Emma Shortt: Waking Up Dead

“Come on then, you bastard,” Luke said. “Gimme your best.”

The zombie launched forward, groaning as he did so, but Luke held his ground, firing both guns, riddling it with bullets. With a mere inch between them, Luke leaning back to stay out of the way of its elongated fingers, a bullet found its mark and buried itself in Fatombie’s head. It hit the ground, and Luke let out the breath he’d been holding .

Thank fuck for that.

He paused for just a moment, taking in the scene around him, trying to get himself together. His palpitating heart combined with his lack of sleep was making him slightly light-headed, not a good combination. He took a deep breath and gave himself a mental shake, just as something that sounded like a roar reached him.

Luke swiveled round, and zeroed in on the wreck that was now Kelly’s Clothing. His first thought was oh shit, it really is a person. His second, slightly more depressing thought, was that the roar belonged to a man. His blonde fantasy dissolved, his head pounded, and he ran toward the store, intent on making the Lily zombie pay. Though in all fairness it was hardly her fault. I’ll be doing her a favor, he told himself. She wouldn’t have wanted to live like this .

That was Luke’s intention at least. Only he didn’t expect to be confronted with another pack, plus Lily, eyes glinting, mouths open, emitting a series of horrific death groans.

His last thought was, fuck, where’s the whiskey when you need it?

Jackson wasn’t sure how long she’d been waiting in the rec center, it might have been fifteen minutes, maybe even a half hour. Time seemed to stretch, or sometimes even compress, when adrenaline was calling the shots, and she had no wristwatch to tell her how many seconds had ticked by.

Part of her was antsy to head back out. The waiting was almost agonizing. But the sensible part, the bit that had kept her alive for so freaking long, held her in place, hands clenched around Mandy, legs shaking ever so slightly. But was that any wonder? Jackson had ran her skinny ass off, through gardens, side roads, over fences, managing to lose her half of the super-sized pack in the process.

Hiding out until she calmed some, and could be sure they were well and truly gone, was the sensible thing to do, and she’d taken plenty of precautions to ensure they couldn’t find her. The Lynx aftershave from the last of her stash, splashed on the entrance door, would help. Jackson wasn’t sure when it became common knowledge that the zombies had an issue with certain types of aromas, that they avoided places that stunk a certain way. It seemed like one of those facts that just was. Like cellulite.

The pole she’d found on the floor of the room that housed the swimming pool gave her an extra line of defense. Jackson had pushed it through the heavy double doors, barricading herself inside. She decided to wait in the swimming pool room because of that one door. One way in, one way out, and if the pack found her, she imagined she could create a funnel effect. Picking them off just as Tye had suggested.

Tye . Her heart clenched in a nasty sort of way as she imagined him sprinting to the boutique. She hoped to God he made it. That he’d managed to kill the pack, or better yet shake them off.

Though they’d only been together for a month, he was like a brother to her. A big, annoying brother yes, but one all the same, and Jackson knew that losing him would hurt. A lot. Because despite what she’d said, she had no desire to be alone again. Two years of the solitary life had been plenty and then some.

“Be safe, Tye,” she said, the words coming out as almost a croak, making her abruptly aware that she was ridiculously thirsty.

She lifted her left hand and swung her backpack off her shoulder. The food they’d risked so much for suddenly heavier than it should have been. Jackson rooted around a little until she found her flask. It was half-full of boiled and cooled rain water, and she drank almost all of it in one go. She would have liked to have poured some on her hands to remove any splatters of zombie gore that might be clinging to her skin, but there was none to spare.

She cast the swimming pool a quick look but there was no doubt that the water in there was stagnant. She’d be risking an infection having it anywhere near her. It would rain tonight. The clouds had been threatening it all day. You’ll have to wait till then, she told herself, imagining standing out in the downpour, shivering and cursing. For one moment that image was replaced with the wondrous memory of a shower. A hot shower, with strawberry-scented shampoo and vanilla shower gel. She closed her eyes as she imagined the water beating down on her shoulders…

A muted bang filled the air. The sound so alien in the quiet world that Jackson froze, her hot-water fantasy wiped away in a mere moment. What the hell was that? It sounded familiar and yet she could not place it. Another bang , this one entirely different and far too close. Metal on metal…crunching. Please let it be Tye. Let it be Tye.

Something groaned.

Jackson swung her backpack on without even thinking about it, hefted Mandy and ran to the side of the door.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Her whispered words were for herself. A way of controlling the panic that was already flooding her body—banishing the exhaustion that never seemed to go away unless she was doing this. Fighting for her life.

A second death groan rattled through the air just as another bang sounded, something almost like an explosion, but Jackson had no time to consider it. The zombie was so close, on the other side of the door already. Where were its pack mates? Why the fuck hadn’t she heard it get in?

Another groan and Jackson swallowed unsteadily, gripping Mandy tight. She knew what she had to do, and she had to do it fast. Because one thing was for sure, it didn’t groan because it kinda felt like it. It was calling other zombies to it, and they’d come. They always did, and after today who knew how many of them would answer the call? The rules were going the same way as hers used to do after one too many sangrias.

Do it fast. Funnel it through. “I’m coming, you bastard.”

The zombie hit the metal with a shriek. The sound of her voice, no, the sound of food, fueling its rage. But it was hitting from the wrong way. The door swung out, not in, so for the moment, she had the upper hand. Lifting the metal pole that ran through the handles, Jackson took short, swift breaths. Filling her lungs, flooding her body with oxygen. She was going to need it.

Another shriek and it hit the door again. Jackson pushed the pole away, where it rolled until it hit the dirty pool water. She swapped Mandy to her right hand and gripped the left handle. She had to time this right. Another bang and she moved into action. She pushed the door open just as the zombie pulled back to attack again. The edge of the door caught it in the face and it howled.

Not giving it time to move, Jackson kicked it right in the stomach. A nasty squelching noise smacked her ears and the stench of zombie pus filled the enclosed space. Jackson almost gagged.

She kicked it again, anger giving her power, the muscles in her legs straining from the action. The force of the impact pushed the zombie back into the other room so that it stumbled over a weight bench. It fell smack on its ass and shrieked. Jackson jumped forward, lifted Mandy, and cut straight through its leg, to the bone. A huge arc of pus and blood shot up, forcing her to move to avoid it, but she wasn’t quick enough. It soaked her jeans, from ankle to thigh.

“You bastard,” she screeched.