A stone wall knocks me to the ground. The other zombie, back for more. I lose my grip on my swords, air exploding from my lungs and stars winking in front of my eyes. But I manage to hold him off, the heel of my palm planted firmly on his forehead. His legs move between mine, both of his hands wrapping around my neck, which he clearly hopes to use as a snack pack.
If he were human, all I’d have to do is clasp my hands together at my midsection and shoot them up, between his arms, at the same time placing my feet behind his ankles and applying enough pressure to spread his legs. He would struggle for purchase and lose his grip on me. I would then place one of my hands behind his head and smash the other underneath his chin to close his mouth, pushing with one and pulling with the other to create a counterforce, turning his body and allowing me to roll on top of him. I would balance my weight on one knee, slam the heel of a hand into his nose, breaking the cartilage and, while he writhed in pain, I would stand and stomp on his stupid face. Game over. But he isn’t human, so I can do none of those things; his teeth would be too close to my vulnerable skin, and he would feel no pain.
All I can do is wiggle my free hand between our bodies. There’s a dagger sheathed at my waist...there! Once the weapon is free, I wrench it up and jab it into his neck, again and again. Black goo sprays my flesh, burning me, blistering. Steam curls through the air. When his spine is the only thing holding his head in place, I drop the blade and rearrange my hands, placing one behind his head while smashing the other under his chin, careful to avoid his teeth—looks like I can use one of my moves, after all. With a push and a pull, the counterforce snaps his stupid head from his stupid body.
Panting, I toss the brand-new boxing bag several yards away and fight my way from beneath his heavy weight. Dizziness sweeps over me, but this is not the time for a break. I summon dynamis and place my palm over the zombie’s back. In my weakened state, my fire is not as potent and the zombie’s metamorphosis from rot to ash takes longer than usual, but it does happen.
I push up onto shaky legs and stumble forward, relieved, searching for the head I threw. Gotta rinse and repeat. Only, I come face-to-face with more than a dozen pairs of red, glowing eyes—and every single set is locked on me.
Surprise surprise, I’m back at Hearts, looking for my next hit and run.
Out of habit, I scan my surroundings. Four months ago, just days before Kat—
Yeah. Anyway. A section of the club was destroyed by Anima. Their agents bombed a wall, swooped in and attacked. We fought back hard and dirty, but damage was done. Thankfully, it took us only a month to rebuild. Out with the old, in with the new. There are now black light halogens in the ceiling, making glow-in-the-dark paint come to life around the stage, where a live band plays. The walls are covered with murals of a magical woodland, a floating Cheshire cat with a toothy grin, and a rabbit with a pocket watch. Ali’s suggestion. A tribute to Kat as well as Ali’s younger sister, Emma.
Once, Reeve’s dad owned the club. When he died, he left most of his possessions and wealth to his daughter—his only living relative—and a million dollars each to the rest of us. The club, though, he gave to Tyler Holland, Cole’s dad. I’m on the VIP list, even though I’m only eighteen years old. My ID says I’m twenty-four.
My phone vibrates, and I check the screen to find a text from Cole.
The club again? Really? Why don’t U be a good boy & use UR spank bank? Yeah. I went there. Stop screwing around & come home. UR real home.
One of the employees must have called him. Friends who care are great—until they suck.
There are other texts, too.
Ali: Thought of a title 4 a zombie dating book. Ready... DYING TO MEET YOU. Thoughts???
My boy Gavin, a slayer as irreverent as I used to be: I hear UR plowing UR way through brunettes. Dude! That’s my game. Play w/blondes—they R better 4 UR health. (meaning I will kill U if U don’t make the switch)
Bronx: A new recruit just asked—what’s the #1 thing an average person does when fighting a zombie? I told him—taste delicious. He almost soiled his pants. U should be here.
Ali again: Question. If the zombie apocalypse happens in Vegas, will it stay in Vegas???
Ali yet again: If Chuck Norris gets bitten by a zombie, will he turn in2 a zombie—or will the zombie turns in2 Chuck Norris??
There’s even a text from Derek, who moved to Oklahoma to train and lead another crew.
Consider this an eternal invite 2 come C me. Miss U, man
They want to help me because they love me. When will they accept it’s already too late? I’m far too damaged to be repaired.
I ignore the texts and glance at the time. It’s a few minutes past midnight, and I’ve already had one shot of whiskey too many. If one is the new word for four. Whatever. I don’t want to be here anymore. I want to be in bed, pretending.