Dead Over Heels (12 page)

—overruns the nervous system, causing delirium and a loss of cerebral function. The entire process occurs within ninety seconds.

In some cases, the host chooses not to pass the infection, and instead uses human victims for sustenance. This process is instantly fatal. All citizens should stay inside, in a well-protected area, and avoid contact with other persons—even those with whom you are familiar.

The high number of deaths within a short period of time has strained the U.S. government. Normal, day-to-day functions have ceased, and travel is inadvisable. Teams of geneticists, in conjunction with the CDC in Atlanta, are working around the clock to find and mass-produce a vaccination. We will update this message as new information becomes available. This broadcast will now repeat.

Cole doesn’t wait for the repeat. He flicks off the radio.

We stand in silence, struggling to absorb the news.

Now we know the truth. This is worldwide. A pandemic. The infection is everywhere, and it’s spreading. The enormity of the situation strikes me to the core.

“We need to get out of here,” I whisper.

“One more minute.” Cole sounds as frantic as I feel. “If this thing’s gone global, we’ll need supplies. Food. Medicine. Anything.”

He ransacks the remaining cabinets. But this time it’s less methodical. More desperate.

I open the door to the cab and lean my head out into the cold, listening for even the smallest far-off sound.

“Let’s go, Cole,” I call over my shoulder. “There’s nothing here.”

“One more cabinet.”

Frustrated, I lean farther out of the cab, yelling so Cole can still hear me. “Trash bags? Calculators? Cole, I—”

And there it is. Below us. Toward the gorge. A voice twisting out of the wind. Mr. Beaver’s voice.

“Ree-rawr!”

I turn on the spot. Slowly, silently.

An instant later, an echo rises behind Beaver’s voice, at least forty voices, all inhuman, all ravenous. “Rawr!”

The country club herd has found us.

Chapter Thirteen

“Hide or go?” Cole gasps.

“Go!” I scream.

We fly out the door and down the first set of stairs
.

Oh my God. Why did I take my eyes off the windows? Why did I let the radio distract me? Why did I let
Cole
distract me?

“Hurry!” Cole whispers.

Below me, the mob is on the move. Surging forward. Straight up the AT, following our scent. To the bald. Then the summit. The vending machines.

Tink-tink-tink-tink-tink.
Our shoes tap the metal stairs. My foot slides on a snowy tread and I fall forward, tumbling to the next landing. Cole stops to haul me up.

“No, keep going!” I yell. If he tries to be chivalrous, we’ll never make it to the bottom.

We reach the halfway mark. Cole lifts his arm, stopping me, holding me in place. He puts a finger to his lips. We were too slow. The monsters are close. Below us, the dead shamble around the vending area, trying to find our scent. They haven’t seen us yet, the blowing snow camouflaging our movements. Mr. Beaver sniffs the ground, then the machines. Any second, he’ll find the line leading to the tower.
To us.

We need to be quiet. I signal to Cole to start moving again.

Tink-tink-tink-tink-tink.
Our shoes on the stairs are loud as gunshots.

My heart wants to pound out of my chest.

We reach the second-to-last set of steps; Cole stops and points over the back railing.

What the hell does that mean?

He points again. To the ground. Then the zip lines. Makes a sweeping motion with his hand. Gestures toward the other side of the gorge.

Oh my God
.

Understanding crashes through my brain. Cole wants to hop the rail, skip the last flight of stairs and end up on the back side of the tower. Then take the zip lines. The zip lines across the gorge.

No!
I shake my head rapidly.

He pulls an angry face and points again at the zip lines.

No!
I mouth.

Below me, Bubba sniffs the ground where Cole sat eating Fritos. “Rawr,” he says, and raises his head.

He’s found our trail.

“Rawr,” Bubba repeats, louder now, and stumbles toward the foot of the stairs. Behind him, the mob picks up the scent. The smell of rotting flesh drifts toward us; my eyes water and I fight not to cough.

“Rawr!” Mr. Beaver orders.

Cole gives me a furious look and mouths something.

“What?” I ask silently, unable to make out his words

He repeats it again, but I still can’t catch it. Something about potatoes?

Cole gestures frantically.

Great. Life-and-death situation, and Cole’s playing charades.

“What?” I repeat.

He starts mouthing something different. I can make out these words, and they are
not
polite.

He turns from me, and one fluid motion, jumps the banister and lands with a soft
thud
on brown grass below. The metal stairs hide him from the monsters.

There’s no time to review our options. I leap, but hit the ground off-center, my hip slamming the grass.

“Ow!” A tiny squeak of pain sneaks past my lips.

Bubba turns toward the sound and spots me instantly. This time, his “rawr!” sounds almost triumphant. A mass of followers rises up behind him.

“Move!” Cole yells.

He yanks me from the ground and we’re sprinting toward the zip lines, my whole brain screaming,
No, you can’t do this! No! No!

The pack surges closer, moving underneath the fire tower.

Cole hops on the concrete pad, unfastens the D-clip holding the pulley system and hands me the metal handle bar.

I stare into the gorge. Big mistake. My stomach drops to my toes. Below me—far below—the river dashes through the valley. Cliffs rise around it forming a steep, rocky channel.

No, no, no, no.

One zip line over, Cole unhooks his pulley and wraps his fingers around the grips of the metal bar. Bubba reaches the edge of the zip-line platform, the others only steps behind him.

“Go!” Cole screams, and then he’s airborne, flying across the gaping canyon without a moment’s hesitation.

I stagger forward, clutching the platform’s railing with one hand for support. The handle bar is already slick with sweat. The chasm yawns below. No helmet. No safety harness. No one to talk me through this. My breath comes in shallow gasps, and I realize with each exhalation I’m letting out a shrill whimper.

Icy wind blows up from the canyon, swirling around me, blowing snow and the smell of rotten meat into my mouth. I turn to watch Mr. Beaver shamble onto the platform. The past two days have not been kind to him. His skin has decomposed to the color of moldy bread. Blue-green streaks of rot marble his forehead.

“Rawr,” he says, lifting his arms toward me. Then he laughs, like a hyena with a lump of meat stuck in its throat. “Raw-raw-raw-raw.” His loose eyeball bounces as he chuckles.

This is what awaits me if I don’t take the zip line. Infection. Brain death. Bouncing eyeballs.

I still can’t make my hand release the railing.

Cole has reached the other side of the gorge safely. From here, he is a speck—a tiny dot on the snow-pocked landscape.

Mr. Beaver takes one step closer.

“Choose,” I tell myself. “Choose.”

I glance into the bottom of the gorge and the landscape tilts. Dizziness washes over me.

Death by zombies? Or death by plunging into a rocky canyon?

Mr. Beaver takes another step. A low growl issues, followed by a flash of sharp teeth. Behind him, the rest of the infected country club guests shamble onto the grassy area below, effectively surrounding the platform.

“Choose,” I repeat.

My parents are somewhere on the other side of that gorge. And Cole.

Mr. Beaver reaches for me.

Fine,
I decide.
Death by canyon.
And I grasp the handle and leap into emptiness.

Chapter Fourteen

The zip line jerks me off the platform, gravity working its magic. Huddled below me, a cluster of zombies waits on the narrow strip of land separating me from the gorge.

“Rawr!” A dozen rotten hands lunge for my dangling feet. The pulley whirrs, hurtling me toward the waiting horde. The scene freezes in my mind. Fingernails caked with dirt and blood. Eyes webbed with white. Mouths open for flesh.

“Eeeee!” I squeal, lifting my legs. The soles of my sneakers skim the zombies’ outstretched fingertips. I clutch the bar and curve my spine until my knees hit my chest. I clear the monsters. Barely.

A split second of relief and the ground drops away. The gorge yawns below me. I screw my eyes shut. Rushing wind fills my ears. The world ceases to exist. There is nothing except my hands on the bar, tightened in a death grip against the metal.

I will not let go.

Snowflakes whip my face. My shoulders strain to support my weight. Seconds stretch into eternity. How long until I reach the other platform? I’m afraid to open my eyes and check.

The descent becomes faster. Faster.
Faster
.

The opposite side of the gorge is lower, and gravity rips me toward the cliff. I drop like a stone, still holding the bar, but almost slipping into free fall. Did I get too much momentum when I jumped? Or maybe the lack of equipment is messing up the speed? Aren’t I supposed to have a harness or something? For whatever reason, I’m going
way
too fast. I can feel it. I know it. My elbows ache and my fingers go numb.

I peek through my eyelashes. The world rushes past in an insane blur of snow and rock and sky. I’m completely out of control. The other platform looms in front of me, and I’m certain I’ll overshoot it. Cole waits on the stand, yelling something, but I can’t catch the words over the wind.

Closer, closer. And nothing to break my fall.

“Aaaaaaaggggghhh. Aaaaaagggghhh!” The landing spot is twenty feet away. Ten. I’m on top of it. I’ve missed it.

The zip line ends—runs out of cable—but my body is still going. The metal bar jerks from my hands.

Crack!
I smash into the billboard advertising Weaver Bald Zip Line Adventures—Feel the Rush! My right foot busts through the “A” in “adventures.” My heel gets stuck; arms and legs jumble together, trapped in a tangle of paper and balsa wood. I grab for a piece of canvas.

Riiiiiiiip!
I plunge from the top of the billboard to the ground, and only the tearing canvas slows my fall.

Cole tries to position himself below. “I’ve got you! I’ve got you!”

I land directly in his arms. It’s a hard fall, but he doesn’t drop me. He’s obviously as surprised as I feel.

My breath rushes out in a relieved whoosh.

I plan to say “thanks,” or maybe, “I can’t believe you caught me.” Instead, I say, “Damn, Cole—you’re so freaking strong.”

Cole’s ears burn scarlet. I’m pretty certain my face turns the same shade.

And then he does something startling. He pulls me close, crushing me against his shoulder in sort of a half hug.

“You made it,” he whispers.

Instantly, every ounce of fear falls away. I am safe. There is only the hard muscle of his shoulder and the soft material of his jacket. This close, I pick up the scent of woodsmoke still clinging to his clothes from the fire in our yard, so many days ago.

I want to stay right here for the next hour, or six, but just as quickly as it happens, the hug is over.

“Thank God you made it,” Cole repeats. He lowers the arm supporting my knees, gently placing my feet on the ground.

“Wait,” I whisper. “I can’t stand yet.”

Yeah, I’m not sure that’s entirely true.
Maybe I just don’t want him to stop holding me. All I know is that my sense of balance has suddenly stopped working. Because of fear or adrenaline. Or maybe because Cole’s touching me.

He rests a hand on my shoulders, keeping me steady. “Are you okay?” His voice is low and husky.

I can only nod.

“No broken bones?” He brushes a strand of hair from my eyes, his fingers trailing my forehead. “No concussion?”

This time, I shake my head. Great, I’ve gone completely mute.

His face is so close to mine. Six inches, seven tops. I’m overwhelmed by a sudden urge to kiss him. Which is crazy because I just zip-lined over a freaking canyon! I should not be thinking about kissing.

Cole’s chest rises and falls rapidly. Is he thinking about kissing, too?

And then my foggy brain registers one thing. The sound of Mr. Beaver’s voice. “Ree-raw.”

I jump away from Cole. This is a stupid move because he’s still holding one of my shoulders. I stumble, flapping my arms to stay upright.

“Careful,” he whispers, his hands steadying me again. “You’re woozy from that fall.”

Now Cole’s the one reluctant to let go. But panic has cleared my brain.

“Mr. Beaver! I hear him! We’ve gotta move!”

“It’s okay.” Cole’s voice stays low. “They’re on the other side of the gorge, remember? They can’t cross.”

The gorge. That’s right. A smile blooms across my face.

“I zip-lined over the gorge,” I say. “Holy hell. I zip-lined over the gorge!” My eyes widen and I hop in place. “I did it! I zip-lined.”

Cole grins. “You more like zip-careened, but yeah, you did it. Pretty badass.”

“Did you just call me a badass?”

This time, Cole full-on laughs. The sound is full of relief and happiness.

My brain focuses a little better. Now I can tell Mr. Beaver’s voice, though full of rage and hunger, is far-off and echoey.

“Don’t worry,” Cole says, jerking his head toward the gorge. “Zombies don’t know how to zip line.”

A new awful thought pokes its way into my brain. My grin fades. “But Bethany does.”

He nods. We break apart, both moving closer to the edge, trying to see the other cliff. The terrain here at the summit is rough—mostly rocks—and we have to pick our way carefully back to the edge.

“Is she with them?” I ask, shading my eyes. “Bethany?”

“No. I didn’t spot her back at the tower. Didn’t hear her.”

“That doesn’t mean she isn’t there. Did you notice anyone from her group?”

With careful steps, he moves closer to the ledge. “Lord God, I couldn’t tell. I was concentrating on getting the hell out of there.”

I unwind the binoculars from my neck, where the cord has twisted with my purse strap. “Here.”

Cole raises them to his face and scans the cliff.

“How many?” I ask.

He pauses, counting under his breath. “Maybe forty? But I can’t see faces. Don’t know if it’s only the country club people and the Beavers—or if Bethany’s group is there too.”

Crap. Forty zombies. That’s a big enough threat on its own. Imagine what they’d be like with Bethany controlling them.

“Were there other pulleys on that side?” I ask. “For the zip lines?”

He gestures to the cables above us. Four lines, only two pulleys here.

“So the other two are probably still on the other side of the gorge, waiting for Bethany.”

Again, that raises the question: would Bethany leave her army to pursue us?

Cole lifts the binoculars. “I don’t see her. She’s smart, though—might be keeping out of sight.”

“Even if she’s found that group—if she’s in charge of all of them—let’s be optimistic and say she won’t leave them there on their own. Let’s say they all have to walk to this side of the gorge. How long would that take?”

Cole’s big grin returns. “Hours. Many, many hours. If that’s the scenario we’re dealing with, we just gained, like, a five-hour lead.”

Relief washes over me. “Just one more question. At the observation deck, I studied that map—the panoramic one. It feels like, well, we zip-lined in the right direction, didn’t we? Toward Glenview?”

“Yep. We’re back on track. I’d been wondering how we’d get across that gorge. Figured it’d take the better part of a day to hike it.” He waves at the zip line. “Problem solved. With any luck we’ll reach Glenview two days. Tops.”

“We can beat her,” I say, moving away from the ledge. “We can beat all of them.”

I should be relieved. I should be celebrating. I should be putting one foot in front of the other, racing toward my parents and safety. Instead, I sink to the stony ground, my limbs suddenly heavy.

“Rest a minute,” Cole says. “I’m gonna get a better look at that group.”

“Okay.” My words sound small and far away.

A second later, I get the strangest feeling. Impending doom. I recognize this feeling.

Quit
, I tell myself.
You’re nervous—that’s all. You’ve just zip-lined and escaped from zombies. Calm down.

But no, that’s not it. Seriously. I totally recognize this feeling.

That’s when it starts. A slight tingle. Itching in my armpits. The air in my lungs turns to ice.

The trees. It must have happened when I crashed into the billboard. Or at the fire tower. An inside wasp. Or maybe I zip-lined through a web.

It doesn’t matter when or where. Only that it’s happening. Anaphylactic shock.

“Cole,” I say sharply.

“What?” he calls from the cliff’s edge, where he’s still scanning with the binoculars.

“I need you.”

“What is it? Is something coming?”

My lips burn. I have to hurry. “I…I…”

I’m becoming confused. I reach in my purse, fingers fumbling at the zipper for the pocket with my EpiPen. I clutch the plastic tube, but there’s not enough strength to pull it out.

Cole stands above me, gazing down. Those eyes. So blue. So beautiful and blue. I smile up at him. I can only manage one clear thought.

“Wasp,” I say. And the world goes dark.