Four (Their Dead Lives,1) (3 page)

“Are you even listening?” Angela asked, her mouth hanging open and eyebrows raised.
 

“Huh? Oh. I agree.” If he ever blanked out during a conversation, which was frequent, he’d agree with whatever the other person said.
 

This stupid tactic rarely worked in his favor.
 

“Yes!” Angela hugged her boyfriend and kissed him on the nose. She brushed through his wavy hair, her hand feeling much like the roommate’s—feeling like nothing at all.
 

Scot wondered what he’d just agreed to.
 

With so much excitement in Angela’s voice, maybe she did have the crazies like the roommate had said. “I can’t wait to meet your parents!”

You had to not listen and agree, you worthless occupier of air.
 

A day later, Scot and Angela sped around a turn in his SUV as music blasted out of old speakers. He’d always enjoyed the drive down the Pacific Coast Highway. The scenery alone made the drive worth it. And with the shiny ocean surface at his side, he thought of that pier from his dream.
Kelsey.
He wondered if she was still in Green Hills.
 

“Will you slow down? You’re freaking me out.”
 

“Huh? Oh, sorry, Angie,” said Scot, distracted.
 

She reached over and interlaced her fingers with his. “You okay?” Her touch really did nothing for him. Not like Kelsey’s touch had done for so long.
 

He pretended to concentrate on the road. “Yeah, fine. I haven’t been home in a long time.”

“You’re going to see family and friends. Might help with whatever is bothering you.”
 

She reads me pretty well, minus the obliviousness to the whole cheating thing.
“Yeah I guess,” Scot mumbled, hand tight around the steering wheel.
She deserves better.
 

“You want to talk about it?”
 

“I’m good for now, but thanks.”
 

Angela tightened her fingers around his. “You’re only twenty-three. Why be sad or stressed when there’s a lifetime right in front of you?”
 

How do I respond to that?
The highway narrowed in front of him. His eyes stayed on the road.
 

“Here, this will help you relax.” Angela leaned close, unzipped his jeans, and lowered her head.
 

She reads me really well.
 

They continued driving south and were an hour from Scot’s hometown. They’d eventually arrive in suburbia, one which was beautiful, with lush green scenery, sandy beaches, and a refreshing ocean.
Don’t forget the rich spoiled kids and the plentiful supply of hot soccer moms.
 

Sometimes Scot missed Green Hills, but not often. Too much had happened to enjoy what Green Hills offered. But a part of him felt it time to go home, while another part of him had the sickest of feelings, and yet another part of him wanted to screw around.
 

How he loved screwing around.

KALE

Don’t look back. Never look back.
 

Grotesque moans crawled into his ears, rotten feet rushed behind him, and sweat filled his palms as he sprinted through the school. Legs flying, hands chopping at his sides, he released short breaths. The school hallways were abandoned but for some shredded corpses and trampled essays.
Don’t look back. Never look back.
 

Kale sprinted for freedom when he heard Tonic call out, “I’m screwed back here!”

Reluctance consumed his fingers but he slowed anyway. A quick turn revealed Tonic crouching, holding a sub-machine gun, spraying an onslaught of bullets at the oncoming horde. Blood and flesh splattered in every direction. CLICK. The ammo clip fell from Tonic’s weapon. Dozens of flesh eaters swarmed, yards away from feasting on him.
 

“Run!” Kale’s lips touched his headset, which smelled like nachos, and he quickly followed his own advice, fleeing for safety.
 

“We can take them!” Tonic remained in place as he loaded another clip into his sub-machine gun. Soon enough, shrieks echoed down the hall. Skin was shredded off Tonic’s body, ripped by bloodstained mouths and claws. Tonic reached back toward Kale in a plea for help, but within moments, Tonic’s arm was pulled off.
 

Meh.
Kale continued his headlong escape, passing empty lockers, scattered notebooks, and abandoned backpacks.
The horde is right on my tail. Hide.
He leapt to the right, landing in an empty classroom. Door slammed. Door rammed. His predators scratched at the barrier, seeking him.
On second thought, this was a terrible idea.
 

“Howard, where are you, man?” Kale yelled through his headset. He frantically twirled until his eyes locked on another door on the opposite side of the classroom. A sea of desks stood between him and his exit, his freedom.
 

“I’m outside. Where are you guys?” Howard responded in his nasally voice.

“I’m pinned in the art classroom.”

“Damn, dude! I told you guys
not
to go in the school. IT’S A TRAP.”

“Just shut up and come help me!” Kale’s words cut off. Eyes widened as the door snapped open. “They’re breaking through!” He backed away, and the infected tumbled over each other, the fallen door splintering beneath their weight. Kale squeezed some type of pistol. He didn’t know the name of it, for he was no commando. Three zombies fell before ammo left him.
Alone, once again, with them.
He cursed and sprinted to the other side of the room. The infected rushed along with him, reaching out to him as if trying to hold his hand.
I won’t put out!
A few cut in front faster, cornering him. “Bye, Howard.”
 

Without warning, a stream of bullets ripped through the infected bodies and a voice screamed, “Yaaahooo!”

Standing behind the steaming pile of zombies, Howard hoisted a massive machine gun. “Man, I saved your ass again, bitch!” He joyfully skipped in place, looking like a complete buffoon.
 

Something murdered his celebration. An approaching force trembled the room.
 

Outside . . . in the hall . . . it comes!
 

Silently, Howard stared at Kale, then looked at the door and jumped. “Dude, run!”
 

Too late.
 

The wall of the classroom smashed down as a huge infected roared in. Its hulking arms swung around viciously with no real aim.
 

Howard froze in place as the gigantic creature pummeled its way for him. He screamed so loudly it burned Kale’s ears, “Horse manure!” The infected monster swatted Howard, sending the small man flying across the room. He exploded against a wall, a wave splattering from his body. Sticking to the wall a few seconds before sliding slowly to the floor, a blood trail and organs followed, dripping and toppling over Howard’s body.
 

“No!” Kale’s throat burned.
But really just, meh.
He spun to his right, jumping over a desk toward the other classroom door. He tugged it open, and in his stupidity, paused to take one last glance at the creature.
 

Don’t look back.
Never look back.
 

A chair hurled its way through the air, nailing Kale in the face and knocking him to the ground. His weak arms fought to press off the cold floor.
Stand. Freedom.
With blurring vision, he stared at the creature hovering over him. He swore it smiled before bashing him to bloody mush.
 

Kale dropped his video game controller as he watched his character meet its most-unwelcoming fate. His face flushed with frustration. “Shit! Was almost getting into it.” He kicked the controller at the flat screen TV his parents had bought him when he moved in with Howard over a year ago. He smacked the video-game case. “I’m done playing, Howard. This game isn’t fair.” He took off his headset and, slumping on the couch in the living room of their apartment, stared at takeout boxes and dirty clothes scattered about. Two flies swarmed over a half-eaten burrito.
Still good?
 

A high-pitch whine shot from Howard’s mouth, who approached from his own room. “Life isn’t fair, dude. But we gotta take them all down with us every chance we get. One bullet at a time.” He entered the living room, holding a game controller, still wearing his headset.
 

Kale raised a thick dark eyebrow. “You make no sense.”
 

“How the hell do we beat this game? I heard it was tough, but damn.” Howard pushed his thin-framed glasses up his nose. It twitched. He sat next to Kale on the dirty blue couch, scratching his scalp through his oily brown hair. “Let’s try again, yeah?”

“I don’t know, man, seems as impossible as a real apocalypse.”
 

Howard hopped once in excitement. “Oh, dude, a real apocalypse! Hah! I would be the best zombie killer, man. I hope they come. I’ll freaking be like, like, Will Smith in
I Am Legend
.” A rat-a-tat of machine gun noises spat off his lips as he pretended to hold an invisible weapon.
 

“Except you’re not black. And I can’t believe you referenced
that
movie. The world forgot about it, so should you.” Kale smiled, and before Howard could counter, his cell phone vibrated. “Shit, Alec.”

“Tell him you’re going to Comic-Con instead of that jizz-sauce reunion.”
 

“No, look, I should really see them. Been forever.”

“But you promised to go to Comic-Con with me. It’s going to be legend—”
 

Kale pointed a finger. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence. Don’t you do it.”

“All right, bro, but seriously, you promised.”
 

“I know, I know, it’s this damn reunion crap,” Kale muttered as he watched his friend lower his head. “Come on, man! Listen, come with me tonight, then we’ll catch the last day of the Con.”
 

“Okay, okay, but only if we suit—”

“Don’t you dare say
suit up.
”

“Dammit, you never let me quote
How I Met Your Mother
. You know I’ve been on a marathon binge.”
 

“Yeah, you can quote it when I’m dead.”
 

Howard scratched his cheek. “Right, well I guess I should get ready now.” He paused after standing and said, “Then we should do some more zombie slaying?”

“Nope, enough of that. Hell, you might as well be a zombie, since you never go out or anything.”
 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Save the preachy shit for someone else. Now, I’m going to, wait for it . . .”
 

Kale raised a fist, mock-angry. “Nooo!”
 

“Suit up!”
 

Kale laughed, watching his scrawny friend skip to his room.
Imbecile
.
I live with a freaking imbecile. But I love him.
 

Scattered clothes covered Kale’s room. Three movie posters lined beige walls. They consisted of
Spider-Man, Dawn of the Dead, and Blade
. He’d loved those movies growing up, watching them repeatedly.
 

Sitting by his bedroom window, viewing the courtyard, Kale thought about calling
her
. But he knew he shouldn’t. A quick scroll through his contact list brought his index finger to hover over her name. Kelsey.
If you pursue her, you’ll end up in a love triangle with Scot. Avoid love triangles at all costs!
 

Kale sighed and shut his phone. Sunlight broke through shades, shining off his jet-black hair, and the warmth made him quickly think of her again.
 

Kelsey had stopped talking to him for some time, confusing him since they’d been getting along great. With Scot off at college, he’d been able to hang out with her as he pleased. He adored her friendly, sometimes-sarcastic company. And he’d lost her, along with his girlfriend, Brittany, around the same time.
 

Brittany, he knew why he lost her. However, Kelsey—

His phone vibrated.
 

“Yo, Alec, what’s up, buddy? Yeah, yeah I’m coming. No, of course I’m excited. Yeah, dude, shall be good. Yeah, I’m bringing my buddy Howard.” Kale laughed lightly. “No, no, I’m not gay. Ha! All right, sounds good. Wait, is Scot coming for sure?”

Kale grimaced as he hung up.
 

I have to see that self-involved, self-loathing, backstabbing piece of monkey-shit again? Meh.

SCOT

You look like a Jewish Leprechaun.
 

His reflection revealed disheveled strawberry blond hair, uneven sideburns, and pale skin.
Clean up before tonight
, he reminded himself as he sat on his old bed in his parents’ house. He listened to rushing water coming from his bathroom. Angela was soaking herself.
 

Leaning back on the comforter of his bed, staring at a light blue ceiling, Scot flopped a hand to the side and pulled the nightstand open. Rummaging blindly, his fingertips felt a picture. A quick yank and he stared at the face he longed for. Kelsey.
 

In the photograph, Scot was much shorter and even skinnier than now. He had a bright smile as he held her. Happiness.
 

He pressed a finger to her image, feeling like quite the creeper. He missed her so. After tucking the picture in his back pocket, then checking the time on his watch, he hopped off his bed. Warm moisture touched his face as he poked his head in the bathroom. “Hey, Ang, I’m running out. Be back in thirty.”
 

“Okay, babe!”
 

Scot saw her wet slippery body through steamy glass, and got a quick urge to join her, but he controlled his libido (a rare occurrence) and left. He had two choices of shops to get a haircut, either would do. He parked his silver 4Runner and hopped off the driver’s seat, nearly teetering over. “Damn depth perception!” He composed himself, walked inside the barbershop, and signed his name. Three people before him.
How I hate waiting.
He sat down, grabbed a magazine, and looked at those around him.