by Bella Street
After a few miles, the group fanned out as some dropped behind. The pink sun had a heck of a punch. Walking on an empty stomach wasn't such a great idea, either. A feeling of faintness made the images in the distance waver like mirages.
The sound of retching made her pause her leaden steps. She looked to her left and saw Trent on his hands and knees, dry-heaving onto the sand. One of his hands still clutched the ax. The others apparently hadn't noticed as they continued on their way. Seffy slowly approached his prone figure. He didn't seem aware of her presence. Uncontrollable vomiting had that effect. She reached out and touched his shoulder, hoping her overture would be seen as an attempt at comfort.
His head whipped around at the contact, his eyes bulging in his flushed face. “Get away from me!”
Seffy reeled back, shocked by the anguish in his expression. There was more here at stake than an upset stomach. She turned and hurried after the others, regretting her impulse to help. Served her right. But after about five minutes of walking, she chanced a peek over her shoulder and saw him following behind at a distance.
Strange guy.
They scaled one shimmery hill after another for at least an hour. Seffy's steps became weighted, from hunger, thirst, or mental exhaustion, she wasn't sure. Eva and Cynthia straggled on the edges, shooting venomous looks at Malone when they weren't complaining. She wouldn't mind whining if it annoyed Malone, but she didn't want to risk Trent's ax-laden instability at the moment.
Lani suddenly started making choking sounds and pointing. Seffy saw a lumbering man emerge from behind a stand of pine trees, in tight polyester pants and a denim vest exposing a bare, hairy chest.
Before she could react, Malone fired and Seffy watched its head explode. Bile burned the back of her throat. One of the new girls began crying openly.
“Malone,” Gareth hissed, “they're extremely sensitive to sound. They'll just triangulate the noise from the rifle and gang up on us.”
“We're well-armed. Besides, it's better than 'em sneaking up on you.”
Once again she wondered at Gareth's apparent monster/military knowledge. The clientèle at the Gap store where he was assistant manager couldn't be that bad. He should be talking about cotton fibers and corduroy wales instead of...triangulation.
They crested a hill and as they surveyed the scene below, Seffy's nerve dropped to her fashionable Pilates shoes.
“Oh my God,” breathed Lani.
“I told you,” muttered Gareth.
Down in the shallow of the valley there were about twenty figures headed in their direction. Seffy squinted, trying to be sure each one was a reanimated corpse and not someone out for a leisurely hike...about a million miles from anywhere. The only thing she could tell for sure is each looked like a 70s vintage store customer. Tight pants, medallions, platform shoes, polyester dresses, and gold jewelry prevailed. Maybe there'd been a sale.
“How come they're dressed funny?” Eva asked in a shaky voice.
“They look like disco dancers,” Cynthia added.
“Disco,” Malone said, then spit on the ground. “They deserve to die just for that.”
“I thought they were already dead,” Addison mocked.
“I guess we can't nickname Malone 'Tony P',” Gareth said in a low voice.
Lani giggled. “Disco is life!”
Malone spun around at her words and pinned her with a malevolent glare.
Lani quailed. “Or not.”
“Who's Tony P?” Seffy asked.
Gareth shook his head as if disappointed in her lack of cultural awareness.
“You know, I still wonder if any of us have super powers.”
Trent grimaced at Lani's suggestion. “Where did that come from?”
“Well, think about it,” she said, “I mean, there was the gi-hugic blast, something is wrong with the sky—”
“And we're geographically...challenged,” Addison said, exhaustion making her sarcasm weak.
“ —and there are creatures that—”
“Don't exist,” Seffy added.
“—that don't usually exist, in the natural realm anyway,” Lani continued. “Plus, the sand is sparkly. Maybe there was some chemical or radiation explosion.”
Trent snorted.
“And maybe we were affected, and therefore have super powers.”
“Like what?” Eva ventured, more snark than interest in her tone.
“Telepathy?” Lani closed her eyes. “Everyone concentrate hard.”
“The only things you're gonna hear are the screams of the dying,” Malone said. He turned to Seffy. “Okay, princess, this is your chance at some target practice.”
Seffy looked askanced at him, then at the rifle in her hand. “Are you serious?”
“You're locked and loaded. Now kill some zombies!”
She looked at Lani, who bit her lip and stared at Malone, then at Gareth, who was aiming down the hill. How could he be sure they were all bad down there?
A blast shattered the relative silence. Malone had fired first. Instead of turning and scattering in fear, the figures pivoted toward the noise in sync, like a school of fish. Sweat broke out on her brow.
I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this...
“Shoot the damn gun!” Trent yelled. “Or I'm taking it away!”
Seffy pierced him with a cold look before aiming the rifle. Her gun had a scope, which helped her set sights on a man in snug white pants and a black silk shirt. He raised his arms and let out an eerie moan. She held her breath while squeezing the trigger. The recoil knocked her backwards onto her butt.
“You missed!” Trent said. “God, what a waste.”
Seffy scrambled to her feet and tried again. This time she was ready for the kick of the gun. She pulled the trigger and braced for the impact.
“Aw, man, you missed again,” said Addison. “Are you even trying?”
Seffy peered around the gun and saw Mr. Silk Shirt starting to head up the hill while others were picked off by Gareth and Malone. “I can't do it,” she whispered.
Addy grabbed the rifle from Seffy's hands, aimed and fired. Mr. Silk Shirt went tumbling backward and lay still in the sand. She held the gun out to her. “You gotta want it.”
Seffy refused the rifle. “I guess I don't.”
Addison shrugged and was soon keeping pace with the men. Five minutes later, the ground below was littered with corpses.
“Disco is dead!” Malone proclaimed, ejecting shells from his rifle.
“That was brutal,” Lani said, her face pale. “I don't blame you, Sef. I wouldn't have been able to do it either. I mean those are people...or they were at one time.”
“Where'd you learn to shoot like that?” Gareth asked Addison, awe tinging his voice.
She blushed and shrugged.
“Fine, Red gets the rifle. Princess, you better grab that machete, and let's hope your aim is better at close range.”
Seffy looked at the machete Addison handed her. The blade was rusty and the handle was wrapped with loose black tape. “Geez, I can't even kill already dead people.”
“They're called zombies,” Trent said. “The sooner you face it, the better.”
“I don't like the word,” she said, lifting her chin. She looked back down the hill and cringed. “Anyway, maybe they're just misunderstood.”
Trent huffed. “How?”
“Well, does anyone ever take the time to listen to their grievances, their concerns?”
“They're only concerned with your brain.”
“Hey, Sef,”Addison said, “finally someone who doesn't just want you for your body.”
Seffy ignored her. “Maybe they could be studied, and then we'd find out they have something to offer society.”
For the first time, Trent smiled, although it was more of a rotten grin. “What, they can wear 'domestication collars' and mow our lawns or collect shopping carts?”
Jared snickered. “Yeah, we could, like, work for a zombie management compa
ny.” He started laughing like a horse.
Seffy stared at him with distaste. Jared's charm ended with his brand of hair gel. “I'm just saying we should be open-minded. Mankind has a history of subjecting certain people groups in dehumanizing ways.”
Trent groaned.
“And,” she continued, “maybe we shouldn't discount the idea that these creatures are a metaphor—”
“Are you joking?” Trent said, almost gagging on the words.
“A metaphor where we can become more human through a relationship with the...undead.”
“Hey, dumb blonde, the undead are vampires. Get your facts straight.”
Seffy frowned at Jared. She liked him better when he didn't talk.
“The problem is you can't call them by what they really are...zombies,” Trent said, taking a practice swing with the ax. “And like any good zombie story, things only go from bad to worse, so you better brace yourself, babe.”
Seffy looked over to see Addison suppressing laughter as she watched them. Gareth and Malone were talking in low voices, looking at the rifles.
“I dare you to say 'the Z word',” Trent said, making another chopping motion, his messy hair glued to his face.
“I don't need to say it.”
“Why?”
“Because it's ridiculous.” Seffy spread her arms wide, accidentally hurling the machete toward Jared. He ducked. “In fact, all of this is ridiculous. It's probably all some subconscious...thing.”
“Whose subconscious?” Trent said.
“Yeah, maybe it's, like, from the zombie's subconscious,” Jared growled, not pleased at almost being skewered by the blade. He hurtled it back toward her. Dodging impact, she picked it up with a semi-apologetic smile.
Trent approached her, the ax head resting just past his shoulder. Seffy saw it glint in the pink light.
“You know,” he said, his hard gaze assessing her from head to toe and back again, “it's almost a shame you didn't end up one of them. Maybe then you'd believe.”
He turned and walked away, followed by the guffawing Jared. Seffy stared after Trent under lowered brows. Addison was way off. The hobbits from Underworld would never be that rude.
Chapter Eleven
I almost miss Malone's grog.
Seffy made a face as she plodded after the others on the interminable traipse through the stark wilderness. The lack of interesting features gave her mind nothing to do other than obsess about Gareth and her near-death experience—neither of which she could comprehend anyway. And just because she'd survived didn't mean there weren't viral floaters in her blood, waiting to...reanimate...at a later date.
And Gareth. If she hadn't disgusted him before, she certainly had now. There just wasn't any coming back from what she'd done with an infected stranger. What would he think if he knew all her secrets as well? Face it. Gareth is beyond reach. It's time to end this pointless obsession. And yet, her pathetic heart still longed for him and his approval.
Seffy closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, she saw Trent looking back at her with an inscrutable expression on his face. What was with the guy? What had she ever done to him? His friend had already been bitten by the time they arrived at the safe house. Had Trent simply woken up on the wrong side of the apocalypse?
It was just another question without an answer. She wanted to know about Gareth's sudden odd knowledge, Addison's mad weapon skillz, and Lani's desire to dwell in the past they'd all agreed to forget. And now, despite her best intentions, they were back where they didn't belong.
Malone was a mystery unto himself. And she had no interest in talking to The Others. But she had to admit she dreaded the answers more than the not knowing.
As she put one foot in front of the other, she forced her mind to pleasant, non-complicated things. Like her favorite clothing store Arden B, and how a new outfit could bring a sense of satisfaction like no other. After the perfect outfit came the perfect shoes, along with the feeling of anticipation as she combed boutiques for just the right pair. If Lani accompanied her, she encouraged Seffy's florid tendencies while Addison restrained them. Afterwards, they'd lunch at a trendy restaurant, flirt over the menus with cute boys who could be the next up and coming stars, then plan to either throw or attend a party with which to showcase the new outfits.
When the workweek rolled around, she'd put together the smartest ensembles, accessorized by perfect hair and makeup. Her employers expected a pretty, efficient receptionist, and that's what they got.
Besides, she never knew who might walk in the door for treatment. Since a relationship with Gareth was a long-time pipe-dream, she'd taken to fantasy in the last few months. Maybe she'd be discovered by an agent or a director at the clinic. Imagine being cast for a part because Michael Bay saw her behind the elegant granite-topped counter. Or he could just marry her. That'd work in a pinch. Of course, she hoped Michael Bay wouldn't actually need medical treatment. Maybe he was there because he was friends with one of the doctors. Yes, that was better.
On her coffee break, she'd read Variety, memorizing who was who in the business realm of the industry. She had a list of potential agents down to five. All that remained was getting her new headshot photography done. But a pair of Steve Maddens had caught her eye and her bank account had taken a blow. If she was very good for a couple more months, and kept her credit card behind the wainscoting in her room where she'd hidden it, the photography would get done. Then once she acquired an agent, the doors would start opening. From there, she'd need a publicist, and maybe even a stylist. Seffy closed her eyes, imagining the bliss of having a professional dresser. Maybe Michael would hire her one. He was surely just that sweet.
That's when her life would change. No more stagnation, no more inertia while waiting for an unattainable guy and a career to justify her choices.
If she ever made it home.
As her thoughts faded before the pink glare of the moment, Seffy took in her surroundings anew, noticing they were approaching a large building the size of a small warehouse—this one appeared to be built of concrete block with a metal roof. No windows. Must be a safe house.
“We're here,” Malone announced, lowering his rifle and digging at the chain around his neck for a key.
The group slowed and looked around. Seffy blew out a breath and smiled at Gareth as he came up to her. The afternoon light created a nimbus around his head in a fitting tribute, considering the way she felt about him.
He wiped perspiration from his forehead with his arm. “How you holding up?”
She smile thinly. “Remembering fonder times.”
“Yeah, I've been doing a bit of that, too.”
Seffy winced. Well, 'fonder' probably doesn't include me. “Were you thinking about...Verity?”
His darkening cheeks was answer enough. She'd hoped he'd been thinking about her, but no, she had to go and swap spit with an impaired stranger and blow all her chances with Gareth sky high. Well, at least Verity wasn't there to rub her nose in it.
She cleared her throat. “I wonder why we haven't seen any more disco dancers.”
Gareth's tense expression eased into a small smile. “Is that your new code word for zombies?”
She shrugged. “I guess.”
“Well, I've thought the same thing. Either there's a pack of them, or one, or none. It doesn't jibe with what I know about them.”
“And we still haven't nailed down where that knowledge came from exactly.”
“Osmosis.”
She was glad for a brief moment of brevity. “At the Gap?”
He tilted his head back and forth. “Probably more like at the bars.”
“Like the Viper Room?"
“Especially the Viper Room.”
“Ah.”
“Has anyone gotten my messages?” Lani asked, her tone frustrated.
Gareth turned away at Lani's question. Seffy swallowed a sigh.
Cynthia looked over. “Messages?”
“I've been trying t
o do telepathy with everyone for like the last hour,” Lani said. “Anything get through?”
Everyone but Malone shook their heads.
“Well, shoot, scratch telepathy then. Okay, what's another super power?”
Eva raised her hand, her eyes red-rimmed from crying. “Becoming a spider?”
Trent snickered.
Lani lifted one hand. “Okay, everyone flick your wrists. Does anything come out?”
Seffy looked at her friend in wonder. And yet Lani didn't seem to suffer from unrequited daydreams. So who was the weirdest one?
“Oh!” Cynthia said, “what about turning green when you get mad?”
“That's easy, just drink Malone's grog,” Gareth said.
Ugh.
“This is serious,” Lani said, sounding huffy. “Anyone have X-ray vision or super strength or speed?”
The exhausted, drooping group shook their heads.
“Well,” Eva said, “if radiation is involved, maybe we glow in the dark?”
“That's actually a myth—” Gareth said, but stopped at Seffy's look.
“Nerd alert,” she whispered.
He gave a rueful smile. Seffy's tired soul bloomed a little.
“Sounds like the only side effect is your addled brains,” Malone said, unlocking the padlock and opening the door. Suddenly he yelped and pinwheeled backwards.
Seffy heard them before she saw the hands reaching past the door. She stumbled in the sand, struggling to backtrack fast.
“Fall back!” he screamed. A blonde woman with giant hoop earrings fell on top of him, her bloodstained mouth going for his jugular. In the next instant, she slumped to the side.
Seffy looked at Gareth in shock. He lowered his gun. “Everyone get back!”
More disco dancers pushed their way out the door.
Malone scrambled to his feet and lined up with Gareth and Addison, who jammed shells into the chambers and started shooting. Seffy didn't want to look at the carnage, although she couldn't help notice these dancers looked more like long-lost island survivors—where no one got voted off. Their clothes were shredded, their gray, mottled skin hanging in strips and flaps. She pressed her hand to her mouth when she saw intestines spilling out of one of them.