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JENNA
“Friday pop quiz,” I announce to my boyfriend. “What should we do tonight? We’ve spent all our money on the van, so the movies are out. The CDC goons have a blockade on the north end of town, which means the beach is out. And there’s martial law curfew in effect, which means spray painting the back wall of Safeway is out.”
Carter sprawls on a sofa in the dorm common room with a tablet, reading reviews of the latest craft beer releases. He sits up as I speak, pushing his shaggy hair out of his eyes.
“Babe, has anyone ever told you you’re a buzzkill?”
“My sisters.” I plop down in his lap. “And my mom.”
“They’re idiots.” He kisses my neck, his bushy beard tickling my skin.
“Let’s see, the last time I talked with Rachel and Lisa, they brought up the time I left Stephanie Ryzer’s party early and embarrassed the family. My mom—”
“Forget them.” Carter silences me with a quick kiss on the lips. “I heard Beta Sigma Epsilon is throwing a blockade party.”
“You mean, there’s a CDC blockade and the frat boys needed an excuse to throw a party.”
“Pretty much. Wanna go?”
“I never thought I’d hear you propose an outing to a frat party, but okay.” There aren’t many fraternities at Humboldt State University; the general populace frowns on anything resembling traditional establishment.
“I may have overheard my lab partner saying one of his frat brothers spent last weekend driving to a bunch of different microbreweries getting kegs,” Carter says sheepishly.
“Ah. Now the proposal makes more sense. Count me in, babe.”
An hour and a half later, the two of us are snuggled up on a grungy sofa watching a Ping-Pong drinking contest. We each have a red plastic pint glass in hand. Beta Sigma Epsilon does not disappoint in its beer choices.
“You look gorgeous, babe.” Carter smiles at me over the rim of his plastic cup.
A normal girl would appreciate her boyfriend’s compliment. Not me. I can’t find a way to break the old habit of blowing off compliments, even if Carter is unlike any boy I’ve ever dated. To be precise, he’s a thousand times better than any boyfriend I’ve ever had, but even that isn’t enough to remake me.
I ignore the comment and say, “Let me have another sip of that.” I take the pilsner out of Carter’s hand, downing a long draught. I close my eyes and savor the golden liquid, blocking out the disappointed crease between Carter’s eyes and wondering if I overdid it with the low-cut top. I wouldn’t have even bought it if I didn’t like the flowery pattern of the fabric so much.
“Oh my God,” I say, lowering the cup. “Babe, we have to try and make something like this.” I give him a quick kiss, hoping he’ll see how into him I am.
“I was thinking the same thing.” Carter’s frown disappears. He snugs his arm around me. “Let’s call it the Elite.”
“Elite, as in, elite runner?”
He nods with a grin. “Exactly. You’re picking up on ultrarunning jargon fast.”
I pull out a small sketchpad, my pencil running in delicate lines across the blank page.
Carter leans in, one arm around my shoulder as he watches me draw. I’ve never let anyone watch me draw before. My mom and sisters give me crap for wanting to study art, so I made it a point of keeping it private most of the time. With Carter, instead of feeling self-conscious, I enjoy sharing the process with him.
I draw a medal with the word “elite” on a graduated diagonal across it. Around the medal, I draw beams that shoot out from all sides. Except they aren’t beams of light; they’re roads, complete with dotted yellow lines down the middle, but disguised to look like sunbeams.
“That’s awesome, babe.”
I smile in thanks, both pleased and embarrassed. “You’re just saying that because you’re drinking good beer.”
“I’m saying it because my girlfriend is a kick-ass artist and I can’t wait to have her labels on our beer.”
I snuggle deeper into the crook of his arm, the sketchbook balanced on my knee where we can both see it.
“I might play around with the letters of ‘elite.’ I’m not sure I like the corners.” I take a sip from my beer. “You have to try this. It’s that lime IPA from Eureka.”
“I didn’t see that one.” Carter takes the cup and drinks. “Damn, that’s good. I don’t love our IPA recipe. We need to tweak it.”
“We did tweak it,” I say with a laugh. “We just haven’t had a chance to try it yet.”
“I’m telling you, we should see about getting some lees from one of the wineries by my house back home. It will give us a richer flavor, plus it will be totally unique.”
“We’re targeting ultrarunners,” I say. “Do you think they want beer made with wine lees?” Lees are the leftover sediment usually filtered out of wine before it’s bottled.
Carter shrugs. “If it tastes good, why not?”
“Okay, then we should try it. Do you have any winery contacts who can hook us up?”
“Yeah. My friend Todd works in a tasting room. His brother’s girlfriend works in the winemaking lab. I’m sure one of them can help us get lees.”
“Nice. Find out when they can get us lees and we’ll take a road trip to pick it up.” I look at him out of the corner of my eye. “Maybe I can meet your mom if we’re down that way?”
Carter hesitates before smiling at me through his beard. “Sure. She’d love that.”
“You don’t want me to meet your mom,” I say flatly. His recalcitrance hurts. I don’t think his mom even knows about us.
He shakes his head. “It’s not that, babe. You’re awesome. I know my mom will love you once she gets to know you. It’s just ... I think on some level she’ll feel like she’s losing me. Like she lost Dad.”
“Having a girlfriend isn’t the same thing as your dad passing away.” I can’t believe he’d compare us to his father’s death.
“I know that.” He looks away, a clear signal he wants to change the subject. “I’ll send a text to Todd and see if he can hook us up. I—”
A howl rends the air. I turn in time to see a small girl in a minidress covered with Cheshire Cats body slam a much larger frat boy onto the Ping-Pong table. The people gathered around give a collective shout of surprise and fall back. Beer cups fall to the ground, splashing golden liquid across shoes. The girl in the Cheshire Cat dress leaps onto the pool table and pins the frat boy. Red lipstick is smeared all over her face, her mouth twisted in a snarl of determination. Her eyes are an eerie eggshell white. They roll discordantly in her face.
“What the hell?” I mutter, tightening my grip on my beer cup as I take a sip. I will not be one of the losers who spills her drink. This beer is way too good to spill.
“I’d say she’s pissed,” Carter murmurs. “What do you think—?”
We both stop short as a cry of agony goes up from the boy sprawled on the Ping-Pong table. The crowd scatters, many of them tripping over one another in their haste to get away.
That’s when I see it.
The girl in the Cheshire Cat dress crouches on the Ping-Pong table like a predator, her face buried in the boy’s neck. She rears back, letting out a growl of pleasure. Gripped between her teeth are chunks of flesh and sinew. Blood—not lipstick—paints a red rictus around her mouth. Gouts of blood spurt out of the boy as he flounders and convulses.
“Shit!” I leap to my feet. My beer falls to the ground, my concern for it going out the window in light of the current circumstances. Carter reaches for me and shoves me behind him.
Several frat boys close in on the scene, each of them grabbing a different limb of the girl and trying to drag her off the boy. She doesn’t resist. Not at all. Instead, as soon as they grab her, she turns on them.
She lunges straight at the boy who holds her wrist, sinking her teeth into his shoulder. From where I stand, I hear the sound of tearing fabric and flesh being gouged.
I watched my fair share of horror movies in high school and junior high. I’ve seen countless scenes like this. Although, it’s one thing to see it in a movie and another thing to see it at a frat party. Even though I know what I’m seeing, I can’t form the word in my mind.
Carter grabs my hand. I squawk in surprise as he swings us into the melee of fleeing students.
It’s pure panic in all directions. Students yell and scream in fear and confusion. I cling to Carter as he drags us toward safety.
We’re almost to the door when another girl charges into the crowd. Blood smears the front of her tie-dyed tank top. There’s no question this time if the red around her mouth is lipstick.
The crowd surges. I’m thrown forward—right into the path of the raging girl. I scream as I’m ripped from Carter’s grasp and thrown to the ground.
I’m going to die. The thought flashes through my mind as the crazed girl lunges for me. Her eyes are smooth, eggshell white. They roll in different directions in her sockets.
Carter seizes a wad of the attacking girl’s tank top. He yanks back ruthlessly. I scramble to my feet. Fleeing students split in a stream around us, desperate to get outside.
Tie-dyed girl swings her attention to Carter. She bares bloody teeth. Carter releases her and kicks out hard. She flies backward, knocking over a few other students in her wake.
We don’t stop to see where she lands. We don’t try to help the kids she knocks over.
Carter grabs my hand, and we run.