Dia of the Dead (24 page)

“Look for some ammo, and I’ll go help Reagan.” I untangled myself from the bag, handing it off to Brendan with my good arm. He nodded and began to search frantically for extra bullets.

Not sure of what I could do to help Reagan, I picked up one of the golf clubs Brendan had abandoned and ran inside swinging the club and screaming at the top of my lungs.  My antics didn’t work in getting Mr. Bixby to free Reagan but I did gain the attention of the two security zombies who were chowing down on a third member of the security team.  They left their half-eaten former coworker behind and started toward me. I ran toward the two of them, squeezing between them and swung the club as best I could, knocking away one of their hands just as they tried to grab me. They turned around with a snarl and began chasing me.

“Brendan, did you find anything?!” I yelled back to him as I ran down the center of the garage with two Runners on my tail.

“There are no bullets! None! Just clothes and other junk! Dammit!” He shouted.

I reached the end of the garage and since I couldn’t go through the door, I made a quick right and looped behind one of Mr. Bixby’s sports cars and headed back toward the entrance.

Brendan had given up the search for more ammo, grabbed the other golf club and launched an attack on Mr. Bixby. The whacks of the club bounced off the concrete walls. Every blow to Mr. Bixby’s head sounded deadly and yet his growls could be heard above Reagan’s screams and Brendan’s strikes. Mr. Bixby’s nails were still digging into Reagan’s skin, causing a stream of bright red blood to trail down her arms and drip onto the floor.

I pushed myself to run faster. Brendan must’ve summoned the strength of Thor with his last blow. The metal club bent as he hit Mr. Bixby, creating a softball-sized hole in his head. Mr. Bixby let go of Reagan.

“Reagan, catch!” I yelled as I passed her on my way around the garage again. I tossed the club in her direction and took a different approach this time around. I darted though the garage, snaking between the cars in hopes of losing the zombies following me.

“How are you guys coming along?” I called as I ran. “I don’t think I’m going to be able keep this up much longer.”

“We’re…about...done…her
e,
” Brendan called.

I caught a look at them as I rounded Mr. Bixby’s black SUV. Brendan and Reagan had finally gotten him down. He was on the floor, a puddle of black liquid pooling around his head. They took off in different directions. I kept running. I heard yelling and more growls from somewhere in the room. I looked over my shoulder at the zombies behind me and noticed there was only one of them left. Reagan ran behind it with a mangled golf club raised high in the air. She brought it down on the zombie’s head with a loud crack. She hit her again with another crack and again.

“You can stop running now!” she shouted.

I stopped and turned to look around the room. The zombies were taken care of. I doubled over, trying to breathe with burning lungs and a pounding heart. I felt a bit dizzy but I kept moving. If I stopped now, I was afraid I wouldn’t start again. Reagan made her way toward the SUV and threw the door open.

“Yes. The keys are in here. For once, Helen’s forgetfulness came in handy.”

I hustled toward her and the car. “You know how to drive?” I asked.

“No. But I figured one of you two might.”

Brendan jogged toward us. “What’s the hold up?”

“We don’t know how to driv
e,
” I said.

“I do. Get in so we can get the hell out of here.” He reached for the keys. Reagan handed them over to him and ran around to the driver’s side of the car while I climbed into the back seat. He opened the door and put my duffle bag on the seat with me.  Frank whimpered, shaking inside the bag.

“It’s okay,” I said softly, patting the leather seat. Frank cautiously left his hiding spot and curled up by my thigh.

Brendan closed the door and climbed into the driver’s seat.  “Where are we going?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Reagan snapped. “Anywhere’s better than here.”

He started the engine and pulled out of the space.

Reagan touched the screen on the center console and the garage door lifted. Brendan’s eyes read nervous in the rearview mirror. He nodded and looked to Reagan. The color had drained from her face as she looked at the sight before us. She turned to me, wiping away a few tears. I tried giving her a confident smile but I was sure my expression was as grave as hers. I checked Dia Muerto’s belt on my waist and said a silent prayer as the car began to roll forward. The crowd outside began to filter into the garage, coming down the sloping drive toward us. All of them with bloodstained clothes and black eyes. We were heading out into the unknown with more questions than answers. Things looked grim. There was no getting around it. But we had to keep going. I heard Reagan’s breath hitch in the silent car as Brendan mumbled something to himself.

This could be the end.

It was a thought I couldn’t escape. We had no idea what life was like beyond Burbank. I gripped Dia’s belt, the knot in my stomach twisting so tightly that I thought I was going to puke. I choked back the feeling and patted Frank to soothe his whimpering. He quieted down.

“This is it,” Brendan announced, his voice cracking.

“This is it,” I repeated quietly to myself.

Brendan put his foot on the gas, heading straight toward the crowd, and we sped off toward a sunny morning in southern California.

*

I’d like to thank everyone who made this possible.

DA
D
—Thank you for listening to my ideas—no matter how off the wall—and providing feedback.

MO
M
—Thank you for believing in me even when I didn’t.

J
EANN
E
—You experienced the horror that was the first draft o
f
Dia of the Dea
d
. You deserve some kind of medal.

A
SHLEY & MAR
Y
— You guys kept me motivated to finish this thing. I really couldn’t have done this without you. You all are the best.

Ticara, Cat, & Mari Ros
e
— The best beta-readers ever! You guys helped me in ways you can’t imagine. Thank you for taking the time to read every version o
f
Dia of the Dea
d
and telling me what worked and what didn’t. And thank you again for holding my hand and talking me off the ledge when I had to scrap things and start all over.

France & Davaly
n
—My cheerleaders!

Your encouragement kept me writing when I thought all the words were gone.

Beth Hick
s
—Thank you for providing your excellent editing services.

Brit Brinso
n
was born and raised in Cleveland, Ohio. After time away to attend college and graduate school, she returned home. When she’s not writing, she enjoys doing nerdy stuff with her friends. She lives for all things horror, paranormal, and sci-fi.

Dia of the Dea
d
is her first novel.

For more about Brit, please visit her website, britbrinson.com.