”
Mom laughed. “He wishes. We went to his store before we left Naperville, near Chicago. He picked up what no one looted. We found the rest along the way.”
“Where’re you headed?” Kaylynn asked.
“Colorado,” I said. “Our Grandparent’s cabin.”
The girl turned to me, looking half interested.
“Where are you headed?” Mom said.
The girl shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.”
Boom!
Mom cringed. “I know we just met, but I have a good vibe about you. I’m a great judge of character—I’m a nurse.” She shifted in her seat before she looked over her shoulder at us. “You don’t have to be alone, Kaylynn. You’re more than welcome to stay with us.”
She was?
I thought letting someone stay in our group was a group decision, never mind Dad’s reaction to dog hair. Granted, this stop may have doubled as an excuse to get away from it. Kaylynn took Jewel’s seat to increase her distance from me. I just couldn’t understand why she wanted to alienate herself like that, like she wanted nothing to do with anyone, be they alive or undead.
She fiddled with her dragon pendant. “I’ll be fine on my own. Just leave me at the next town.”
“Are you sure?” Mom asked. “Everything is dangerous now. Somebody has to look after you.”
Kaylynn silently stared at her. “Don’t worry about me. I have Chloe. She’s all I need.”
Mom sighed. “I’d feel better if you stayed with us.”
“Or if you took one of our guns, at least,” I added.
“Yeah . . . I’d be dead if I had to rely on a gun.”
My head spun her way. “What do you mean?”
“I’d be dead if I had to rely on a gun,” she repeated. “You think you’re safe with guns? What do you think will stop them when you run out of bullets?”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, and I wasn’t about to take that sitting down, but I was sitting down.
She leaned back. “Avoiding them is the only way to beat them. Outlive whatever has made them that way.”
“A gun stopped that Stalker that was chasing us,” I reminded her. “You never did said thanks.”
Kaylynn glared out Jewel’s window. “Okay. Thanks for delaying the inevitable. We’ll all die soon enough.”
Boom!
No one spoke. Mom gave me one of her looks, the kind she gives when I’ve crossed the line. We’ll all die soon enough? Whatever. If Kaylynn wanted to be an Ungrateful Gretchen, that was her choice. I looked out my window to see the damage that Jewel had made. Two holes marked the black arrows on the yellow direction sign, clean enough that I could barely see them. Jewel must’ve missed her first shot, but when it came to firearms, she was a quicker learner than me.
They made their way back to the car three shots later. Jewel opened her door. Kaylynn moved over.
“You’re next, Jeremy,” Dad said. “Bring your bag.” Happily accepting the invitation, I hopped out with my pack and waited to hear what he wanted to do. Certainly not to train. I was plenty good enough. “Jeremy and I will check the house. Never know what we’ll find.”
Mom parted her lips. “The usual five minutes?”
“Make it ten. We’ll be back real soon.”
Purposefully avoiding the girls’ eyes, I turned and readied my .45—loaded and ready this time. And Dad let me take point again. When we walked down the gravel driveway, scanning the perimeter first, we found nothing useful, just a rusted plow and a torn chicken coop with white feathers scattered everywhere. I guess they liked chickens, too. I went for the back door next.
“That’s enough,” Dad said. “They can’t see us.”
The way he said that chilled me unexpectedly. I turned to see what he was talking about. “Aren’t we going to check the house?”
“It’s been ransacked. I can tell by the prints.” Dad hung his AR-15 over his shoulder and reached behind his back. “I found this beauty in the armory. Your mother will kill me if she sees us with this.”
Before I could imagine what he was talking about, he drew a gun from his belt. It was a revolver—a big revolver. It had to be twice as long as my .45 Beretta.
“What the heck is that, Dad?
“This,” he smiled, “is a Five-Hundred Magnum.”
I just stared at it. “Five-Hundred what?”
“Smith and Wesson. You remember Dirty Harry?”
Do you feel lucky, punk? Heck yeah. “It’s a classic!”
Dad grinned. “Well, this is bigger. Check it out.”
I pocketed my .45 and I walked over to him. He held onto the barrel and allowed me to take the grip in my hand. It was lighter than I expected, but it was long. At the end of the barrel was a hole the size of a penny. I could tell why Dad wanted me to bring my backpack.
I opened the cylinder.
It had four rounds, but it could hold five.
“When I say it’s powerful, I mean it,” Dad said. “These things pack some serious recoil. If you land your target, no matter what it is, it’ll practically explode.”
The thought of blowing Vectors up made me grin. Explosions: every young boy’s dream. “Can I try it?”
“Uh,” Dad hesitated. “I need to teach you how to use it first. And they’ll want to know why we shot.”
We needed an excuse? Fair enough. “False alarm?”
Dad shrugged, grinning himself. “Works for me.”
Accepting his consent, I searched for a target.
Down the path was a bunch of old cars.
Perfect.
I led the way and found a rusty Chevy pickup. The bullets for the gun were twice the size of a .45. I didn’t let that stop me. I was ready this time. I leaned forward, stiffened my wrist and held my finger along the trigger guard. A shot at the Chevy door would be enough.
“Lean in a little more,” Dad warned. “I’m not kidding about the recoil.
”
I held the grip firmly with both hands and pulled the hammer back. Taking a breath, I aimed and slowly squeezed the trigger.
BLAM!
The next thing I knew, I was on the ground—tasting blood.
Dad ran to my side faster than I could swear.
His mouth moved. All I heard was a high-pitched EEE. I sat up, waiting for my ears to stop hurting. They don’t show it in the movies, but guns are really loud. If I fired every round in my .45 in quick succession, my ears would ache for hours. Fortunately, I’d fired a revolver. If I had pulled the trigger a second time on that behemoth of a gun, no doubt, I’d have gone deaf.
“That wasn’t smart.” I finally heard Dad. “I thought you could handle it.”
“It’s okay, Dad.” My ears were slowly adjusting back to normal. “I’m okay.”
“Here.” Dad handed me a handkerchief. “Keep pressure on that.”
I took the white cloth and pressed it on my nose. A warm trickle ran down my throat for a minute. Nothing felt broken, just bumped. I licked at my lower lip where the hammer had smacked me. There was a small cut, mixed with the unpleasant sensation of parted skin.
My bottom lip was split.
How would I explain it to Mom?
The Chevy door creaked and fell off. Dirt kicked into the air as it teetered on the ground. Dad picked up the .500 and laughed. “See! Powerful son of a—”
I had to admit, shooting a truck’s door off its hinge was pretty cool, whether I aimed at the hinge or not. It just goes to show that some of the greatest experiences happen by complete accident. The bleeding stopped. If things weren’t awkward enough, my wrist hurt.
“Sorry, Dad . . . I didn’t know what to expect.”
“I’ll hold onto this until you’re more practiced.” He took a deep breath, a sure sign that he was being hard on himself. “Let’s be more careful next time. Okay?”
“You sure I can’t keep it?”
Dad gave me a concerned, parental look. His dark eyebrows were cocked, and the wrinkles on his forehead stood out like a washboard. The right corner of his mouth forced his cheek back with a half-smile.
My Zombie Summer (Book 1): The Undead Road Page 3