Mostly Dead (Barely Alive #3) (5 page)

A swipe under my eyes and a soft sniff hid my signs of weakness. I hardened my lips into a semblance of a smile and turned to face them. “We could take this. I guarantee it’d get us the hell out of here.”

James pointed at the occupied cherry picker, a tool used to lift engines from cars, sitting feet from the Mustang. “Better check under the hood. That looks like a V8 hanging there.”

Alarmed, I reached between the grill and hood and slid the latch to the side, releasing the lock. I lifted the hood and couldn’t
keep the excitement from sliding off my face. I wanted to cry. The empty engine compartment took my breath away.

Brian’
s sarcasm snapped me from my grief. “It’s a stupid car. Calm down.”

I whirled toward him, and fell into a fighting stance.
I’d had it. The piss-ant had pushed me far enough. “That’s not just a car, you idiot, it’s our way out.”

Heather’s alarm
parted her lips and widened her eyes. She threw her arms out to her sides. “Are you serious? That’s our only way out?”

Glass shattered from the other room. James slammed the flimsy door shut behind him. He turned the handle lock. “It’s not going to hold long, Paul.”

The owner of the shop had only partially completed the garage. The building had been framed in and sheet-rocked in the front room, but had been left roughed in where we had found the car. If only there hadn’t been siding, we might have been able to pound our way through some walls.

I covered my face with my hands. I just needed a few minutes. Just a couple. How could I be handed my dream car just to learn it doesn’t run? The odds offended me. “Look around, see if there is anything else we could use, maybe for a weapon or something.” Nothing was going my way. Heather was delivered to me and bam, I couldn’t really have her from day one. I’d reunited with my mom and that was close to ending. They’d found a vaccine, but too late for me. The Duncans would find a cure but I’d be dead. Well, my body would be. Hell, my mind would never be released.

Brian ignored me and stood by the garage door. I surveyed the garage and shop area. Large, mostly filled with tools one would find in a mechanic’s shop, the garage had many items covered in grease-stained sheets and towels.
The Mustang rested in the part of the garage that had an “active” look, oil dripped on the ground, parts were spread here and there, and nothing was covered.

“
Are there other cars anywhere?” I moved behind shelves that spanned to the twelve foot ceiling, separating the large room into smaller sections – a mechanical version of cubicles without the minions-at-work feel. I searched for anything – a skateboard would do. Well, not really, but my desperation to get Heather out of there escalated in time with the growing sounds coming from behind the door.

A bang and a rattle. I might piss myself.
I abandoned my search for a vehicle and looked for a weapon instead. On eye level, I stared at a collection of different spray paint cans. Black, red, blue, clear, green, about thirty of them, neatly organized. Stacks of clean ashtrays and rags sharply folded took up the rest of the metal shelf.

The owner of the garage was oddly anal in some areas and lazy in others. Did I need to
mention the grease under the ‘Stang?

Wood splintering filled the air.
I crouched down and motioned to Heather. I called out. “Get a weapon, guys. They’re almost in.” Nothing would kill them but fire. Maiming them would stall them as they fought to eat Heather and maybe us. But how did we hurt them? And with what?

My eyes strayed to the paint cans as Heather dodged the sheet covered items to my side.
Her limp more pronounced as she walked fast. She grabbed the back of my shirt with one hand but didn’t hide. She latched onto a long flathead screwdriver and waved it in front of her like a sword.
Damn, she was cute.

T
he cans had possibility. “James! Brian! Find a lighter. I think this guy smokes, should be some in here.” I held out my hand to Heather. “I’ll trade you.” She passed the screwdriver to me. I tore the lids off the first four cans I could reach and tossed one to Heather.

“Got some lighters.” James and Brian edged toward us. More splintering mixed with groaning and grunts
sped my heart beat. How many more pumps did I have left before my heart stopped working altogether?

“
We found nine lighters.” Brian caught the can I passed him. I’m not sure if he was smart enough to figure it out on his own or if my thoughts gave away my intention, but he positioned his finger over the spray nozzle and prepared the lighter James tossed at him. Hearing my thoughts, he growled, “Yeah, ‘cause you’re the only one that can think of stuff.”

I furrowed my eyebrows. “Impressive. You’re starting to grow a pair, Brian. I like that.” James reached my side and palmed a lighter to me and Heather. She ignored the screwdriver I laid on the shelf by the paint and picked up a black can. She copied Brian
’s stance.

“Can you see them?” I didn’t need t
o specify who. Every one of us concentrated on the attackers working through the thin door.

Brian crouched at the end of the shelves. Over his shoulder, he nodded. “They’re coming in. Looks like there are five now. One of them is bleeding. His arm looks like it was bitten.” Which could’ve happened before he changed or caused him to change. We’d never know.

Heather leaned in to me, her voice breathy and soft. “If we don’t make it, Paul, I…”

I shook my head and refused to meet her eyes. “Don’t talk like that. If I can’t get you back to the Duncans, then we’ve failed the rest of the world. You’ll be fine.” Then I glanced her way, smashing a false smile on my lips. “
I promise.” She’d make it, no mention of my fate. I preferred it that way.

The four of us grouped together. I tensed with the abrupt crash as the zombies made it through the door.
They ran into things and each other, judging by the frustration in their moans.

“Get ready.” We forged
a strong wall. Brian had moved backwards in his crouch and now aimed toward the knees of anything that came into view. I tucked Heather at my side. She wouldn’t be happy hidden behind me, not when she was armed, but no way in hell was she going in front of me. That would reek of cowardice on my part. James took up her other side.

Heather was the prize and we weren’t sharing.

The first zombie lumbered past the end of the shelves. James leaned forward. “I got this one.” But Brian aimed his paint and lit his lighter first. The billowing flame sprayed toward the zombie and I found myself staring at the oranges, reds, yellows, and electric blue center. My mouth watered like I craved a taste of the fire.

The zombie’s clothes lit up. Instinctively, humans will bat at fire, try to put it out, but the zombie just stared as the flames licked up the ends of his shirt and spread down the sides of his torn pants. His hair shriveled and hissed and the foulest odor – burning flesh – filled the air with
an acrid stench. James and I had become transfixed by the flames.

Brian released his spray can and watched the zombie burn as well. Almost offhandedly, he asked, “What’s with the fire?”

And I got his question. He wasn’t asking why the smoke was a purplish black color, or why it stank to high heaven, or even why it seemed to take a while to attack the skin. He wanted to know why he couldn’t stop staring either.

Another zombie came into view,
hypnotized by his cohort’s new clothing. The burning man didn’t scream or even seem to be in pain. He just stood there and watched as the flames bound him in light. Another zombie joined the second, staring with a new kind of hunger as their companion burned. A hunger I recognized, but had to avoid until Heather was safe.

I forced my eyes from the heat which
took more strength than I have alone. Heather seemed to give me immense will power when she was around. A tug on Brian’s shirt and a yank on James’s arm and I growled in a whisper, “Look at me. Now.” They did what I said, but only because I ordered it and they still had to do what I wanted. “Don’t look at the flames.”

Brian wasn’t all the way stable and he fell forward from the balls of his feet toward my legs. The contact threw me off balance a
nd I pushed Heather away so she wouldn’t fall. I landed on the edge of a sheet and pulled it as I went down.

The slow drag of the mate
rial revealed two dirt bikes, red and blue. They’d been under sheets and based on the bright coloring of their plastic, were fairly new and shouldn’t be in danger of having parts missing.

I met James’s bright gaze. One thing we could handle was dirt bik
ing. Raised on them by our dad, it was one of the few good things we remembered about growing up with him. He’d laughed the most when we rode the trails. I moved to stand beside Brian and motioned toward Heather and James. “I’m going to distract these guys. Get the bikes to the door and ready to ride. Heather goes with you. She can’t push them.” And nothing against her size, but the bikes were huge. She couldn’t stay with me when I baited the zombies, how dumb would that be?

Brian nodded. What was he going to do? Argue?

I stepped forward then looked over my shoulder. To Heather I said, “Can you see if there’s a bag or something we could pack some cans in? They might come in handy.” James had already pocketed the remaining lighters.

James and Brian pushed the bikes to the door, Heather tucked between them. The fiery zombie staggered, landing against the wood frame.
Sparks landed in sporadic insulation and spread like an infection, fast and without bias.

I focused my thoughts,
Get the hell out of here
.

The answer came from Brian.
I can’t ride.

Shit.

What kid raised in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains didn’t know how to ride a dirt bike?

Two of the zombies turned toward Brian, James, and Heather. The upturn of their faces suggested they had found Heather’s scent mingled with the smoke and stench of burning flesh.
Hunger controlled them. They no longer cared about the flames. The call of meat overpowered them and they gave in to it. At least for the moment.

I waved my arms to get their attention. But they didn’t even flick a glance my way. Pivoting around the
boxes, I rushed to shove my body between them and Heather. I wasn’t used to being ignored. “Hey!” Assholes still moved forward. I didn’t want to light them up. I couldn’t make out their features with the masks of blood and mangled flesh obscuring sections of their faces. One had been scalped but his hair and skin hung from a patch connected at the base of his neck. The other didn’t have his lips. I don’t know where they went. They weren’t there. Sick.

The zombies
wouldn’t stop. I didn’t want to face the temptation of fire. Lighting myself up had never sounded so appealing. My fingers itched to light the spray, but my nerves had a different sensation.

Fine.
I lifted the spray can and aimed for their chests where torn shirts would light up the fastest. A flick of my thumb and the lighter should’ve lit.

Hell, I flicked my thumb three more times, as fast as I could. Nothing. I shook the lighter. No fluid. They moved closer. One had a cataract film over his eyes and the other was fully aware. The latter smiled. At least he had his lips.

I stepped backward. They stalked closer. I pulled over a stack of boxes to trip them up.

Grating noises overhead. Someone had lifted the garage door. I didn’t take my eyes off the nightmares stalking after me. They watched me
while keeping their eyes on Heather.

James
started a bike.

Another moan
similar to the ones from the zombies inside sounded, but from beyond the building, past the large garage door. My eyes widened. I dropped the spray and lighter and ran the last ten feet to the remaining dirt bike. Thankfully, the bikes were newer and didn’t need chokes for starting. In neutral, the dirt bike started right up.
Of course.
A man with a Mustang would take care of his bikes.

I grabbed Heather’s arm and pulled her on behind me. Gripping the clutch, I shifted gears. James followed suit. Brian hesitated by the doorway
, the bag of spray cans dangling from his hand as he stared at the growing fire.

The zombies in the building were inches from us. Their hands grabbed at the plastic rear fender, the muffler.
I popped into second and tore out of the garage, the tires screeching on the cement flooring. James yelled something at Brian, over and over. I glanced once more over my shoulder and winced. Brian still hadn’t climbed on the bike. He’d dropped the bag and moved a foot into the building. Firelight flicked on his face.

Brian, come on!
The heat had him. Nothing I said would make him move. And nothing in the world would make me go back for him when I wouldn’t have a way to protect Heather.
James, now. Leave him.

I didn’t look back.
I’m sorry, Brian.
But he didn’t reply.

Heather and I zoomed past seven other zombies moving in on the opening.
James closed in on our heels.