Zombie Thanksgiving: A YA Short Story Page 4
“soup” and “crackers” and “bottled water.”
I whir and see more potted meat, stacked to the ceiling. And crackers, right next to them. “But… what will you eat?”
He shakes his head, avoiding my eyes. “It wasn’t designed for zombies, just against zombies.”
“Yeah, but… what will you eat?”
He looks back at me, eyes open and gray and hopeful. “Don’t worry, we’ll be rescued before… before I get hungry.”
I nod my head, not entirely sure. It took two weeks for the government to come find us during the last outbreak, and that was after having learned a ton of lessons in the first few. I heard zombies can go about a week, not much more, before the Cure starts to wear off and they must feed before turning back into one of them, one of the Shufflers.
He looks at me, a faraway expression on his face. I’m wondering if he’s wondering if I know that. I choose to forget it. I look down at my hands and see blood, lots of it.
He brings me a bottle of water, shows me a drain in the middle of the floor. He pours the water on my hands; they’re still trembling. He dries them off with a paper towel from a stack by the mirror over the sink in the corner.
Sits me down on a bed, sits next to me, stills my hands with his own. They’re cold, but not as cold as the big guy’s in the cafeteria.
“Hey,” I blurt, apropos of nothing. “We never had that beer.”
He smirks, pulls a six pack from under the bed. “The principal insisted on it,” he explains with a slow, measured wink that takes forever. “There’s cases of the stuff in here.”
I look and there are only four cans left in the little plastic holder. “My supervisor would sneak in here for a quick sip now and again,” he confesses, as if it’s his fault
I nod and he hands me one. I open it, my hands feeling a little better.
He opens his, practically yanking off the little tab in his long, gray fingers. I clink the top of his can with mine, looking into his eyes. “Happy Thanksgiving, Reggie.”
“Happy Thanksgiving…” His voice trails off. I realize, suddenly, I never told him my name. Then he says, all by himself, “… Cassie.”
“But how… how did you know?”
He smirks, taking a sip of his beer. He smiles, then takes one more, sets it down on the ground. He’s had enough. “I guess now is as good a time as any to tell you I’ve kind of been stalking you…”
I spurt out some beer foam onto the floor, then wipe my lips with the back of my hand. “Now you tell me,” I huff, but it’s kind of hard to be mad at the creep who just saved your life.
* * * * *
About the Author
Rusty Fischer is the author of over a dozen YA paranormal novels, including Zombies Don’t Cry, Zombies Don’t Forgive, Vamplayers and Ushers, Inc. Visit him at www.rushingtheseason.com to learn more and read tons of FREE YA holiday paranormal stories just like this one!