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Armed with a burrito, Edie rounded her car and sprinted to intercept the zombie.
She’d prefer to be carrying the knife she brought with her on her daily zombie-scouting walks or the cleaver she sometimes used to cut her soaps. Both weapons would actually kill zombies—by cutting off their heads or carving out their hearts, two of only three ways the creatures could be slain—rather than simply sprinkling them with medium-hot corn salsa.
Too bad Chad would be a headless corpse before she could grab either weapon.
People used to picture zombies shuffling slowly toward their victims, arms outstretched as they droned aboutbrains, braaaaaains, but a secret, ill-fated government experiment had proven everyone wrong. She’d seen their startling, terrifying speed for herself almost exactly twenty years before, back when she was eighteen, as she’d spotted the first gaunt, gray-pale creature racing silently on all fours toward—
Didn’t matter. A burrito was what she had. Thus, a burrito she would use. Somehow. Even though the various self-defensecourses she’d taken had neglected sufficient coverage of the tortilla-wielding martial arts.
Her sweet idiot of a neighbor stood on the unlit front porch of his dilapidated brick rancher as the sun dipped below the horizon and shadows stretched to swallow him. Chad wore headphones and didn’t react to her shouted warning. No one else came running to help either, and no matter what happened, no one would. There were eleven homes on their cul-de-sac, and only two were currently occupied. Hers. Chad’s.
She was the only one who could save him. Or at least attempt to save him.
Oh gods, she didn’t want to die. But she couldn’t let someone else—anyoneelse—perish while she ran to rescue herself. Not again.
The creature was only a dozen long strides away from Chad now, lunging upward and onto its hind legs in preparation for the kill, elongated teeth yellowed and sharp and bared, claws outstretched to rip Chad’s head from his absurdly broad shoulders before cracking his skull open like an egg and slurping down the tasty yolk of a brain.
She skidded into the zombie’s path, panting and terrified, and kicked it in the chest with every ounce of her strength and desperation.
Mistake. Big mistake. The creature stopped, true. But it stumbled maybe a half step back and to the side, that was all, while the impact numbed her entire leg and jolted her off-balance. As she struggled to stay upright, to assume a defensive stance, the zombie growled something hoarsely—
Bonjour?That couldn’t be right.
—its red-rimmed eyes now fixed on…her. Which had been her intent, but still. Shit.
She swatted it across the snout with her foil-wrapped burrito.
Its stare narrowed, empty of anything but feral rage. As she took several hasty steps backward, the creature stalked forward, slowly now, still upright.
It could tear her to pieces whenever it wanted. It had time to play with its food.
Like her, Chad had cleared all vegetation from a sizable area surrounding his house. No attacker could approach without being seen, because even a last-second warning was better than none. But that meant the nearest climbable tree was maybe twenty, thirty feet away.
She wouldn’t make it. She had to try.
Even though she probably wouldn’t survive this encounter, every moment she distracted the creature would allow Chad time to finally clue in to what was happening right beside his freaking front porch and run for his life. Preferably up a ladder, where the zombie couldn’t follow.
He could call the hotline then. Sound the alarm. Alert everyone else in the Containment Zone to take shelter and wait in safety until the government helicoptered in sufficient troops to remedy the breach and eradicate the zombies once and for all.
After a final shout of warning to Chad, she turned to run as the zombie bent its hind legs in preparation for a fatal pounce.
Hopefully it wouldn’t hurt too much. Please, let it not hurt too much.
After only a single stride, something warm and wet sprayed across her back as the zombie’s guttural snarl cut off abruptly,and an involuntary sob tore from her throat. Oh no.No. Poor, dim, puppy-dog-friendly Chad had attempted to rescue her and died horribly for his efforts.
Why hadn’t he taken advantage of the creature’s utter focus on her?
Had she really sacrificed her entire future for nothing?
If she looked back, she knew what she’d see. Tearing claws and teeth. Blood. A skull cleaved and emptied in two slurps. It was her own future spread before her, steaming in the wintry cold of a late-December dusk, since the zombie could and would still reach her before she managed to heave herself up into the nearest tree and climb high enough, no matter how hard she ran.
She looked back anyway. Then promptly tripped over something—a mole hole, maybe—and fell hard on her ass. Her miraculously intact burrito thumped onto the crabgrass beside her.
Against a dusky blue sky rapidly fading to darkness, a silhouette wavered in front of her watery stare. Someone—or something—tall, standing far too close, with thick, muscular legs braced for battle. Holding a knife, its edge dripping and dark.
Zombies couldn’t use tools. Not since that last, fatal dose of serum.
