“How could you not notice getting stung?”
I gesture at the gorge. “Uh, I’ve been a little busy.” I’d be a little pissed by his questions, but his eyes are still wild with shock and genuine concern.
He runs a hand through his hair. “God, what are the odds?”
I snort-chuckle. “Let’s hope they’re low because a repeat episode would be a bad thing. A very bad thing.”
Fishing around in my purse, I find my Benadryl and choke a couple down. I lie back on the rocks, using my purse as a pillow and try to take deep, calming breaths.
What would’ve happened if my throat had gotten tighter? Tight enough to cut off the oxygen?
“It’s weird,” Cole says in a strangled tone. He’s still standing above me, staring at the Reese’s cup in his hand. “I thought tons of people were allergic to peanuts. But you eat these.”
“Thank God there’s one allergy I missed.” I attempt a laugh.
“I’m sorry about your pants.”
“My pants?”
He analyzes his knees. “The directions said to give you the shot in your thigh and I didn’t know if I should remove clothing that um…”
Ohmygod. He actually wants to talk about pulling down my pants!
My face flames with embarrassment, but I’m too flushed with allergy spots for Cole to notice.
“It’s fine,” I cut him off. “You did everything exactly right. I wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t.”
“You need them shots pretty often?” He finally lowers the candy and kneels beside me.
“No, avoidance is the best treatment for allergies. So I don’t go outside. And we get the house sprayed for bugs.”
I wish Cole hadn’t mentioned my pants. Now, for some reason, I can’t stop thinking about the fact he saw me in my underwear. At least I was wearing decent ones.
“Do you always pass out?” he asks.
I shake my head. “Not every time. It’s something to do with how low my blood pressure drops. I’m supposed to get checked after I have an episode. When we get home, I’ll make an appointment with my allergist and—”
I break off. What the heck am I talking about? Obviously my brain has the consistency of mashed potatoes. There won’t be any allergy appointment. It’s a long way between here and Florida. Roads probably choked with infected and refugees.
At that moment, I realize something important. For the past two days, I’d been hoping this was a random isolated flu outbreak in the national forest. Or something contained to North Carolina. But the radio announcement changed everything. The virus is everywhere. A full-blown outbreak. And that means I can’t go back to Florida. Ever.
I can’t go home.
Sudden, hot tears rim my eyes. My friends. My school. My bedroom. All gone.
Hell, if I’m being honest, the situation is worse than losing all that. Forget going home, I might never make it out of this flipping forest. If I don’t find more EpiPens soon, I’m a goner.
“Are you in pain?” Cole asks, noticing my pinched expression.
I shake my head. I will not cry. I will not cry.
Cole waits silently for an explanation.
“Oh, Cole. How the hell am I gonna survive in a world without allergists and EpiPen factories and pharmacies?” I choke back a sob. “If the zombies don’t kill me, Mother Nature will.”
Cole watches me carefully, his gaze fixed on my inflated face. “You’ll find a place with your allergy stuff. The pharmacy in Glenview. Or the hospital.”
I swipe at my eyes. I will not cry.
“I’m serious. We’ll find a place with those pens,” Cole repeats.
Smashing my lips together, I force myself to breathe deeply through my nose.
Cole sets his jaw. “I’ll help you search. When we get to Glenview.”
The sudden offer catches me off guard. I exhale. “Seriously? I figured you’d drop me as soon as we hit the city limits.”
“No,” he answers simply. “I won’t. We’re friends, right?”
I pause, a little stunned.
An offer of friendship extending beyond this journey is unexpected. And not unwelcome, I realize as the familiar glow spreads through my chest.
I nod at him, regaining some control of my emotions. I’ve got to be tough. Strong. I will not turn into a sniveling mess. That won’t help us get to Glenview.
He holds out the water bottle to me. I reach for it and take a tentative sip.
He smiles. I smile back.
Friends.
A sudden vision rushes through my brain: the two of us, clad in black, darting through hospital corridors, killing zombies. Not just finding EpiPens, but bringing back medical supplies to a group at the reserve center. If I was with Cole, I wouldn’t be afraid to go out in the world. Especially if I was armed with a crossbow and EpiPen. I’ve learned there are things worse than wasp stings.
His eyes meet mine, and I’m surprised to find them full of silent sympathy. “I’m so sorry,” he says.
I give a halfhearted shrug. “Why should you be sorry? I’m the one who’s sorry my body is so freakishly weird.”
“Your body ain’t weird, and you shouldn’t be sorry either. I’m guessing you didn’t ask for this gift of puffiness.”
We both laugh a little.
“So, for now,” he says, in that soft drawl of his, “how many more of those Epi-things you got left?”
Damn. He ransacked my purse—he didn’t notice I only carry one? “Uh, none,” I answer.
“What?”
So much for trying to keep him from freaking out.
“Why would you only bring one?” he shouts.
“Uh, because someone was rushing me out of my house. I barely had time to grab the pen you just used.” I lift my eyebrows. “I have a ton at home. If someone hadn’t been bitching about me getting my pocketbook.”
Cole swipes a hand through his hair again. “I’m such a dumbass,” he says with a groan. “Just like you told me, a Mr. Know-It-All.”
“Oh, you’re not that bad.”
Our eyes lock and for a fleeting instant, I get this crazy rush like I’ve just run a mile. Adrenaline that has nothing to do with the shot I just took and more to do with the way he’s staring at me. And then I remember my blowfish face.
Embarrassed, I turn away. Of course, he’s not looking at me like that.
“We have to be careful,” Cole says. “Until we get to Glenview.”
The vision of us as zombie-killing badasses disappears in a poof of smoke. Once again I’m the weak one. Someone to be taken care of. Rescued. “What? We weren’t being careful before?”
“About you. No walking through brush. No sleeping in trees with bugs you might be allergic to. We gotta take this serious—your life depends on it.”
Tell me something I don’t know.
A tough, unhappy knot forms behind my rib cage, and it’s got nothing to do with my parents or zombies or how scared I am, and everything to do with this boy who I am coming to admire so much—a boy who still sees me as an annoying tagalong.
Sighing, I run my hands along the undersides of my arms, where red hives crisscross my skin. I could use a round of steroids, but out here, the best I can do is not scratch my skin raw. I take a deep, stabilizing breath and stand.
Cole lifts his head, surprised. “Not yet,” he says. “You can’t be ready to move yet.”
“We worked too hard for this lead to give it up. Let’s get going. Besides,” I say, forcing a smile, “my butt’s going numb on these rocks.”
Cole matches my weak smile.
My feet throb and my head aches, but I force my body into motion.
Together, Cole and I hop off the platform and turn once again into the woods, deliberately avoiding the paved road leading down the mountain from Zip Line Adventures. We walk in silence for a few minutes, the only sound our feet crunching in the leaves. And then Cole turns—so abruptly I think he’s seen a zombie or a bear or something totally terrifying.
“What?” I almost shriek.
“I need to apologize.”
I’m too confused to say anything.
His expression takes on a quality that is fierce and wonderful at the same time.
“Day before yesterday…when I said I should’ve left you at your house. I called you an idiot. You’re not.” He licks his lips, working up to something difficult. “Ava, you’re smart. And a whole lot tougher than I thought.”
Then he turns and continues walking. Suddenly, I’m not cold at all. A warmth burns through my stomach, my chest. A sort of fierce pride. And a weird desire to make this strange boy turn and look at me that way again.
…
Ava and I spend most of the afternoon hiking down the shady side of the mountain, working our way back toward the river. With each step, the ground crackles with dead leaves and ice. Trees stretch naked arms toward the clear, blue sky. The path, which has been mostly orange clay, has completely transitioned to large boulders.
“Careful,” I say, as Ava attempts to navigate a patch of icy rock. “Go around the slick spots. Like this. Step on the moss or the leaves. Try to find natural traction.”
She trails behind me, trying to place her feet in the exact spots as mine. She stumbles a few times, but I don’t offer any more advice. Maybe we’ve finally found a good rhythm.
My stupid-ass brain will not behave. Every few minutes it conjures up a mental picture of Ava’s underwear. Yep, that’s right. Her damned underwear. Black and lacy. I don’t even remember seeing her underwear when I pulled down her pants to give her the injection. Hell, my brain was focused on one thing and one thing only—saving her life. But apparently, some small, male part of my mind was taking a mental picture to drag out later. And it makes me feel like a jerk. But I also can’t seem to stop.
Is it bad, now that she’s safe, to keep remembering how hot she looked?
Yep, I decide. You’re totally taking advantage of the situation. Now quit being a perv.
And then the image pops up again.
And I beat it back down.
Crap. This is like playing whack-a-mole with my subconscious.
Panties? Quit being a perv. Panties? Quit being a perv.
Beside me, Ava pokes a loose strand of hair into her ponytail. I wish she’d let her hair down. She looks so much softer, less rigid. Maybe I should cut my finger, just so she’d bandage it again with her ponytail holder.
Get your mind off the girl, Cole. You’ll get ambushed by a mob of undead while you’re thinking about her hair. And her underwear.
I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts, but it doesn’t work. I’ve been walking next to this girl for two days wishing she’d just shut up, and now, there’s nothing in my head but her.
And her underwear.
Without even thinking about it, I start singing.
“Are we in bear country again?” Ava asks.
I simply nod.
I hate this uneasy feeling. Knowing the Beavers and the people from the country club are behind us somewhere. Wondering if Bethany’s group is behind that. Or if Bethany’s found all the zombies in the national forest and added them to her army. That would make for a scary-sized band of infected.
“Where the heck is this Shady Grove you keep singing about?” Ava asks suddenly, a note of humor in her voice. “It’s getting dark. Monsters are chasing us, and you want to sing about some shadowy place? Sing something cheerful.”
I pause and blink a few times, not even realizing the meaning behind what I’ve sung for the past few days. “Shady Grove’s not a place. It’s a person.” I clear my throat. “It’s uh…it’s a courting song. An old one.” I start again. “Cheeks as red as the blooming rose and eyes of the prettiest brown.” I stare at Ava. Into her brown eyes. “She’s the darling of my heart, sweetest little girl in town. Oh, Shady Grove, my little love.”
Cheeks burning, I lift my gaze and sing the rest of the song to the trees. “Shady Grove I say, Shady Grove my little love, I’m bound to go away.”
Ava and I are now completely unable to look at each other.
I trail off and the last notes fade away. We’ve just stepped into a small clearing, ringed with dense green holly bushes. A smooth, almost flat boulder sits to one side.
“This is pretty,” Ava says, glancing around. “Almost like a park.”
Is it my imagination, or have things grown awkward between us?
I swallow hard, forcing myself to act normal. “If you want, we can stop here for supper. We’re making good time—you’ve been going fast.”
She nods, but I see her fighting the urge to grin. It’s like she doesn’t want to give me any clue how proud my words make her. Instead, she focuses on getting the trail mix from her pocketbook, carefully divvying out equal amounts.
Together, we sink onto the boulder. Instant exhaustion settles into my muscles.
“Ugh,” Ava says, “I might never get up again. It feels so good to sit.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Okay.”
She still looks pale to me, with high spots of color in each cheek. But I know better than to bring up the allergy attack. I’ll take my cue from her and not dwell on the incident.
Carefully, she pours half the remaining trail mix in my outstretched palm.
“This is crazy,” I say, studying the meager handful of food. “AT hikers burn through seven thousand calories a day. Ain’t no way we can keep up this pace for the next two days on a handful of seeds. We’ll start feeling it soon.”
“I’m feeling it now.”
Personally, I’ve been too scared to think much about eating, but I know my body can use more fuel if we’re going to make it to Glenview.
“We’ve got such a lead,” I tell her, “I wonder if we could risk stopping long enough for me to set a snare. Maybe catch a rabbit or a squirrel or something?”
“Wouldn’t it be better to wait until we stop for the night?”
I chew thoughtfully. “You’re right. My stomach is talking louder than my brain.”
“Is there stuff we can eat out here? You know, wild plants or whatever?”
“Maybe. It’s not a great time of the year for it. In spring, this place would be covered with ramps.” I give her a wink. “Wild onions for you city girls.”
The sun has already shifted low in the sky. Only four or five hours of daylight left.
I stand and dust my hands on my pants. “Guess we better get a move on. Probably should try for another five miles today.”
“Five miles?” she groans, hauling herself to her feet.
Before I have a chance to reply, Ava’s head jerks to the left. “What was that?’
“I didn’t—”
“Shhh,” she holds up a hand to silence me.
And then I hear it, too. A low growl, not human, not even zombie, more like—
The holly bushes rustle and spread apart. Out walks a four-hundred-pound bear.
Chapter Sixteen
Cole utters about twenty different swear words in a row. I can’t breathe. I didn’t realize a bear would be so…big. I start to back up.
“Don’t run,” he whispers, seizing my shoulder. “It’ll chase you.”
Don’t run?
It suddenly occurs to me: we’ve been walking through a bear preserve for three days, but I never asked what to do if we encountered an actual bear.
Cole stands on his tiptoes and starts waving his arms. “AAAAAH! GO ON, BEAR! Move! Shoo!”
Shoo? Seriously? “Maybe we should’ve tried ‘shoo’ on the zombies?” I suggest, my voice shaking with fear.
“Make yourself look big and threatening,” Cole sounds completely panicked. “Be loud. They hate noise.”
Cole’s fear is contagious. I rise to my toes, wave my arms and shout. But my voice half sticks in my throat. And I’m not exactly tall. The bear decides I’d make a short, quiet treat. He points his nose toward me.
Cole claps his hands a few times. Clappi
ng! Yes! Great idea—at least I can slap my hands together and add to the commotion.
Slap. Slap. “Shoo!”
The bear does not care that I can clap. He sniffs the air once, not unlike the zombies, and takes a few steps closer. For such a big animal, he’s surprisingly agile.
Cole jumps in front of me. “Go on, bear! Shoo!” He claps his hands a few more times and flaps his arms over his head.
The bear responds by rising up on his back legs and letting out a loud “Grrrrrr!”
“Okay, he wins. He’s taller.” I tug on the back of Cole’s jacket. “Please. Let’s run.”
Cole slides back beside me and talks out of the side of his mouth. “We can’t. Don’t let his size fool you. He’s fast. He’ll catch us.”
The smell of bear drifts to my nostrils. Wild and musky. He crashes down on all fours with a thud that vibrates the forest floor.
Damn, maybe the animal weighs closer to five hundred pounds.
“Keep clapping,” Cole says. “But start backing up. Slowly.”
“Yes,” I say, my words trembling. “I like this plan.”
With each step, the bear matches our pace, advancing as we retreat. Cole and I reach the edge of a clearing, our shoulders together, backs to the tree line. My hands have gone numb from clapping.
The bear tilts his head. Inspects us. Lifts one paw, edged with ebony, nonretractable claws.
Another scent mixes with the bear’s. Something familiar. Like meat. Or rotten hamburger.
I sniff the air.
Holy hell, is this a zombie bear? But the animal acts so normal—so bearish. No white eyeballs, no loss of motor control. That means…
I actually turn away from the large, threatening animal. Oh crap, the scent is coming from behind us. The leaves on the evergreens rustle menacingly.
“Cole!” I yell, but before I can voice my suspicion, a zombie crashes out of the pines.
“Rawr!” He adds his growl to the bear’s.
“Hellfire!” Cole yells, spinning in place. “Why do we have the worst damn luck?”
But Cole is wrong. We are in luck. This zombie is alone—not part of the country club horde or Bethany’s group of teen minions. He reminds me of AT hikers I’ve seen in town—huge backpack still attached to his shoulders, strong boots, knit cap, grizzled beard.
Dead Over Heels Page 13