Page 83 of Kiss Slay Replay

He looks to the woods, searching for Tanya, but she’s already vanished into the trees. He mutters something under his breath, then turns back to me. “We’re running. Now!”

We make toward the parking lot, frantic and fast but somehow in sync.

“Track star,” I say.

“Walk the mile,” he says. We used to tease each other, because he’s a former varsity athlete / valedictorian and I was willing to sacrifice my GPA to protest gym. We used to speculate—would we have harbored secret crushes in high school? Dated? Been mortal enemies?

“Um,” he says, slowing down. “You gave your key to Tanya.”

“Right.”

“Then Vicky…”

“Yeah.”

“So your key is…”

“Back there.”

The sound of the van reversing up the hill pulls our attention. It’s being chased by the deer, the caterer. Vicky. Wyatt. Evan.

That’s the thing about zombies. They multiply.

“We need to move,” Ravi says, yanking me toward the path. “They’re too close to the reception hall for us to make it inside. You’re staying in one of the cabins?”

“You think we just hide?”

“You have a better idea?” There’s an edge, a tone, a condescension that’s all too familiar, that sets me off. I hate it when he talks down to me.

I grit my teeth. “What if we keep running?”

“Run where?” he says, as we pass the first cabin.

“I don’t know. Down to the road. Just keep running. Don’t look back. Get as far away from here as possible.”

“No. We don’t know what’s out there,” he says. “Which cabin?”

“Here,” I say, getting my key card out of my bag. We run up the porch steps and I open the door. Close it behind us. Listen to the lock click.

Yeah, why not? Hiding in a cabin worked out so great the last two times.

“All right,” he says. “I’m calling the police.”

“Go for it.” I move through the cabin drawing the curtains closed as quickly as possible, hoping that none of the undead have followed us or spotted motion through the windows. I turn off lights. I catch snippets of Ravi on the phone with the cops trying to explain what’s happening.

“No…maybe…Yes, they’re violent. Four people and a deer…Yes, I’m sure…I think it’s rabies. A virus. It spreads…Very. Very contagious…Yes…We’re hiding in one of the cabins now…I think most people are in the reception hall…I don’t know…I don’t know…Yes…All right…Thank you.” He hangs up, sets his phone down on the coffee table, and collapses into the armchair.

I push the couch against the front door, then turn off the lights in the living room.

“You think they’ll try to get in?” he asks.

“Seems like they’re attracted to movement. Sound. I don’t know how smart they are. They’re zombies.”

“Willa.”

“You don’t understand.”

“Don’t understand what? The concept of zombies?” Again, with that tone.