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KATE
I can only conclude that Carter and Jenna have figured out the general details of my plan. Neither questioned me hard when I told them I wanted to catch zombies. Now, as we drag them along by the long cords wrapped around their necks, they’re silent.
When we reach the frat house, I turn to them. “Go back to Creekside.”
They shake their heads.
“This is our fight, too,” Carter says.
I consider my next words. “Johnson and his crew are in that house. They stole from us. They threatened us. I intend to make sure they don’t do any of that again.” I pause, feeling my heart swell as I take in Carter and Jenna, standing side by side with their fingers laced. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do to keep them safe.
“We’re with you, Kate,” Jenna says. “Tell us your plan.”
I shake my head. Part of it is because I really don’t want to involve Carter and Jenna anymore. But mostly, I can’t bring myself to voice the plan I’ve put into motion over the last few days.
“You’ve done enough,” I say. “I can take it from here.
“Good try, Mom,” Carter says. “We’re not leaving.”
Jenna folds her arms across her chest, adding her resolve to Carter’s.
“You guys sure about this?” I ask. “There’s no going back.”
“We’re sure,” Carter and Jenna say in unison.
So be it.
I force myself to form the words, to spell out exactly what I plan to do. I feel sick as the details of my plan fall from my tongue.
This is self-defense, I remind myself. Sooner or later, Johnson will hurt Lila. Ryan will hurt Jenna. One or more of us will be killed by those boys.
Jenna and Carter are pale by the time I’m finished. To my surprise, neither of them looks at me like I’m a monster. Neither of them tries to talk me out of my plan or proposes an alternate, less brutal one.
They disappear to secure the front door of the frat house while I lead the three moaning zombies by their leashes. The undead are so preoccupied trying to claw the pillowcase away from their mouths that they don’t try to grab me. They stumble as I lead them around the back of the house, yanking at the fabric the whole time.
I take them up the porch. It’s slow going because they trip on the steps. They make more racket as they hit the wooden planks with their knees, moaning all the while.
I’m not worried about being heard. Based on the sounds coming from inside the house, no one is in a state to notice something as mundane as tripping and moaning zombies.
I reach the back door and turn the handle. It’s unlocked. Laughter comes from inside. I tug the zombies forward, positioning myself behind them.
Then I move fast. I yank the pillowcase off the first one, simultaneously planting my foot in his backside. I shove hard, sending him sprawling into the kitchen. He lands on his stomach, moaning.
I repeat the same procedure with the second zombie, kicking him harder than the first. They end up in a pile of rotting flesh on the chipped linoleum.
“Hey, guys, did someone let pigs in here?
“Those aren’t pigs, brother. They’re turkeys. We should go turkey hunting!”
“Are you sure those are turkeys? They look like pigs. Smell like pigs, too.”
“If I say they’re turkeys, they’re turkeys, motherfuck—ouch! Fucking thing just—ouch!” A bellow splits the air. “Guys, the turkeys are biting me!”
Someone laughs. “Johnson is afraid of turkeys! The big bad Johnson is—ouch! What the fuck—!” A second voice dissolves into screaming.
Heart pounding, I rip off the third pillowcase and kick the last zombie inside, then slam the door. I rush around the side of the refrigerator that stands next to the door. No doubt it’s a beer fridge from the frat party days. I drive my shoulder into the side of it. It hits the porch with a boom that reverberates in my ears.
More shouts erupt from the frat house. Backing down the steps, I crouch in the shadows and wait, gun in hand. I need to make sure they’re all dead. No loose ends. No stragglers to come seeking vengeance at Creekside.
A flash of movement catches my eye. Jenna and Carter scurry down the driveway to the backyard.
“Is it secure?” I whisper as they join me.
Carter nods. “We moved the sofa on the porch in front of the door. They won’t be getting past that anytime soon.”
I nod, embracing the sick sensation that sends gooseflesh over my body. I’m killing all those people inside the house. My action is cold blooded. Premeditated.
“Mom, I’m not sure this is going to work. Three zombies against—how many did you say were in there?”
“Ten.” I signed the death warrant on ten people, Roberts included. The last part makes me ache the most. There wasn’t a way to spare him without jeopardizing the entire plan.
“I think it’s going to take more than three zombies,” Jenna says.
“Not when they’re all high on acid.” I meet their eyes.
Carter’s mouth falls open. Jenna blinks at me with wide eyes.
“Reed’s acid,” she whispers. “You laced the brandy with it.”
I nod.
“You were never on a peace mission,” Carter says. “You went there to plant the brandy.”
“No.” I shake my head. “The brandy was my backup plan. If Johnson had agreed to my proposal, there would be no zombies in there right now.”
The shouting within the house escalates, followed by screaming. High-pitched keening punctuates the human voices. A second later, someone tackles the back door. The refrigerator shudders but stands fast.
“What the fuck!” a voice hollers. “What the fuck! Guys, the turkeys!”
The refrigerator vibrates again as the person on the other side tries to throw open the door. Gunshots rend the air, followed by more screaming and shouting.
I absorb the sight of Carter and Jenna, their entwined hands white-knuckled as they stare at the house. I know the decision was the right one. Whatever bad karma I bestow on myself for this act, it’s worth it to keep them safe.
“This was my plan,” I whisper to them. “My choice. This is on my conscious, not yours.”
Several more gunshots go off, followed by the sound of shattering glass. A boot kicks out the remains of a second-story window. One of the soldiers crawls out.
I squint, trying to see who it is, hoping against hope that it might be Roberts.
“Stay here,” I hiss to Carter and Jenna, pushing them behind one of the faded frat sofas sitting outside in the yard. “Stay down. Don’t come out until I tell you it’s safe.”
“Mom—”
“Damn it, Carter,” I snap. “Shut up and listen to your mother.”
I turn my back on his stunned expression, putting an end to the discussion. I hurry toward the house, relieved when Jenna and Carter don’t try to follow.
My hand is sweaty around the gun. My resolve falters, mingling with fear and revulsion.
Ducking behind a barbecue, I stare up at the roofline. Even in the darkness, I recognize the profile of Johnson. The square jawline. The hard, Romanesque nose.
Fuck. Of all the ones in there, he’s the most dangerous.
That should make him the easiest to kill. Maybe at some point, killing will feel easy for me.
Amid the shouting, moaning, and screaming from inside, Johnson shimmies on a downspout. He’s naturally agile, making the trip to the ground look easy.
I sprint across the shabby lawn, gritting my teeth. Now isn’t the time to second-guess my decision.
I raise the gun and take aim. Johnson, hearing my approach, spins around to meet my attack. I squeeze the trigger, but not before Johnson knocks it from my hand. He delivers a vicious punch to my jaw.
I’m thrown off my feet, pain exploding along the side of my face and neck. When I hit the ground, my breath leaves my body.
Before I can gather myself, Johnson is on me, pinning me flat. His knees land on either of my arms, grinding them into the damp earth. His hands lock around my throat, eyes bulging with rage as he looks down at me.
There are bite marks all up and down his arms. His eyes are glazed and bloodshot.
The clouds open up without warning, dumping down on us in a chilly flood. My world narrows to the cold wetness, the crazed fury of Johnson, and the pair of hands squeezing the breath out of me.
“I can’t tell if you’re the bitch from Creekside or a pink leprechaun,” Johnson snarls. “Whoever you are, this is your doing.”
I don’t try to deny it.
“I knew I was gonna have to get rid of you,” he snarls. “I saw it this morning when you looked at me. I was planning to hunt you down. I was going to make it fun. Then you ruined it all, you sneaky bitch. You know, you have rainbows coming out of your head right now.” He laughs, a wild, desperate sound. His grip on my neck never loosens.
Dark circles bloom in front of my eyes, vision narrowing to a small point. My mouth works as I suck for nonexistent air. The pressure of Johnson’s fists is like a constrictor around my windpipe. I strain against his knees, trying to free my arms. I’m completely pinned, unable to move, watching the world fade and die around me.
Kyle. His name and blue eyes flash in my mind’s eye. Frederico. I see the bob of my friend’s gray ponytail as he runs down the trail in front of me. Two of the people I love most.
I’m on my way to join them. Just another few seconds and I’ll see them both again.
The thought brings me peace. I stop struggling, accepting my fate.
Johnson’s head explodes in a spray of red. I stare in dumbfounded confusion as he slumps sideways, hands sloughing away.
Oxygen rushes back into my airway. I suck it down in long, painful gasps. Rain sheets into my face, making the world watery and indistinct.
A figure appears above me. I blink, trying to find Carter or Jenna in the person.
But the figure above me is dressed in military fatigues. The dark skin of his high cheekbones shimmers with the rain.
Roberts. Recognition hits me as my wits return. I sit, coughing and sucking in air. My throat feels like it’s been scraped raw with a file. Every breath is fire.
“I asked him to stop.” Roberts’ voice is thin and faint. “We were friends before all this started. He was a good guy. Helped me through boot camp. But something snapped. He hasn’t been right since-since—” Roberts raises a shaking hand, pointing the gun at me. My gun. “You did this. You laced the brandy and set the zombies loose in our house.”
I stare at him. After a moment, I nod, my eyes never leaving his. I could list out my reasons. Throw them at him like bullet points on a PowerPoint presentation. But it doesn’t change the fact that I killed his friends. That I tried to kill him, even though I didn’t want to.
“God damn it.” Roberts lowers the gun, his free hand making a surreptitious trip across his eyes. “God damn it.” This last part comes out half sob, half shout.
Carter and Jenna materialize out of the wet darkness. Jenna helps me to my feet while Carter plants himself between us and Roberts. He holds his knife, which looks ridiculous against the gun.
I didn’t do the things I did tonight just to watch my son get killed. I shove him aside, shaking off Jenna.
“This was my plan,” I tell Roberts. If he wants vengeance, I have to make sure he takes it out on me. “I’m responsible for what happened tonight.”
“I know!” Roberts shouts. “And I know why you did it!” His chest heaves. Thunder booms overhead. The frat house stands quiet in the pelting storm. “You’re a crazy bitch!”
I don’t back down. I stand with my back straight, refusing to turn away from the murder I committed. Roberts can do what he will. There is no apologizing for what I’ve done.
His eyes take in the lifeless body of Johnson. His shoulders slump. “Ryan and the other college kids were as bad as he was. They sold out their own friends to Johnson. If you knew the things—” He breaks off, making a choking sound. “I’d be dead with the rest of them, but I was pissed and went to bed without having any of the brandy.”
He turns, looking back at the house. Then he looks at me. “We have to put them down.”
“You can’t go in there,” Jenna says. “You can’t—”
“I’ll go.” I cut her off, nodding to Roberts. This is my responsibility.
Carter steps up beside me, armed with his knife.
“Wait here,” I tell him.
“No, Mom. We’re in this together.”
“You’re not alone,” Jenna adds. “We’re family.”
Emotion swells within me. Family. Carter and Jenna, both of them soaking wet, still stand by my side. Even after all I’ve done. I gather them both in a hug, a shudder of relief running through me.
Family.