I lift my eyes to the horizon, finding the snow-blurry landscape that matches the map. My heart sinks. It appears impossibly far away.
“Get over it,” I whisper to myself. “Because that’s where you’re going. No matter how far.”
I tear my eyes from the map. If I’m gonna keep lookout, this is a great place to do it—I scan the surrounding mountains, searching for signs of the Beavers or Bethany or the country club zombies.
Nothing. At least, as far as I can tell.
With sunlight, I could probably pick out details in the landscape, but the snow makes everything fuzzy. Causes movement where there isn’t any. On a normal day, this would be beautiful, but now, the landscape continues to hold its breath, like it’s waiting for the next awful thing to happen.
My sweep completed, I join Cole on the bare rock beside the fire tower. A metal staircase twists up, eventually reaching a small room with banks of windows on each side. Like the rest of the buildings, the tower appears deserted. I watch the windows for several minutes, but nothing moves behind the glass.
At the base of the staircase, four zip lines stretch from a platform across a rocky canyon to a lower, neighboring mountain peak. The cables snap in the vicious wind. I can’t imagine someone paying good money to strap on a safety harness and hurtle across a deep chasm. Why would anyone think that’s fun?
Cole gestures at the ticket hut. “This is where we camp in the fall. Especially when it’s this cold.” He pokes at a piece of charred wood with his boot toe. “But they ain’t been here.”
“How can you tell for sure?”
“This wood’s old. No sign of a recent fire. No tamped down grass or leaves. No footprints.”
“Maybe they hid all the signs so the zombies couldn’t track them?”
Frustration clouds his face. “Nah. They ain’t been here.”
“I’m sorry.”
“S’okay.” He drags in a deep breath. “Ninety percent of my brain is disappointed. But the other ten percent is so damn relieved they’re not.” He wipes a hand across his face, dislodging snowflakes from his eyelashes. “We didn’t find ’em infected. There’s still hope.”
Wind tries to push away the hood of my jacket, and I clutch to keep it from blowing off my head. “Let’s buy some vending-machine food and get out of here.”
Cole nods. “Yeah. This place is giving me the creeps.”
The covered shed contains a Coke machine and glass-fronted snack dispenser. I stare through the Plexiglas at the almost empty food slots. A few Reese’s peanut-butter cups, two bags of Fritos, and some trail mix. A red light glows beside each selection on the Coke machine. Drat. Completely empty.
“Was there an end-of-the-world vending-machine rush?” I ask.
Cole shakes his head. “No. It’s off-season. Gate’s closed down on the main road. Vending machines ain’t restocked until the park reopens in May. We’re lucky there’s anything at all.”
Despite the blinding cold, Cole takes off his jacket and wraps it around his hand. For a few seconds, I’m mesmerized, staring at the toned arms no longer hidden by his jacket. I suddenly understand why he’s able to break ladder rungs with one snap. Muscles rope his forearms, lean but solid. Probably a result of all that outdoor work.
“What are you doing?” I ask as he picks a rock. He answers by slamming it against the Plexiglas front of the vending machine.
Bam! Whammammama.
The glass reverberates, but doesn’t shatter.
“Son of a—” Cole brings his jacket-wrapped hand back farther.
Bam! Whammmammama.
“Wait,” I place a hand on his forearm. “I got this.”
Breathing hard, his eyebrows furrow into a disbelieving line. “What, you got a sledgehammer in that magic pocketbook of yours?”
“No.” I pluck my wallet from the bottom of the purse. “But I have money. Watch me work my magic.”
Cole drops the rock and swears again, but this time he’s laughing. His eyes follow me as I feed the bills in the machine. Two minutes and six dollars later, we’re huddled in the ticket hut, sheltered from the wind, stuffing our faces with junk food.
I can’t decide if my fingers are shaking from the cold or from my desperation to get more calories in my body.
“Mmmm,” I mumble, devouring a mouthful of Fritos. “Nothing has ever tasted this good.”
“Nothing,” he agrees, smacking his lips. “Hey, let’s save the trail mix and the other two Reese’s cups for later.”
I nod, knowing it’s the smart thing to do, but still wishing I could shove all the food straight down my throat and lick the paper.
My fingers brush Cole’s as I take the packages. Did I do that on purpose?
Must stop thinking about the boy. Must keep mind on dangerous zombies.
I crane my neck to scan the horizon. Still empty.
Cole bends to reach a dropped Frito, and I swear, when he straightens back up, he’s sitting two inches closer to me.
I’m sure it was just an accident. I shouldn’t read too much into it.
Without meaning to, my mind conjures up an image of him without his jacket, how good he looked in his T-shirt. Pretending to check my purse snap, I let my arm slide along his for a moment.
What am I doing? Flirting with a boy in the middle of a zombie apocalypse? This is stupid.
I glance over, but he’s busy checking both sides of the bald, making sure zombies don’t appear over the ridge.
Damn. I’m doing a crappy job of keeping lookout.
That’s it. New rule: no more flirting during the zombie apocalypse.
At that instant, the wind dies completely, almost like someone flipped a switch.
A sudden wave of unease rushes over me, chasing away every last thought of cozying up to Cole. “Weird,” I say aloud.
“What?” he tries a smile, but I can’t miss the apprehension creasing his forehead. “You miss the wind?”
“No, that’s not it.” But I can’t come up with the words to voice what’s bothering me.
The bald feels too open and exposed. I find myself missing the cover of the forest. We’d talked about checking the fire tower, but I’m ready to bolt. Like, now.
“So what do you think?” I ask choking down my last mouthful of Fritos.
“The Fritos are good, but the trail mix probably has more calories.”
“No, weirdo, I mean about the fire tower. It’s obviously vacant. Let’s just skip it.”
He lifts his eyes to study the structure towering above us. “How many flights of stairs is that?”
We’re silent for a moment, both counting.
“Twelve,” we say in unison.
“It’d take a long time to go up and a long time to come back down,” I remind him.
Cole immediately gets what I’m saying. “So if our zombie friends make an appearance while we’re up there, at least we’ll spot ’em first.”
“Yeah, but by the time we hear them and make it back to the bottom, they’ll be coming up the stairs. We’ll be trapped.”
“We could hide in the room at the top,” he suggests.
“Maybe. Or we could get trapped in the room at the top. Or worse yet, the door will be bolted and we won’t be able to get in at all.”
“I reckon it’s a bad idea,” he says, still staring at the tower.
I stand and brush Frito crumbs off my lap. “I’m really sorry your dad and brother aren’t here. But I’m worried we’ve lingered too long. Let’s get a move on.”
Cole remains seated, his eyes fixed on the tower. “You know, there might be a radio in there. This is one of the few towers staffed in the summer. We could find out what’s going on in the world.”
“That’s tempting,” I say honestly. “I would like to know if the whole entire world’s gone to hell, or just this corner of the forest.”
“And there could be food or supplies.”
“Yeah, or there could be nothing,” I try not to let exasperation cre
ep into my tone. “The rangers might pack everything away for winter.”
“True.” His voice drops a notch. “But I’m also wondering if there’s a phone.”
A phone.
I could call my parents. Cole could call his house.
“Hmmm.” I raise my eyes to the metal structure, sharp against the November sky. “I’ve suddenly changed my mind. I think we should go up.”
…
If I thought the hike up the bald was bad, it was nothing compared to the steps up the fire tower. Steps. Steps. Steps. One hundred six of them, to be precise. Cold air chills me in spite of the exercise. My eyelids flutter against each other and it takes a few seconds to realize my eyelashes are freezing together.
Below us, the stone bald remains empty, and the three-hundred-sixty-degree panoramic view reveals nary a monster in sight. The view should be breathtaking. But I don’t like the way our footsteps echo on the metal slats of the staircase. It plays tricks on my mind, making me think I’m hearing voices. For the millionth time, I scan the surrounding forest, but there’s no sign of movement.
The cab on top of the tower is small, ten by ten maybe, and this time, Cole has better luck with his rock against the padlock on the door. It snaps open on the third try, conjuring up distracting mental images of the muscles hiding beneath his jacket.
He puts a finger to his lips, then eases the knife from his pocket.
Sqeeeaaak. The door swings open to reveal a small room, lined with windows.
Empty. We both exhale in relief.
The room smells of cold and metal.
“There it is!” A beige, old-fashioned phone is bolted against the far wall. I rush to grab the receiver. Completely dead.
Disappointment slams my brain like a physical blow.
“Let’s go,” I say, replacing the handset. I fight to keep tears from spilling.
Cole gives the cabinets a greedy look. “Two minutes.”
I peek nervously through the glass window and push back my anxiety. Two minutes. We can wait two minutes. Especially if it means more food or supplies.
Cole grabs a pair of binoculars from a peg on the wall and loops them around my neck. His fingers skim my shoulder and his eyes lock with mine. I wish there wasn’t an inch of down between his fingers and my skin.
“Two minutes,” he repeats, obviously trying to reassure me.
He’s standing so close, his hand still resting on the binoculars. Instantly, I’m trapped by the odd frost-blue of his eyes, reminding me of the cold sky just above the frozen mountain. I drag in a deep breath.
No flirting during the apocalypse.
I yank the binoculars away, but I can’t manage to do the same with my eyes. “Two minutes. That’s it.”
Cole grins crookedly and moves toward the shelves. Something in my brain registers that he knows he’s having an effect on me.
Ugh, am I that obvious?
I raise the binoculars to squint out the windows, but the silent snow messes with my long-range vision.
Behind me, Cole flicks the switch on the radio. Static fills the room.
“Awesome. We got power up here, too. Scan the stations while I hunt through these cabinets.”
“Check for a cell charger,” I tell him. “And if there’s a space heater, forget Glenview, we’re moving in here.”
Cole laughs, knowing I’m kidding, and starts opening drawers and doors, methodically checking each metal cabinet. I try to focus on the radio dial but can’t stop peeking out the windows. I strain to listen over the static.
I turn to check Cole’s progress. “Find anything yet?”
“Nah, mostly empty.” Cole throws a few random pencils and a calculator on the counter. The next drawer contains stacks of maps and brochures. “Might be good for a fire.” Cole shifts toward me, stuffing the papers in my purse.
I can’t concentrate on the radio dial. I raise my binoculars again, but the snow blows harder with each passing second. It’s near impossible to see anything out the window. I bounce on the balls of my feet. My antsiness is reaching epic levels.
“It’s been two minutes, Cole, let’s go.”
He ignores me and pulls a few large garbage bags from a lower cabinet. “Ah! Jackpot!”
“Uh, trash bags?” I’m confused by his excitement.
“Also known as redneck suitcases and sleeping bags.” He stuffs these into my purse, too.
“I thought it was politically incorrect to use redneck,” I joke, trying to cover my rising panic.
“Only if you use it. When I use it—”
Bong, bong, bong!
The sound from the speaker startles me so badly I almost knock over the radio.
“Emergency Alert System, go back!” Cole grabs the dial. When he finds the station, a robotic male voice is already speaking. The message is obviously prerecorded.
—overruns the nervous system, causing delirium and a loss of cerebral function. The entire process occurs within ninety seconds.
In some cases, the host chooses not to pass the infection, and instead uses human victims for sustenance. This process is instantly fatal. All citizens should stay inside, in a well-protected area, and avoid contact with other persons—even those with whom you are familiar.
The high number of deaths within a short period of time has strained the U.S. government. Normal, day-to-day functions have ceased, and travel is inadvisable. Teams of geneticists, in conjunction with the CDC in Atlanta, are working around the clock to find and mass-produce a vaccination. We will update this message as new information becomes available. This broadcast will now repeat.
Cole doesn’t wait for the repeat. He flicks off the radio.
We stand in silence, struggling to absorb the news.
Now we know the truth. This is worldwide. A pandemic. The infection is everywhere, and it’s spreading. The enormity of the situation strikes me to the core.
“We need to get out of here,” I whisper.
“One more minute.” Cole sounds as frantic as I feel. “If this thing’s gone global, we’ll need supplies. Food. Medicine. Anything.”
He ransacks the remaining cabinets. But this time it’s less methodical. More desperate.
I open the door to the cab and lean my head out into the cold, listening for even the smallest far-off sound.
“Let’s go, Cole,” I call over my shoulder. “There’s nothing here.”
“One more cabinet.”
Frustrated, I lean farther out of the cab, yelling so Cole can still hear me. “Trash bags? Calculators? Cole, I—”
And there it is. Below us. Toward the gorge. A voice twisting out of the wind. Mr. Beaver’s voice.
“Ree-rawr!”
I turn on the spot. Slowly, silently.
An instant later, an echo rises behind Beaver’s voice, at least forty voices, all inhuman, all ravenous. “Rawr!”
The country club herd has found us.
Chapter Thirteen
“Hide or go?” Cole gasps.
“Go!” I scream.
We fly out the door and down the first set of stairs.
Oh my God. Why did I take my eyes off the windows? Why did I let the radio distract me? Why did I let Cole distract me?
“Hurry!” Cole whispers.
Below me, the mob is on the move. Surging forward. Straight up the AT, following our scent. To the bald. Then the summit. The vending machines.
Tink-tink-tink-tink-tink. Our shoes tap the metal stairs. My foot slides on a snowy tread and I fall forward, tumbling to the next landing. Cole stops to haul me up.
“No, keep going!” I yell. If he tries to be chivalrous, we’ll never make it to the bottom.
We reach the halfway mark. Cole lifts his arm, stopping me, holding me in place. He puts a finger to his lips. We were too slow. The monsters are close. Below us, the dead shamble around the vending area, trying to find our scent. They haven’t seen us yet, the blowing snow camouflaging our movements. Mr. Beaver sniffs the ground, then the mac
hines. Any second, he’ll find the line leading to the tower. To us.
We need to be quiet. I signal to Cole to start moving again.
Tink-tink-tink-tink-tink. Our shoes on the stairs are loud as gunshots.
My heart wants to pound out of my chest.
We reach the second-to-last set of steps; Cole stops and points over the back railing.
What the hell does that mean?
He points again. To the ground. Then the zip lines. Makes a sweeping motion with his hand. Gestures toward the other side of the gorge.
Oh my God.
Understanding crashes through my brain. Cole wants to hop the rail, skip the last flight of stairs and end up on the back side of the tower. Then take the zip lines. The zip lines across the gorge.
No! I shake my head rapidly.
He pulls an angry face and points again at the zip lines.
No! I mouth.
Below me, Bubba sniffs the ground where Cole sat eating Fritos. “Rawr,” he says, and raises his head.
He’s found our trail.
“Rawr,” Bubba repeats, louder now, and stumbles toward the foot of the stairs. Behind him, the mob picks up the scent. The smell of rotting flesh drifts toward us; my eyes water and I fight not to cough.
“Rawr!” Mr. Beaver orders.
Cole gives me a furious look and mouths something.
“What?” I ask silently, unable to make out his words
He repeats it again, but I still can’t catch it. Something about potatoes?
Cole gestures frantically.
Great. Life-and-death situation, and Cole’s playing charades.
“What?” I repeat.
He starts mouthing something different. I can make out these words, and they are not polite.
He turns from me, and one fluid motion, jumps the banister and lands with a soft thud on brown grass below. The metal stairs hide him from the monsters.
There’s no time to review our options. I leap, but hit the ground off-center, my hip slamming the grass.
“Ow!” A tiny squeak of pain sneaks past my lips.
Bubba turns toward the sound and spots me instantly. This time, his “rawr!” sounds almost triumphant. A mass of followers rises up behind him.
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