“Think it’ll work?” Cameron peers through the windows for any surprises.
“No reason not to.” I slide the key into the door. “The only thing that could be a problem is the tank.”
I do a quick check of the inside myself before opening the door. It’s empty except for fast food wrappers and a child’s stuffed elephant in the back seat. My stomach tightens at the sight.
I climb into the driver’s seat and turn the ignition. The engine growls to life, gas gauge showing three-quarters full.
Cameron leans over to see the dashboard. “Jackpot.”
“Don’t celebrate yet.” I kill the engine and pocket the key. “We still need another vehicle. Two, just to be sure. Let’s split the remaining ones. Check for fuel levels and capacity.”
He nods, and we divide the remaining keys among us, working methodically down the rows.
I try every car I walk by, but most are locked. When I press one of the keys, a sedan’s lights blink in response.
“Julien!” Cameron calls from the other side.
I whirl to find him backing away from a minivan, an older female zombie in a floral dress. Her jaw hangs at an unnatural angle, clicking like castanets with each struggle against the seatbelt pinning her to the seat.
I sprint forward as Cameron trips and goes down hard on the asphalt. “Stay down!”
The thing’s milky eyes find mine, hands clawing at the seatbelt. It’s barely contained by the restraint—another few seconds and it would be free, tearing into my brother’s flesh.
Not happening.
I drive the machete into its eye socket. The blade connects with a wet crunch, sinking deep. The thing convulses once, twice, then goes still, dark fluid leaking out where I hit it.
“Fuck.” I wrench the machete free, my heart hammering against my ribs.
Too close. Way too close.
I turn to Cameron, still sprawled on the asphalt. “What happened?”
He doesn’t answer, just stares past me at the now-motionless corpse, his face sheet-white and his eyes glassy.
“Cam?” I crouch beside him, scanning for injuries. “You hit your head?”
“I knew her.” His voice cracks on the last word. “Mrs. Wilson. She used to babysit me when I was a kid. I—I didn’t know she was coming.”
Shit. I glance back at the woman—what used to be a woman. Nothing in that vacant face suggests someone who once cared for my little brother.
“Had this weird collection of porcelain cats,” he says, voice distant. “Used to let me play games after you went to military school.” His eyes find mine, searching. “Remember? You met her at my high school graduation.”
I don’t. There were so many faces that day, all blending together while I counted minutes until I could escape back to base.
“Yeah,” I say. “The cat lady.”
I offer my hand, helping him to his feet. He staggers, leaning into me more than his fall warrants.
“She made those peanut butter cookies you liked,” he says. “With the chocolate dips in the middle.”
I grip his shoulder, steadying him. “I remember.”
His eyes dart back to the minivan. “Think she was trying to escape with her grandkids?” His voice catches. “Think they’re?—”
“Don’t go there.” I squeeze tighter. “Focus on what’s in front of us.”
He nods, but his eyes remain haunted.
