Through the Zombie Glass by Gena Showalter
“The battle line between good and evil runs through the heart of every man.”
—Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn
A Note From Ali
Where should I begin?
With travesty? Heartache?
No. I don’t want to begin with where I am now.
I don’t want to end that way, either.
We’ll start with this. A truth. Everything around us is subject to change. Today is cold. Tomorrow, heat will come. Flowers bloom, then wither. Those we love, we can grow to hate. And life...life can be perfect one minute and in shambles the next. I learned that lesson the hard way when my parents and beloved little sister died in a car crash, shattering every corridor of my heart.
I’ve done my best to weld the pieces back together, but—tick, tock. Another change.
A change that cost me everything.
The respect of my friends. My new home. My purpose. My pride.
My boyfriend.
And it’s my fault. I can blame no one else.
One mistake gave birth to a thousand others.
I knew there were monsters out there. Zombies. I knew they weren’t the mindless beings movies and books portrayed them to be. They exist in spirit form, unseen to the ungifted eye. They’re fast, determined and, at times, smart. They hunger for the source of life. Our spirits.
I know, I know. That’s laughable, right? Invisible creatures determined to feast on humans from the inside out? Please. But it’s true. I know, because I became an all-you-can-eat buffet—and offered my friends as dessert.
Now I’m not just fighting the zombies. I’m fighting to save the life I’ve grown to love.
I will succeed.
Tick, tock.
It’s time.
Chapter 1
Begin at the Beginning
A few months earlier
More and more I’d been dreaming about the crash that killed my parents and younger sister. I relived the moments as our car flipped end over end. The sounds of metal crunching into pavement. The stillness when everything was over, and I was the only one awake...maybe the only one alive.
I’d struggled to free myself from the seat belt, desperate to help little Emma. Her head had been twisted at such an odd angle. My mother’s cheek had been slashed open like a Christmas ham, and my father’s body had been thrown out of the car. Panic had made me stupid, and I’d hit my head on a sharp piece of metal. Darkness had swallowed me whole.
But in my dreams, I watched my mother blink open her eyes. She was disoriented at first, moaning in pain and trying to make sense of the chaos around her.
Unlike me, she had no problem with her seat belt, freeing herself and turning, her gaze landing on Emma. Tears began to rain down her cheeks.
She looked at me and gasped, reaching out to place a trembling hand on my leg. A river of warmth seemed to rush through me, strengthening me.
“Alice,” she shouted, shaking me. “Wake up—”
I jolted upright.
Panting, my body dotted with perspiration, I scanned my surroundings. I saw walls of ivory and gold, painted in swirling patterns. An antique dresser. A furry white rug on the floor. A mahogany nightstand, with a Tiffany lamp perched next to a photo of my boyfriend, Cole.
I was in my new bedroom, safe.
Alone.
My heart slammed against my ribs as though trying to burst free. I forced the dream to the back of my mind and moved to the edge of the bed to peer out the large bay window and find a sense of calm. Despite the gorgeousness of the view—a garden teeming with bright, lush flowers that somehow thrived in the cool October weather—my stomach twisted. Night was in full bloom, and so were the creepies.
Fog that had brewed on the horizon for hours had finally spilled over, gliding closer and closer to my window. The moon was round and full, set ablaze with orange and red, as if the surface had been wounded and was bleeding.
Anything was possible.