“You will speak to me directly, or not at all.”
“I prefer not at all,” I say through gritted teeth, noting the panicked look on Alex’s face as he tries to keep his emotions in check.
We make brief eye contact, but the guilt is too much and I quickly look away. “But, since you have me in a jam, what is it that you want?”
He smiles, 10-feet away now, stopping just short of the water that has drained from my shoes and onto the deck.
“We enjoyed your little fun and games back at the school, Lucy,” he says self-importantly, as if I’m supposed to be impressed that he knows my name when, after all, it was blasted all over the internet all day. “But we don’t have much time now and I need to corral the rest of your zombie friends to take back to my leaders and—”
* * * * *
Chapter 28
“Your leaders?” I bark, trying not to sound like I’m bluffing. “Your leaders? The Council of Elders gets first dib on us, not you guys. Unless they see fit to turn us over to you, which they haven’t done in 2,000 years, so I doubt they’ll start now.”
He cocks his head, pretends to drop Alex, I jump – bluff called – and he yanks him back in, dropping him to the wet concrete but keeping a foot on his neck, where he can either crush Alex’s most important vertebrae – or shove him in the water – at a moment’s notice.
“You seem to think you’re in a position to bargain,” says Winter, his foot dangerously close to snapping Alex’s neck, “But I beg to—”
Winter’s next few words are interrupted by the sound of infernos blazing on either side of him; first one, then another, of his fellow Marauders have just gone up in flames.
I turn, flinching, only to see Fiona and Tara quickly re-loading the stake-firing crossbows I stashed in the closet.
They take aim as they rest the crossbows on the second story walkway, like archers in one of those Japanese movies where their arrows blot out the sky.
I reach for Alex in the confusion, but Winter is too fast and yanks him back, back, away from the pool but closer to one of those sleek black Marauder vans.
He’s still backing away, the rest of his Marauders scrambling to avoid becoming roasting marshmallows, when Ethan and Dana emerge from behind the pool house, crossbows in hand as well.
I smirk, grabbing Alex and yanking him back where Roger and I can be zombie bookends to his whimpering, quaking vampire self.
Ethan and Dana make quick work of Winter, Ethan keeping a loaded stake aimed at his heart while Dana yanks his arms behind his back and snaps them shut with a reinforced plastic tie.
With their leader down, the rest of the Marauders quickly and quietly crumble; one by one they are hog tied and tossed into one of the black vans.
Sure, it would have been roomier, and more comfortable, for them to be spread out in all three but… why bother?
That leaves four zombies and one vampire, who is suddenly outnumbered.
“Are you guys a sight for sore eyes?” blabs Roger, but I’m not so sure.
Ethan is avoiding eye contact and Dana is looking over my shoulder.
I hear boots coming, scraping the ground of the pool deck and suddenly realize why.
* * * * *
Chapter 29
“Sentinels,” I explain, as Roger and I turn to face a dozen uniformed zombies.
“What?” He barks. “Now? But this is supposed to be the happy ending, right?”
Ethan whips him around to face the Sentinels and snaps a plastic tie around his wrists.
“Sorry, pal,” he says, shoving him toward the nearest Sentinel. “This is just the beginning.”
I don’t wait for Ethan to manhandle me; I simply hold out my hands – in front of me – and let him do the honors himself.
Then I turn to face the Sentinels, who don’t wear black but blue; blue cargo pants with plenty of pockets on the side, blue shirts with even more pockets and those straps on the shoulders, blue berets.
They don’t shave their heads, either, but that doesn’t make them any prettier to behold.
“Lucy?” asks Roger as the Sentinels march us out of the suddenly crowded pool area. “What’s happening? Aren’t these supposed to be the good guys?”
The Sentinels don’t speak; at least, not to us.
Instead they look to Ethan, who points to our suite of rooms on the second floor of the Home.
They march us up the stairs, one by one, until Roger and I are sitting on the two chairs in my room.
Alex sits on my single bed, fuming, his future uncertain; his eyes darting everywhere but at me.
The Sentinels spread out, covering every inch of space in my tiny room.
Ethan and Dana fill the door, smirking.
“What gives?” I ask, wondering if Fiona and Tara have had time to sneak back into the closet after saving our butts with their little second floor archery display.
Ethan starts to speak but Dana beats him to the punch, “After your little stunt today, we were left holding the bag, forced to explain to Dean Winters why 300 Drama Club geeks spontaneously decided to dress up as zombies on the same day YOU got outed as one, thanks.”
“No one asked YOU to be our spokesperson,” I snap, the Sentinels watching carefully.
“No one asked YOU to out us all,” she snaps back, inching into the room and leaving Ethan alone in the doorway.
We stare each other down for a second before Roger – of all people – brings us to reason, “Whatever, what now? Who are these goons and where are they taking us?”
“Us?” asks Ethan, inching forward threateningly. “There is no US, you half-zombie. You and Lucy here are going with the Sentinels, and Dana and I are starting over, somewhere far, far—”
“That’s not entirely correct,” says a Sentinel near my closet. “Actually, Ethan, we’ve been ordered to bring you back as well.”
“Me?” Ethan barks, as if he’s a Sentinel himself. “What for?”
The Sentinel clears his throat and says, awkwardly, “Just a standard debriefing, Ethan, and then once we get your story, you’ll be relocated to…”
The Sentinel keeps talking, but all I see is Ethan glance nervously at Roger, and Roger give Ethan a knowing look.
I shake my head, spitting, “You see, Ethan, you see? Weren’t YOU the one who said we all needed to stick together? Weren’t you the one who said we were a team? Now you see what happens when we turn on each other!”
The Sentinels are straightening to take possession of us and march us downstairs where, I can only assume, a van or truck or some super secret spy vehicle is waiting to drive us to our doom.
Ethan is strong, but not strong enough to overpower all these trained killers, although I see his jaw flexing and his eyes doing the math to see how many of them he can take down before they overpower him.
Dana is mute, her eyes wide, not believing their plan has backfired.
I am calm, resigned to my fate, when the doorway fills with two familiar faces, each munching candy bars.
“Hey,” Tara asks, looking saucy with chocolate on her lips, “how come nobody invited us to the zombie party?”
Ethan whips around, stumbling back into Roger, Roger smiles to see his AV Club Friends, Dana is in the process of turning, I’m wondering what’s up and the Sentinels are growling, the scent of human flesh and sizzling, electric fresh brains driving them toward the door.
“Run!” I shout, not realizing why they’re just standing there, reaching into their pockets with a dozen professionally trained zombie killers blitzing them.
“Get out of here!”
I see the pennies in their hands before they launch into the air, handfuls and handfuls of fresh, beautiful, gleaming copper pennies, flying here and there, landing willy-nilly and heading straight toward me and…
* * * * *
Epilogue
I come to in the back of a van; a sleek black van full of sleeping zombies.
I groan, my head pounding from a copper
penny overload headache.
I go to squeeze my temples and realize my hands are free; someone has snapped my plastic bonds.
My eyes are blurry, the electricity coursing through my body finally rewiring itself but taking its time.
I look closest to me first, where I can see the best.
Roger is slumped up against the wheel well, rubbing his eyes, while Ethan lies lifelessly and Dana is sprawled on her back, eyes open and unblinking as she, too, tries to get her bearings.
I stand up on wobbly legs, not helped much by the sandy, bumpy road we’re traveling on.
Traveling on, I might add, at a high rate of speed.
I stumble over bodies until I’m clutching the back of the driver’s seat, where a familiar face turns and smiles.
“Rise and shine, sleepy head,” Tara giggles, obviously enjoying putting the petal to the metal as a tiny country back road spreads out before us, wide and sandy and full of potholes.
“What just happened?” I ask, still rubbing my eyes as Fiona, riding shotgun, comes into focus as she follows a trail on a road map spread out across her lap.
“Just happened?” asks Fiona without looking up. “Girl, you’ve been out for hours. We’re already in Georgia.”
“Georgia?” I blurt, sitting down on the wheel well to make my head feel better. “Headed where?”
“Who knows?” asks Tara gleefully. “We’re on a road trip, girl; we go where the road leads us.”
“And the Sentinels?” I ask.
Fiona folds the map back up, slides it in the glove box and turns around to face me. “Probably waking up right about now in that hotel room, 300 miles away.”
I sigh, the thought of being a state ahead of the Sentinels finally putting me at ease.
“And the Marauders?”
Fiona shrugs. “Probably still wriggling around in that nice black van of theirs,” she sighs. “At least, that’s what they were doing when we left the Home. After letting the air out of their tires, natch.”
“Wow, I’m impressed. When did you two turn into 007 all of a sudden?”
“When Tara got the idea to run to the corner store while you had the Sentinels occupied in your hotel room, buy a couple of Snickers and get the change – from a twenty, no less – all in pennies!”
“That was pretty impressive,” I say. “Here I was supposed to be coming to your rescue and, well, you came to mine.”
The sudden realization is not so subtly humbling.
We ride in silence as the van shuttles down the Georgia back road.
“So we’re heading north, then?” I ask, concerned that might be too predictable a path but none too eager to tell my saviors that.
“For a little while,” Tara teases, “then we thought we’d zig west for awhile, head over to Tennessee. “My folks have a cabin there, they never use it, and you four could hide out there while you figure out what to do next?”
“Four?” I ask. “You guys aren’t coming?”
“For the weekend,” Fiona explains. “We’ve already texted our folks, told them we’re out scouting colleges, that should buy us until Sunday night, Monday at the latest. Pretty good, huh?”
I settle back, slinking against the wheel well as Ethan finally comes to.
Dana is immediately up and in the girls’ faces, barking orders about cutbacks and side roads and switching out license plates and when Roger joins her, trying to stick up for the girls but not gaining much traction with the much bossier Dana, I slide back to Ethan.
“Have a nice nap?” I ask coolly.
He smiles meekly, not quite looking me in the eyes.
“It’s always better when I wake up to your face,” he croaks.
“Gross,” I snap. “Where’d you memorize that line from 1,001 Pickup Lines Guaranteed NOT to Work?”
He snorts. “I’m just glad you’re speaking to me again.”
I sigh, leaning back against a spare tire. “Like you said, Ethan, we’re a team, for better or worse.”
“Even after I tried to hand you over to the Sentinels?”
“Well, that might take some sweet-talking to get over.”
“Did I hear something about a cabin in the woods?” he smirks knowingly.
I shrug and he says, “Sounds like the perfect place to make up to somebody.”
“We’ll see,” I shrug, but inside I’m suddenly looking forward to getting back to nature.
After that, who knows?
We’ll have to ditch the van, of course.
Who knows what kind of tracking beacon those creeps are using to follow us as we speak, but with two states between us we can dump this baby as far north as possible just before hitching west and throw them off our scent all the more.
I sit back, Ethan comfortably close, the front of the van full of bickering know-it-alls who, despite the volume of their voices, are all uniformly smiling.
I sigh and think… it’s a good day to be a zombie.
But maybe not so good to be a… vampire.
Slumped against the door, glaring at us, is Alex.
“What about him?” I ask, remembering the frightened little boy face he’d made while dangling over that pool full of holy water.
Ethan shrugs while Alex glares. “Him we’ll have to see about.”
I sigh, but inch away from Ethan nonetheless.
It’s not that I care about Alex getting jealous so much, as the hard look in Alex’s eyes.
It’s a risk, bringing him along; he can turn bad, or he can turn good.
Only time will tell.
Of course, since all of us – okay, most of us – are undead, time is something we have a lot of.
* * * * *
About the Author
Rusty Fischer is the author of over a dozen zombie novels, including Zombies Don’t Cry, Zombies Don’t Forgive, The Girl Who Could talk to Zombies and Panty Raid at Zombie High! Visit him at www.zombiesdontblog.blogspot.com to learn more and read tons of FREE zombie stories and poems just like this one!
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