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The zombie hoard turns the corner, Dixie grabs my hand, and we take off running. I glance over my shoulder and see Baron Dolce at the head of the pack. Of course he made himself the original zombie in the game, and he’s shirtless and streaked with blood and dirt. It could be makeup, but knowing Baron, he could have killed someone on his way here just to give his costume a more authentic look.
About ten other people run behind him, the zombies he’s already caught and turned. The look on his face says he’s out for real blood, whether or not the stuff on his face and chest is fake.
Looks like I may not make it home after all.
Sorry, Dad.
They close in on us, and Dixie starts giggling wildly. She releases my hand as we reach the railroad tracks, and I scramble up the slight incline and across the ties, gravel crunching under my boots. I step on the steel rail and jump down the other side, inhaling the stink of oil and creosote. My feet hit the pavement before I realize I’m alone. Dixie is shrieking with laughter as the zombies surround her, moaning for brains and pawing at her. She looks like she’s having fun and playing along, so I turn and jog away, toward a row of warehouses.
I have the key to the Slaughterpen at home, but I didn’t bring it tonight, since I don’t book fights on race nights. The crowd at the fights would be too small to make it worth anyone’s while, and I’ve learned to leave my valuables at home in case of an attack. Technically the Dolces own the warehouse, but I’m not sure how many of them know what goes on there.
I duck around the end of the last warehouse, a new one that’s still under construction judging by the scaffolding against the side. I step between the iron bars and lean against the wall where a thin line of dead grass pokes up from a long crack in the pavement. I pull out my cigarettes and light one, content to be out of the action even though I’m still freezing my balls off. I’m just finishing my smoke when I hear quiet voices and the scuff of shoes on pavement.
I tense, ready to take off again, when Duke Dolce and Gloria Walton step around the corner. They pull up short when they see me. Duke’s bent toward her, his arm around her back as he helps her along while she hobbles on one foot, her arm gripping his neck.
“Are you infected?” Duke asks, like he doesn’t know who I am.
I wait for Gloria to make one of her comments about me being diseased, but she just stares at me.
“No,” I say after a pause. “You?”
“No,” Duke says. “I found this one hiding in the ditch by the tracks. She says she turned her ankle running and then hid. She hasn’t been bitten.”
I look Gloria over and snort. “I guess pink furry boots weren’t the best choice for running from zombies.”
“I didn’t know there would be an outbreak,” she huffs, playing along with the game but still never missing a chance to talk down to me.
I drop my cigarette butt and grind it into the pavement with my boot. “Always be prepared.”
“Is that why you’re not wearing a coat?” she asks, giving me a haughty look from inside her puffy pink coat. Damn, it looks warm.
The sound of running feet echoes on the pavement, and Duke sticks his head around the corner and then jerks back. “We’re going to have to climb,” he says, nodding at the scaffolding.
“What?” I ask. “Fuck no.”
“Why not?” Gloria asks.
“I’m not climbing,” I say flatly. “The zombies can have me.”
“Fucking climb, dumbass,” Duke snaps.
“No.”
“Fine, stay here and die,” Gloria says. “But give us a hand up first.”
“No,” Duke says. “He has to go up too.”
“Why?” I ask, stepping back from them.
“Just fucking do it,” he snaps.
“Sorry, I don’t obey you this one night of the year.”
“Boost me up,” Gloria says. “The zombies can’t climb. It’s in the rules.”
Their footsteps come closer, but we don’t move. We’re frozen in a standoff, and once again, I get the feeling that I’m missing something. Always the last to fucking know.
“Get on the fucking roof,” Duke growls.
