Dead Over Heels (8 page)

“Are you
sure
she’s trying to miss you?”

We weave around trees, Cole jerking me left then right, deliberately making us difficult targets.

Zing!
The next arrow misses by a mile, tearing through the brown leaves above us.

“She can’t keep up!” Cole says triumphantly.

It’s true. Bethany might have an army, but it’s a slow one. Will she abandon them to follow us?

“Here!” Cole yells, cutting right. “Loop back toward the river. There’s a place to cross.”

We pull up short. Slowly, cautiously, we duck our heads from the forest cover. Twenty feet away, the river bubbles noisily over a bed of broken rocks. No one in sight. It’s brighter in the open, and the clear view is terrifying.

“Quick.” Cole pulls me forward. “Before she catches up.”

A series of jagged boulders dots the stream. The current is swift here, spraying cold mist on our faces as we dart to the crossing. Cole stays close but drops my hand when the rocks force distance between us. If Bethany’s lurking in the forest, waiting for a perfect shot, she’s got it.

Hyperventilating, I leap from one uneven rock to another, deliberately slouching to make myself a smaller target.

Please don’t let me die. Please don’t let me die.

My ears strain for the
zing
announcing my death. It takes forever to cross the thirty yards to the other shore.

We reach the tree line, and I collapse to my knees.

I’m alive! No arrows in my chest! No crossbolts in my skull! No crazy redneck bitch standing over me, ready to infect me.

Now I’m hyperventilating and crying—awful, sloppy noises that’ll draw Bethany right to us. Cole stares down at me. I’m sure he’s about to start yelling.
Stand up! Quit being such a baby
! I guess I’ll deserve it.

“C’mon,” he says, stretching out his hand. His voice is flat. No judgment—at least, none that I can make out.

I grasp his fingers and he hauls me upright.

“C’mon,” he repeats, and this time, there’s encouragement in that one word.

I gaze upward and our eyes lock. Everything I feel is reflected in his face. There’s fear there. But courage, too. I force a deep breath, squelching back ugly sobs.

When he starts running again, I manage to keep up.

Chapter Nine

We keep running, me and Ava. That’s all we can do. Keep going. Away from Bethany, from the Beavers, from that horde at the country club.

As I race through the trees, my brain loops through all the unanswerable questions. What in the hell was Bethany on about—that she could infect us, just like the zombies? Is she some weird mix of zombie and human? Does her ability to infect go along with her ability to control the herd? Dammit. How come I didn’t know about this? Why didn’t I pay more attention to the news reports?

My boots pound the forest floor. In the half hour since we left Bethany, I reckon we’ve covered two miles of ground. Too bad it’s in the wrong direction.

Did I make a stupid decision? Crossing the river was a gamble. Sure, we stayed dry, but now the infected can track our scent on the bare rock. Would Bethany’s zombie posse cross there too? Would they be afraid of the strong current? Would Bethany abandon them to chase us? To kill Ava?

“Did we lose her?” Ava asks, stopping to check the woods behind us.

I pull up beside her and shrug helplessly, too out of breath to speak.

“In the last twenty-four hours,” she pants, “how many times have we had to run like hell?”

“Too many to count.”

Ava releases my hand. Was it my imagination, or did she give it a quick squeeze before she let go? I stand staring at my fingers like a dang idiot.

Ava doesn’t notice. She jerks her head upriver, toward the direction we just left. “She’ll be tracking us, right? I have a hunch Bethany’s an awesome tracker.”

I nod, envisioning more running in my future.

“Can we mislead her somehow?” Ava asks, as we start out again—this time at a slightly more manageable pace.

My brain runs through a mental image of the surrounding area. I know this part of the forest well.
Real
well. A plan takes root in my mind. In a few miles, I can veer east and intersect with the Appalachian Trail. From there, it’s a quick, but steep, detour to Weaver Bald—where my family camps during winter hunts. I’d hoped to find Dad and Jay along the river, but there’s also a chance they’re at the bald. Still camping, still hunting, and with any luck, still safe from the virus.

Not only would I get a chance to look for my family, but a detour to the bald would also be a good opportunity to throw Bethany off our tracks. I bet she’s expecting me to stick to the river a few more miles and then turn west—that is, if she bought my lie about going to Highland. A bypass to the bald would take us in the exact opposite direction.

But I won’t tell Ava about my new plan. Not yet. There’s no way she’ll want to tromp another eight or nine miles
away
from Glenview,
away
from her parents. She still doesn’t know that the river path wasn’t the most direct route to town. My conscience flares for a moment—maybe I’m not being fair to her. Maybe I should point her in the right direction and let her try her luck. But my intuition tells me she’d be lost in five minutes. Or Bethany would find her and turn her into zombie snacks. No. She has zero experience in the woods; it’s better to keep her with me.

I try to ignore the other voice in my head. The one quietly warning me that the woods are dangerous and full of monsters, and I’m afraid to be alone.

I clear my throat. “I, um, know a way we could lead Bethany off track. For now.”

“Does this involve more water?”

I smile, trying to act nonchalant. “Yep. And this time, I’ll be carrying your jacket.”

Ava matches my grin, and a wave of nervous relief courses through my blood. We’ve escaped from Bethany. And from the Beavers. If our luck holds, maybe we’ll stay safe long enough to find my dad and Jay.

We continue moving fast. I lead Ava to a spot where a creek trickles down from a mountain spring—maybe it’s enough to mask our scent without freezing us to icicles.

“We’ll go uphill, then loop back down to the river,” I say, omitting the part about how, with any luck, I’ll run into my family along the way.

For once, Ava doesn’t argue, just rolls up her pants and takes off her shoes. The shallow creek barely skims the top of our feet. We move up the gentle slope. The icy water burns my toes, but this is nothing compared to the river.

Ava’s face twists with doubt. “Won’t Bethany know we’re following this stream? Isn’t it obvious?”

“Nah. We lost her way back. Hundreds of tiny branches feed the river—no way she could guess which one we took. But try not to move too many of them rocks.”

For such a tiny girl, she walks like a damn elephant.

“I don’t get it,” Ava says. “She’s immune—Bethany. But she’s infected? And can like, talk, to the zombies?”

“I don’t know,” I admit. “I can’t figure it out either.”

“What if she’s not the only one?” Ava suggests. “What if some people get bit, but they don’t lose brain function? They just turn into some ringleader or gang leader or whatever you want to call it.”

“A zombie who can think and bite. That’s a dangerous combination.”

This sudden realization shuts us up. We continue in silence, alone with our thoughts, focusing only on quickly picking our way up the creek bed.

The action calms me. Walking in the woods has
always
calmed me. The forest might be the setting for every scary fairy tale ever written, but for me, it’s the backdrop for my best memories. Waking up in a tent, the smell of a campfire, my dad making pancakes and coffee. Whole days filled with nothing but me and my crossbow and a thick, cool silence broken only by the occasional woodpecker’s knock or scuttle of a squirrel. It’s obvious the forest scares the bejeebers out of Ava. But for me, it’s the ideal place for a battle to go down.

“I guess we’re still going away from Glenview?” Ava whispers softly, as if Bethany can hear us.

“Just a little.” I can’t help whispering, too.

“But I guess we’re
not
headed toward Highland, right?”

“Hell, no.”

She considers this a moment. “And let me venture one last guess. Bethany’s
not
your girlfriend, is she?”

I heave a sigh. “Well, actually. That part’s true. I been dating her for six months now.”

“Oh.”

There’s a lot of meaning in that little
oh
. Judgment? Annoyance?

Ava uses both hands to haul herself over a rotten tree trunk that’s blocking our way. When she speaks again, something’s different. She sounds almost…angry.

“Did the infection change your girlfriend?” she asks. “I mean, was she normal before, and the virus made her, like, off-kilter?”

I laugh. It sounds bitter in my ears. “Off-kilter? Nah, Bethany’s always been off-kilter.”

I peek at Ava, but she’s busy watching her feet, a scowl twisting her face. “Why would you date someone like that?”

Is she pissed at me? Seriously? It ain’t my fault my girlfriend turned into a psychotic stalker. Ava doesn’t even realize she was making Bethany crazy with jealousy.

“Wait.” I reach to put a hand on Ava’s shoulder. “Let me explain, I started—”

Ava scowls and knocks my hand away. “No need to explain. You two make a lovely couple.”

Good God almighty.
Ava…Bethany…girls…why are they
all
such pains in the ass?

“What a crappy stroke of luck,” I say aloud.

Ava glances up from her feet, puzzled.

I laugh humorlessly. “We find someone—a human—who can control the zombies. And of course it’s my loony-tunes girlfriend. And she suddenly finds it fun to infect anyone and everyone she doesn’t like.”

This time, Ava doesn’t match my grin.

“You know what?” I say, my feet splashing a little too hard against the riverbed. “I don’t really care whether you want to hear this story or not—I’m telling it anyway.”

Ava’s eyebrows shoot up, but she has the good sense to keep quiet.

“I used to think Bethany was the hottest chick on God’s green earth. She could hunt, she could fish, she could track with the best of the guys. And she had a body that was made for—well, you know.” He smiles a little sheepishly. “I was convinced she was meant for me.

“Three months of dating changed that.” Cole’s smile fades. “Yeah, she liked to hunt. Liked to kill everything in sight and leave the carcasses to rot. Watched her shoot a fawn once, just for sport. Poor little thing—its mama standing over its limp body. I fussed at Bethany—told her it was illegal and immoral. She laughed and said, ‘These woods are my playground, Cole Greer. In here, no one tells me what to do.’”

The memory chills me.

“There ain’t no guessing what mischief Bethany will cause in this forest with a mindless army at her back.”

Now Ava stares at me openly, waiting for the rest of the story.

“I tried to break it off with her, right after the deer incident. She didn’t take it well. Said we were
meant
to be together and refused to accept my breakup. I didn’t give a rat’s ass what she said. I quit hanging out with her, couldn’t care less what she told people at school. I forgot about our relationship. Figured she would, too.”

I pause for a heartbeat.

“That is, until the moment Bethany saw you. Right then, I knew you were in trouble.”

“Why?”

I fight to keep my voice level. “Well, Bethany’s always been jealous. Possessive. Or maybe ‘obsessive’ is a better word.”

Confusion clouds Ava’s face. “Of me? But why would she care about me?”

“Well, obviously, Bethany thinks I’m two-timing her.” My face grows warm. “With you.”

Ava gulps. Then laughs. “That’s crazy.” She stares at me with wide eyes. “You and me? Dating?”

Why is Ava laughing? I try to match her offhand tone. “Yeah, like I’d ever date a Floridiot.”

Ava’s smile drops away. “And like I’d ever date a redneck.”

Redneck
. The insult spears me like I’ve been hit with one of Bethany’s arrows. I swallow hard. “You toss that word around pretty lightly. You even know what redneck means?”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “I—”

“Used to be a derogatory term—for field-workers with sunburned necks.” I kick rocks out of my way. “But in nineteen ten, coal miners went on strike, wanting to form a union. A bunch of ’em were killed. Other coal workers from all over the country traveled to West Virginia to support the strike. All wearing red bandanas around their necks.”

I stare at her pointedly.

“They were proud to stand up against city-folk who know nothing about our way of life. Proud to be rednecks.”

She half laughs, half snorts. “Proud to be rednecks? Seriously?” Her tone is light, like she ain’t taking this conversation too seriously.

My blood pressure skyrockets. I meet her eyes. “You people—from Florida—from other places, you make a big show of how you ain’t prejudiced against African Americans or gay people. But Appalachian Americans, that’s a different story. You reckon it’s fine to make fun of hillbillies.”

She stares at me with her mouth open. “Appalachian Americans? Is that the new PC term?”

I ignore her question. “You know, just because we’re rural doesn’t make us ignorant.”

“I hate to break it to you, Mr. Appalachian American, but it’s a proven fact that rural areas have low literacy rates, high teen pregnancy rates, and—”

“And I hate to break it to you, but people from urban areas have no clue how to relate to the natural world around them. Don’t know strawberries from poison berries. Can’t tell east from west.” I give her a pointed look. “Most of ’em don’t have a lick of common sense.”

She shakes her head. “Seriously, Cole. Are we arguing about who’s better, country people or city people?”

“I got a feeling you’re the type of girl who could argue about anything.”

Ava reels back like I’ve slapped her. “Damn, Cole. You know what? I can totally understand why you and psycho-bitch Bethany are perfect for each other.”

I open my mouth to say something, then change my mind. I’m tired of trying to talk sense to this girl. In fact, I’m tired of talking to her at all. I turn to keep walking up the creek bed. I can almost feel her rolling her eyes behind my back.

…

I’ve been slogging through this shallow stream forever, climbing steadily the entire time, staring at Cole’s back. The clouds grow heavier—drooping low in the sky to turn late afternoon to early twilight.

My adrenaline rush wore off hours ago, sometime between our fight about rednecks and a stilted conversation where we decided to finish the last of the sunflower seeds. Now I’m just cold and miserable. And
pissed
. If it wasn’t for Bethany, we’d be a day and a half away from my parents. Now we’re going in the
wrong freaking direction
.

Cole was incorrect when he said city people don’t know east from west. Maybe some don’t, but I do. I’ve always had a good sense of direction, and I’ve accompanied my parents to the home-improvement store enough times to get a general feel of the terrain between our house and town. The highway—which is probably the most direct route to Glenview—would probably be choked with infected people and desperate survivors. I can understand why Cole didn’t steer us that way after we veered off course in the truck. But I can’t understand this sudden, sharp turn to the east. Why are we veering so far off course? My best guess is that Cole is genuinely afraid of Bethany and is taking severe measures to throw her off our trail.

“How much longer do we have to stay in this damn water?” I call out to him.