Dead Over Heels (6 page)

Chapter Six

Weak light filters through the trees. Dawn finally made an appearance about an hour ago, and Cole and I have been stumbling along in lonely silence since then, our solitude magnified by the empty forest.

I sneak a glance at Cole’s face. He still looks pissed. He also looks different without his hat. Dark bangs cross his forehead, almost reaching his eyes. His hair isn’t hippy-stoner-freak long, but definitely longer than I expected. Without the shade of his cap, sunlight sparks in his icy eyes, turning them silver as the frost coating the riverbank.

I shake my head to clear my thoughts. This is
not
a good time to scope out cute boys. With all the bad stuff going on, I have a million other things to think about besides Cole. Important stuff like: Will the Beavers catch up? Should we run instead of walk? How the hell can I get in touch with my parents? And was that a wasp I just saw in the tall weeds?

“It got cold last night,” I say. “Like everything froze.”

He nods once. “Yep.”

“Guess we’re lucky it’s ground-level frost,” I continue. “Can you imagine if those trees we were in had gotten icy?”

“Nope.” His voice is so tight you could bounce a quarter on it.

I’d love to think he’s still feeling bad about my purse, but I’m sure that’s not the case. He’s probably irate because my dumb allergies just added another layer of danger to this trip. Now, not only does he have to drag an inept girl through the woods, but he has to treat her like a piece of glass along the way.

I check my phone, more out of habit than any real hope for a message. The in-box is still empty.

My foot hits a slick patch of smooth frost and I skid a few feet. “Whoa!” I shout, almost dropping my phone.

Cole catches me easily, his fingers snaring my wrist, just like they did when I almost fell out of the tree. I make a mental note to stop needing this boy’s help every five minutes.

He snorts once—a quick, annoyed sound. His fingers press into the thick material of my jacket. “Learn to watch where you’re going. You should concentrate on the trail.”

Yeah. I should concentrate on planting my dirty sneaker up your ass.

I shake his hand off my wrist. Ugh. Cole might be decent-looking without his hat, but that doesn’t make me like him any better. I want to yell at him. I want to call him a hillbilly douchebag, but that isn’t fair. It’s the situation that’s difficult, I remind myself, not Cole. He’s already helped me countless times, and it’s myself I’m mad at, not him. I hate being out of my element and having to rely on some boy to rescue me. That’s never been my style.

I plod along a few feet behind him, watching his back. It’s gonna take a lot to convince this dude I’m not some weak, helpless girl. That maybe I don’t know much about woodland survival, or whatever you call it, but I’m willing to learn. And that I’ll push hard to get to Glenview—try my best not to slow him down. And most importantly, I need to show him I have a decent brain—that maybe I can even help us stay alive. After all, I’ve spent most of my life being ultra-attuned to my surroundings, constantly watching for danger. Won’t that be an asset?

Think, Ava. What can you do to improve the situation? To understand your enemies?

“How’d the Beavers find us?” I ask aloud, not really expecting him to answer, mostly just talking to myself. “We must’ve left some kind of trail.”

“Everything that moves leaves a trail.”

I roll my eyes. There he goes again—Mr. Know-It-All. “I realize that, Cole, but it seems weird, you know. It’s not like those infected freaks have the motor skills to trace us.”

Cole picks his way up a mossy slope. “True. After the truck crashed, the Beavers would’ve had to find our tracks in the grass.” He pauses for a moment, remembering. “And the stones we dumped hustling into the ravine. And our footprints in the mud along the riverbank.”

“I can’t imagine them having the wherewithal to do that.”

“You’re right,” he says.

A smile tugs at my lips. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

“I said, you’re right about—”

He glances up. Sees me grinning, recognizes the teasing.

His expression is easy to read:
this girl could not be any more of a pain in my ass.

He doesn’t return the smile, so mine fades. Note to self: remember that Cole has zero sense of humor.

“Let’s back it up farther,” he says, sounding serious and a little annoyed. “How’d them infected people from the country club know to cross the ridge to find, uh…food?”

“Good question. Did you see the Beavers sniffing the air? Do you think they can smell us?”

“Yeah.” He nods slowly. “I reckon that’s the answer. Like the virus ramped up their animal instincts. Hell, they act like animals. Maybe they track scents like ’em, too. And another thing, Beaver is a big fella. Strong. But damn—the way he shook that tree. I ain’t never seen a man that strong.”

“So, the virus increases strength.” I tick off a list on my fingers. “Improves their sense of smell. And the way they stopped on the riverbank—must be some water phobia, too.” A memory niggles at the back of my mind. “Hydrophobia,” I say aloud.

“Fear of water?” he asks.

I nod. “We’ve been studying rabies in bio class—you know, mainly because our teacher was obsessed with the Chinese flu—with this flu.” I gesture at the woods. “I was writing a paper on Pasteur—the guy who invented the rabies vaccine—”

“I know who Pasteur is.” He cuts me off. “I ain’t stupid.”

“Okay, okay.” I try to sound placating. I don’t want to get sidetracked into another argument. “Well, like I was saying, I did a bunch of research on how they treated rabies in the olden days, before Pasteur’s vaccine. Back then, they called rabies Hydrophobia, because the infected animals developed a distinct fear of water.”

Now he appears intrigued. “So maybe the people infected with this virus manifest similar symptoms?”

My eyebrows tick up at his use of “manifest.” I give my shoulders a noncommittal lift. “Maybe.”

“Good enough reason to keep following the river. If the Beavers show up, we can cross again. Lose ’em that way.” He exhales in a dejected way. “Let’s hope it’s only the Beavers trailing us, not the entire zombie gang.”

I know immediately what he means. A shiver creeps down my spine. If the Beavers can track us by scent, so can that group of infected from the country club. Cole and I
might
be able to take on two infected rednecks, but a herd of fifty? We won’t last five minutes.

…

I can’t believe this girl. Acting like we’re out for a Sunday stroll—joking around, messing with her phone, chatting about her science paper and not paying a damn bit of attention where she’s walking.

And then she’s got the nerve to act like
I’m
the one being a jerk—when all I’m trying to do is keep her hind-end alive.

Smelling us. The damn zombies are
smelling
us.

Does Ava know what this means? Does she have a clue? Every step we take—every single step—leaves a trace. It ain’t only the Beavers. Or them zombies from the country club.
Any
infected who stumbles across our tracks is gonna turn on the spot and start following our scent. By now, we might have hundreds of those things on our tail.

“The water might be shallow here,” Ava says out of the blue.

“Huh?”

“Well, shouldn’t we walk in the river for a while? To get rid of our scent? Take off our shoes, roll up our pants…”

My brain swirls. I ain’t sure if I’m pissed ’cause she thought of the river before I did, or if I’m sort of impressed. Maybe both.

“Uh, yeah.” I stoop to unlace my work boots, trying to hide my face.

Okay. So maybe this girl’s not a total dipshidiot. What’d she say? 2000 on the SAT? Twenty points above my score. We ease through a mess of rocks and old weeds, stopping at the frosty edge of the river.

I’ve just stepped out of my left shoe when Ava’s phone makes a sudden noise like a doorbell, scaring the absolute crap outta me. I jump upright.

“A text!” She clutches the phone with both hands. “From Mom!”

My heart thumps even faster. Her parents were in town. Maybe they’re with other people. Maybe my dad and Jay are there. I hobble over on my one boot, trying to get close enough to see the screen.

Her voice shakes as she starts reading. “Ava, g-got your message, thank God you’re okay. Your phone not picking up. Dad and I safe at Glenview Army reserve center. Soldiers won’t let us leave. Trying to sneak out to get you.”

“No!” Ava screams, startling me. “That’s the worst idea ever!”

Her words surprise me. Stun me, in fact. I expected her to jump up and down with joy. I expected her to scream, “Yay! Mommy and Daddy are going to rescue me!”

I make a quick study of her face. “You don’t want them to come for you?”

She ignores my question. “What is this army-center place?”

“It’s the training facility for local reserve soldiers.” I concentrate hard, trying to remember details of the brick structure in the heart of downtown. “Big building. Sturdy. I see army reservists there sometimes. Jogging…and practicing with their weapons.”

“Weapons,” she says firmly. “And soldiers.” Her face resumes one of those calm, stoic expressions; I’ve already realized this look means she’s trying to master her emotions. “It’s settled then. My parents need to stay in town. Where it’s safe.” She stares at me, her brown eyes intense and stubborn. “There are hundreds of infected people in these woods. I don’t want my mom and dad to get killed for me.”

My mouth starts speaking before my brain has a chance to catch up. “It’s the same with my dad and brother. I ain’t sure if they’re still hunting—maybe they don’t have a clue about all this zombie crap. But if they know, they’ll try to find me. They’ve gotta be here—along this river, or…or nearby. I need to find ’em before they go home for me. Before they meet what’s back there.” I gesture behind us, toward the Beavers and the pack of infected.

“Yes, yes.” Her gaze bores into mine. “So you get what I’m saying.”

At that moment, something clicks inside me. Ava and I might not like each other, but we do understand one another.

Her fingers swipe the phone screen. “I must have service here. Maybe I can finally talk to my parents.”

She puts the phone to her ear, just as it lets out a loud
beep! beep!
She checks the screen. “Connect phone charger? No! No!”

“Turn it off!” I order. “Save it!”

“No, I know this phone. It won’t come back on.”

Beep! Beep!

“Turn it off,” I repeat. I’m panicked at the thought of losing our last link to the outside world.

“Shut up! I know my phone. It’ll do one last text if I hurry, but you’ve got to be quiet and let me think.”

Beep! Beep!

Mom, stay put
, she texts.
Coming to you.
She turns to me. “Are you sure about the three days?”

I calculate quickly. She’s a fast runner when she’s spooked, but a crappy hiker overall. Slow. Clumsy. Ten miles a day might be optimistic.

“Three, maybe four days to Glenview. Not sure.”

Be there in under five days,
she texts.
Phone dead. If you see Cole’s family, tell them stay put.”

She hesitates. Bites her lip.
I love you and Dad—forever.

She takes a deep breath. Punches what must be the send button.

Beep! Beep!

“Come on you piece of crap,” she fumes, “send the damn message.”

Beep! Beep!

I move to look over her shoulder. The screen stays dim.

“Please send,” she murmurs. “Please, please, please.”

The screen goes pitch-dark.

Nothing.

Then a brief flash—dark words against a pale background.

“It sent,” she says, her words coated with relief. “The message sent.”

…

Three days. If I can live through the next three days, I might see my parents again.

The river gurgles beside me, infusing me with a new feeling: hope. I follow its flow with my eyes, until the current disappears in a misty tangle of horizon and trees. I just have to keep walking along it for three days. And avoid the infected. And stay away from the bugs. Then I’ll be someplace safe—with my family.

I tear off my sneakers. “Let’s get in the water, Cole.” I’m trying to hurry, not wanting to be the one slowing us down.

Seventy-two hours. I can do this. I won’t think about all the terrible things that could happen in those hours.

A barefoot stroll through the river sounds easy. In reality, it’s more like plunging my feet into a snowbank. A thousand icy needles prick my skin. Within seconds, I stop feeling my toes altogether. Slick rocks coat the riverbed, making it hard to stay upright. This is
nothing
like walking in the ocean at home.

“Now, take it easy,” Cole says, stepping into the water beside me. His voice soothes me, like he’s trying to calm a spooked horse. “Slow down. You don’t want to fall in.”

I swallow against my rattling teeth. “You’re right. Hypothermia would not be a good look for me.”

“Beg pardon?”

“I said,
you’re right
, hypo—”

He grins.

“Holy crap, Cole! Are you actually joking around with me?”

He doesn’t respond, just keeps trudging through the current, a crooked smile tilting his mouth.

A sudden burst of warmth spreads in my chest. What happened to Banjo Boy? Why the sudden mood shift? Did I
finally
do something to thaw his frigid personality? Something in the last few minutes? Something with the phone?

He glances over, his eyes still crinkled at the corners. He’d be an incredibly hot guy if he smiled more. And, you know, got a new wardrobe.