Love & the Zombie Apocalypse, Page 3
Chelsea Luna
“Watching game film, Lindsay.” His voice sounded tired, even to his own ears. “And now I’m swinging by Cecilia’s Pizzeria.”
“Oh. Well, Cindi told me you went to teen night at the Old Watering Hole last night. She said you were talking to Melissa Devano.”
“I’m sorry. Maybe I should’ve explained it better to you,” Cage said.
“I think you should.”
“See, when I said I didn’t want to date you anymore, that means you don’t get to ask me where I’ve been or who I’ve spoken to. Nor do you get to call me eleven-hundred times a day.”
Lindsay’s voice rose ten octaves. “I knew you liked Melissa! I knew it!”
Cage hadn’t said more than five words to Melissa Devano in his life, but Lindsay didn’t deserve peace of mind. She needed to leave him alone. “I have to go, Lindsay. Will you please stop calling me? Please?”
“Wait.”
“What?”
“I’m sorry, Cage.” Lindsay’s voice went cotton candy sweet. He imagined little chipmunks on a sugar rush. “You’re right, it’s none of my business anymore.” A loud thump sounded in the background.
“Lindsay, what was that noise?”
“I don’t know, probably Sean throwing the football around. Listen, maybe we can meet up and talk things over.”
Another crash sounded from Lindsay’s house. “Linds, what is that?”
“Sean! Stop whatever it is that you’re doing down there! I’m on the phone with Cage.”
He pulled into Cecilia’s Pizzeria’s parking lot. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, I’ll go downstairs in a minute. My parents are out and he’s probably single-handedly destroying the living room. What I was saying before -”
“I’m sorry, Linds, I can’t. We don’t work well together. I’m sure there are plenty of guys that would love to date you.”
“Cage, but -”
“I have to go, Linds. I’m sorry. I really am. Please don’t call again.” Cage clicked off the call and exhaled.
His phone beeped – he had less than two percent of his battery remaining. Good. That meant he wouldn’t get Lindsay’s next phone call. She was exhausting. He didn’t know any other way to tell her that their relationship was over. He rubbed his eyes and dreamed about a drama-less summer without Lindsay. It brought a smile to his face. He parked the Escalade behind the pizzeria and went in through the back entrance.
A narrow hallway led past the kitchen and into the dining room. He poked his head into the kitchen, like he always did, but no one was in there. He walked down the hallway and out to the dining room.
What in the world?
An older couple – with wrinkles and all – was attacking Sandra, the young woman who always worked the cash register. She’d given Cage free soda pop for years.
Sandra had angled a table in between herself and the couple, but her back was against the wall. Blood ran down her arm from a wound in her bicep. The old man charged with his arms outstretched. Sandra flattened against the wall and glanced at Cage. “Help me, please!”
The old man turned to Cage. He wore a cream button down shirt – splattered with blood - and dark corduroy pants despite the heat. He had a shock of white hair and a thick mustache. He was on some type of hard drugs because his eyes were practically bugged out of his head. They were a bizarre shade of light blue. There was something strange about the color of his skin, too. It looked…grayish. He lunged at Cage.
Cage jumped back. “Calm down, old man. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Watch out!” Sandra clutched her arm. “The old hag bit me!”
Cage backpedaled. The old man wasn’t very fast. His movements were uncoordinated, liked he’d had too much to drink. Cage scooted a table in between them and the old man bumped into it without seeing it.
The older woman growled and reached for Sandra.
“Watch out!” She yelled.
The old man flipped the table and fell on Cage. The weight knocked them both to the ground. Cage rolled him over. Dentures snapped inches from his nose. He shoved the man across the floor.
Sandra screamed from the ground. The old woman’s white-haired head was clamped to her stomach. She was biting Sandra.
The old woman dug her fingers into Sandra, peeling back her skin like a ripe fruit. Cage scrambled to his feet and kicked the old woman in the head. Her neck snapped back with a sickening crack. Sandra was sprawled on the ground with her stomach torn out. A soft whimper gurgled from her lips.
The old woman stood up.
Cage grabbed the closest weapon he could find - an old mop propped against the wall. He picked up a chair and used it to keep the old man away. He snapped the mop stick in half and pointed the jagged edge at the old woman. Cage held his arms outstretched like a giant “T” trying to keep the old couple away from him.
The old woman attacked. Cage didn’t want to do it, but he didn’t have a choice. He stiffened his arm and held out the mop. He watched in horror as she impaled herself through the stomach. The pain should’ve brought the old woman to her knees, but it didn’t. She continued lunging forward, despite the piece of wood piercing her gut. The old woman inched closer to Cage, the mop pushing further into her stomach.
“In the head,” a voice said from behind him.
Cage was so startled by the voice that he lowered the chair and turned to see who had spoken. It was a girl about his age. She had long blonde hair down to her waist. She wore a blood splattered gray tank top and short little jean shorts. She held a baseball bat in both hands.
The old man growled and lunged for him.
She lifted the bat and, with a running start, smashed the old man in the head. His skull shattered with a crack and he fell to the floor.
“You have to hit the zombies in the head to kill them.” She pointed behind him. “You might want to take care of that old lady before she bites your arm off.”
Chapter Four
It looked like blood.
Selena Kudlova wiped off the hooker-red lipstick. Most of it came off on the tissue, but its remnants stained her lips a dark pink. The harder she rubbed, the pinker her lips became.
What was she thinking? Red lipstick? She didn’t want to seem easy for her date with Adam and red lips on a former stripper screamed easy from every rooftop in Flint.
“Are you still stressing about what to wear?” Vivienne popped her head into the cramped bathroom.
“Da,” Selena slipped into her native Russian. Yes, she was stressing. Stressing about everything.
“You look like an angel,” her sister said. “But you’re going to be a ride-less angel if you don’t hurry up. Ricky is picking us up in two minutes.” Vivienne tossed a bundle of light green at Selena.
Selena caught the wad of fabric before it hit the floor. It was a pale green summer dress with the price tag still on it. “What’s this?”
“The dress I bought last weekend,” Vivienne said. “I don’t have anywhere nice to go, so I figured someone should get some use out of it.”
“Thank you!” Selena ripped off the plastic tag and slid the silky dress over her head. She knew it would fit. Selena and Vivienne had been sharing clothes since they were children back in St. Petersburg, Russia.
“It matches your eyes perfectly,” Vivienne said. “Now hurry! Ricky will be here soon.”
The sea foam green was so identical to her eye color that Selena suspected Vivienne hadn’t bought the dress for herself. That was Vivienne, always looking out for her little sister.
Selena shook out her brown hair. She had it cut this morning and she wasn’t use to the strands grazing her collarbone. It was a trendy cut, but Selena didn’t do well with change. She did one last mirror check. She thought she looked nice and she hoped Adam would think so, too.
Selena and Adam were going to Bellissimo’s for dinner. Adam hadn’t hesitated when she suggested meeting at her work – she was a waitress at the Wooden Barrel. Vivienne, who was the manager, had hired Selena a few
months ago when a spot had opened up.
It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Adam, but they’d only been dating a few weeks and she’d had a string of crazy ex-boyfriends in the past. Selena didn’t feel entirely comfortable yet with Adam knowing where she and Vivienne lived. She wanted to get to know him a little better.
He was a fireman. And, although she had romantic notions of all firemen and policemen being honest and trustworthy, she knew better. Most of the men in her past were rotten, but she believed deep down that Adam was different. Hopefully, in a few weeks, she’d bring Adam back to her apartment and cook him a homemade Russian dinner.
“Selena! Ricky’s downstairs.”
Selena crawled into her messy closet and grabbed a pair of nude toe-less heels. She ignored the row of six-inch stilettoes in the back. She needed to throw out her old stripper shoes. She’d promised herself she’d never wear them again, but something inside of her wouldn’t let her throw them out. The shoes were a part of her, however shameful and dark her past was, they were still a piece of her.
“SELENA!!”
“Coming!” She snatched her purse and ran to the living room.
Vivienne held the door open with her foot. “I can’t wait to get my car out of the shop. I hate depending on Ricky for a ride.”
Ricky was Vivienne’s on-again-off-again boyfriend. Selena suspected they were currently on-again because the transmission in Vivienne’s Chevy Impala blew out last week and they didn’t have the money to pay for a new one. The Impala was in the lot at the body shop until they could scrape up enough cash to get it out.
The sisters half-jogged to the elevator at the end of the corridor. A sign written on a piece of notebook paper was taped against the metal door: Out of Service.
“Perfect,” Vivienne muttered. “It’s out of service more than it’s in service. Let’s take the stairs. Ricky is going to be pissed if we don’t get down there soon.”
They rounded the corner. Muffled cries came from inside Apartment 3D, followed by a short scream. A chill snaked up Selena’s spine. “What was that?”
Vivienne rolled her eyes. “Freaks.”
“What are you talking about? You don’t think someone’s hurt?” Selena asked.
“No, I know the lady who lives there. Crazy moans and cries come from her apartment all the time, if you know what I mean.”
Selena hadn’t lived in the apartment as long as Vivienne had, so she didn’t know any of the neighbors. The cry rang out again. Selena frowned. It sounded like someone was in trouble, but if Vivienne had heard shouts before –
“Selena! Come on!”
Selena hurried after her sister. The stench of urine greeted her when she entered the dingy stairwell. It was damp and dungeon like. Selena raced down the stairs after Vivienne. They only had to go down three flights of stairs, but it felt like an eternity. Vivienne pushed open the exit door and Selena sucked in gulps of hot air.
The sun was setting in the west and it was still over ninety-degrees outside. Michigan didn’t have too many warm months, but when they had a heat wave, it was almost unbearable. Selena would gladly take piles of snow over the heat. That was one of the things she loved about Michigan – the winters reminded her of Russia.
Two sharp honks brought Selena back to the present and back to the heat. Ricky was in his black Camaro with the top down and the radio blaring heavy metal music. He greeted the girls with an offensive whistle. Selena slipped into the tiny backseat.
“Thanks for the ride, Ricky,” Vivienne said.
“No problem. I’ll let you pay me back later.”
They peeled out of the parking lot. It was only a few miles to the Wooden Barrel, but they had to take a different route because Van Slyke Road was blocked off with a swarm of police activity. Several police cars, fire trucks and ambulances, all with their lights and sirens flashing, were parked in the middle of the road.
Ricky drove down a few side streets and they pulled into the Wooden Barrel. It was early and there weren’t many cars in the lot yet - only the regulars that never missed happy hour. A group of teenagers crossed the baseball field beside the bar, which was strange, but not the first time she’d seen teens gathered on the field.
“What time’s your shift over?” Ricky asked.
“I’m closing.” Vivienne was already out the door.
“See you then,” Ricky said.
Selena barely had time to get out of the car before Ricky sped away. Vivienne tied the apron strings around her waist. “What did I ever see in him?”
“I asked you that same question months ago,” Selena said. “I don’t believe you gave me an answer.” She chuckled and followed Vivienne inside.
“Does Adam have any cute fireman friends?”
“I’m sure he does.” Selena waited for her eyes to adjust to the dark room.
“Tell Adam you have a hot older sister who -”
Gene, a regular unfortunately, swiveled in his stool and whistled at Selena. His sweaty face glistened in the dull light. His eyes were rimmed red from alcohol. “Don’t you look delicious?”
“Leave her alone, Gene,” Vivienne spat as she walked around the bar.
Selena sat on the stool furthest from Gene. He harassed Selena on a daily basis. She should’ve known getting dressed up for her date with Adam would’ve prompted more than the usual leering from Gene. Selena glanced at the clock on the wall. Adam would be here in an hour. She could ignore Gene for an hour.
“I knew you’d get back on that pole,” Gene said to Selena.
She flushed. “I’m not a stripper anymore.”
“Oh, that’s right,” Gene said. “You’re a waitress now. Do you still give private dances on the side? I think I have a twenty in my pocket. What do you say?”
“Enough!” Vivienne slammed down a mug. “If you say another word to my sister, I’ll kick you out. Do you understand?”
Gene raised his hands. “Testy, testy, Vivienne.”
Vivienne rolled her eyes. “Selena, I have to take out the trash. Tell me if he says one word to you while I’m outside and I’ll throw him out like the garbage he is.”
Gene smirked.
Selena glared at him. “Will do.” She watched her sister disappear down the hallway.
Her phone vibrated inside her purse. It was a text message from Adam from over an hour ago. She must’ve missed it. It read: Can’t wait to see you! She was smiling like an idiot, all because of a text message. She slipped her phone back into her purse.
Vivienne’s scream echoed through the bar.
Selena’s heart fell to her toes. She ran down the hallway before anyone else reacted. She flung open the back door and Vivienne sprinted toward her. An ugly gash ran across her hairline. Her white t-shirt was filthy with dirt and specks of blood. What could’ve happened in such a short period of time?
“Get inside!” Vivienne screamed.
Selena noticed a man scrambling to his feet by the dumpster. Her sister had been attacked. A mugging while the sun was still out? Vivienne crossed the threshold and Selena slammed the door shut. The lock slid into place with a reassuring click.
“Are you okay?” Selena’s hands hovered over her sister’s head wound. Blood matted her curly hair to her forehead.
Vivienne winced. “I hit my head on the concrete when he threw me down.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t know,” Vivienne said. “I was tossing the trash in the dumpster and he came up from behind me.”
The door shook beside them as the man pounded on the other side. What was wrong with this guy? Was he crazy? “We need to call the cops,” Vivienne said. “Before he grows a brain and runs around to the front door.”
Selena and Vivienne sprinted to the bar. The regulars were on their feet, but they weren’t looking at the Kudlova Sisters. They were focused on the front door. All eyes were on the five bloody people who’d just stumbled into the bar.
Chapter Five
“A zombie?” Cage
asked.
“In the flesh,” the girl said. “You better hurry up before she eats you.”
Cage pushed the old woman – the mop still projected through her abdomen – against the wall. Short wrinkly arms stretched for him, her fingers curled into animal-like claws. The old woman’s eyes were clear blue. Her sallow gray face was blank, only consumed by rage. Or, if this girl was right, maybe hunger fueled the insanity.
Cage drew back the mop stick, ignoring the awful sound it made as he heaved it free. The stick slid loose, staining the wood red, and the woman pounced on him. With only a moment’s hesitation and, trying not to think about what he was about to do, he raised the jagged mop spear and plunged it into her eyeball.
“Nice work,” the girl said.
“Uh, thanks.” Cage retrieved the mop stick.
Sandra was slumped against the wall with most of her stomach missing. She was clearly dead and Cage, even though he didn’t know her very well, felt extremely guilty. He hadn’t saved her in time.
The girl nudged Sandra’s body with her foot. “She’s dead.”
Cage nodded.
The girl’s eyes were blue – not the nearly transparent color of the zombies’ eyes – but a deep cobalt. Those cobalt eyes scanned his face and a flicker of recognition passed over them. Her pretty face scrunched up. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Cage Vance?”
In between the “Cage” and “Vance,” she’d said a curse word that rhymed with “ducking.” He didn’t recognize her. “Do I know you?”
“Probably not.”
His eyes fell to Sandra. Had she just moved? No, he must’ve imagined it. He turned back to the girl. “Do you go to Flint Prep?”
“No.” She flipped the squared table upright. “What are you doing at Cecilia’s? Did you want a slice during the end of the world?”
“Not exactly, but the pizza is delicious.” The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them. What in the hell did he just say?
Her eyebrows lifted. “Especially when the grease pools in the pepperoni cups.”
Cage grabbed a handful of napkins from the metal dispenser on the table. Instead of wiping the blood off his arm, he handed them to her. “That’s my favorite part.”
“Oh. Well, Cindi told me you went to teen night at the Old Watering Hole last night. She said you were talking to Melissa Devano.”
“I’m sorry. Maybe I should’ve explained it better to you,” Cage said.
“I think you should.”
“See, when I said I didn’t want to date you anymore, that means you don’t get to ask me where I’ve been or who I’ve spoken to. Nor do you get to call me eleven-hundred times a day.”
Lindsay’s voice rose ten octaves. “I knew you liked Melissa! I knew it!”
Cage hadn’t said more than five words to Melissa Devano in his life, but Lindsay didn’t deserve peace of mind. She needed to leave him alone. “I have to go, Lindsay. Will you please stop calling me? Please?”
“Wait.”
“What?”
“I’m sorry, Cage.” Lindsay’s voice went cotton candy sweet. He imagined little chipmunks on a sugar rush. “You’re right, it’s none of my business anymore.” A loud thump sounded in the background.
“Lindsay, what was that noise?”
“I don’t know, probably Sean throwing the football around. Listen, maybe we can meet up and talk things over.”
Another crash sounded from Lindsay’s house. “Linds, what is that?”
“Sean! Stop whatever it is that you’re doing down there! I’m on the phone with Cage.”
He pulled into Cecilia’s Pizzeria’s parking lot. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, I’ll go downstairs in a minute. My parents are out and he’s probably single-handedly destroying the living room. What I was saying before -”
“I’m sorry, Linds, I can’t. We don’t work well together. I’m sure there are plenty of guys that would love to date you.”
“Cage, but -”
“I have to go, Linds. I’m sorry. I really am. Please don’t call again.” Cage clicked off the call and exhaled.
His phone beeped – he had less than two percent of his battery remaining. Good. That meant he wouldn’t get Lindsay’s next phone call. She was exhausting. He didn’t know any other way to tell her that their relationship was over. He rubbed his eyes and dreamed about a drama-less summer without Lindsay. It brought a smile to his face. He parked the Escalade behind the pizzeria and went in through the back entrance.
A narrow hallway led past the kitchen and into the dining room. He poked his head into the kitchen, like he always did, but no one was in there. He walked down the hallway and out to the dining room.
What in the world?
An older couple – with wrinkles and all – was attacking Sandra, the young woman who always worked the cash register. She’d given Cage free soda pop for years.
Sandra had angled a table in between herself and the couple, but her back was against the wall. Blood ran down her arm from a wound in her bicep. The old man charged with his arms outstretched. Sandra flattened against the wall and glanced at Cage. “Help me, please!”
The old man turned to Cage. He wore a cream button down shirt – splattered with blood - and dark corduroy pants despite the heat. He had a shock of white hair and a thick mustache. He was on some type of hard drugs because his eyes were practically bugged out of his head. They were a bizarre shade of light blue. There was something strange about the color of his skin, too. It looked…grayish. He lunged at Cage.
Cage jumped back. “Calm down, old man. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Watch out!” Sandra clutched her arm. “The old hag bit me!”
Cage backpedaled. The old man wasn’t very fast. His movements were uncoordinated, liked he’d had too much to drink. Cage scooted a table in between them and the old man bumped into it without seeing it.
The older woman growled and reached for Sandra.
“Watch out!” She yelled.
The old man flipped the table and fell on Cage. The weight knocked them both to the ground. Cage rolled him over. Dentures snapped inches from his nose. He shoved the man across the floor.
Sandra screamed from the ground. The old woman’s white-haired head was clamped to her stomach. She was biting Sandra.
The old woman dug her fingers into Sandra, peeling back her skin like a ripe fruit. Cage scrambled to his feet and kicked the old woman in the head. Her neck snapped back with a sickening crack. Sandra was sprawled on the ground with her stomach torn out. A soft whimper gurgled from her lips.
The old woman stood up.
Cage grabbed the closest weapon he could find - an old mop propped against the wall. He picked up a chair and used it to keep the old man away. He snapped the mop stick in half and pointed the jagged edge at the old woman. Cage held his arms outstretched like a giant “T” trying to keep the old couple away from him.
The old woman attacked. Cage didn’t want to do it, but he didn’t have a choice. He stiffened his arm and held out the mop. He watched in horror as she impaled herself through the stomach. The pain should’ve brought the old woman to her knees, but it didn’t. She continued lunging forward, despite the piece of wood piercing her gut. The old woman inched closer to Cage, the mop pushing further into her stomach.
“In the head,” a voice said from behind him.
Cage was so startled by the voice that he lowered the chair and turned to see who had spoken. It was a girl about his age. She had long blonde hair down to her waist. She wore a blood splattered gray tank top and short little jean shorts. She held a baseball bat in both hands.
The old man growled and lunged for him.
She lifted the bat and, with a running start, smashed the old man in the head. His skull shattered with a crack and he fell to the floor.
“You have to hit the zombies in the head to kill them.” She pointed behind him. “You might want to take care of that old lady before she bites your arm off.”
Chapter Four
It looked like blood.
Selena Kudlova wiped off the hooker-red lipstick. Most of it came off on the tissue, but its remnants stained her lips a dark pink. The harder she rubbed, the pinker her lips became.
What was she thinking? Red lipstick? She didn’t want to seem easy for her date with Adam and red lips on a former stripper screamed easy from every rooftop in Flint.
“Are you still stressing about what to wear?” Vivienne popped her head into the cramped bathroom.
“Da,” Selena slipped into her native Russian. Yes, she was stressing. Stressing about everything.
“You look like an angel,” her sister said. “But you’re going to be a ride-less angel if you don’t hurry up. Ricky is picking us up in two minutes.” Vivienne tossed a bundle of light green at Selena.
Selena caught the wad of fabric before it hit the floor. It was a pale green summer dress with the price tag still on it. “What’s this?”
“The dress I bought last weekend,” Vivienne said. “I don’t have anywhere nice to go, so I figured someone should get some use out of it.”
“Thank you!” Selena ripped off the plastic tag and slid the silky dress over her head. She knew it would fit. Selena and Vivienne had been sharing clothes since they were children back in St. Petersburg, Russia.
“It matches your eyes perfectly,” Vivienne said. “Now hurry! Ricky will be here soon.”
The sea foam green was so identical to her eye color that Selena suspected Vivienne hadn’t bought the dress for herself. That was Vivienne, always looking out for her little sister.
Selena shook out her brown hair. She had it cut this morning and she wasn’t use to the strands grazing her collarbone. It was a trendy cut, but Selena didn’t do well with change. She did one last mirror check. She thought she looked nice and she hoped Adam would think so, too.
Selena and Adam were going to Bellissimo’s for dinner. Adam hadn’t hesitated when she suggested meeting at her work – she was a waitress at the Wooden Barrel. Vivienne, who was the manager, had hired Selena a few
months ago when a spot had opened up.
It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Adam, but they’d only been dating a few weeks and she’d had a string of crazy ex-boyfriends in the past. Selena didn’t feel entirely comfortable yet with Adam knowing where she and Vivienne lived. She wanted to get to know him a little better.
He was a fireman. And, although she had romantic notions of all firemen and policemen being honest and trustworthy, she knew better. Most of the men in her past were rotten, but she believed deep down that Adam was different. Hopefully, in a few weeks, she’d bring Adam back to her apartment and cook him a homemade Russian dinner.
“Selena! Ricky’s downstairs.”
Selena crawled into her messy closet and grabbed a pair of nude toe-less heels. She ignored the row of six-inch stilettoes in the back. She needed to throw out her old stripper shoes. She’d promised herself she’d never wear them again, but something inside of her wouldn’t let her throw them out. The shoes were a part of her, however shameful and dark her past was, they were still a piece of her.
“SELENA!!”
“Coming!” She snatched her purse and ran to the living room.
Vivienne held the door open with her foot. “I can’t wait to get my car out of the shop. I hate depending on Ricky for a ride.”
Ricky was Vivienne’s on-again-off-again boyfriend. Selena suspected they were currently on-again because the transmission in Vivienne’s Chevy Impala blew out last week and they didn’t have the money to pay for a new one. The Impala was in the lot at the body shop until they could scrape up enough cash to get it out.
The sisters half-jogged to the elevator at the end of the corridor. A sign written on a piece of notebook paper was taped against the metal door: Out of Service.
“Perfect,” Vivienne muttered. “It’s out of service more than it’s in service. Let’s take the stairs. Ricky is going to be pissed if we don’t get down there soon.”
They rounded the corner. Muffled cries came from inside Apartment 3D, followed by a short scream. A chill snaked up Selena’s spine. “What was that?”
Vivienne rolled her eyes. “Freaks.”
“What are you talking about? You don’t think someone’s hurt?” Selena asked.
“No, I know the lady who lives there. Crazy moans and cries come from her apartment all the time, if you know what I mean.”
Selena hadn’t lived in the apartment as long as Vivienne had, so she didn’t know any of the neighbors. The cry rang out again. Selena frowned. It sounded like someone was in trouble, but if Vivienne had heard shouts before –
“Selena! Come on!”
Selena hurried after her sister. The stench of urine greeted her when she entered the dingy stairwell. It was damp and dungeon like. Selena raced down the stairs after Vivienne. They only had to go down three flights of stairs, but it felt like an eternity. Vivienne pushed open the exit door and Selena sucked in gulps of hot air.
The sun was setting in the west and it was still over ninety-degrees outside. Michigan didn’t have too many warm months, but when they had a heat wave, it was almost unbearable. Selena would gladly take piles of snow over the heat. That was one of the things she loved about Michigan – the winters reminded her of Russia.
Two sharp honks brought Selena back to the present and back to the heat. Ricky was in his black Camaro with the top down and the radio blaring heavy metal music. He greeted the girls with an offensive whistle. Selena slipped into the tiny backseat.
“Thanks for the ride, Ricky,” Vivienne said.
“No problem. I’ll let you pay me back later.”
They peeled out of the parking lot. It was only a few miles to the Wooden Barrel, but they had to take a different route because Van Slyke Road was blocked off with a swarm of police activity. Several police cars, fire trucks and ambulances, all with their lights and sirens flashing, were parked in the middle of the road.
Ricky drove down a few side streets and they pulled into the Wooden Barrel. It was early and there weren’t many cars in the lot yet - only the regulars that never missed happy hour. A group of teenagers crossed the baseball field beside the bar, which was strange, but not the first time she’d seen teens gathered on the field.
“What time’s your shift over?” Ricky asked.
“I’m closing.” Vivienne was already out the door.
“See you then,” Ricky said.
Selena barely had time to get out of the car before Ricky sped away. Vivienne tied the apron strings around her waist. “What did I ever see in him?”
“I asked you that same question months ago,” Selena said. “I don’t believe you gave me an answer.” She chuckled and followed Vivienne inside.
“Does Adam have any cute fireman friends?”
“I’m sure he does.” Selena waited for her eyes to adjust to the dark room.
“Tell Adam you have a hot older sister who -”
Gene, a regular unfortunately, swiveled in his stool and whistled at Selena. His sweaty face glistened in the dull light. His eyes were rimmed red from alcohol. “Don’t you look delicious?”
“Leave her alone, Gene,” Vivienne spat as she walked around the bar.
Selena sat on the stool furthest from Gene. He harassed Selena on a daily basis. She should’ve known getting dressed up for her date with Adam would’ve prompted more than the usual leering from Gene. Selena glanced at the clock on the wall. Adam would be here in an hour. She could ignore Gene for an hour.
“I knew you’d get back on that pole,” Gene said to Selena.
She flushed. “I’m not a stripper anymore.”
“Oh, that’s right,” Gene said. “You’re a waitress now. Do you still give private dances on the side? I think I have a twenty in my pocket. What do you say?”
“Enough!” Vivienne slammed down a mug. “If you say another word to my sister, I’ll kick you out. Do you understand?”
Gene raised his hands. “Testy, testy, Vivienne.”
Vivienne rolled her eyes. “Selena, I have to take out the trash. Tell me if he says one word to you while I’m outside and I’ll throw him out like the garbage he is.”
Gene smirked.
Selena glared at him. “Will do.” She watched her sister disappear down the hallway.
Her phone vibrated inside her purse. It was a text message from Adam from over an hour ago. She must’ve missed it. It read: Can’t wait to see you! She was smiling like an idiot, all because of a text message. She slipped her phone back into her purse.
Vivienne’s scream echoed through the bar.
Selena’s heart fell to her toes. She ran down the hallway before anyone else reacted. She flung open the back door and Vivienne sprinted toward her. An ugly gash ran across her hairline. Her white t-shirt was filthy with dirt and specks of blood. What could’ve happened in such a short period of time?
“Get inside!” Vivienne screamed.
Selena noticed a man scrambling to his feet by the dumpster. Her sister had been attacked. A mugging while the sun was still out? Vivienne crossed the threshold and Selena slammed the door shut. The lock slid into place with a reassuring click.
“Are you okay?” Selena’s hands hovered over her sister’s head wound. Blood matted her curly hair to her forehead.
Vivienne winced. “I hit my head on the concrete when he threw me down.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t know,” Vivienne said. “I was tossing the trash in the dumpster and he came up from behind me.”
The door shook beside them as the man pounded on the other side. What was wrong with this guy? Was he crazy? “We need to call the cops,” Vivienne said. “Before he grows a brain and runs around to the front door.”
Selena and Vivienne sprinted to the bar. The regulars were on their feet, but they weren’t looking at the Kudlova Sisters. They were focused on the front door. All eyes were on the five bloody people who’d just stumbled into the bar.
Chapter Five
“A zombie?” Cage
asked.
“In the flesh,” the girl said. “You better hurry up before she eats you.”
Cage pushed the old woman – the mop still projected through her abdomen – against the wall. Short wrinkly arms stretched for him, her fingers curled into animal-like claws. The old woman’s eyes were clear blue. Her sallow gray face was blank, only consumed by rage. Or, if this girl was right, maybe hunger fueled the insanity.
Cage drew back the mop stick, ignoring the awful sound it made as he heaved it free. The stick slid loose, staining the wood red, and the woman pounced on him. With only a moment’s hesitation and, trying not to think about what he was about to do, he raised the jagged mop spear and plunged it into her eyeball.
“Nice work,” the girl said.
“Uh, thanks.” Cage retrieved the mop stick.
Sandra was slumped against the wall with most of her stomach missing. She was clearly dead and Cage, even though he didn’t know her very well, felt extremely guilty. He hadn’t saved her in time.
The girl nudged Sandra’s body with her foot. “She’s dead.”
Cage nodded.
The girl’s eyes were blue – not the nearly transparent color of the zombies’ eyes – but a deep cobalt. Those cobalt eyes scanned his face and a flicker of recognition passed over them. Her pretty face scrunched up. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Cage Vance?”
In between the “Cage” and “Vance,” she’d said a curse word that rhymed with “ducking.” He didn’t recognize her. “Do I know you?”
“Probably not.”
His eyes fell to Sandra. Had she just moved? No, he must’ve imagined it. He turned back to the girl. “Do you go to Flint Prep?”
“No.” She flipped the squared table upright. “What are you doing at Cecilia’s? Did you want a slice during the end of the world?”
“Not exactly, but the pizza is delicious.” The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them. What in the hell did he just say?
Her eyebrows lifted. “Especially when the grease pools in the pepperoni cups.”
Cage grabbed a handful of napkins from the metal dispenser on the table. Instead of wiping the blood off his arm, he handed them to her. “That’s my favorite part.”
