Dead Over Heels (15 page)

Within minutes, my boots and pants are soaked clean through—only the trash bag and jacket keeping my torso warm. Cold rain falls so hard, I can barely see.

My feet plod along the muddy ground, but my brain is going a million miles an hour. Bears, zombies, Ava’s underwear—but something new, too. Something important.

We’re getting closer to Glenview. That zip line shaved a crapload of hours off our journey. If this downpour doesn’t delay us too long, and we don’t run into more trouble, we might actually reach the Army Reserve Center tomorrow night. And that means I’ve got to make a decision.

As much as I like the idea of going to town—getting somewhere warm with food and fences and guns—what if my dad and Jay ain’t there? The soldiers won’t let Ava’s parents leave the reserve center, so why would they let me? Is there a chance I’d get stuck there?

“No caves,” Ava yells above the downpour.

“No caves,” I agree.

She nods her head toward the bluff. “What about that?”

Through the drizzle I make out a narrow, rocky shelf about twenty feet up. The cliff wall arches slightly over the ledge. “Not much cover, but at least it’s off the ground.”

“Yeah, we’re still not far from that zombie.”

“Or the bear. Damn, I hate to do this, but we’ll need our arms to climb up.” My fingers poke through the trash bag, making armholes in the improvised poncho. Within seconds, the rain soaks my jacket sleeves, chilling my arms and hands.

Ava mimics my motions, freeing her arms.

Ancient, twisted tree roots knot along the wet, bare rock. I use them as foot and handholds, my back and legs aching from the days of constant hiking. I can’t imagine how Ava’s feeling after that allergy attack. I swing my hand down to help her, but she’s definitely getting the hang of hiking and trailblazing. She pulls herself up to the narrow outcropping like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

A stone cliff ain’t the most comfortable place to sit. Ava starts shifting boulders, trying to make a place to rest.

“I wouldn’t mess with that,” I warn. “Great place for a copperhead nest.”

She freezes.

“They’d be half comatose this time of year,” I continue. “But still—I wouldn’t mess with it.”

“Okay…putting the rock down…” She chooses a different place to sit—one a little closer to me. We stare out into the deluge.

“Do you know where my hair tie is?” Ava tries to smooth her curls. “You took it when you put the antiseptic on my neck.”

“Oh, sorry—must’ve dropped it.” I mumble, knowing full well the elastic band is in my pants pocket. I try not to stare at the bright curls making a halo around her face.

We’re still just inches apart, and I have the sudden urge to bridge the distance and pull her into my arms again, to run my hands through her soft hair, to tell her how beautiful she is. I’m sick of running and being scared. I just want some comfort, some reassurance.

Instead, I say the worst words possible. “Ava, I ain’t sure I can go with you all the way to Glenview.”

“What?” Her gaze swivels to meet mine.

“I’ll take you to town—in sight of the reserve center, make sure you get inside. Then I gotta turn around, come back to this damn forest. I can’t stop hunting for Dad and Jay.”

Her face slides into a mask of shock. “But, Cole, they might be there—in Glenview. Trapped like my family.”

“My dad wouldn’t get trapped anywhere.” I hear the pride in my words, and I know it’s true. “Him and Jay’ll keep searching. They won’t stop till they find out what’s happened to me. I gotta do the same.”

“But…out here.” She gestures at the rainy landscape. “It’s so…God, you might die trying to find them.”

I nod, unsure what to say.

“It’s a crazy idea,” she whispers, placing a wet hand on my knee. “Suicide.”

I stare into her dark eyes, cover her tiny hand with mine. “You’d do the same if our situation was reversed—if it was your family.”

She considers this a moment. “I don’t know. I guess. But the last few days…”

She trails off. I know what she’s trying to say. The past few days have been a nightmare—fear, confusion, exhaustion. But I can’t dwell on that—I’ll completely lose my nerve to keep going.

“Your hand is freezing,” I say.

She frowns and jerks her hand away, thrusting both of them in her jacket pockets—out of my reach. She’s trying to act pissed, but I can’t miss the panic crossing her face. “Fine,” she says, fighting to keep her tone steady. “We’ll go together as far as you can, and I’ll just do the rest myself.”

“You’ll be okay without me,” I tell her. “You got the magic purse.”

The corners of her mouth dip down. “It’s not magic.” Her sadness pierces me like a thorn.

“Sure it is.” I reach for her pocketbook. “May I? I promise I won’t mess with the allergy pills.”

“Be my guest.” She won’t look at me, but I notice her lower lip quivering.

I root through her bag. “This ChapStick is petroleum based. Mix it with all that lint at the bottom of your purse and you got a fire starter.”

“If only we had some matches,” she finishes, her voice flat.

I open a small compact. “Signal mirror. SOS, right? Three short, three long, three short.”

“If only there was someone to signal.”

“Oh, and here’s your very helpful phone.” I whistle, mimicking the sound of a text alert—the one that got us in so much trouble a few days ago in the tree.

She actually cracks a small smile.

I set the purse down, angling myself to face her. “I swear, I ain’t abandoning you. I’ll get you to Glenview.”

“I know. It’s afterward,” she admits. “At the reserve center. How you said you’d help me find more EpiPens.” She breaks off, runs a hand over her face. “Don’t listen to me. I’m being a baby.”

She closes her eyes.
Oh, crap. Is she crying?

She leans her head back against the rock wall, mashes her lips together.

Does she want me to stay that bad? Bad enough to cry at the thought of losing me?

Something inside me wrenches in two. Like my loyalty suddenly splits down the middle. Of course I want to find Dad and Jay—
need
to find them. But don’t I owe Ava something also? Some sort of devotion?

No, not
owe
, that’s the wrong word. Being with her, it’s no longer an obligation. It’s turned into something I want. Something I need.

Lord God almighty, have I fallen in love with this girl?

I wish she’d open her eyes. Is she crying? Or just exhausted?

“If you’re tired,” I say softly, “take a nap. We’re stuck here a while. We can’t move until we can see where we’re going.”

“Okay,” she says, sounding strangely choked.

I want her to say she’s not tired. That she doesn’t want a nap. That she wants me. That she’s upset because I’m leaving. If she just comes out and says it, I’ll tell her how I feel—that I’ll do anything to keep her safe. Anything to stay by her side.

But she keeps her eyelids clamped shut.

…

I force my eyes closed, trying to stop tears leaking through my lashes. Not that Cole would notice them—not mixed with all this rain. But I’ve made it so far without letting him see me cry. I haven’t shed a single tear since I fell in the river. Even when I stabbed the meth head. Even when I realized the epidemic was global. I’ve kept my feelings in so I wouldn’t turn into a sniveling mess.

But this hits me harder. Deeper.

Why should I care if this crazy country boy leaves?
Two days ago, I didn’t even know him. And now, the realization we’ll be separated feels like the last straw.

I will
not
cry. Not over some boy.

Suddenly, it feels like wasps are stinging me. Thousands of them, their needles pricking my face, ears, hands. With a start, I open my eyes.

Cole is still staring at me. “Sleet,” he says simply and moves in my direction.

I nod dumbly, my face too numb for talking. If I open my mouth, I’m sure I’ll start weeping. Cole somehow manages to wedge himself closer on the narrow rock ledge. Without a word, we wrap our arms around each other. He drops his face into the top of my hood, while I tuck my head in his shoulder. We do all this wordlessly, instinctively, knowing there’s no time for awkwardness or polite gestures. We simply need to minimize the parts of our bodies exposed to the freezing rain.

“It’s like a monsoon,” he says in my ear. “A sleet monsoon.” The freezing rain blows sideways. Cole shifts, repositioning his face somewhere between my ear and shoulder, trying to protect his face.

“I’m sorry I made you lose your hat!” I say over the spatter of a billion flecks of falling ice.

He shrugs. “This is more fun than wearing a hat. It would’ve taken me another two days to work up the nerve to touch you again.”

I can’t decide whether to laugh or cry. “You make the best of every situation, don’t you? I can’t believe you’re flirting with me in a zombie-apocalypse sleet storm.”

“God almighty,” he says, “I don’t think I’ve ever been this cold. I’d give anything for a decent coat.”

“I hear you. If I ever get out of this mess, I’m buying nothing but fleece-lined clothing for the rest of my life.” I shiver in the semidarkness. “Fleece-lined pants, fleece socks…”

“Fleece underwear?”

Is he thinking about my underwear?
Embarrassed, I try to change the subject. “And I’ll eat soup all day long.”

“Mmmm…soup…what kind?”

“Something hearty. Potato and bacon.”

“Oh, yeah,” he agrees. “Bacon.”

Bacon usually distracts boys from thoughts of underwear. “And hot cocoa,” I tell him. “I’ll drink the hell out of some hot cocoa. Like a gallon of it.”

We sit in silence for a full minute.

“Those things are all gone, aren’t they?” My voice breaks. “S-soup and hot cocoa and showers and TV? And even more important things. My friends back home. My relatives. Hell, maybe we’ll get to Glenview and my parents will be dead also.”

Soon, Cole will be gone, too. Alone. On his own in this crazy forest.

This time, the tears come and I can’t fight them any longer. I’m tired of fighting them. I’m scared and hungry and completely exhausted.

“I’m so sorry,” I whimper. “I don’t mean to cry.”

His lips move against my temple. “Shh. Go on. I got you.”

Tears course down my cheeks, mixing with the rain. “My parents are dead. I’m sure of it. I can feel it.”

“You’re not psychic. You don’t know that. Don’t lose hope,” he whispers. “You heard that radio announcement—the CDC is working on a vaccine. They’ll cure this.”

His words just make it worse. Memories of the paper I’d been working on float back to me. “It took centuries to find a rabies vaccine. For so many years, all people could do was cauterize the wound or buy some stupid fake cure—then sit back and watch their loved ones die.”

“But that was a long time ago. Science has improved since then.”

“But this virus is faster than rabies. Twenty seconds to infection. Ninety seconds until total loss of cerebral function.” I’m working myself up to a rant. “And this virus is so much more widespread. It’s on a whole different level.”

Cole doesn’t contradict me.

“It’s all pointless,” I sob. “Even if we make it to Glenview, even if we find a safe place, what good will it do us? The world is fundamentally changed. Life will never be like it used to. All the good things are gone.”

“I don’t believe everything is gone.” He pulls me close and holds me through the garbage bags.

I’m suddenly weeping hardcore, like a child, bawling against him, unable to catch my breath.

“Shhh. It’s not all gone. Not everything. I promise. There are still good things. Things worth living for. We’re going to find them.”

But I have a terrible feeling the only good thing left on this planet—the only thing worth living for—has his arms around me right now and is holding me tight, trying to keep the sleet out of my eyes.

Chapter Seventeen

Eventually, I cry myself out. The sleet continues for at least another hour. The incessant sound makes me nuts. My mind drops into a deeper level of exhaustion and I doze fitfully against Cole’s chest.

I’m not used to sleeping against a boy. He’s all muscle. It’s a bit like snuggling up to a rock. A very warm rock.

When I open my eyes again, the sleet has thawed to a curtain of rain. Drops beat against the mossy stones.

“Did you sleep?” I ask Cole.

“No, I’ve been thinking.” He stares at the washed-out landscape. “Listen, I’m trying to be optimistic—maybe we’ll run into my dad and Jay somewhere between here and Glenview, but if not, I’m gonna need supplies. Hell, you and me—we still got another fifteen miles to cover, maybe more—we’re gonna need food at least.”

“We’ve been over this before. Nothing grows this time of year. You said it yourself.”

He grows thoughtful. “I’m wondering if we should go back and find that hiker.”

“The zombie hiker?”

Cole shrugs in a noncommittal way, his shoulders shifting beneath my cheek. “He was still wearing his backpack. It might have food inside. And gear.”

“Intentionally confront a zombie?” I ask his chest. “Are you crazy? Remember the meth head? Personally, I don’t plan to get close to one of those walking nightmares ever again.”

“I ain’t saying it’ll be easy. We’ll probably have to kill him to get the pack.”

No, no. I don’t want to kill anyone else.
I shake my head. “This is, like, the worst idea ever.”

He leans in a little closer to me, lowers his voice. “Just think what could be in that backpack. Food, probably. And matches.”

“Or it’ll be like the fire tower. Full of useless junk.”

“He was carrying a sleeping bag.”

Now he’s got my interest. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, or some kind of bedroll. It’s attached to his backpack.”

He slides his lips close to my ear, his voice dropping another notch. “A sleeping bag. Think about it, Ava. No sleet. No freezing night. Warmth.”

Something clenches in my stomach—it has nothing to do with the sleeping bag and more to do with the way Cole says “warmth.”

“Or,” I reply, forcing my tone even, “the hiker will bite us and we’ll become members of the walking dead, effectively trading our lives for a sleeping bag.”

“Come on, Ava, you’re smart. I can’t do this alone. I need your help.”

“I…I don’t know, Cole.” Under normal circumstances, I’d be able to come up with a better argument, but not now. Not with Cole’s lips so close to my ear. “And,” I continue, fighting to regain control of my senses, “don’t forget the bear—what if he’s still there?”

“The bear won’t come out this time. Not if we don’t have open food.”

“Really?” I ask doubtfully. “You think he attacked us because he smelled that handful of trail mix?”

“Did you know a black bear’s sense of smell is seven times stronger than a bloodhound’s?”

“No,” I admit incredulously. “So maybe he did smell our food.”

It’s intoxicating being this close to Cole. He looks even better at close range—his skin perfect, except for the tiny scar. And I like the scar. It makes him seem tough or something.
Oh Lord, I’m turning into one of those chicks that dig tough guys with scars. Ack.

I ease my hands deeper into Cole’s jacket, hear his breath catch in his chest. It’s so simple to touch him, now that we’ve been entwined for the last hour. I don’t want to move—I don’t want to leave this cozy little nest to attack a zombie. In fact, I don’t want to shift my head even one inch from where it’s pillowed against his chest.

But that’s a dangerous way to think. No matter how much of a lead we gained at the gorge, there’s no changing the fact that we’re being tracked. Hunted.

Around us, the rain slackens to a light patter.

We’ve been smart so far. No reason to slip now.

“We should get going soon.” I lift my head. “I’d hate for the Beavers to find us perched up here. Or Bethany. We’d be stuck for sure.”

“I know.” He sounds as reluctant as I feel. “But we need a plan first. To figure out where we’re going.” He gives me a pleading look. “C’mon, Ava. Let’s find that hiker. It’ll be worth it. A sleeping bag and food and fire. And there ain’t no telling what else.”

“The bear—”

He cuts me off. “Maybe the bear killed the zombie for us?”

I stretch, trying to loosen my cold, cramped muscles. “Or maybe the hiker infected the bear and we’ll have to fight a zombie-bear?”

“Food, fire, sleeping bag.” The corners of his mouth twitch slightly. He knows he’s getting to me.

I try to sound stern. “Maybe that bear is onto something. Maybe it knows better than to fight one of those things.”

“Food, fire, sleeping bag.” He repeats it like a mantra. That hopeful grin of his—the one I’m coming to love—it’s so charming, I’m unable to tear my eyes away.

I throw my hands up. “We don’t even know where the hiker-dude is.”

“If we head back to that clearing, spread our scent around, I have a hunch we’ll find him.”

I bite my lip. Fifteen miles. I can’t walk fifteen miles without more food.

“Okay. Fine.” I raise myself to a standing position and try to straighten my busted jacket under the garbage-bag poncho. “Time for round two with the bear and zombie. But only because you need supplies if you’re going to spend more time in this crazy forest.”

“Yes!” he says excitedly, pulling himself up beside me.

My legs are unenthusiastic about the idea of moving again. But the last step of my journey is in front of me, and the thought of reaching safety and my parents is enough to get my aching feet in motion. The sleeping-bag part helps, too.

We climb down from the cliff and then backtrack a half mile to the clearing. The trail rises ahead of us, slick and black with rain. Weak, gray sun filters through the tree limbs. My shadow creeps beside me through the half-frozen grass.

“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” I whisper to Cole.

“Shhh.” He points ahead.

The zombie is still in the clearing.

But one of his legs is gone.
Completely gone.

The hiker crawls on his belly, groaning like some cursed soul going through an exorcism. I want to run away, but I force my feet to stay. The pack—and the sleeping bag—are still strapped to his torso.

Cole’s eyebrows shoot up. “I guess the bear won.”

He’s trying to sound upbeat, but I can tell he’s just as horrified as I am.

“Score one for the bear.” I put a hand over my nose and mouth, trying to block the putrid smell. “Let’s get the goods and scram—you know, before the bear comes back for dessert.”

“Yeah,” Cole says, wagging his eyebrows, “that bear did keep eyeing you like you might taste delicious.”

I study the zombie crawling in our direction, his stump-leg dragging across the damp leaves. “All the creepy things in this forest look at me like I might taste delicious. So what do we do? Are we going to kill this guy?” I sound a whole lot tougher than I feel.

Cole gives a resigned sort of grunt. “I ain’t crazy about decapitating another one. That meth head was not one of the high points of my life.”

I watch the creature inch toward our end of the clearing. A lump forms in my throat. “Poor guy. He is sort of harmless. We could just leave him here.”

Cole considers the zombie for a second. “Part of me wants to put him out of his misery.”

“Me, too. That would be the nice thing to do—stab him in the brain, slice his neck. But it’s not worth the risk, getting that close to its teeth.”

“I agree. Let’s grab the pack and go. I can cut the straps fast—without getting anywhere near its mouth.”

I shift my gaze to Cole. “Is this the part where I come in? Do I distract him by being my delicious self?”

He nods. “I won’t let him hurt you. You know that.” His words have the ring of promise.

“I know you won’t.” I exhale, resigning myself to spending the next few minutes as zombie bait. “I’m already in his line of sight. I’ll stay here and try to act delicious. You circle around that way.”

“Okay, but I’m gonna be super quiet. Don’t talk to me; don’t look at me. Just keep his attention focused on you.”

Nodding, I gulp down fear and do the unthinkable: I walk toward the moving corpse.

Cole leans in to study the zombie’s back. “Three straps. One at each shoulder, one around the belly. Piece of cake.”

“Cole?”

“Yeah?”

“Be careful.”

He grins. “I didn’t know you cared.”

I can’t fight the flush spreading across my neck. Damn, the boy is cocky.

“Um, Ava—look sharp.” He points at my feet, where the hiker has almost reached grabbing range.

“Oh!” I jump back, fully blushing now. I’m sure Cole knows he distracted me.

Ugh. No flirting during the zombie apocalypse.

The dead man’s groan turns to a choked rasp, frustrated as his meal moves out of range. He scoots closer, using his hands to pull the weight of his torso along the ground. His face is half gone—shredded by the bear’s claws and the ravages of the virus. For a long moment, I can’t help but pity this poor guy who went for a nice long walk in the woods and ended up infected and mauled by a bear.

Behind the hiker, Cole tiptoes through the shadows. He was right about keeping quiet. All those years of hunting have obviously paid off. I didn’t even hear him edge toward the holly bushes.

I force myself to keep eye contact with the zombie. Hard to do when his pupils have swiveled toward the back of his head.

Cole swoops in and cuts a strap, doubles back—and before the hiker realizes what’s happening, frees the other shoulder.

“Two down, one to go,” Cole says triumphantly.

But now, the zombie is aware of Cole. “Raaaaawwr!” he roars with rage and swats at the places where the knife freed the straps.

“Hey, Mr. Zombie,” I coo. “Over here.” I wave my arms like we did for the bear. “I’m more interesting than that guy. Yoo-hoo! Watch me.”

But it does no good. I’m not sure if it’s because Cole’s closer. Or because Cole annoyed the zombie with his knife. Or who knows, maybe Cole just smells better. Either way, the zombie has found new prey. And it’s Cole.

The hiker swivels his torso in the opposite direction. Cole tries to lunge for the last strap, but the hiker is ready for him, baring his teeth.

“Here, Ava.” Cole moves to join me about five yards from the hiker. “You take a few swipes. Not too close. Just get his attention again. Then I’ll get the knife back and cut that last strap.”

He hands me the blade.

“Bleh,” I say, coughing from the stench. “He smells like an open drain. Have I mentioned how much I hate getting close to these things?”

“Not me,” Cole jokes. “I love zooming in, putting only a few inches between my skin and its teeth.”

I eyeball the zombie’s back. The strap is there, in plain view, just above the sleeping bag. “I’ve actually got a pretty good shot,” I tell Cole.

“No, Ava,” he cautions, “I don’t think you should try—”

But I’m already in motion, imaging the knife as part of my hand. The blade cuts the last strap—but it also slices through the hiker’s back. It’s obvious his whole body is rotten—the knife slides into his skin like soft butter. I know immediately that I’ll have nightmares about this for the rest of my life.

The monster’s hands fly toward me, but I’m already away.

“Impressive,” Cole says, putting a hand to his chest. “But don’t do anything that risky again. You just gave me a heart attack.”

I shoot him a weak smile. “I didn’t know you cared.”

He almost laughs.

I check the hiker. The wound didn’t cause any real damage. I can’t figure out if I’m relieved I didn’t hurt him more, or if I wish I’d ended everything for him. The zombie crawls free of the bag, his attention still focused on Cole.

I nod toward the pitiful figure, black blood now oozing down the back of his shirt. “I think you’ve got an admirer.”

“He does seem to like me,” Cole observes. “I reckon I’m just as delicious as you.” He plucks the bag off the ground behind the hiker and tosses me the sleeping bag. “Speaking of delicious, let’s get out of bear country and find out if we got any food in here.”

He doesn’t need to tell me twice. I spare one last glance back at the pitiful figure, wishing so strongly that we could risk putting him out of his misery. We bolt from the clearing and carefully work our way down the embankment until we can head west toward the river. We don’t make it more than ten minutes before we stop to check inside the backpack.

My stomach growls as loud as the bear. Hunger drowns out my guilty feelings about the hiker.

“Anything in there?” I ask anxiously trying to see into the backpack.

Cole shuffles through the bag.

It’ll be nothing. I’m sure of it. A complete waste of time. If there was food, the bear would’ve found it.

“Jackpot.” Cole tosses me a granola bar.

My fingers shake. “We can split it.”

“No, got another one.” He pulls a second bar from the bag. We rip open the packs. The smell of cinnamon is enough to make me drool all over my first bite. The granola bar is manna from heaven. Peanuts and raisins and sugar.

“So good,” I mumble. “And I hate raisins.”

He nods. “Best granola bar ever. And I hate raisins, too.” Cole continues rummaging through the knapsack. “Cooking pans…spork…Ohmygod. Check this out!”

“Did you just say ‘ohmygod’?”

But Cole ignores me. He holds up several flat blue packs. “MREs,” he says in awed voice.

“That sounds like a standardized test,” I say. “In English?”

“MRE. Meals ready to eat. Beef stew, lasagna. There’s five here.”

I eye the flat pouches. “That’s food?”

“Yep. Or I guess MRE is more of a military term. This is some fancy hiking variety.” He studies the blue pack. “It’s all freeze-dried. We just need to boil some water, and we got a meal.”

“Great, if only we had some—”