A Mad Zombie Party - Showalter Gena (читать лучшие читаемые книги TXT) 📗

“Dude. Miserable is so not a good look for you.”

My gaze locks on Kat, who is standing a few feet in front of me. As usual, she’s wearing the T-shirt and shorts she died in. At this point, I think I’d rather see her in a burlap sack or a Mr. Potato Head costume. “Can’t help it,” I croak.

“Well, you’re gonna have to try. You need to arm up and head to Shady Elms. Five minutes after you left the mansion, Cole started texting you. Bronx is in trouble, and all slayers have been summoned for a battle royale.”

“They’ll be fine without me.”

“Cole insisted Milla go, even though she’s—”

“Damn him!” I jump to my feet. Milla is weakened, emotional and probably easily distracted right now.

Kat watches me with sad eyes as I gather an arsenal. “I’ll be rooting for you. And of course, I’ll critique your performance later.”

“Bonus points for every kill?”

“Please. That’d be too easy. You’ll get bonus points for every un-kill. Reach a hundred, and you’ll earn a prize.”

“Right. The new ‘save ’em’ ability.”

“Yes,” she says. “Although that particular ability didn’t work for Bronx tonight.”

Well, well. I might get to kill, after all. “The prize?” I cram four extra clips into my pockets. If I have to save zombies, fine, I’ll save them, but there’s no way in hell I’ll let them bite me. I’ll disable, capture and find another way.

“The prize,” Kat says, “is that I’ll finally forgive you for riding across a rainbow with another girl on the back of your unicorn.”

“My dream-crime record finally expunged. Nice.”

“Pain is pain.”

I flash her a grin, but she’s already gone.

I rush out my front door—I’m in a T-shirt and jeans, with combat boots on my feet—and slide into my truck. Night has fallen, and shadows are thick. Stars dot the sky, but they’re smeared with dark gray rain clouds that are threatening to overflow.

I break every speed law and soon close in on Shady Elms. Lights blink up ahead—headlights? Yep. Smoke curls from the crumpled hood of a van. My friends crashed? I park and jump out. I run...only to tumble to the ground, tripped by... I don’t know what. I land, dirt and twigs filling my mouth. A bright light suddenly shines over me. Motion-activated? Or controlled by a human hand?

Human hand. Definitely. A gun is cocked. I roll out of the way just as—

Pop, pop, pop! Bullets spray the spot I just vacated.

I come up firing a gun of my own. A grunt echoes, the scent of blood saturates the air. Whoever shot at me is wounded. I stomp forward, remaining low just in case. The light is still shining and reveals the glint of another trip wire. I cut it and turn the source of the light—a lamp that’s been anchored into the ground—to illuminate the opposite direction. A man in bodily form is slumped over a rock, a deep gash in his neck.

I don’t know him. He isn’t a slayer.

Keeping my gun trained on him, I feel for a pulse. He’s dead.

Who is he? And why did he attack me?

Are there others nearby, waiting to pick off slayers when they return to their bodies? But...why not strike now?

The answer becomes clear a moment later. My friends killed the others...and a new crop of enemy soldiers has just arrived.

I hear car doors slamming in the distance. I sneak through the bushes—three black-clad men stand beside a van, checking their weapons, while a fourth gives the pre-war speech. “Kill or be killed.” There’s a wrecked sedan next to the van, four motionless bodies inside it. The people my friends killed. Go team.

The newcomers got something right. It’s kill or be killed. I nail them all with a bullet between the eyes.

I wait for a minute...two...but no other vehicle arrives. I return to the van my friends used. A more in-depth search reveals tires shredded on both sides and part of the hood embedded in a tree. The bodies—empty shells—of slayers surround the vehicle, each one bloody and bruised.

The gash on Milla’s forehead has leaked crimson all the way to her chin.

Furious and frantic, I push my spirit out of my body and follow the sounds of battle, the smell of rot. As a handful of zombies lurch into my path, I crisscross my arms, my semiautomatics, and shoot each creature directly in the mouth, shattering jawbones and teeth.

Bite me now, assholes.

I sprint forward, every second now an endless eternity as those blinking headlights illuminate sheer violence...just before darkness descends.

Light. Bronx and Love are on the ground, both twitching and jerking as if seizing. Milla crawls toward them, her hands engulfed by red flames.

Darkness.

Light. Milla touches Bronx, the crimson flames crackling over his chest. His back bows, his cry of agony echoing through the night.

Darkness.

Light. A zombie has snuck up behind Milla, who is distracted as she patches a wound on Bronx’s chest—a wound that now appears bigger. Sharp, yellowed teeth sink into her shoulder and she screams.

“No!” I pick up speed.

Darkness. Crimson flames burst from her and lick at the creature.

A creature who latches on harder and shakes his head, like a dog with a bone.

Almost there...so close...but not close enough.

Light. Ali yanks the zombie away from Milla and holds out her arm, clearly expecting dynamis to appear—it doesn’t.

Darkness. Come on. Faster.

Light. Cole kicks the zombie in the face. Something bad must have happened to Ali, because she’s on the ground, writhing in pain.

Darkness.

Light. Milla crawls to Ali’s side, and with a jab, jab, jab she injects her, then Bronx, then Love with...antidote? Yeah, has to be. All three go still.

Finally! I reach the edge of the battlefield.

I aim and fire, putting a bullet between the eyes of all three zombies sneaking up on Milla. She glances up. Our gazes meet. A profound wave of relief sweeps through me when she lumbers to her feet. She’s okay. Then the headlights go out. By the time they come back on, she’s back in the fray, her short swords swinging with expert precision.

I sheathe my guns and withdraw my own short swords. With purposeful flicks of my wrists, I remove any zombie hands, arms or heads that move into my path. Body parts pile up around me. Black goo sprays, burning me.

As the horde begins to thin at last, I see the other slayers fighting around me. Not just Cole and Milla, but River and Love, who is back on her feet, as well as Chance, Gavin and Jaclyn. Some are more injured than others, but all are bleeding profusely.

“Jaclyn! Your six!” As Gavin reaches for her, a single white flame springs to life at the end of his hand...only to die a second later. The lack costs him. A horde converges, ripping hunks of skin and muscle from his arm. He fights his way free and hisses in pain. “I’m not healing, and they’re not being cleansed.”

A mad fury overtakes Jaclyn, who has successfully disabled the zombies sneaking up behind her thanks to Gavin’s warning. She drops her daggers and withdraws two .22s.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

Zombies drop, creating a pathway, allowing Milla to work her way to Gavin and inject him with antidote.

“Stop trying to light up,” Cole shouts. “Disable as many Zs as you can.”

Milla fails to notice the fiend lying on the ground, reaching for her—

“Milla!” I shout.

She looks up at me, but it’s too late. The creature latches on to her ankle to yank her calf toward his chomping teeth. I act on instinct, diving down and shoving my hand between her leg and his mouth. The burn is instantaneous and utterly incapacitates me. I collapse, unable to move...unable to breathe.

I’ve been bitten before, and it hurt like hell, but it didn’t hurt like this. Didn’t affect me like this. Before I retained control of my body and lost control of my mind, the urge to eat, to kill, overwhelming me. Now, the opposite is true.