4.

“STACEY!” I shout over the roar of liquid fire.  “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?”

I can’t hear her reply but I can hear her maniacal laughter.  The bitch hates zombies, what can you do.  Of course, what we came here for is in the middle of those zombies, and napalm might make it difficult to extract them when every single z is on fire, but Stacey is an impulse girl, and I love her for it.

Greg and Lucie have begun hacking through the zombies with their various sword-like implements.  Greg is a nerd and has a katana and a wakizashi , though his skills with the blades are impressive.  Zombie limbs go flying as he burrows in.  Lucie has a special sharpened spade, which she wields with skill.  They are both trained in making pathways through zombies.

Stacey, on the other hand, is good at setting things on fire.

Me, I’m tasked with finding a way to get the kid out of the middle of it all.  I tossed the night vision goggles in there because I know I’m going to have to give the werewolf some help until he can get free.  Then I’ll get the kid and the wolf can go to hell for all I care.  Though at this point, with the sheer amount of fire in the vicinity, it’s not hard to see at all.  What a waste.

I start by carving my own path through the zombies with the two beat up machetes I love so dearly.  They were given to me by my father – my actual father, not my sire – with the explicit instructions to “fucking slaughter any zombie you see. “  I was ten at the time, and I’ve taken those words to heart ever since.

The problem with zombies that are on fire is that they don’t really care.  Instead of flailing about like any normal person would, zombies just keep right on chugging along, forcing you to adjust to their fiery asses.  So with each successful decapitation comes the threat of catching my skirt on fire, and that’s something that I do not want to happen.  I spent good money on this skirt.

A few minutes in, the zombies are falling like dominoes, and yet there are still too many of them.  I catch a glimpse of the kid and the wolf in the middle.  He’s doing a good job of keeping them at bay, despite being relatively unarmed.  The kid is on the ground, unconscious.  I would be too if I were in his tiny Converses.

The wolf briefly meets gaze with me.  He narrows his eyes, a look of surprise and confusion on his face.  Then he is tackled by a tall zombie wearing a tuxedo.  Suddenly I am swarmed by them myself.  And they’re actually grabbing at me.  What the hell is this?  Zombies don’t do this to vampires.  We’re undead, they don’t want to eat us.  Why are they being so grabby?

A particularly loathsome de-fleshed zombie behind me manages to stick a hand in a place it’s not supposed to go.  I spin around, taking his head off with one quick swipe of my machete.  I’ve never had a zombie cop a feel before.  I assume his hand was very cold, though I can’t, and don’t want to, feel the sensation.

About a third of the zombies are on fire now, and Lucie and Greg are literally crawling on a small hill of corpses.  A few vampires living in the houses on the street have come out to watch the action.  The cowards.  How about grabbing a butcher knife or a gun and coming out to help?  It’s not like you have a kid or a dog to save.

There are still about a hundred z’s left, and the inner circle has completely collapsed upon the wolf and the kid.  I’d put our chances at saving them very slim.  Werewolves can be feisty little shits, but with a few dozen of the undead pressing on top of you, it’s kind of hard to, you know, move your arms to defend yourself.

Stacey has run out of napalm.  She switches to her favorite implement of melee destruction – a big fat mace.  You know, the sticks with the spiked iron balls on the top?  Yeah.  She has one, about three feet long with a big fat ball at the top, and a bunch of little spikes and two longer spikes at opposite ends, and one super long spike at the very top.  She’s incredibly adept at using it, and in a matter of seconds can fell half a dozen zombies just by swinging the thing in a big sideways arc.  The big spikes stab into the z head and she can use the “flat” part to push other z’s out of the way, for better positioning.  It’s a beautiful weapon.

Can you tell that we used to date?

We’re all a couple minutes into random hacking and slashing when, from the middle of the zombie pile, we hear the most bone-chilling scream ... no, roar that I’ve ever heard.  It sounds like it’s coming straight out of the fires of Hell itself.  Then, there is a big white burst of light and a sonic boom, which knocks all of us unconscious, including the zombies.

++

I feel someone nudge at my shoulder.  My eyes open slowly, and I am covered in zombies.  I shriek instinctively, but quickly calm when I realize they’re all dead.  Turning my head, I see Eddie lying supine, his cheek pressed against the bloated belly of what appears to be some former acrobat or trapeze artist or something.  He’s staring at me, his face more mature now than I’ve ever seen it.  Kids shouldn’t have to go through this kind of trauma at such an early age.  It’s forcing him to grow up.

I feel a pang of guilt rip through my chest.  This is all my fault.  We should’ve gone through the hills, we shouldn’t have gone through vamp territory.  I should’ve gotten permission from the Teresini’s, gotten an escort.  I didn’t account for zombies in vamp territory but you should always account for zombies in any location.

Plus I was drunk most of the time.  A poor way to start any excursion.

“Are you okay, Eddie?” I say.

He nods.

“Did any of them bite you?”

He shakes his head.  Then he says, “I stopped them.”

“You what?”

“I stopped them.”  He starts looking at the fallen zombies around us.

“Um ... okay.”

The next ten minutes are spent jostling around the zombie pile, looking for a good spot for me to use my slightly superhuman strength to push our way out.  I finally find a brittle spot amidst the pile and force a hole open.  Wriggling out, I take Eddie’s hand and pull him out as well.  We survey the scene.

Nearly three-hundred zombies lie in an enormous pile in the middle of the street.  Some of them are on fire, creating a stench ten times worse than normal zombie stink.  It’s still pitch black save for the fire, and I have no idea where my night vision goggles went.  I can see the houses in the distance.  Vamps are staring at the scene through their windows, looking at me in particular.  Guess they didn’t expect anyone to come out alive, did they?

Now, as to how I got those night vision goggles in the first place, and why napalm was being thrown everywhere, and how all these zombies suddenly died without being decapitated or having something burrowed into their brains ... these are all questions that I would love to answer in the comfort of my home, sipping a scotch and reading a newspaper.

I pick up Eddie and carefully step down the pile of bodies.  It’s feels satisfying to touch solid concrete again.  Less fleshy.

Some of these zombies look less like zombies and more like ... wait a minute.  The answer to my earlier questions is revealed when I spot a young looking vampire lying unconscious on the street.  She’s out cold.  I’d check for vital signs but vamps don’t have any.  But I can tell she’s a new vamp because her chest is still moving – still breathing, even though she doesn’t need it.  Some involuntary habits are hard to break.

Beyond her are a couple of other vamps in similar clothing, with all types of cutting devices around them.  I count four total.  One of them threw the night vision goggles to me.  But which one?  And why did they decide to be so philanthropic to a werewolf?

Glancing at Eddie, I think the answer is pretty clear.  And suddenly I start wondering if he really did stop all these zombies.  All I remember before being knocked unconscious was an ear-splitting howl, coming from ... very close to me.

“Eddie,” I say.  “When you say you ‘stopped’ the zombies, what exactly do you mean?”

Eddie thinks about it for a second.  “I fell asleep, and then I was mad, and I stopped them.”

“Why were you mad?”

“Because there were zombies and we were stuck.”

“And then you ... stopped them?”

Eddie nods.

Kneeling beside him, I put a hand on his shoulder.  “How, Eddie?  How did you stop them?”

Eddie looks at me with his big brown eyes and simply shrugs.  He doesn’t know.  And why should he.  He’s just a kid after all.  Since when do five-year-olds know anything?

There is no sound save for the fire slowly burbling out on a small pile of zombie corpses just a few feet away.  The smoke rising smells of burnt flesh, and I bet if I looked hard enough into it I could see the faces of the damned.  But I’m too tired and freaked out to indulge in such pleasantries.

Ahead of us on the street are the vehicles the vamps used to get here: four crotch rocket motorcycles, seemingly “tricked out” as the kids say, for added acceleration and top speed.  They look downright illegal.  And stamped on the side is the Teresini family logo: a capital T that is actually two snakes, the vertical one biting the horizontal one, blood dripping down its long scaly body.  Pretty badass if you ask me.

I pick up Eddie and walk over to the motorcycles.  They’re all still on, engines idling like cats ready to pounce.  “Have you ever been on a motorcycle, Eddie?” I ask.

He shakes his head.

“They’re pretty fun.  Here,” I hand him a helmet lying on the street, “wear this.”

The helmet is entirely too big for him but it’ll work for now.  I set him on the back of the bike, quickly teaching him what to hold on to.  He seems frightened by less frightened than he was when we were nearly eaten by zombies, so I think this will be okay.  After making sure he’s secure, I hoist myself onto the bike, and with a quick heel to the kickstand, we’re off, gliding through the fog that permeates this vamp territory, getting as far away from what happened as possible.  The wind whipping through my hair is a welcome change to the heat and groaning.  My lungs fill with fresh air, exhaling the last of the smoke, the zombie breath, and my fear.

Eddie is the centerpiece of all of this now.  Under orders to transfer him securely to a safehouse in upstate New York, we found ourselves caught anyway, deep in a neighborhood we should not have been in.  Now Patrick’s dead, and whatever was in his body was stolen.  It must’ve been important if it was surgically placed inside him.  Now the vamps have it.  Something tells me those vamps weren’t Teresini’s either.  Vamps don’t usually pull the mist stunt in their hometown.  They were probably Rohrsach, which means we might be on the verge of yet another vampire turf war.

In minutes the fog lifts and we’re back on a regular street.  The sight of headlights from cars on the highway is a welcome relief.  Now I just have to find a safe place to settle and call the chieftain.  Kacey must be worried sick.  Oscar will be too, if Eddie is as special as the smartie said he was.

As I merge onto the highway my mind reels with questions.  Zombies knew we were going to be in that neighborhood.  So did those vamps.  The car was either sabotaged or there were charges on the ground ... it’s impossible to know, but everything seems to point to a mole on the inside.  Oscar must hear this.  If there are any clans defecting to vamps or z’s it could be devastating to all of us.  Talk about taking decades of civility and peace and shattering them in an instant.

We pass a sign for a township and, more importantly, a truck stop with a 24 hour restaurant.  My stomach throatily sings its love for food and I take the exit, turning into a small town called Avery.  I park the bike at the front of the stop and help Eddie off and out of his helmet.

“Are you hungry, Eddie?” I ask.

He nods voraciously.