Willow
Leaping through the shattered doorways, Britta and I skidded to a waterlogged stop, shaking rain from our hair and clothes. We’d just finished loading up the last of the clothing when the sky had opened up.
Squinting at the wall of rain beyond the doorway, water gushed from above, flooding the school’s walkway, splashing sharply inside the debris-covered entranceway. A bolt of lightning flashed in the distance, followed by a loud clap of thunder.
“Might as well find someplace to cozy up,” Britta said with a sigh. “We ain’t goin’ nowhere ‘til this lets up—can’t see a dang thing out there.”
“Maybe we could hang out in the cafeteria?” I suggested.
“Now you’re talkin’. You remember those little puddin’ cups they used to serve in school?” Britta smacked her lips. “I’m thinkin’ that was the one thing I liked about school. Wonder if they have an expiration date?”
Following the signs for the cafeteria, we found the double doors barricaded with upended chairs and tables, with two lacrosse sticks crisscrossed through the handles. Thin slats of reinforced windows were coated with dried blood and grime, keeping us from viewing inside. The doors rattled against their confines; telltale growls and snarls rumbling from within.
“Maybe not the cafeteria,” I muttered.
“Aw, come on, Willow—I haven’t gotten to kill anything all dang day.” Britta began maneuvering furniture away from the doors. Without the heavy obstructions, the rattling increased; the doors pushed open a fraction and skeletal fingers tipped in long, yellowed nails slithered through the openings.
“Don’t look like too many to me,” Britta said, trying to peer inside. “I reckon there’s maybe a dozen or so. You good with that?”
Gripping tightly to the bat, I nodded, even as Logan’s voice pounded through me.Absolutely not, Willow—you’re not even suited up!
“Shut up, Logan,” I muttered. I could absolutely handle a half dozen Creepers.
“Time to dance with the dead.” Britta whipped her machete from its holster and pulled the lacrosse sticks from the handles, tossing them aside. Three Creepers stumbled into the hallway and Britta started swinging, nimbly slicing through all three necks.
Stepping over the fallen carcasses, we moved inside the room. The cafeteria was a disaster—the gruesome remnants of a decade old bloodbath. Tables and chairs lay overturned, bones and backpacks strewn among them; clusters of Creepers, half petrified, turned in unison, their sunken expressions perking up at the sight of us.
“Take the ones on the right.” Britta gestured with her machete. “I got left.”
Britta sang as she swung her blade, hitting high notes each time she made a killing strike. The noise she made called to every Creeper in the room, turning their attention away from me. Taking advantage of their distraction, I rushed up behind them, swinging. My first hit struck gold; the Creeper crumbled at my feet. The next stumbled sideways and I swung again, sending it hurtling across the floor in a tangle of motionless limbs. A third and fourth Creeper staggered toward me—two teenagers, one distinctly male, one unmistakably female. The boy’s neck was broken, his head lolling to the left, while the girl’s shriveled legs were wrapped in torn fishnet stockings, her gore-coated combat boots bumping noisily over the rubble-covered linoleum.
My breath hitched; the bat sat heavy in my grip as I watched their approach. It had been a long time since I’d assigned a Creeper any sort of identity; they’d been only mindless monsters among millions of nameless, faceless enemies that needed to be disposed of. But these were different. These reminded me of… me. And of Lucas, and what might have been.
Perhaps even… what should have been.
Both Creepers were nearly upon me now, snarling as they reached for me. I’d waited too long to swing, forcing me to take several steps back in order to find my momentum. I hit the girl first, the barrel of the bat cracking alongside her face, and then the boy, sending the end cap into his rotten middle and shoving him away.
The girl stumbled, growling pitifully, an old gash in her neck having likely damaged her vocal cords. I instantly hated her for that—for being so useless she couldn’t even growl properly. Hating her for not being able to save the boy beside her, hating her for being so incapable she hadn’t even been able to save herself.
I continued to swing and shove, only hitting hard enough to maim, unwilling to end their miserable existence just yet. I hit her again, her skin sloughing off as my bat merely grazed her arm. And then again, the crunch of bone shattering in her leg forcing her to fall to her knees.
Facing the boy, I shoved him back again, a scream building deep within my gut. With each shove, the scream only grew, ballooning in my throat until I had no choice but to release it.
Swinging the bat as hard as I could, a wail burst past my lips as the bat collided with his head. Crushing through skull and brain matter, his snarl slipped away as he collapsed to the floor, silent. Meanwhile, the girl continued toward me, dragging herself across the floor, one bleak, miserable eye staring at me from within her dented, deformed skull.
“You’re fucking useless,” I bit out. “You can’t do anything right.Nothing. You couldn’t even savehim.”
One last swing, wood collided with bone, shattering what was left of her skull, and killing her on impact. She fell forward, half slumping over the boy.
The bat dripping with gore, my brow drenched in sweat, I glanced around the room, finding Britta propped against a wall, a large tin can in one hand, a spoon in the other.
“Feel better?” she asked, one blonde brow cocked high.
Glancing down at the battered Creepers, I shrugged. “A little. What the hell are you eating?”
Grinning, Britta pointed her spoon at me. “Well, now, while you were busy makin’ Dead Head smoothies, I found myself some motherfuckin’ puddin’.” Shoveling a spoonful of pudding into her mouth, she flashed me a toothy, pudding-covered grin. “AndI found us a nice little place to wait out the storm. Come see.”
“So much for waiting out the storm,” I said dryly.
