Ava and I ran toward the school. There had to be someone who could help us. Someone calling the police, the military, whoever, to come and stop the mob. The West Middleton High School building was squat and long with dark windows. I’d never been inside, never had the need. They had a separate gym and locker room beside the track and field. Being unfamiliar with the place, finding an open door took us a while. 

With Mario creating a perfect and horrific distraction, I leaned to the side and put all my might kicking my heel into the knee of the man who’d held me by my hair. He crumpled with a cry, his weapon clanging to the ground as he grabbed his leg. I scrambled forward, snatching up the curved machete. He snarled as his grubby hands reached for me, rough fingertips grazing my skin. I stepped aside, kicking him in the chin. His eyes rolled back and his body went limp.

The seven from The Brood closed in on us; gruesome grins stretched across their faces and malice gleamed in their eyes. Despite my indignation, fear stole the warmth from my blood and the steel from my bones, leaving me cold and my limbs shaking. I braced to attack. A man raised a golf club and swung. I ducked out of the way, my heart hammering hard against my chest.

I pushed to my feet on shaking legs, gripping the machete tight to help steel my resolve and give me courage. “I wa—” My voice cracked, my throat tight and full of gunk from sobbing and laughing. I tried again, “I want my friends back!” My voice was hoarse, like the croak of a dying frog, but it was unwavering.

Well, there we were. The four of us: A woman with a baseball bat and a vengeance to get her lover back, a woman with a metal garden rake and an attitude that could sear the skin from bones, a boy considered to be an obsolete long distance runner but with secret information damaging to the enemy, and a girl with a nickname that suited her lack of impulse control.

Allen and I had just made it to the parking lot, leaving behind our dead coach and dead friend. Car horns blared and tires squealed as people peeled out of parking spaces; engines revved to redline in a panic to escape. I’d ridden with the team on the bus, so I wasn’t sure where my family parked. I scanned the lot for my dad’s silver Ford Explorer, spotting it at the far end of the lot.

Fear overpowered the urge to roll my eyes. The man couldn’t be bothered to park close by, or even halfway close. He would always choose the furthest parking spot, said it kept people from dinging and denting his vehicle. A matter of little importance now. We were bound to get scraped as we fled the mob.

I leaned toward Beckett, my mouth dry and sticky as I whispered, “Should I shoot him?”

“Maybe.” Beckett kept his eyes forward.

I squinted up at him. That was a perfect non answer, especially for me who has never used a gun before. Maybe shoot the guy? Not helpful.

The vehicles continued to burn in the parking lot of the hospital. I could see them, even from a block away. The smoke rose in a dark plume, and the glow of orange flames licked the edges of the ash blackened vehicles. 

The convoluted twist and turns that Elsie led us down took hours, and the sky was turning from robin eggs blue to dusty gray with a hint of orange in the few clouds where the sun was setting. 

Blood dripped from the blade of my machete. One swing and the dead woman staggering toward us was completely dead. I aimed for a particular rotten spot on her head, and the blade sank easily and clean to her collarbone. More dead lingered in the distance, not aware of our existence yet.

Beckett and Elsie were finishing the splint on Myra’s leg. The girl was whimpering but stayed conscious, her hand clamped over her mouth.

“Check for bites,” Elsie said. “Should have done that before but—”

Three weeks and two days ago…

My lungs felt like they’re going to explode. The hamstring muscle in my right leg was tight and threatened to cancel itself from working, which would ultimately force me to withdraw from the competition, but I pushed through.

“Go, Kamikaze!”

“Full send, Kaze!”

I heard my teammates yelling as I approached the finish line of the 400-meter sprint.

“Feltz is on your tail! Book it, Kamikaze!” This scream was from my coach, Lenora Diaz.  

Gaping at the poor girl, I waited for some sign that this was a trick. That she was actually one of the dead, and the adrenaline from my jump made me think I had heard a plea for help.

The little girl shivered and she cried out, “Please help me,” before she fell back with a soft thud.

She was alive, for now. I had to get down there.

I swung the machete, the attacker flinching away. The blade cut the backpack strap, freeing it from their grasp. I hauled the pack over my shoulder, spun on my heel, and launched into a run.

“Wait!” The attacker had the audacity to sound panicked.

I adjusted the straps on the backpack, rolling up the excess strips and securing them with a rubber band. The truck jolted as a tire found a pot hole, and I grabbed the edge of the seat to keep myself steady.

I sat between Beckett and a spindly man, with just as spindly glasses, named Erik. He held the ‘oh shit’ handle that most vehicles had. His eyes were narrowed in a perpetual squint as he kept his gaze forward, which made me wonder if his glasses were his correct prescription.

I smoothed the front of my brand new t-shirt. The plain beige tee with a splattered stain on the sleeve was brand new to me, anyway. After the breach three days ago, I was allowed to pick out four sets of clothes: shirts, pants, underwear, socks. My lovely new—gently used—wardrobe sat in neat, folded piles on the floor along the wall of the room I was staying in.

The man’s hand tightened around my bicep as he pulled me along with him. We ran toward the buildings on the far side of the square. I glanced over my shoulder. A corpse chased after us, limping hard on its right leg.

“Oh, fu—” My swear was cut off as the bearded man swung me around behind him. He let go of me, then crouched next to a bench and reached underneath it.

The sun warmed my skin as I took another bite of the burrito. The cheddar cheese, eggs, bacon, shredded potatoes and peppers were like an explosion of flavor on my tongue, and I was ashamed I ever took breakfast burritos for granted.

I’d always opted to skip breakfast, because there was always something about needing to lose a few pounds.

God forbid a person have a body, I thought to myself. I guess I’d gotten what I thought I wanted though, I’d lost a few pounds. More than a few pounds.

The doctor made another “Hmm.” The fifth he’d harmonized in the last twenty minutes since examining me. I kept track of the time by the analog clock on the wall behind him as I sat on a wooden table with a stained gray sheet draped over it.