After Moonrise: Possessed\Haunted (28 page)

The pain…oh, the pain. No longer ignorable.

Stars winked in her line of vision. She heard laughter behind her, and knew Horns was there, ready to claw her again. She darted forward, out of the way, and tripped.

Horsey caught her by the forearms, preventing her from falling. He let her go—only to punch her in the face. More pain, more stars, but when he lifted his hand for a second blow, she was ready. She jerked the chair up and nailed him under the jaw, then spun so that he broke his knuckles on the seat of the chair rather than her cheekbone. His howl rent the air.

Footsteps behind her. She kicked backward, connecting with Horns. Before her leg landed, she spun and kicked out with the other, scissoring her ankles to double tap his gut. When he collapsed, wheezing for air, she flipped the chair upside down and finished him off, slamming the metal rim into his trachea.

Black blood pooled and bubbled around him, frothing and sizzling as it seared the tiled floor. Steam rose, curling through the air.

One minute to go.

Maximum damage,
she thought.

Horsey called her a very rude name, his entire body shaking with his wrathful intent. He closed the distance with stomping steps and lashed out with those clublike arms. No claws, just fists. Playtime was over, she supposed. She blocked, ducked and bowed her back to ensure those meaty hammers only ever swiped the chair. All the while she punched at him with the dented metal, landing multiple blows.

“Why did you come for me?” she demanded. “Why?”

A flash of bloodstained fangs. “Just for the fun. Why else?”

Always she asked, and always she received the same reply, no matter that each of her opponents was different. The creatures came once, only once, and after raining havoc, creating chaos, they disappeared forevermore.
If
they survived.

She’d cried after her first kill—and her second and her third—despite the fact that the creatures had only ever wanted to hurt her. There was just something so terrible about taking a life, no matter the reason for doing so. Hearing the last breath rattle…watching the light dim in someone’s eyes…and knowing you were responsible…she always thought of her parents. Somewhere along the way, her heart had hardened into a block of stone and she’d stopped crying.

The backup guards finally arrived, three hard bodies slamming into her from behind and knocking her to the ground. When she crashed, she crashed hard, cracking her already injured cheek on the tile. She experienced a sharp lance of pain as the taste of old pennies filled her mouth, coated her tongue. More of those too bright stars winked through her vision, corrosive things that grew…grew…blinding her.

That blindness panicked her, reminding her of that terrible, fateful morning so long ago. “Let me go! I mean it!”

Inflexible knees dug into her bleeding shoulders, her back and her legs, and rough fingers pressed all the way to bone. “Be still.”

“I said let me go!”

Horsey must have fled because the scent of rot was suddenly replaced by the scent of bacon and aftershave, warm breath caressing her cheek. She didn’t allow herself to cringe, didn’t allow herself to reveal her abhorrence for the doctor now looming over her.

“That’s enough out of you, Annabelle,” Fitzpervert said in a chiding tone.

“Never enough,” she replied, forcing herself to calm on her own. Deep breath in, deep breath out. The more emotion she displayed, the more sedative he would have to use.

“Tsk, tsk. You should have played nice. I could have helped you. Sleep now,” he crooned.

“Don’t you dare—” Her jaw went slack a second after the expected pinch in her neck. In a blink of time, there was white lightning in her vein, spreading just as swiftly as the stars.

Though she despised this feeling of helplessness and knew Fitzpervert would be paying her a visit later, though she fought with every bit of her remaining strength, Annabelle slipped into the waiting darkness.

Alice in Zombieland

PROLOGUE

A Note from Alice

Had anyone told me that my entire life would change
course between one heartbeat and the next, I would have laughed. From blissful
to tragic, innocent to ruined? Please.

But that’s all it took. One heartbeat. A blink, a breath, a
second, and everything I knew and loved was gone.

My name is Alice Bell, and on the night of my sixteenth
birthday I lost the mother I loved, the sister I adored and the father I never
understood until it was too late. Until that heartbeat when my entire world
collapsed and a new one took shape around me.

My father was right. Monsters walk among us.

At night, these living dead, these…zombies…rise from their
graves, and they crave what
they
lost. Life. They
will feed on you. They will infect you. And then they will kill you. If that
happens,
you
will rise from
your
grave. It’s an endless cycle, like a mouse running inside a
barbed wheel, bleeding and dying as those sharp tips dig ever deeper, with no
way to stop the lethal momentum.

These zombies feel no fear, know no pain, but they hunger. Oh,
do they hunger. There’s only one way to stop them—but I can’t tell you how.
You’ll have to be shown. What I
can
tell you is that
we must fight the zombies to disable them. To fight them, we must get close to
them. To get close to them, we must be a little brave and a whole lot crazy.

But you know what? I’d rather the world considered me crazy
while I go down fighting than spend the rest of my life hiding from the truth.
Zombies are real. They’re out there.

If you aren’t vigilant, they’ll get you, too.

So. Yeah. I should have listened to my father. He warned me
over and over again never to go out at night, never to venture into a cemetery
and never, under any circumstances, to trust someone who wants you to do either.
He should have taken his own advice, because he trusted me—and I convinced him
to do both.

I wish I could go back and do a thousand things differently.
I’d tell my sister no. I’d never beg my mother to talk to my dad. I’d stop my
tears from falling. I’d zip my lips and swallow those hateful words. Or, barring
all of that, I’d hug my sister, my mom and my dad one last time. I’d tell them I
love them.

I wish… Yeah, I wish.

CHAPTER ONE

Down the Zombie Hole

“Please, Alice. Please.”

I lay sprawled on a blanket in my backyard, weaving a daisy
chain for my little sister. The sun shone brightly as puffy white clouds ghosted
across an endless expanse of baby blue. As I breathed in the thick
honeysuckle-and-lavender perfume of the Alabama summer, I could make out a few
shapes. A long, leggy caterpillar. A butterfly with one of its wings shredded. A
fat white rabbit, racing toward a tree.

Eight-year-old Emma danced around me. She wore a glittery pink
ballerina costume, her pigtails bouncing with her every movement. She was a
miniature version of our mother and the complete opposite of me.

Both possessed a slick fall of dark hair and beautifully
uptilted golden eyes. Mom was short, barely over five-three, and I wasn’t sure
Em would even make it to five-one. Me? I had wavy white-blond hair, big blue
eyes and legs that stretched for miles. At five-ten, I was taller than most of
the boys at my school and always stood out—I couldn’t go anywhere without
getting a few what-are-you-a-giraffe? stares.

Boys had never shown an interest in me, but I couldn’t count
the number of times I had caught one drooling over my mom as she walked by
or—gag—heard one whistle as she bent over to pick something up.

“Al-less.”
At my side now, Em
stomped her slippered foot in a bid for my attention. “Are you even listening to
me?”

“Sweetie, we’ve gone over this, like, a thousand times. Your
recital might start while it’s sunny out, but it’ll end at dark. You know Dad
will never let us leave the house. And Mom agreed to sign you up for the program
as long as you swore never to throw a tantrum when you couldn’t make a practice
or a, what? Recital.”

She stepped over me and planted those dainty pink slippers at
my shoulders, her slight body throwing a large enough shadow to shield my face
from the overhead glare. She became all that I could see, shimmering gold
pleading down at me. “Today’s your birthday, and I know, I know, I forgot this
morning…and this afternoon…but last week I remembered that it was coming
up—
you
remember how I told Mom, right?—and now
I’ve remembered again, so doesn’t that count for something? ’Course it does,”
she added before I could say anything. “Daddy
has
to
do whatever you ask. So, if you ask him to let us go, and…and—” so much longing
in her tone “—and ask if he’ll come and watch me, too, then he will.”

My birthday. Yeah. My parents had forgotten, too. Again. Unlike
Em, they hadn’t remembered—and wouldn’t. Last year, my dad had been a little too
busy throwing back shots of single malt and mumbling about monsters only he
could see and my mom had been a little too busy cleaning up his mess. As
always.

This year, Mom had hidden notes in drawers to remind herself
(I’d found them), and as Em had claimed, my baby sis had even hinted before
flat-out saying, “Hey, Alice’s birthday is coming up and I think she deserves a
party!” but I’d woken up this morning to the same old same old. Nothing had
changed.

Whatever. I was a year older, finally sweet sixteen, but my
life was still the same. Honestly, it wasn’t a big deal. I’d stopped caring a
long time ago.

Em, though, she cared. She wanted what I’d never had: their
undivided attention.

“Since today’s my birthday, shouldn’t
you
be doing something for
me?
” I asked,
hoping to tease her into forgetting about her first ballet performance and the
princess role she liked to say she had been “born to perform.”

She fisted her hands on her hips, all innocence and indignation
and, well, my favorite thing in the entire world. “Hello! Letting you do this
for me
is
my gift to you.”

I tried not to grin. “Is that so?”

“Yeah, because I know you want to watch me so badly you’re
practically foaming at the mouth.”

Brat. But like I could really argue with her logic. I did want
to watch her.

I remember the night Emma was born. A wild mix of fear and
elation had seared the memory into my mind. Just like my parents had done with
me, they had opted to use a midwife who made house calls so that, when the big
moment arrived, Mom wouldn’t have to leave home.

But even that plan had failed.

The sun had already set by the time her contractions started
and my dad had refused to open the door to the midwife, too afraid a monster
would follow her in.

So,
Dad
had delivered Emma while my
mom nearly screamed us all to death. I had hidden under my covers, crying and
shaking because I’d been so afraid.

When everything had finally quieted, I’d snuck into their
bedroom to make sure everyone had survived. Dad bustled about while Mom lounged
on the bed. Tentative steps had taken me to the edge, and, to be honest, I’d
gasped in horror. Baby Emma had
not
been attractive.
She’d been red and wrinkly, with the most hideous dark hair on her ears. (I’m
happy to say the hair has since been shed.) Mom had been all smiles as she waved
me over to hold my “new best friend.”

I’d settled beside her, pillows fluffing behind me, and she’d
placed the wiggly bundle in my arms. Eyes so beautiful only God Himself could
have created them had peered up at me, rosy lips puckering and tiny fists
waving.

“What should we name her?” Mom had asked.

When short, chubby fingers had wrapped around one of mine, skin
soft and warm, I’d decided that hair on the ears wasn’t such a terrible thing,
after all. “Lily,” I’d replied. “We should name her Lily.” I had a book all
about flowers, and the lilies were my favorites.

My mom’s soft chuckle had washed over me. “I like that. How
about Emmaline Lily Bell, since Nana’s real name is Emmaline and it’d be nice to
honor my mother the way we honored your dad’s when you were born. We can call
our little miracle Emma for short, and the three of us will share a wonderful
secret. You’re my Alice Rose and she’s my Emma Lily, and together the two of you
are my perfect bouquet.”

I hadn’t needed time to think about that. “Okay. Deal!”

Emma had gurgled, and I’d taken that as approval.

“Alice Rose,” Emma said now. “You’re lost in your head again,
when I’ve never needed you more.”

“All right, fine,” I said on a sigh. I just couldn’t deny her.
Never had, never would. “I’m not talking to Dad, though. I’m talking to Mom and
making her talk to him.”

The first sparkle of hope ignited. “Really?”

“Yes, really.”

A brilliant smile bloomed, and her bouncing started up again.
“Please, Alice. You gotta talk to her now. I don’t want to be late, and if Dad
agrees we’ll need to leave soon so I can warm up onstage with the other girls.
Please.
Nooow
.”

I sat up and placed the daisies around her neck. “You know the
likelihood of success is pretty low, right?”

A cardinal rule in the Bell household: you did not leave the
house if you couldn’t return before dark. Here, Dad had worked up
“reinforcements” against the monsters, ensuring none of them could get in. After
dark, well, you stayed put. Anyone out in the big bad world was without any type
of protection and considered open season.

My father’s paranoia and delusion had caused me to miss
numerous school activities and countless sporting events. I’d never even been on
a date. Yes, I could have gone on a weekend lunch date and other craptastically
lame things like that, but honestly? I had no desire for a boyfriend. I never
wanted to have to explain that my dad was certifiable, or that he sometimes
locked us in the “special” basement he’d built as added protection from a
bogeyman that did not exist. Yeah, just peachy.

Em threw her arms around me. “You can do it, I know you can.
You can do anything!”

Her faith in me…so humbling. “I’ll do my best.”

“Your best is— Oh, ick!” Face scrunched with horror, she jumped
as far away from me as she could get. “You’re all gross and wet, and you made
me
all gross and wet.”

Laughing, I lunged for her. She squealed and darted off. I’d
run the hose over myself about half an hour ago, hoping to cool down. Not that
I’d tell her. The fun of sibling torture, and all that.

“Stay out here, okay?” Mom would say something that would hurt
her feelings, and I’d say something to make her feel bad for asking me to do
this, and she’d cry. I hated when she cried.

“Sure, sure,” she said, palms up in a gesture of innocence.

Like I was buying that hasty assurance. She planned to follow
me and listen, no question. Girl was devious like that. “Promise me.”

“I can’t believe you’d doubt me.” A delicate hand fluttered
over her heart. “That hurts, Alice. That really hurts.”

“First, major congrats. Your acting has improved tremendously,”
I said with a round of applause. “Second, say the words or I’ll return to
working on a tan I’ll never achieve.”

Grinning, she rose on her toes, stretched out her arms and
slowly spun on one leg. The sun chose that moment to toss out an amber ray,
creating the perfect spotlight for her perfect pirouette. “Okay, okay. I
promise. Happy now?”

“Sublimely.” She might be devious, but she never broke a
promise.

“Watch me pretend I know what that means.”

“It means— Oh, never mind.” I was stalling, and I knew it. “I’m
going.”

With all the enthusiasm of a firing squad candidate, I stood
and turned toward our house, a two-story my dad had built in the prime of his
construction days, with brown brick on the bottom and brown-and-white-striped
wood on the top. Kind of boxy, amazingly average and absolutely one hundred
percent forgettable. But then, that’s what he’d been going for, he’d said.

My flip-flops clapped against the ground, creating a mantra
inside my head.
Don’t. Fail. Don’t. Fail
. Finally I
stood at the glass doors that led to our kitchen and spotted my mom, bustling
from the sink to the stove and back again. I watched her, a bit sick to my
stomach.

Don’t be a wuss. You can do
this
.

I pushed my way inside. Garlic, butter and tomato paste scented
the air. “Hey,” I said, and hoped I hadn’t cringed.

Mom glanced up from the steaming strainer of noodles and
smiled. “Hey, baby. Coming in for good, or just taking a break?”

“Break.” The forced incarceration at night drove me to spend as
much time as possible outside during daylight hours, whether I burned to
lobster-red or not.

“Well, your timing’s great. The spaghetti’s almost done.”

“Yeah, okay, good.” During the summer months, we ate dinner at
five sharp. Winter, we switched it up to four. That way, no matter the season,
we could be in our rooms and safe before sunset.

The walls were reinforced with some kind of steel, and the
doors and locks were impenetrable. And yes, those things made our futuristic
dungeon known as “the basement” overkill, but you try reasoning with a crazy
person.

Just do it. Just say it
. “So, um,
yeah.” I shifted from one foot to the other. “Today’s my birthday.”

Her jaw dropped, her cheeks bleaching of color. “Oh…baby. I’m
so sorry. I didn’t mean… I should have remembered.... I even made myself notes.
Happy birthday,” she finished lamely. She looked around, as if hoping a present
would somehow appear via the force of her will. “I feel terrible.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I’ll do something to make this up to you, I swear.”

And so the negotiations have begun.
I squared my shoulders. “Do you really mean that?”

“Of course.”

“Good, because Em has a recital tonight and I want to go.”

Though my mom radiated sadness, she was shaking her head even
before I finished. “You know your dad will never agree.”

“So talk to him. Convince him.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because.” A croak.

I loved this woman, I truly did, but, oh, she could frustrate
me like no one else. “Because why?” I insisted. Even if she cried, I wasn’t
dropping this. Better her tears than Em’s.

Mom pivoted, as graceful as Emma as she carried the strainer to
the pot and dumped the contents inside. Steam rose and wafted around her, and
for a moment, she looked as if she were part of a dream. “Emma knows the rules.
She’ll understand.”

The way I’d had to understand, time and time again, before I’d
just given up? Anger sparked. “Why do you do this? Why do you always agree with
him when you know he’s off-the-charts insane?”

“He’s not—”

“He is!” Like Em, I stomped my foot.

“Quiet,” she said, her tone admonishing. “He’s upstairs.”

Yeah, and I’d bet he was already drunk.

She added, “We’ve talked about this, honey. I believe your dad
sees something the rest of us can’t. But before you cast stones at him or me,
take a look at the Bible. Once upon a time our Lord and Savior was persecuted.
Tons of people doubted Jesus.”

“Dad isn’t Jesus!” He rarely even went to church with us.

“I know, and that’s not what I’m saying. I believe there are
forces at work all around us. Forces for good and forces for evil.”

I couldn’t get involved in another good/evil debate with her. I
just couldn’t. I believed in God, and I believed there were angels and demons
out there, but I wasn’t sure about their involvement in our lives. “I wish you
would divorce him,” I muttered, then bit my tongue in regret—but even still, I
refused to apologize.

She worked from home seven days a week as a medical
transcriptionist, and was always type-type-typing away at her computer. On
weekends, like this fine Saturday evening, she acted like my dad’s nursemaid,
too, cleaning him up, fetching and carrying for him. She deserved so much more.
She was young, for a mom, and so dang pretty. She was softhearted and funny and
deserved some pampering of her own.