Gena Showalter: Through the Zombie Glass

Yeah. Right.

“So how’d I do?” Emma whispered in my direction.

I reached over and squeezed her hand. “You were amazing.”

Her dark brows knit together, and I knew what was coming next. Suspicion. “You swear?”

“Swear. You rocked the house hard-core. In comparison, the other girls sucked .”

She covered her mouth to stop herself from giggling.

I couldn’t help but add, “The boy who twirled you around? I think he was considering pushing you off the stage, just so people would finally look at him. Honestly, every eye was riveted on you.”

The giggle bubbled out this time, unstoppable. “So what you’re saying is, when I tripped over my own feet, everyone noticed.”

“Trip? What trip? You mean that wasn’t part of the routine?”

She gave me a high five. “Good answer.”

“Honey,” Mom said, apprehension straining her voice. “Find some music for us to listen to, okay?”

Uh-oh. She must want him distracted.

I leaned over and glanced out the front windshield. Sure enough. We were approaching the cemetery. At least there were no other cars around, so no one would witness my dad’s oncoming breakdown. And he would have one. I could feel the tension thickening the air.

“No music,” he said. “I need to concentrate, remain on alert. I have to—” He stiffened, gripped the armrests on his seat until his knuckles whitened.

A moment of silence passed, such thick, heavy silence.

His panting breaths emerged faster and faster—until he roared so piercingly I cringed. “They’re out there! They’re going to attack us!” He grabbed the wheel and yanked. “Don’t you see them? We’re headed right for them. Turn around! You have to turn around.”

The Tahoe swerved, hard, and Emma screamed. I grabbed her hand, gave her another squeeze, but I refused to let go. My heart was pounding against my ribs, a cold sweat beading over my skin. I’d promised to protect her tonight, and I would.

“It’s gonna be okay,” I told her.

Her tremors were so violent they even shook me.

“Honey, listen to me,” Mom soothed. “We’re safe in the car. No one can hurt us. We have to—”

“No! If we don’t turn around they’ll follow us home!” My dad was thoroughly freaked, and nothing Mom said had registered. “We have to turn around.” He made another play for the wheel, gave another, harder yank, and this time, we didn’t just swerve, we spun.

Round and round, round and round. My grip on Emma tightened.

“Alice,” she cried.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” I chanted. The world was whizzing, blurring...the car teetering...my dad shouting a curse...my mom gasping...the car tilting...tilting...

FREEZE FRAME.

I remember when Em and I used to play that game. We’d crank the volume of our iPod dock—loud, pounding rock—and boogie like we were having seizures. One of us would shout freeze frame and we’d instantly stop moving, totally frozen, trying not to laugh, until one of us yelled the magic word to shoot us back into motion. Dance .

I wish I could have shouted freeze frame in just that moment and rearranged the scenery, the players. But life isn’t a game, is it?

DANCE.

We went airborne, flipping over, crashing into the road upside down, then flipping over again. The sound of crunching metal, shattering glass and pained screams filled my ears. I was thrown back and forth in my seat, my brain becoming a cherry slushie in my head as different impacts jarred me and stole my breath.

When we finally landed, I was so dazed, so fogged, I felt like I was still in motion. The screams had stopped, at least. All I heard was a slight ringing in my ears.

“Mom? Dad?” A pause. No response. “Em?” Again, nothing.

I frowned, looked around. My eyesight was hazy, something warm and wet in my lashes, but I could see well enough.

And what I saw utterly destroyed me.

I screamed. My mom was slashed to ribbons, her body covered in blood. Emma was slumped over in her seat, her head at an odd angle, her cheek split open. No. No, no, no.

“Dad, help me. We have to get them out!”

Silence.

“Dad?” I searched—and realized he was no longer in the car. The front windshield was gone, and he was lying motionless on the pieces a few yards away. There were three men standing over his body, the car’s headlights illuminating them.

No, they weren’t men, I realized. They couldn’t be. They had sagging pockmarked skin and dirty, ripped clothing. Their hair hung in clumps on their spotted scalps, and their teeth...so sharp as they...as they...fell upon my dad and disappeared inside him, only to reappear a second later and...and...eat him.

Monsters .

I fought for my freedom, desperate to drag Em to safety—Em, who hadn’t moved and wasn’t crying—desperate to get to my dad, to help him. In the process, I banged my head against something hard and sharp. A horrible pain ravaged me, but still I fought, even as my strength waned...my eyesight dimmed...

Then it was night-night for Alice, and I knew nothing more.

At least, for a little while...