Dead Over Heels

by Alison Kemper

  Shivering violently, I peel off my icy-wet shirt and drape it over the branch. For a second, the upper half of my body is only wet bra and skin. When I glance up, Cole turns away quickly. Heat blossoms in my cheeks. Thank God I’m wearing a black bra that won’t show the dirt and grime of the past few days. As I reach for my dry jacket, I remember the broken zipper. It gapes open, revealing my upper body.

  Oh well. I guess Cole can gawk at my bra some more.

  But he keeps his eyes locked on the fire ring. “This worked,” he says holding up my EpiPen canister. Inside, the matchbook stayed dry. “Ready?” he asks, deliberately not looking in my direction.

  I understand immediately. We have four matches. That’s it. We need to make this work. On the first try, at best.

  For some reason, my brain leaps back to that first morning when I jealously watched Cole and Bethany start a fire. Tonight, there isn’t time for that kind of insecurity. I need to help—need to block the misty breeze coming off the water. I cup my hands around the match as he strikes.

  Nothing.

  “Dammit,” he says.

  I expect him to reach for another, but he flips the match over and tries again. Nothing. He throws the dead match in the fire ring.

  “Match number two,” he says, sounding pissed. His fingers shake with cold and nerves.

  Again, nothing on either side. “I think they got damp,” he says sadly. “Not in your Epi-tube thing. In the hiker’s pack. During the sleet.” He shakes his hand. “And my damn fingers keep cramping from the cold.”

  I grasp his hand between mine and start massaging his icy knuckles.

  His eyes lock with mine. The look he gives me could melt all the ice in the national forest. Deep and hungry.

  He’s going to kiss me again. I’m sure he’ll kiss me again.

  Instead, Cole drags his gaze away and grabs another match. I shake my head to clear it, trying to focus on the task at hand.

  He swipes the third match in a halfhearted way. It catches.

  We blink, surprised. “Damn! I was wrong! Guess they didn’t get wet.” Excitement brightens his eyes.

  Quickly, he touches several places in the tissues, which catch easily. Score another point for random junk from my purse. A granola-bar wrapper goes up in flame, igniting crumpled flyers from the fire tower. In the gathering darkness, Cole patiently adds pine needles one by one, until their heat dries the larger pieces of wood. Within ten minutes, flames are leaping high.

  I realize I’ve been practically holding my breath.

  Carefully, I cap the remaining match in the tube and stash it in my purse. Then I fiddle with the metal cooking pan from the hiker’s pack, figuring out how to attach the handle. I fill it with water while Cole feeds the fire and tries to pretend like he’s not looking at my bra.

  And I pretend not to want him to look.

  “How about beef stew?” I ask, rummaging in the sleeping-bag bundle. “And cocoa?”

  “What?” He’s obviously distracted.

  “Beef. Stew.” I repeat slowly, holding up the packet. “And cocoa.”

  “Yes.” He clears his throat. “Perfect.”

  Once again, he forces his eyes down, and lines up a few flat rocks, creating a level place to cook on the flames. I pass him the pan.

  His gaze shoots up, sneaking a peek at my chest.

  He clears his throat again. Glances away.

  I fight the urge to giggle.

  A sudden sense of happiness overwhelms me. We have a fire. And a solid lead over the zombies. And a safe place to sleep. And I’ve almost reached my family. And I get to spend the night with a hot boy.

  My smile fades. Too bad it’s the last night.

  I roll a small log closer for us to sit on while we feed the fire. Cole stays quiet, his attention fixed on cleaning his knife over and over.

  With a lot of coaxing and patience, the flames eventually throw off solid, bone-thawing heat and the water in the pan begins to bubble. Hands shaking, I add liquid to the food packets. The smell of meat and spices makes me want to stick my face in the opening and choke down the food in one gulp. Cole gallantly gives me the hiker’s spork, using his knife to spear the first bite of stew.

  “Mmm,” he groans, chewing. “Delicious.”

  “I’m not much of a beef-stew person,” I say between mouthfuls, “but this tastes freaking fantastic.”

  “I’m sure it’s got nothing to do with the fact we’re starving.”

  I add hot water to the tin mug and carefully stir in the cocoa mix. We each take a long pull from the cup.

  Cole smacks his lips. “Best thing I’ve ever tasted.” He stares at the ground. “Well, maybe second-best.”

  His gaze lifts, stopping at my mouth.

  My heart thumps. “What’s first?”

  He pauses to spear another lump of brown meat on his knife. “Beef stew.” He flashes me that cocky grin.

  I laugh, glancing away, then back again, suddenly shy.

  He’s still staring. He clears his throat once more. “I guess I was out of line with that kiss.”

  The cocoa sticks in my throat. “Why would you think that?”

  “Maybe you have a boyfriend back home or something.” Cole sets his empty food bag aside.

  “Nope,” I answer. “No boyfriend.” I give Cole a sidelong glance. “Why are you asking? You’re the one with a girlfriend.”

  “Bethany?” he sputters, passing me the cup. “Are you kidding?”

  “Oh, come on,” I tease. “She’s perfect for you, Cole.”

  “Yeah, except the part where she turned all my friends to zombies. Besides, I told you, I tried to break it off with her a million times. You saw what she’s like.”

  “So you’re saying she’s still officially your girlfriend, but only because she wouldn’t accept your breakup? That’s a terrible explanation, Cole.” I keep my tone light, so he knows I’m flirting. Hard core.

  Cole pours warm water on his knife, then snaps it shut with a sharp click. “Bethany is not my girlfriend.” He matches my flirty tone.

  I have to bite my lips to keep from smiling. I shift closer on the log. “She thinks she is.”

  He fights not to focus on my open jacket. “I didn’t do a good job breaking up with her.” His eyes bore into mine. The light tone disappears. “But I swear. I haven’t laid a hand on her in four months.”

  “Why should I care? It’s not my business.” My voice grows serious. I’m unable to turn away.

  “Yes, it is.”

  “No, it’s really—”

  His hands move to cup my face again, holding me, forcing me to meet his eyes. “It is your business.”

  I lick my lips. He’s gonna have to say it. I’m gonna make him say it. “Why is it my business, Cole?”

  “Because, City-Girl. It’s you I want.”

  And then his lips are on mine again. There’s an awkward second as I set the cocoa mug on the ground, trying to get it out of our way. Water boils merrily in the pan, ready for our second cup of cocoa, now totally forgotten.

  Cole’s hands hold my head, like he’s trying to trap me in a kiss that I have no urge to get away from. My body strains to move closer to his.

  “I’m freezing,” I whisper against his lips. “Let’s get in the sleeping bag.”

  …

  Ava gives me a wicked little smile as she crawls in the sleeping bag.

  My stomach flips.

  “Aren’t you coming?” she asks.

  I rake a hand through my hair and try to take a solid breath. “I’ve been watching you walk around in black lingerie for the last hour. If I get in that sleeping bag with you, there’s no way I could be a gentleman.”

  In response, she unzips the bag, holds it open, and pats the space beside her.

  I might have a lot of self-control, but I’m not made of stone. Two strides and I’m slipping into the bag, stretching out alongside her. Her skin is silk under my calloused hands. Her lips meet mine, and I get the strangest
feeling—drowning and floating at the same time. We kiss, the soft, sweet kisses I’ve been wanting for days. But they grow longer, deeper.

  How long have we been kissing? Five minutes? An hour? I hope it never ends.

  “Our clothes are still wet,” she murmurs.

  “We should get out of them,” I say, picking up her train of thought. “Hang them up to dry.”

  Her lips graze my jawline, sending shivers up my spine.

  “Let me help you.” Her fingertips snag the hemline of my shirt, dragging it over my head.

  Hellfire, I don’t even remember taking off my jacket. Hers is gone, too. Did I do that?

  Ava’s fingers slide along my stomach, dipping into the waistband of my boxers.

  Wait, my pants are gone, too?

  Moaning, I move her onto her back. She kisses my scar and for a moment I freeze and shiver. Then I kiss her again. She tastes like cocoa.

  For a few minutes, I’m a normal guy, not running from zombies, not hiding and trying to stay alive. Just focused on the beautiful girl in my arms. It’s like some terrible, awful nightmare has turned on a dime, morphing into sweet fantasy. The horror of the last four days slides away and there is nothing but Ava and me.

  And the softness of her skin, her mouth.

  Oh damn. Oh damn damn damn.

  I pull back. “We gotta slow down.” I laugh.

  Her eyes are soft and liquid. “Not sure I can.”

  I pull away—just slightly. Hard to do in a narrow sleeping bag. “We can’t. You know we can’t, right?”

  Ava exhales slowly as her mouth puckers into a pout. “I had a feeling you’d say that.”

  I move a wisp of bright hair from her face. “You deserve better than this,” I whisper. “Better than a quickie on the run with some guy who hasn’t showered in four days.”

  She skims a finger down my chest. A shot of warmth ebbs through me.

  “Oh, come on, Cole. A dip in the river is the same as a shower, right?”

  It would be so easy to give in.

  “Really, Ava. I ain’t feeding you lines. I really want to…be with you. It’s just…you ain’t Bethany. You ain’t—I don’t know. It’s a respect thing.” I take a frustrated breath. “Damn, I’m doing a crap job explaining—”

  She gives a resigned half smile. “I believe you. You’re one of those guys who doesn’t like to lie.” She heaves a deep sigh. “And you’re right, as usual. We don’t have any, well—any basic supplies.”

  I laugh, knowing exactly what she means. I’m glad we’re on the same page. “You ain’t mad?”

  “I ain’t mad.”

  My mouth finds hers again. But the kisses become slower. Calmer. Soothing like the rush of the river around us. “You do realize you’re in a sleeping bag, making out with a redneck?”

  Her eyes widen with humor. “I have a new appreciation for country boys.”

  “And I have a new appreciation for city girls.”

  “Sing to me,” she whispers. “Get my mind off all the things we can’t do.”

  I bury my face in her hair. “A kiss from pretty little Shady Grove is sweet as brandy wine, and there ain’t no girl in this whole world that’s prettier than mine. Shady Grove, my little love, Shady Grove, I say, Shady Grove, my little love, I’m bound to go away.”

  I freeze suddenly, realizing how true those words are.

  Going away. I’m going away from her. Tomorrow. My head is full of Ava. Her taste, her scent. Leaving her tomorrow will be like ripping out my soul.

  I pull her closer. Neither one of us speaks—every second feels bittersweet.

  The night settles around us, cold and dark. I leave the sleeping bag long enough to wrap my jacket around a stone from the fire and put it at the bottom of our sleeping bag.

  “Oh, that’s heavenly,” she mutters, as I stretch out alongside her again. “You are the most brilliant boy I’ve ever met.”

  I shift onto my back as Ava snuggles against me. The tiny sliver of a moon glosses the world with a cold sheen.

  Abruptly, she says, “There’s no way your dad and brother would be hunting this close to town, right?”

  I’m not overly surprised she’s figured this out. “No,” I admit.

  “You’re just going with me to Glenview.”

  I nod. “I’ll make sure you get there safe. Then I’ll turn back.”

  “But you’ll lose a whole day!” She tilts my face toward her. “Two days when you count the backtracking. Go, Cole. In the morning. Or now, if you need to. Don’t stay for me.”

  “Listen, I ain’t gonna leave you right now. It’ll be hard enough doing it tomorrow night at the reserve center. But I ain’t leaving now, okay? I gotta make sure you get back to your parents. That you’re safe. Or, or I just…I don’t know…I just couldn’t take it.”

  “You really do care about me,” she whispers softly. “Tough, gritty Cole.”

  “Shhh,” I tell her, smiling. “Don’t tell anyone.”

  She kisses my cheek softly. A sweet gesture.

  “After I find Dad and Jay, I’ll come to Glenview,” I tell her.

  Her eyes shine clear as glass. “I don’t want you to make me any promises.”

  “I take my promises seriously.”

  “That’s the trouble.” She lets out a frustrated breath. “You could die trying to get back to me. I’ll be safe in town—at least, I hope I will. And you and your family can find someplace safe, too—I have no doubt about that. You guys are like the ultimate Boy Scouts. Don’t leave them again to search for me.”

  “Unfortunately,” I whisper, “I’m as bad as you at following directions. I’ll find you again, Ava.”

  “Cole, I’m serious! Don’t—”

  I put a finger over her soft mouth. “Shhh…we’re getting ahead of ourselves. We gotta make it to Glenview first. No, actually we’ve gotta sleep first. We’re supposed to be resting. Tomorrow will be rough, and we need to leave at daybreak if we wanna reach town before sundown.”

  She closes her mouth, letting it form a stern line. “Only if you promise to sleep also. You’re as exhausted as I am.”

  I make a face at her.

  “We’re safe here,” she reminds me. “Close your eyes. Rest.”

  I pull her close again, letting her tuck her face in the crook under my chin—where she fits so perfectly. Her soft warmth is as good as a sleeping pill. Within a few minutes, I’m fighting to keep my eyes open. The dark autumn night settles around us. Sudden moonlight spears through a gap in the clouds. I take one last careful look at the surrounding terrain. On either side, the riverbank is quiet and empty.

  Ava’s right. I do feel secure here. I close my eyes.

  …

  Cole is snoring. Loud. In my ear.

  I shift onto my back. The crescent moon rides midsky, high above the treetops.

  The snoring noise again. I nudge him with my knee.

  When he murmurs, his deep voice sounds groggy. And sexy. Very, very sexy.

  His body is curled into mine. My fingers trace his arms, making his grip tighten around my hip. A low groan escapes his lips.

  His mouth moves to my ear. “You are making it very, very difficult to be good.”

  “I don’t want you to be good,” I admit.

  His lips meet mine.

  And then the snoring noise again. But wait, how can he be snoring if he’s kissing me?

  Oh crap. It’s not snoring.

  Cole hears it, too. “Don’t move,” he whispers, his lips still on my forehead.

  The noise repeats. Not snoring. Growling. One voice. Two. Then too many to count. Fear pierces me like a knife.

  I raise up, but Cole pulls me back. “Stay low,” he mutters.

  “It’s the fire.” I glance at the coals where we’d left water boiling for cocoa. “It must’ve drawn them here.”

  Still crouched in the sleeping bag, I lift my head just enough to study the bank where we’d tied the rope to the tree. The dark night is lit by many
eyes. Pale, luminous white eyes. How many? Forty? Fifty?

  I whimper, fighting the urge to duck my head back into the sleeping bag.

  Already, the air is filled with a familiar smell: meat and dirt and rot.

  “Quick,” Cole whispers, snagging my pants off the nearby tree limb. “Get dressed.”

  My yoga pants are dry, but stiff as a board. I wriggle into my tee and jacket. Running his hand along the ground, Cole finds my purse, helps me slip it over my shoulder.

  “There’s a chance they ain’t seen us yet. Just the fire.” Beside me, Cole eases into his clothes, trying to stay below the sightline. “Let’s crawl to the other side of the island. Cross to the opposite bank.”

  In the dark? Without a rope? In that current?

  Around us, moans echo in the chill air until they come from every direction.

  We disentangle ourselves from the sleeping bag.

  “There’s so many,” I say, my teeth chattering. “So many.”

  “Take a deep breath,” he whispers, picking up a fist-sized rock and weighing it in his right hand. “We’re safe here. As long as we’re on the island, they won’t go into the water. We’ll go to the other shore, start running—”

  “Well, howdy over there!” The twangy female voice cuts through the night air. Cole’s hand tightens around mine.

  Bethany. My blood turns to solid ice.

  Forty yards away, on the eastern shore, Cole’s ex-girlfriend raises herself from a crouched position. Cole and I stand, but he pushes me behind him. For once, I don’t complain.

  Bethany’s teeth flash white in the darkness, a smile full of victory. “I’ve had the most interesting evening. I just been sitting here, waiting on my army to catch up—I can do that you know, go on ahead, order them to follow my trail. So I been watching y’all, and I seen my boyfriend—my boyfriend—kissing some little no-count ho.”

  Cole swears under his breath.

  “You know what that’s called, Cole? That’s called two-timing, and I don’t tolerate it. No, sir, I don’t.”

  Bethany loads her crossbow. Cole spreads his arms, completely blocking my body.

  Bethany doesn’t care. This time, she obviously wouldn’t mind hitting Cole. She raises her bow and takes aim.

  But Cole is faster. He throws the rock with the precision of a circus performer. It hurtles across the river, knocking Bethany somewhere on her upper torso.