Love & the Zombie Apocalypse (Book 1, Zombie Apocalypse Trilogy) (3 page)

Chapter Three

The room was abs
olutely dark.  Cage Vance shot to his feet.  Something banged against his legs, trapping him.  Where was he?  He twisted in the darkness and tried to loosen himself from the… metal?

He
reached for his cell phone.  The screen’s blue illumination lit a small circle around him.  The metal chair with the attached desk was overturned on the floor.  He swung the phone around and saw the TV locked into the stand.  He was in the athletic department’s video room.

Cage
had no idea how long he’d been asleep.  The smell of sweat filled his nostrils – he stunk.  He hadn’t showered after practice; instead, he opted for the video room where he was supposed to be watching game footage; not napping. 

He straightened the desk chair and went
to the boys’ locker room.  It was empty, but Cage wasn’t surprised.  Football practice ended hours ago and he was usually the only one who ever stayed late to watch tape or lift weights.  He grabbed a pair of khaki shorts and a black t-shirt from his locker and noticed six missed calls and three messages on his cell phone.

One call and voicemail were from his mother, reminding him to swing by
Cecilia’s Pizzeria to pick up her credit card that she’d accidently left there the night before.  The other calls and voicemails were from his psycho ex-girlfriend, Lindsay Donovan.  She was the last person he wanted to talk to.  He tossed the cellphone into his gym bag and went to shower.

Five
calls from Lindsay in a span of four hours.  Most people would assume it was an emergency, but Cage knew better.  If Lindsay Donovan called you and you didn’t pick up, she’d call until you answered.  He might have to get his phone number changed.  He should’ve listened to Marc last winter and stayed away from Lindsay.  She was trouble, but she was hot and Cage was an idiot sometimes when it came to girls.

H
e dressed, grabbed his bag and pushed the creaky door that led to Flint Prep’s gymnasium. Rays of weak sunlight poured down from the skylights and onto the shiny gymnasium floor. 

His sneakers squeaked
on the polished court.  He snatched a basketball off the rack, dribbled and shot it from the three-point line.  The ball swooshing through the net was followed by a crash and scream from the girls’ locker room.

Cage ran
to the door.  Should he knock?  Were naked girls in there?  He banged his open palm on the wood and poked his head inside.  “Hello?”

Three of the
fluorescent lights above the door were out.  The fourth was blinking, making the room pulsate like a techno club.  “Is anyone in there?”  Cage called out.  “I heard screaming, are you okay?”

No response. 

Cage pushed the door open and stepped inside.  The silence, combined with the oppressive summer heat, made it hard to breathe.  He went back to the gymnasium, but the nagging feeling that someone was hurt and needed his help wouldn’t let him walk away.  He propped the door open with his gym bag and walked into the girls’ locker room.

“I’m
coming in – if you’re naked – it’s not my fault what I see.”  Cage walked under the blinking light and rounded the corner.  A skinny wooden bench ran down the center of an empty row of pink lockers. It was identical to the boys’ locker room, except everything was pink instead of green.

“Hello?”
  He walked down the aisle to the showers.  “If you’re playing games, this isn’t funny.”

He drew back each plasti
c curtain, but the showers were empty, too.  Maybe he’d imagined the sounds?  He searched the locker room one more time and then, with a shrug, he headed back to the gym. 

The
girls’ locker room door slammed shut behind him.  He had a strange urge to get out of the building as quickly as possible.  The feeling of unease lifted as he looked up at the clear blue sky. Cage strode across the empty parking lot and slid inside the black Escalade with a strange sense of foreboding.  What was the matter with him?

He drove down the long driveway that led to the street.  A few people lumbered aimlessly over the baseball field
.  He didn’t recognize any of them, but it was hard to tell from this distance.  The more he stared, the more they resembled bums.  Their clothes and skin were covered with dark mud stains.

He
ignored the bizarre sight and headed toward Cecilia’s Pizzeria, clear on the other side of town.  His mother was always misplacing things and last night she’d forgotten to take her credit card with her.  It was a twenty-minute ride, but the pizza place was famous in Flint and well worth the drive. 

Cage’s
cellphone vibrated in his pocket.  It was Lindsay.  He didn’t want to talk to her, but she’d just keep calling and that was slightly more annoying than listening to her voice. He picked up on the fifth ring.  “Hello?”

“Where have you been?  I’ve been calling you all af
ternoon.  Practice got out two hours ago.”  Lindsay’s voice was high and squeaky – like a cartoon mouse’s voice.  He’d found it endearing when they first started dating, but now it was like nails on a chalkboard. 

He sighed.

“Cage?  Did you hear me?  Where were you?”

“Watching game film
, Lindsay.” His voice sounded tired, even to his own ears.  “And now I’m swinging by Cecilia’s Pizzeria.”

“Oh.  Well, Cindi told me you went to
teen night at the Old Watering Hole last night.  She said you were talking to Melissa Devano.”

“
I’m sorry.  Maybe I should’ve explained it better to you,” Cage said.

“I think you should.”

“See, when I said I didn’t want to date you anymore, that means you don’t get to ask me where I’ve been or who I’ve spoken to.  Nor do you get to call me eleven-hundred times a day.”

Lindsay’s
voice rose ten octaves.  “I knew you liked Melissa! I knew it!”

Cage hadn’t said more than five words to Melissa Devano
in his life, but Lindsay didn’t deserve peace of mind.  She needed to leave him alone.  “I have to go, Lindsay.  Will you please stop calling me?  Please?”

“Wait.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry, Cage.
” Lindsay’s voice went cotton candy sweet.  He imagined little chipmunks on a sugar rush.  “You’re right, it’s none of my business anymore.” A loud thump sounded in the background. 

“Lindsay, what wa
s that noise?”

“I don’t know, probably
Sean throwing the football around.  Listen, maybe we can meet up and talk things over.”

Another
crash sounded from Lindsay’s house.  “Linds, what is that?”

“Sean
!  Stop whatever it is that you’re doing down there!  I’m on the phone with Cage.”

He
pulled into Cecilia’s Pizzeria’s parking lot.  “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll go down
stairs in a minute.  My parents are out and he’s probably single-handedly destroying the living room.  What I was saying before -”

“I’m sorry,
Linds, I can’t.  We don’t work well together.  I’m sure there are plenty of guys that would love to date you.”

“Cage, but
-”

“
I have to go, Linds.  I’m sorry.  I really am.  Please don’t call again.”  Cage clicked off the call and exhaled. 

His phone beeped – he
had less than two percent of his battery remaining.  Good.  That meant he wouldn’t get Lindsay’s next phone call.  She was exhausting.  He didn’t know any other way to tell her that their relationship was over.  He rubbed his eyes and dreamed about a drama-less summer without Lindsay.  It brought a smile to his face.  He parked the Escalade behind the pizzeria and went in through the back entrance.   

A narrow hallway led past the kitchen and into the dining room. 
He poked his head into the kitchen, like he always did, but no one was in there.  He walked down the hallway and out to the dining room.

What in the
world?

An older coupl
e – with wrinkles and all – was attacking Sandra, the young woman who always worked the cash register.  She’d given Cage free soda pop for years. 

Sandra
had angled a table in between herself and the couple, but her back was against the wall.  Blood ran down her arm from a wound in her bicep.  The old man charged with his arms outstretched.  Sandra flattened against the wall and glanced at Cage.  “Help me, please!”

The old man
turned to Cage.  He wore a cream button down shirt – splattered with blood - and dark corduroy pants despite the heat.  He had a shock of white hair and a thick mustache.  He was on some type of hard drugs because his eyes were practically bugged out of his head.  They were a bizarre shade of light blue.  There was something strange about the color of his skin, too.  It looked…grayish.  He lunged at Cage. 

Cage jumped
back.  “Calm down, old man.  I don’t want to hurt you.”

“
Watch out!”  Sandra clutched her arm.  “The old hag bit me!”

Cage backpedaled.
The old man wasn’t very fast.  His movements were uncoordinated, liked he’d had too much to drink.  Cage scooted a table in between them and the old man bumped into it without seeing it. 

The
older woman growled and reached for Sandra.

“Watch out!”
She yelled.

The old
man flipped the table and fell on Cage.  The weight knocked them both to the ground.  Cage rolled him over.  Dentures snapped inches from his nose.  He shoved the man across the floor. 

Sandra screamed
from the ground.  The old woman’s white-haired head was clamped to her stomach.  She was
biting
Sandra.

The old woman dug
her fingers into Sandra, peeling back her skin like a ripe fruit.  Cage scrambled to his feet and kicked the old woman in the head. Her neck snapped back with a sickening crack.  Sandra was sprawled on the ground with her stomach torn out.  A soft whimper gurgled from her lips.

The old woman stood up. 

Cage grabbed the closest weapon he could find - an old mop propped against the wall.  He picked up a chair and used it to keep the old man away.  He snapped the mop stick in half and pointed the jagged edge at the old woman.  Cage held his arms outstretched like a giant “T” trying to keep the old couple away from him.

The old woman
attacked.  Cage didn’t want to do it, but he didn’t have a choice.  He stiffened his arm and held out the mop.  He watched in horror as she impaled herself through the stomach.  The pain should’ve brought the old woman to her knees, but it didn’t.  She continued lunging forward, despite the piece of wood piercing her gut.  The old woman inched closer to Cage, the mop pushing further into her stomach.

“In the head,” a voice said
from behind him. 

Cage was s
o startled by the voice that he lowered the chair and turned to see who had spoken. It was a girl about his age.  She had long blonde hair down to her waist.  She wore a blood splattered gray tank top and short little jean shorts.  She held a baseball bat in both hands. 

The old man
growled and lunged for him.

She lifted
the bat and, with a running start, smashed the old man in the head.  His skull shattered with a crack and he fell to the floor.

“You have to hit the zombies
in the head to kill them.”  She pointed behind him.  “You might want to take care of that old lady before she bites your arm off.”

Chapter Four

It looked like blood.

Selena Kudlova wiped
off the hooker-red lipstick.  Most of it came off on the tissue, but its remnants stained her lips a dark pink.  The harder she rubbed, the pinker her lips became. 

What was she thinking?  Red lipstick? 
She didn’t want to seem easy for her date with Adam and red lips on a former stripper screamed easy from every rooftop in Flint.

“Are you still stressing about what to wear?”  Vivienne popped her head into the
cramped bathroom. 

“
Da,”
Selena slipped into her native Russian.  Yes, she was stressing.  Stressing about everything.

“Y
ou look like an angel,” her sister said.  “But you’re going to be a ride-less angel if you don’t hurry up.  Ricky is picking us up in two minutes.” Vivienne tossed a bundle of light green at Selena.

Selena caught the wad of fabric
before it hit the floor.  It was a pale green summer dress with the price tag still on it.  “What’s this?”

“The dress I bought last
weekend,” Vivienne said.  “I don’t have anywhere nice to go, so I figured someone should get some use out of it.”

“Thank you!”  Selena ripped
off the plastic tag and slid the silky dress over her head.  She knew it would fit.  Selena and Vivienne had been sharing clothes since they were children back in St. Petersburg, Russia. 

“It m
atches your eyes perfectly,” Vivienne said.  “Now hurry!  Ricky will be here soon.”

The
sea foam green was so identical to her eye color that Selena suspected Vivienne hadn’t bought the dress for herself.  That was Vivienne, always looking out for her little sister. 

Selena shook out her
brown hair.  She had it cut this morning and she wasn’t use to the strands grazing her collarbone.  It was a trendy cut, but Selena didn’t do well with change.  She did one last mirror check.  She thought she looked nice and she hoped Adam would think so, too.

Selena
and Adam were going to
Bellissimo’s
for dinner.  Adam hadn’t hesitated when she suggested meeting at her work – she was a waitress at the Wooden Barrel.  Vivienne, who was the manager, had hired Selena a few months ago when a spot had opened up. 

It wasn
’t that she didn’t trust Adam, but they’d only been dating a few weeks and she’d had a string of crazy ex-boyfriends in the past.  Selena didn’t feel entirely comfortable yet with Adam knowing where she and Vivienne lived.  She wanted to get to know him a little better. 

He was a fireman.  And,
although she had romantic notions of all firemen and policemen being honest and trustworthy, she knew better.  Most of the men in her past were rotten, but she believed deep down that Adam was different.  Hopefully, in a few weeks, she’d bring Adam back to her apartment and cook him a homemade Russian dinner.

“Selena!  Ricky’s downstairs.”

Selena crawled into her messy closet and grabbed a pair of nude toe-less heels.  She ignored the row of six-inch stilettoes in the back.  She needed to throw out her old stripper shoes.  She’d promised herself she’d never wear them again, but something inside of her wouldn’t let her throw them out.  The shoes were a part of her, however shameful and dark her past was, they were still a piece of her.

“SELENA!!”

“Coming!”  She snatched her purse and ran to the living room.

Vivienne
held the door open with her foot.  “I can’t wait to get my car out of the shop.  I hate depending on Ricky for a ride.”

Ri
cky was Vivienne’s on-again-off-again boyfriend.  Selena suspected they were currently on-again because the transmission in Vivienne’s Chevy Impala blew out last week and they didn’t have the money to pay for a new one.  The Impala was in the lot at the body shop until they could scrape up enough cash to get it out. 

The sisters
half-jogged to the elevator at the end of the corridor.  A sign written on a piece of notebook paper was taped against the metal door: Out of Service.

“Perfect,” Vivi
enne muttered.  “It’s out of service more than it’s in service.  Let’s take the stairs.  Ricky is going to be pissed if we don’t get down there soon.” 

They rounded the corner
.  Muffled cries came from inside Apartment 3D, followed by a short scream.  A chill snaked up Selena’s spine.  “What was that?”

Vivienne rolled her eyes.  “Freaks.”

“What are you talking about?  You don’t think someone’s hurt?” Selena asked. 

“No, I kn
ow the lady who lives there.  Crazy moans and cries come from her apartment all the time, if you know what I mean.”

Selena hadn’t lived in the apartment as long as Vi
vienne had, so she didn’t know any of the neighbors.  The cry rang out again.  Selena frowned.  It sounded like someone was in trouble, but if Vivienne had heard shouts before –

“Selena!  Come on!”

Selena hurried after her sister.  The stench of urine greeted her when she entered the dingy stairwell.  It was damp and dungeon like. Selena raced down the stairs after Vivienne.  They only had to go down three flights of stairs, but it felt like an eternity.  Vivienne pushed open the exit door and Selena sucked in gulps of hot air. 

T
he sun was setting in the west and it was still over ninety-degrees outside.  Michigan didn’t have too many warm months, but when they had a heat wave, it was almost unbearable. Selena would gladly take piles of snow over the heat.  That was one of the things she loved about Michigan – the winters reminded her of Russia. 

Two sharp honks brought Selena back to the present
and back to the heat.  Ricky was in his black Camaro with the top down and the radio blaring heavy metal music. He greeted the girls with an offensive whistle.  Selena slipped into the tiny backseat.   

“Thanks for the ride, Ricky,” Vivienne said.

“No problem.  I’ll let you pay me back later.”

They peeled out of the parking lot.  It
was only a few miles to the Wooden Barrel, but they had to take a different route because Van Slyke Road was blocked off with a swarm of police activity.  Several police cars, fire trucks and ambulances, all with their lights and sirens flashing, were parked in the middle of the road. 

Ricky
drove down a few side streets and they pulled into the Wooden Barrel.  It was early and there weren’t many cars in the lot yet - only the regulars that never missed happy hour.  A group of teenagers crossed the baseball field beside the bar, which was strange, but not the first time she’d seen teens gathered on the field. 

“What time’s your shift over?” Rick
y asked.

“I’m closing.
” Vivienne was already out the door. 

“See you then,” Ricky said.

Selena barely had time to get out of the car before Ricky sped away.  Vivienne tied the apron strings around her waist.  “What did I ever see in him?”

“I asked you that same question months ago,” Selena said. 
“I don’t believe you gave me an answer.”  She chuckled and followed Vivienne inside. 

“Does Adam have any cute fireman friends?”

“I’m sure he does.”  Selena waited for her eyes to adjust to the dark room.  

“T
ell Adam you have a hot older sister who -”

Gene, a regular unfortunately,
swiveled in his stool and whistled at Selena.  His sweaty face glistened in the dull light.  His eyes were rimmed red from alcohol.  “Don’t you look delicious?”

“Leave he
r alone, Gene,” Vivienne spat as she walked around the bar. 

Selena sat on
the stool furthest from Gene.  He harassed Selena on a daily basis.  She should’ve known getting dressed up for her date with Adam would’ve prompted more than the usual leering from Gene.  Selena glanced at the clock on the wall.  Adam would be here in an hour.  She could ignore Gene for an hour.

“I knew you’d get back on that pole,” Gene said to Selena.

She flushed.  “I’m not a stripper anymore.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Gene s
aid.  “You’re a waitress now.  Do you still give private dances on the side?  I think I have a twenty in my pocket.  What do you say?”

“Enough!”  Vivienne slammed down a mug.  “If you say another word to my sister, I’ll kick you out.  Do you understand?”

Gene raised his hands.  “Testy, testy, Vivienne.”

Vi
vienne rolled her eyes.  “Selena, I have to take out the trash.  Tell me if he says one word to you while I’m outside and I’ll throw him out like the garbage he is.”

Gene smirked. 

Selena glared at him.  “Will do.”  She watched her sister disappear down the hallway. 

Her phone
vibrated inside her purse.  It was a text message from Adam from over an hour ago.  She must’ve missed it.  It read:
Can’t wait to see you!
  She was smiling like an idiot, all because of a text message. She slipped her phone back into her purse. 

Vivienne’s
scream echoed through the bar. 

Selena
’s heart fell to her toes.  She ran down the hallway before anyone else reacted.  She flung open the back door and Vivienne sprinted toward her.  An ugly gash ran across her hairline.  Her white t-shirt was filthy with dirt and specks of blood.  What could’ve happened in such a short period of time?

“Get inside!”  Vivienne screamed.

Selena noticed a man scrambling to his feet by the dumpster.  Her sister had been attacked.  A mugging while the sun was still out? Vivienne crossed the threshold and Selena slammed the door shut.  The lock slid into place with a reassuring click.

“Ar
e you okay?”  Selena’s hands hovered over her sister’s head wound.  Blood matted her curly hair to her forehead. 

Vivienne winced.  “
I hit my head on the concrete when he threw me down.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Vivienne said.  “I was tossing the trash in the dumpster and he came up from behind me.”

The door
shook beside them as the man pounded on the other side.  What was wrong with this guy?  Was he crazy?  “We need to call the cops,” Vivienne said.  “Before he grows a brain and runs around to the front door.”

Selena and Vivienne
sprinted to the bar.  The regulars were on their feet, but they weren’t looking at the Kudlova Sisters.  They were focused on the front door.  All eyes were on the five bloody people who’d just stumbled into the bar.