But she keeps her eyelids clamped shut.
…
I force my eyes closed, trying to stop tears leaking through my lashes. Not that Cole would notice them—not mixed with all this rain. But I’ve made it so far without letting him see me cry. I haven’t shed a single tear since I fell in the river. Even when I stabbed the meth head. Even when I realized the epidemic was global. I’ve kept my feelings in so I wouldn’t turn into a sniveling mess.
But this hits me harder. Deeper.
Why should I care if this crazy country boy leaves? Two days ago, I didn’t even know him. And now, the realization we’ll be separated feels like the last straw.
I will not cry. Not over some boy.
Suddenly, it feels like wasps are stinging me. Thousands of them, their needles pricking my face, ears, hands. With a start, I open my eyes.
Cole is still staring at me. “Sleet,” he says simply and moves in my direction.
I nod dumbly, my face too numb for talking. If I open my mouth, I’m sure I’ll start weeping. Cole somehow manages to wedge himself closer on the narrow rock ledge. Without a word, we wrap our arms around each other. He drops his face into the top of my hood, while I tuck my head in his shoulder. We do all this wordlessly, instinctively, knowing there’s no time for awkwardness or polite gestures. We simply need to minimize the parts of our bodies exposed to the freezing rain.
“It’s like a monsoon,” he says in my ear. “A sleet monsoon.” The freezing rain blows sideways. Cole shifts, repositioning his face somewhere between my ear and shoulder, trying to protect his face.
“I’m sorry I made you lose your hat!” I say over the spatter of a billion flecks of falling ice.
He shrugs. “This is more fun than wearing a hat. It would’ve taken me another two days to work up the nerve to touch you again.”
I can’t decide whether to laugh or cry. “You make the best of every situation, don’t you? I can’t believe you’re flirting with me in a zombie-apocalypse sleet storm.”
“God almighty,” he says, “I don’t think I’ve ever been this cold. I’d give anything for a decent coat.”
“I hear you. If I ever get out of this mess, I’m buying nothing but fleece-lined clothing for the rest of my life.” I shiver in the semidarkness. “Fleece-lined pants, fleece socks…”
“Fleece underwear?”
Is he thinking about my underwear? Embarrassed, I try to change the subject. “And I’ll eat soup all day long.”
“Mmmm…soup…what kind?”
“Something hearty. Potato and bacon.”
“Oh, yeah,” he agrees. “Bacon.”
Bacon usually distracts boys from thoughts of underwear. “And hot cocoa,” I tell him. “I’ll drink the hell out of some hot cocoa. Like a gallon of it.”
We sit in silence for a full minute.
“Those things are all gone, aren’t they?” My voice breaks. “S-soup and hot cocoa and showers and TV? And even more important things. My friends back home. My relatives. Hell, maybe we’ll get to Glenview and my parents will be dead also.”
Soon, Cole will be gone, too. Alone. On his own in this crazy forest.
This time, the tears come and I can’t fight them any longer. I’m tired of fighting them. I’m scared and hungry and completely exhausted.
“I’m so sorry,” I whimper. “I don’t mean to cry.”
His lips move against my temple. “Shh. Go on. I got you.”
Tears course down my cheeks, mixing with the rain. “My parents are dead. I’m sure of it. I can feel it.”
“You’re not psychic. You don’t know that. Don’t lose hope,” he whispers. “You heard that radio announcement—the CDC is working on a vaccine. They’ll cure this.”
His words just make it worse. Memories of the paper I’d been working on float back to me. “It took centuries to find a rabies vaccine. For so many years, all people could do was cauterize the wound or buy some stupid fake cure—then sit back and watch their loved ones die.”
“But that was a long time ago. Science has improved since then.”
“But this virus is faster than rabies. Twenty seconds to infection. Ninety seconds until total loss of cerebral function.” I’m working myself up to a rant. “And this virus is so much more widespread. It’s on a whole different level.”
Cole doesn’t contradict me.
“It’s all pointless,” I sob. “Even if we make it to Glenview, even if we find a safe place, what good will it do us? The world is fundamentally changed. Life will never be like it used to. All the good things are gone.”
“I don’t believe everything is gone.” He pulls me close and holds me through the garbage bags.
I’m suddenly weeping hardcore, like a child, bawling against him, unable to catch my breath.
“Shhh. It’s not all gone. Not everything. I promise. There are still good things. Things worth living for. We’re going to find them.”
But I have a terrible feeling the only good thing left on this planet—the only thing worth living for—has his arms around me right now and is holding me tight, trying to keep the sleet out of my eyes.
Chapter Seventeen
Eventually, I cry myself out. The sleet continues for at least another hour. The incessant sound makes me nuts. My mind drops into a deeper level of exhaustion and I doze fitfully against Cole’s chest.
I’m not used to sleeping against a boy. He’s all muscle. It’s a bit like snuggling up to a rock. A very warm rock.
When I open my eyes again, the sleet has thawed to a curtain of rain. Drops beat against the mossy stones.
“Did you sleep?” I ask Cole.
“No, I’ve been thinking.” He stares at the washed-out landscape. “Listen, I’m trying to be optimistic—maybe we’ll run into my dad and Jay somewhere between here and Glenview, but if not, I’m gonna need supplies. Hell, you and me—we still got another fifteen miles to cover, maybe more—we’re gonna need food at least.”
“We’ve been over this before. Nothing grows this time of year. You said it yourself.”
He grows thoughtful. “I’m wondering if we should go back and find that hiker.”
“The zombie hiker?”
Cole shrugs in a noncommittal way, his shoulders shifting beneath my cheek. “He was still wearing his backpack. It might have food inside. And gear.”
“Intentionally confront a zombie?” I ask his chest. “Are you crazy? Remember the meth head? Personally, I don’t plan to get close to one of those walking nightmares ever again.”
“I ain’t saying it’ll be easy. We’ll probably have to kill him to get the pack.”
No, no. I don’t want to kill anyone else. I shake my head. “This is, like, the worst idea ever.”
He leans in a little closer to me, lowers his voice. “Just think what could be in that backpack. Food, probably. And matches.”
“Or it’ll be like the fire tower. Full of useless junk.”
“He was carrying a sleeping bag.”
Now he’s got my interest. “Seriously?”
“Yeah, or some kind of bedroll. It’s attached to his backpack.”
He slides his lips close to my ear, his voice dropping another notch. “A sleeping bag. Think about it, Ava. No sleet. No freezing night. Warmth.”
Something clenches in my stomach—it has nothing to do with the sleeping bag and more to do with the way Cole says “warmth.”
“Or,” I reply, forcing my tone even, “the hiker will bite us and we’ll become members of the walking dead, effectively trading our lives for a sleeping bag.”
“Come on, Ava, you’re smart. I can’t do this alone. I need your help.”
“I…I don’t know, Cole.” Under normal circumstances, I’d be able to come up with a better argument, but not now. Not with Cole’s lips so close to my ear. “And,” I continue, fighting to regain control of my senses, “don’t forget the bear—what if he’s still there?”
“The bear won’t come out this tim
e. Not if we don’t have open food.”
“Really?” I ask doubtfully. “You think he attacked us because he smelled that handful of trail mix?”
“Did you know a black bear’s sense of smell is seven times stronger than a bloodhound’s?”
“No,” I admit incredulously. “So maybe he did smell our food.”
It’s intoxicating being this close to Cole. He looks even better at close range—his skin perfect, except for the tiny scar. And I like the scar. It makes him seem tough or something. Oh Lord, I’m turning into one of those chicks that dig tough guys with scars. Ack.
I ease my hands deeper into Cole’s jacket, hear his breath catch in his chest. It’s so simple to touch him, now that we’ve been entwined for the last hour. I don’t want to move—I don’t want to leave this cozy little nest to attack a zombie. In fact, I don’t want to shift my head even one inch from where it’s pillowed against his chest.
But that’s a dangerous way to think. No matter how much of a lead we gained at the gorge, there’s no changing the fact that we’re being tracked. Hunted.
Around us, the rain slackens to a light patter.
We’ve been smart so far. No reason to slip now.
“We should get going soon.” I lift my head. “I’d hate for the Beavers to find us perched up here. Or Bethany. We’d be stuck for sure.”
“I know.” He sounds as reluctant as I feel. “But we need a plan first. To figure out where we’re going.” He gives me a pleading look. “C’mon, Ava. Let’s find that hiker. It’ll be worth it. A sleeping bag and food and fire. And there ain’t no telling what else.”
“The bear—”
He cuts me off. “Maybe the bear killed the zombie for us?”
I stretch, trying to loosen my cold, cramped muscles. “Or maybe the hiker infected the bear and we’ll have to fight a zombie-bear?”
“Food, fire, sleeping bag.” The corners of his mouth twitch slightly. He knows he’s getting to me.
I try to sound stern. “Maybe that bear is onto something. Maybe it knows better than to fight one of those things.”
“Food, fire, sleeping bag.” He repeats it like a mantra. That hopeful grin of his—the one I’m coming to love—it’s so charming, I’m unable to tear my eyes away.
I throw my hands up. “We don’t even know where the hiker-dude is.”
“If we head back to that clearing, spread our scent around, I have a hunch we’ll find him.”
I bite my lip. Fifteen miles. I can’t walk fifteen miles without more food.
“Okay. Fine.” I raise myself to a standing position and try to straighten my busted jacket under the garbage-bag poncho. “Time for round two with the bear and zombie. But only because you need supplies if you’re going to spend more time in this crazy forest.”
“Yes!” he says excitedly, pulling himself up beside me.
My legs are unenthusiastic about the idea of moving again. But the last step of my journey is in front of me, and the thought of reaching safety and my parents is enough to get my aching feet in motion. The sleeping-bag part helps, too.
We climb down from the cliff and then backtrack a half mile to the clearing. The trail rises ahead of us, slick and black with rain. Weak, gray sun filters through the tree limbs. My shadow creeps beside me through the half-frozen grass.
“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” I whisper to Cole.
“Shhh.” He points ahead.
The zombie is still in the clearing.
But one of his legs is gone. Completely gone.
The hiker crawls on his belly, groaning like some cursed soul going through an exorcism. I want to run away, but I force my feet to stay. The pack—and the sleeping bag—are still strapped to his torso.
Cole’s eyebrows shoot up. “I guess the bear won.”
He’s trying to sound upbeat, but I can tell he’s just as horrified as I am.
“Score one for the bear.” I put a hand over my nose and mouth, trying to block the putrid smell. “Let’s get the goods and scram—you know, before the bear comes back for dessert.”
“Yeah,” Cole says, wagging his eyebrows, “that bear did keep eyeing you like you might taste delicious.”
I study the zombie crawling in our direction, his stump-leg dragging across the damp leaves. “All the creepy things in this forest look at me like I might taste delicious. So what do we do? Are we going to kill this guy?” I sound a whole lot tougher than I feel.
Cole gives a resigned sort of grunt. “I ain’t crazy about decapitating another one. That meth head was not one of the high points of my life.”
I watch the creature inch toward our end of the clearing. A lump forms in my throat. “Poor guy. He is sort of harmless. We could just leave him here.”
Cole considers the zombie for a second. “Part of me wants to put him out of his misery.”
“Me, too. That would be the nice thing to do—stab him in the brain, slice his neck. But it’s not worth the risk, getting that close to its teeth.”
“I agree. Let’s grab the pack and go. I can cut the straps fast—without getting anywhere near its mouth.”
I shift my gaze to Cole. “Is this the part where I come in? Do I distract him by being my delicious self?”
He nods. “I won’t let him hurt you. You know that.” His words have the ring of promise.
“I know you won’t.” I exhale, resigning myself to spending the next few minutes as zombie bait. “I’m already in his line of sight. I’ll stay here and try to act delicious. You circle around that way.”
“Okay, but I’m gonna be super quiet. Don’t talk to me; don’t look at me. Just keep his attention focused on you.”
Nodding, I gulp down fear and do the unthinkable: I walk toward the moving corpse.
Cole leans in to study the zombie’s back. “Three straps. One at each shoulder, one around the belly. Piece of cake.”
“Cole?”
“Yeah?”
“Be careful.”
He grins. “I didn’t know you cared.”
I can’t fight the flush spreading across my neck. Damn, the boy is cocky.
“Um, Ava—look sharp.” He points at my feet, where the hiker has almost reached grabbing range.
“Oh!” I jump back, fully blushing now. I’m sure Cole knows he distracted me.
Ugh. No flirting during the zombie apocalypse.
The dead man’s groan turns to a choked rasp, frustrated as his meal moves out of range. He scoots closer, using his hands to pull the weight of his torso along the ground. His face is half gone—shredded by the bear’s claws and the ravages of the virus. For a long moment, I can’t help but pity this poor guy who went for a nice long walk in the woods and ended up infected and mauled by a bear.
Behind the hiker, Cole tiptoes through the shadows. He was right about keeping quiet. All those years of hunting have obviously paid off. I didn’t even hear him edge toward the holly bushes.
I force myself to keep eye contact with the zombie. Hard to do when his pupils have swiveled toward the back of his head.
Cole swoops in and cuts a strap, doubles back—and before the hiker realizes what’s happening, frees the other shoulder.
“Two down, one to go,” Cole says triumphantly.
But now, the zombie is aware of Cole. “Raaaaawwr!” he roars with rage and swats at the places where the knife freed the straps.
“Hey, Mr. Zombie,” I coo. “Over here.” I wave my arms like we did for the bear. “I’m more interesting than that guy. Yoo-hoo! Watch me.”
But it does no good. I’m not sure if it’s because Cole’s closer. Or because Cole annoyed the zombie with his knife. Or who knows, maybe Cole just smells better. Either way, the zombie has found new prey. And it’s Cole.
The hiker swivels his torso in the opposite direction. Cole tries to lunge for the last strap, but the hiker is ready for him, baring his teeth.
“Here, Ava.” Cole moves to join me about five yards from the hiker
. “You take a few swipes. Not too close. Just get his attention again. Then I’ll get the knife back and cut that last strap.”
He hands me the blade.
“Bleh,” I say, coughing from the stench. “He smells like an open drain. Have I mentioned how much I hate getting close to these things?”
“Not me,” Cole jokes. “I love zooming in, putting only a few inches between my skin and its teeth.”
I eyeball the zombie’s back. The strap is there, in plain view, just above the sleeping bag. “I’ve actually got a pretty good shot,” I tell Cole.
“No, Ava,” he cautions, “I don’t think you should try—”
But I’m already in motion, imaging the knife as part of my hand. The blade cuts the last strap—but it also slices through the hiker’s back. It’s obvious his whole body is rotten—the knife slides into his skin like soft butter. I know immediately that I’ll have nightmares about this for the rest of my life.
The monster’s hands fly toward me, but I’m already away.
“Impressive,” Cole says, putting a hand to his chest. “But don’t do anything that risky again. You just gave me a heart attack.”
I shoot him a weak smile. “I didn’t know you cared.”
He almost laughs.
I check the hiker. The wound didn’t cause any real damage. I can’t figure out if I’m relieved I didn’t hurt him more, or if I wish I’d ended everything for him. The zombie crawls free of the bag, his attention still focused on Cole.
I nod toward the pitiful figure, black blood now oozing down the back of his shirt. “I think you’ve got an admirer.”
“He does seem to like me,” Cole observes. “I reckon I’m just as delicious as you.” He plucks the bag off the ground behind the hiker and tosses me the sleeping bag. “Speaking of delicious, let’s get out of bear country and find out if we got any food in here.”
He doesn’t need to tell me twice. I spare one last glance back at the pitiful figure, wishing so strongly that we could risk putting him out of his misery. We bolt from the clearing and carefully work our way down the embankment until we can head west toward the river. We don’t make it more than ten minutes before we stop to check inside the backpack.
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