by Molly Snow
Then Damien saw Stella. What was she doing? Walking back? He could tell she thought she was being inconspicuous by following along the road, but it would unquestionably get her in trouble—her daring, and stupid move! And for what reason? He quickly averted his eyes, knowing Billy might catch on.
Marsha and Ted joined their son, standing across from Damien and Maggie. Billy pointed elegantly with a hand toward the smoke. “You’ve come just in time for a barbeque. Would you care to join us?”
Marsha let out a high-pitched laugh through her nose and clutched her hands together in amusement.
A zombie with a missing arm came running from the direction of the fire. “We’ve found some other wedding crashers!”
“Other wedding crashers?” Billy and Damien said in unison, then looked at each other.
“Yes, some kids. Teenagers.”
“Well, then… I’m in a party mood. Teenagers like to party. Let’s add them to the barbeque, shall we?” The crowd agreed with Billy. “It looks like,” he said to Damien, “your little plan has turned in our favor. Let the festivities begin!” He glanced back around the beach in frustration. “And would someone go get Stella for me?!”
Damien looked back up to where he saw Stella a moment ago. She wasn’t there. Hopefully, she’d changed direction, and run off to safety.
No one bothered tying Damien up, as they all headed around the rocks to the fire. It was raging high in the sky. The biggest bonfire he’d ever seen, looking alive and hungry, as if it knew food was on its way. Maggie still clung to his arm. “Got any bright ideas?” she asked him out of the corner of her mouth.
He just shook his head, his blood boiling over the fact that his new friends, his pack, seemed doomed.
“Think, Damien. Think,” Maggie said.
“I am.”
Now they could see Caleb, Kit and Gordon, tied to each other beside the fire.
“What are you doing here?” Damien yelled at them in frustration.
Gordon shrugged a shoulder and said, “We wanted to help.”
“How did you know about this?”
Maggie loosened her grip from his arm, and said, “I might have told them. I’m sorry. I didn’t know they’d follow us.”
Kit said, “Technically, I didn’t want to come. I was the only level-headed one of us. But they wouldn’t listen to me, and I couldn’t just stay home while my boyfriend would get in a zombie fight.”
“Yeah, very level-headed,” Damien returned.
“Well,” Billy stepped forward, and circled the other members of the PAA, bound and trembling, “I’m glad you came to our party. The more the merrier. Don’t worry—our family and friends here don’t believe in eating the brains of the living, so we’ll just have to kill you first. I’m personally in the mood for slow-roasted meat over an open fire. And, coincidentally, we have this beautiful bonfire.” He turned back to Damien. “And don’t think we’d forget about you. Since dessert comes in smaller portions, I’m saving your brain for last. You can try and run or save your friends here, but there’s no use. You’re outnumbered; I always did like math….” A crooked smile showed just how crazy he truly was.
At the same time, Rock, Joe and C-Lo were being hoisted up on their poles in preparation for being placed right in the fire.
Whatever he’d do, wait and watch, or just fight—it’d probably end in doom. Damien didn’t take another second to think. He jumped up and grabbed onto C-Lo’s pole, making the zombies, holding the pole on either side, fall to the ground from the sudden weight. Then he went wild, ripping and tearing, gnashing his teeth into their putrid skin. It was a disgusting job, but someone had to do it. He was a whirlwind, spinning in and out of view so fast that if someone were to touch him, they’d get caught up in his storm and wind up like his first victims—shred to pieces and thrown into the flames. The fire’s flames turned green, devouring the zombie pieces hungrily. It didn’t take him long to do the same to those carrying the Rock and Joe shish-kebabs.
Taking the briefest of moments to catch his breath, he noticed Billy and his parents were nowhere to be seen. His eyes darted around, seeking them out. “Where is he?” he growled at those still in attendance. No one answered, so he grabbed the closest walking corpse and tossed him like a rag doll into the flames. Everyone stepped back, scared, but still, they didn’t say a thing. All that was heard was the disgusting shriek from the one melting away. “I said, where is he?!” Damien grabbed the buffet table and flung it like a gigantic Frisbee, and it skipped along the ocean like a smooth rock along a creek.
“I’m going to ask you one more time,” he said. “If no one answers, then you’re all dead!”
But no one had to say a word this time. A car’s engine could be heard rumbling awake. He could see the headlights turn on at the nearest turn-out of the road to the party.
“Damien!” a girl’s voice screamed, and echoed.
FORTY-FIVE
“There is no way I am getting kidnapped again!” Stella punched at Billy sitting beside her in the backseat of the station wagon. Her fists felt like they barely made impact, however, as if they were nothing more than big cotton balls. It just frustrated her more; she wanted to pound him into the ground! “I hate you, you freak! Let me out!”
“Control your bride,” Ted said from the front passenger seat.
“I’m trying, Father.” Billy went to grab Stella’s wrists, but she wasn’t having it, and she finally got one good bop across his head.
“Goodness, when are you going to grow out of these fits?” Marsha whined. “It’s so unbecoming!”
After a few more punches, Stella resigned to snuggling her door, to get away from Billy as much as possible. “Don’t TOUCH me,” she warned, and stared outside, to the lonely little two-way road, curving along the beach. A semi-truck eventually drove by with high beams on, and she wished for a head-on collision.
“I’m thinking Acapulco. What do you all think?” Marsha asked. “The weather is nice and balmy there, I hear, so we don’t have to wear sweaters ever again. I know Stella’s not too fond of sweaters.”
“I think it sounds like a fabulous idea, dear,” Ted said.
“Why didn’t you just burn me, like you threatened?” Stella asked, coldly. “Why take me with you?”
“Because,” Billy said, “I never give up, which means I always win.”
*
The bus charged down the winding dark roads at high speeds. The band had freed themselves from their metal binds by morphing back into their human selves, causing their hands and wrists to be significantly smaller. Now they were all back to their werewolf shapes, huddled at the front of the bus, watching in anticipation out the large windshield.
“I think I see them!” Maggie squeezed between them. “We’re gaining on them!”
*
A loud horn blared behind the station wagon.
“What on Earth is that?!” Marsha said, gripping the wheel tighter and accelerating.
Stella turned in her seat. It was a shiny, tall, black bus. Through the flood of its headlights, she could make out the silhouettes of a couple werewolves. She smiled wide, and said, “It’s my rescuer.”
Billy rolled his eyes. “Not him again.”
*
Joe, at the wheel, took a PA off the dash and announced from the bus’s outside speaker, “Yo. Attention, losers. Time to pull over your sorry, stinky butts. Let the girl go, or become flaming mince meat pie.”
Caleb bounced up from his seat and went and grabbed the PA in excitement. “You’re all going DOWN!”
Joe took it back. “Don’t touch my stuff, dude.”
*
“Maybe you should pull over, dear,” Ted said, strapping his seatbelt on.
Instead, Marsha sped up even more, whipping around corners in the old car. “No. Whatever Billy wants, Billy gets. I’m not letting those dogs overpower us.”
Stella gave an exaggerated sigh. “I’m sure Billy doesn’t want to be
come mince meat pie.”
For once her kidnappers were silent, having no comebacks.
*
Damien’s thoughts flashed back to a news broadcast one year prior. The woman sitting behind News Channel 7’s desk said in an apathetic tone, “Deborah Capernalli, a thirty-five-year-old mother of one from Jersey City, died earlier today from a head-on collision on Interstate 80.”
His sights returned to the little station wagon ahead of the bus, swerving erratically over the double-yellow line in its haste. The bus’s speedometer was up to seventy-five miles per hour. A speed limit sign flashed by: “55.” And a truck came barreling from around a corner, blasting its horn. “Ma!” Damien blurted.
He reached out to Joe. “Slow down!”
Joe eased a bit off the gas, and everyone turned to Damien in surprise.
“You’ll kill her,” he said, and morphed back into his human form. His suit hung on him tattered, his shirt torn open, showing his chest. He felt his heart slam against his ribcage and sweat trickle down his forehead.
The station wagon sped on, leaving the bus far behind.
“We’ll lose track of her,” Rock said, morphing back to his human form too, raising his brows. “For good.”
“I don’t want her to die. I don’t want her to die.”
*
Marsha slowed down, glancing back and forth from the rearview mirror to the road again. “Hm! Looks like they gave up.”
It was true. The bus was nearly out of sight. Stella wanted to curl into a ball and disappear. She took off her seatbelt and huddled against her door.
“Looks like we win.” Billy exhaled in victory and laughed.
Stella’s dead heart felt like it shattered into pieces.
“Well,” Ted said with satisfaction, “Acapulco here we come.”
“Whee!” Marsha added, her giggling sounding more like a turkey’s warbling clucking.
Then, as if the woman’s glee momentarily blinded her driving, the station wagon took a sharp swerve and flew off the edge of a high cliff. They were sailing down, down, down in horror, toward gigantic rocks and vicious waves. Stella’s stomach darted up behind her ribcage for the entire ride.
FORTY-SIX
“NOOOO!” Damien hunched in front of the large windshield, before fumbling into a front seat. He saw it. He saw it all happen. It wasn’t supposed to happen, though. He gave them space, let them take the lead. “Why?” he cried out, oblivious to his pack and the PAA hovering around him. “Why?!” The video of his mom’s car crushed like a tin can on the interstate flashed through his mind. “Why?” He thought of Stella crashing into smithereens, at the bottom of the cliff.
“We need to see if she’s okay,” someone said. It sounded like his father.
He thought of his father racing to the scene at I-80, wrenching open the driver’s side door, and seeing his bloodied mother, lying there dead, then vanishing.
“She might still be alive,” his father said.
Damien opened his eyes, feeling hot tears, and looked up from his prostrate position. “Pull over.” His voice shook. “We need to see.”
*
They looked down at the car far below, teetered on a cluster of rocks, waves crashing against it, threatening to whisk it away. The front end was completely busted up, and a tire was more than fifty feet away. The drop down was too steep, too severe to descend.
“Stella!” Damien cupped his mouth as he shouted. “Stella!”
Kit, Caleb, Maggie and Gordon held each other’s hands, looking down at the terrible scene. Kit started wailing. “She’s gone. Oh, she’s gone. My best friend!”
A small sound wafted up in the chilling sea breeze: “Help,” it said, softly, barely audible, like a kitten meowing.
Now everyone yelled for her. “Stella!”
“Help!” the little voice called again.
“Everyone turn back into werewolves,” Rock said.
“Why?” Damien asked.
“We’ll be stronger.” He morphed into a beast, then proceeded to climb down the cliff.
“What are you doing? You’ll die,” Damien said.
He froze in position. “Do you love her?”
“Yes, of course.”
He nodded and continued his course.
Damien morphed too, without further hesitation. He had been involved in many sports before, but rock climbing wasn’t one of them. The thick padding of his paws, and the sharpness of his nails, only helped so much.
He didn’t descend more than ten feet, when he heard the definite growl of a motorcycle revving up. He held his position between some sharp stones jutting out from the cliff’s wall, and looked up. A motorcycle popped up and over the edge, the wheels spinning above his head as if in slow motion, before it shot down the drop.
Damien had to catch his breath to believe what he just witnessed. He watched the motorcycle continue to glide down, the rider holding to the handlebars while his body flew above the seat. “Pa?”
“WOOHOO!” Rock yelled out with a thrill, also watching it all unfold from right before his eyes. “You are crazy, man! I worship you! Rock and roll! WOO!”
The motorcycle somehow found a groove, a vein between the sharp rocks, to land, and smoothly careen down. Damien watched in anticipation, as his father broke the back windshield, and slid out Stella’s pale body. When Damien saw her hug close to her hero as he lifted her up and along the rocks, he breathed out in gratitude. “WOOOOO!” he called out, shaking a fist. He could see her face look up and she waved; though pitifully, it was wonderful. She survived.
Damien watched in further relief as Stella sat behind his pa on his motorcycle, holding him tight. When they took off, her long hair whipped victoriously like a flag in the wind. Eventually, they found their way safely up to the road, after taking long detours around the rocks and down the shoreline. Everyone waited on pins and needles, until they saw the headlamp of the motorcycle with the two silhouettes riding toward them. Damien and the others jumped and cheered at their arrival.
*
Stella felt all jittery. She could hardly believe she was finally rescued. And there was Damien, coming to pick her up off the back of the motorcycle, with his suit jacket off, his shirt torn wide open, and interestingly enough his maroon bowtie still neatly around his neck.
She reached around his neck as he lifted her up and he cradled her in his arms for a long moment. “I’m so happy you came,” Stella said.
“My pa is the real hero,” Damien said, looking into his eyes, and gently set Stella down. Kit and the others of the PAA swarmed her with hugs, while Damien stepped aside to talk to his father.
“You don’t have to say anything,” his pa said, putting his helmet on his seat.
“Yes, I do. Thank you. And I’m sorry I held a grudge.”
“It’s only natural, and I would too if I were you.”
Damien opened his arms and the two embraced.
Just then, there was a loud boom. Everyone turned to look down the cliff, at the car. It was engulfed in flames.
“That settles that,” Rock said, and everyone laughed in relief.
“Anyone in the mood for Denny’s hot-wings?” C-Lo asked. “I don’t know what it is—I always crave those things at night.”
“Ohhh.” Caleb made a noise in agreement. “Or their Grand Slam breakfast?! Two eggs, two pancakes, two bacons. Ahhh yeah!”
“Their onion rings are the best,” Gordon said, “dipped in their ranch dressing.”
Maggie playfully pushed his shoulder. “Are not. You’re all wrong! The best is their Rootie Tootie Fresh and Fruitie!”
“Try saying that ten times fast.” Caleb laughed, and attempted it. “They got some funny things on their menu.”
“Yeah,” Gordon pushed his glasses up on his nose, “like Moons Over My Hammy. What’s that supposed to mean, anyway?”
Everyone cracked up in response, and entered the bus. C-Lo pressed his GPS, after fastening his seat belt. He said, “Find me the
nearest Denny’s.”
FORTY-SEVEN
Shoreline’s beach was warmer than usual. Stella was back home. She stood beside the ocean, in shorts and a sweater, holding Damien’s hand. “You looked like a stripper.”
“What are you talking about?” He shook his head with a smile.
“When you picked me up off your dad’s motorcycle, you did. You totally looked like a stripper.”
“I did not.” He chuckled.
“Did so. You were showing off your chest and abs. Your hair was glistening and messy.”
“So?”
“You even had the bow tie!”
“Okay, okay. I see what you mean.” He smiled wider, showing most of his teeth. “You ready to catch a wave?” He nodded toward the two surfboards, lying in the sand just a few feet away.
“Sure, but be easy on me. I’ve never done this before.” She stepped over to her pink board. “And were the decals really necessary?”
“Yes,” he assured, stepping beside her.
They looked down to their boards, her decal boasting, “I’m with hairy,” and his boasting, “I’m with stinky.”
Stella turned and held both of his warm hands, looking up at him in a moment of seriousness. “Damien…”
“Yeah?”
“Do you hate the fact that I’m a zombie girl?”
He paused before shaking his head no.
“Come on. Be honest. You must hate it. I know I hate it.”
“Stella,” he rubbed a hand through her hair, “the only reason you survived that crash was because you’re a zombie. I don’t resent that.”
She nodded, looked down at their feet, then back up at his deep brown eyes. “I was also lucky. The impact got the others, and then the explosion happened after I was out of the car. Without the explosion, they would have popped back alive eventually, even if mutilated.” She shook. “I was very lucky.”
“I’m thankful for that.” He leaned down and gave her a long kiss that seemed to warm her to her core again. When their mouths separated, he asked, “What’s it like to kiss a werewolf?”
“It makes me feel more alive than being alive ever made me feel.”
“That’s good.” He cupped her face and kissed her again.
“Very good,” she said.
They embraced for a long moment. She rubbed her hands across the smooth skin of his back before squeezing him tighter in thankfulness. She was so thankful she met someone like Damien. That he rescued her and that he loved her. She didn’t want to let go. If she could, she would cry over the wave of emotions that came over her.