Another Zombie Apocalypse: Part 20

Three Weeks and Two Days Since the Apocalypse

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.

I stared, panting. My hand throbbed as I gripped the new, heavier machete. My gaze drifted to the other man I’d killed—only he wasn’t dead. He dragged himself along the ground toward the buildings, one hand holding his stomach where I’d driven the machete through.

Should I feel more? I thought as my ears rang. Would this come back and haunt me in my dreams at night?

You need to survive this first, my sister Ava’s voice spoke in my head. She’d flick me, and I’d flick her back. You need to survive, her voice came again, louder, reaching above the din of ringing in my ears.

A hand clamped down on my shoulder. Noise crashed in around me, people yelled and screamed, breaking the ringing. I tried to duck out of the grip, but then I peeked to see Beckett scowling. He propelled me forward, following Allen, who was running toward an open door, where the most beautiful person in the world stood, waving us over.

Marianne held her baseball bat ready as Allen ran through the open door safe and sound. She hurriedly waved at Beckett and me, eyes widening as she looked past us. I dared to look behind me, stumbling off balance. I yelled for Mario to hurry as I twisted out of Beckett’s grip.

Mario bee-lined for me, avoiding the grasping hands of the man I’d impaled. I ushered him inside, then stood at the door. The balconies were full of people, most gaping in awestruck horror. Some looked angry, others as if they’d expected nothing less. The Grinning Man glowered at me from his balcony and I mock saluted him with the machete.

“Camille,” Beckett urged me, grabbing my shoulder. Allen stood at his side, ready to close the door, but I remained in the way. A look set in his eye that said he knew I was about to do something stupid and there was nothing he could do to stop me. Mario shifted from one foot to the other, glancing over his shoulder, wincing at every yell, thud, and scrape.

“Find Myra and get out.” I looked between the three of them.

Allen’s shoulders drooped, confirming his fear that I was living up to my nickname. Beckett gave me a stern look, and I gestured to the horde of dead lumbering our way.

“I’m going to make sure this place becomes infested with dead,” I told him. “It’ll keep them preoccupied so we can get out. Go find Myra, I’ll be right behind you.” When he made a face as if he were going to argue, I lifted my scrawny arms. “I can’t carry her, Beckett, but you know I can run.”

A man screamed, begging for help. We looked over and then quickly averted our gaze as the man I’d impaled earlier was overtaken by two of the dead.

“Okay, okay,” Beckett said, like he was hyping himself up, and then he squeezed my shoulder before taking off down the hall, yelling for Marianne and Kimber. Mario turned to follow, hesitating when Allen didn’t.

“Go with him,” I told Allen. “You’re in no shape to fight.”

“Neither are you,” he argued, raising his chin and setting his jaw.

“Beckett’s going to need help. There’s a little girl—”

“I know, I know. Broken leg.” He dragged his hands through his hair. “You’re an idiot.”

I wasn’t sure if the words were meant for me, or himself, because he gave me a quick hug before leaving, ushering a questioning Mario along with him. Once they rounded the corner, I turned to the hoard of dead and banged the machete against the wall, and yelled, “Fresh brains! Get ‘em while they’re hot!”

While I didn’t think the dead could understand me, several rotting heads turned my way and began to lumber toward me.

“Somebody get down there and stop her!” The Grinning Man’s voice rose, a menacing yell that should have turned my blood cold—but I was already facing a hoard of dead—there wasn’t much that living bastard could do to scare me now. Plus, his anger gave me fuel, and I found myself grinning as I took slow steps back, making sure the dead continued to follow.

Then the doorway was filled with a single person’s looming figure. I stumbled back at the sudden appearance. A sneer twisted the face of the man I kicked in the knee—the man who held me by my hair, the man’s whose machete I now had—as he limped inside and shut the door.

“It’s you and me now,” he said, spitting out a mouthful of blood, curling his hands into fists, “bitch.”

I held the machete in front of me. He laughed, tilting his head from side to side, cracking his neck. Pop. Pop. Quivering, I took a step back. He followed, his injured knee giving under his weight making him hurry to his next step before he fell.

I should run, I thought. With him injured, it would be an easy escape.

A thud resounded from the door as the dead slammed against it, clawing to get inside. I needed to open that door and flood the building with brain-eating monsters.

You can’t do that if you’re dead, Ava spoke, surly and impatient. RUN!

You’re dead, I shot back, gripping the machete tighter and taking a couple more steps back as the man limped forward. He kept a scowl in place, but a muscle in his neck twitched with each step he took with his injured leg.

And you’re going to be dead if you don’t run!

If this were a movie that my sister and I were watching, we would be yelling at the idiotic girl who thought she could take down a person three times her size. Sure, he was injured and had no weapon, but his determination and soulless eyes said that didn’t matter.

Also, if this were a movie, it wouldn’t matter if the girl—i.e. me—ran. Especially if this was a horror movie.

The man lunged for me. I yelped and leaped back, swinging the machete. The blade slashed his forearm. He snarled but lunged again, unfazed. I spun on my heel and took off running down the hall.

In the panic of my heartbeat, I couldn’t hear his footsteps in pursuit, but his vehement curses chased me.

Why did I tell the others to leave? I had no idea how to get out of this building. Rounding corners that lead to dead ends, making me double back, I’d catch sight of my attacker loping after me with a sneer until I reached a T in the hall. Left or right? Do I take the stairs leading upward, or the hallway that could lead to locked doors and a dead end?

I looked up the stairs. How often have my sister and I yelled at the girls in horror movies to not go upstairs? It never held an advantage.

The man chuckled, low and deep. “I’m going to squeeze the life out of you.” He cracked his knuckles, the sound right behind me.

I bolted toward the hall. Too slow. He caught a handful of my hair and yanked me back like a dog on a leash. Pain shoot through my skull. My foot shot out from under me and I crashed to the floor. Breath exploded from my lungs; panic filled me as air refused to reenter.

This is it, I’m dead. I’mdeaddeaddead—

The machete’s grip was warm and sweaty in my palm, a reminder that just because I couldn’t breathe, didn’t mean I couldn’t fight. The man moved to straddle me and I swung as hard as I could. My shoulder protested with a pop. The hilt of the machete smashed into the side of his head. His eyes lolled and he stumbled to the side.

I scrambled to my feet and took off running.

Should have stabbed him while he was down. Wrong direction. Running in the wrong direction. Should have stabbed him. Wrong direction. My thoughts were a in frenzy as I raced back the way I’d come, lungs burning and throat aching. I reached the door that had led outside to the horde. Their moans and shuffling feet penetrated the din of my thoughts.

This’ll work, I thought. Yes, this’ll work.

I stopped at the door, heaving the first full breath since it was knocked from me, and banged on the door to get the dead’s attention. Their moans intensified and they scratched and pawed at the door. I turned to see the man limping toward me. Blood seeped from the wound on the side of his head, and I lifted my chin in defiance. He growled and picked up the pace, his hands clenched into white-knuckled fists, but he faltered with each step. Unsteady from the blow to his head.

I held the machete up and reached for the doorknob with my other hand. Just as he passed the last doorway, his eyes seething with rage, the final means of escape for him. I opened the door, keeping it between me and the dead that lumbered through.