Polina Versus The Dead: The Dead Series 3gz3l

Polina Versus the Dead A Dead Series Short Story Ray Wenck Glory Days Press Columbus, Ohio

Copyright © 2021 by Ray Wenck All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission. Glory Days Press/Author Ray Wenck www.raywenck.com Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental. Book Layout © 2016 BookDesignTemplates.com Polina Versus the Dead/ Ray Wenck—1st ed. ISBN 978-0-0000000-0-0

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

Dedication

Author’s Notes

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

Dedication

Dedicated to Polina for her exuberance, spunk, and love of zombies. Thanks for your .

Author’s Notes

This was a fun and quick story to write. Who am I kidding? They’re all fun, though not as quick. I first got the idea for this story back in 2019 when I met the granddaughter of two friends Gary and Mary Pat. Her interest and excitement over having new zombie material to devour was motivation for the idea. Since finishing The Dead Trilogy, I’ve had a lot of requests for more. With all the other projects I have going, this will have to hold you until I can work another into the schedule. For those reading out of sequence, you will need an explanation of terminology. Actually, just one word—crits. In the original book, the story begins five years after the arrival of the zombies. Over that time, many names were used. Walkers, the dead, undead. But as often happens, nicknames developed, so with the nickname evolution, they moved from dead to beasts, then from creatures to critters, and to the shortened current name of crits. Hopefully now you won’t be utterly confused. Enjoy this fun—though short—read, and as always, read all You want, I’ll write more.

CHAPTER ONE

THE KNIFE WAS UP AND ready, the long-bladed one that stretched from her palm to her elbow. The razor-sharp one her father had given her before disappearing. The life-saving one that was the only thing that now stood between her and certain death. “Easy, Po,” she whispered. “Don’t lose it now after you’ve come so far.” She didn’t when she’d started talking to herself, but then, who else was there to talk to? Thirteen-year-old Polina had been on her own for months as the constant search for her parents brought her across miles of unfamiliar land. They had been on their way to an island fortress with thirty others when the horde of crits descended upon them. Po, ever the strong-willed explorer, had disobeyed her father’s orders to stay close as she often did, but the old-fashioned water pump was too intriguing not to try. Besides, it was only a few yards off the road. Well, more like fifty, but she might never get a chance to see or touch one again, especially once they were locked up behind massive gates on the island town. No, it wasn’t a prison, but it already felt like one to the curious and spontaneous teen. She still ed the feel of the cold rusted metal pump as she pushed and pulled. At first, it resisted, but then as the corrosion broke free it squealed. Then she squealed with delight as her efforts were rewarded with a trickle of brown water. Excited, she looked up to shout for her parents so they too might enjoy the wondrous sight. What she saw stole all the joy from her body. From around a picked-over apple grove, more than a hundred crits poured out onto her traveling group. Before she could cry a warning, a few noticed the threat and began to scream. Panic ensued and the group broke in all directions. Po knew that was a mistake. Her father always preached about strength in numbers and they all had to and protect each other. It wasn’t the first time they had encountered crits along the route, so they should have known what to do, but they had never faced a horde so large. Whether from surprise, exhaustion of the long walk, or the size of the attacking group, her traveling companions broke and ran. Po ran toward the group. She heard her mother shout her name.

“Polina!” It was more shrill terror than angry cry. “Here! I’m here!” she yelled as she ran, waving a hand high overhead. But with so many others screaming, she didn’t think either parent heard. “Mom! Dad!” She ran harder, shouted louder. As the crits turned toward her, she realized her mistake. Noise drew them. She plowed to a stop, slipping on the grass. As she stood, her hand fell to the large combat knife her father had given her. It was strapped to a rope she’d tied around her waist. They had left their house in such a hurry when the massive crit army was at the town limits that she barely had time to put pants on, let alone a belt. Po had never used the knife. Oh sure, she had drawn it and gazed at it in awe. The blade was so bright that her reflection was clear in the polished steel. She had even tested the edge, learning a valuable lesson as it parted the skin of her thumb like through soft butter. But Po had never had to use it to defend herself. She heard her name and looked past the five advancing crits. “Polina!” her father called. She saw him. “Daddy!” she cried. She’d stopped calling him that after her last birthday, thinking she was too old for it and switched to the more grown-up sounding Dad, so she was surprised as it burst from her mouth now. Her father tried to get to her. He slashed his knife across a crit. It dropped in front of him, only to be replaced by three more. Her mother had her back to her father as she battled with another crit. She strained to see over her shoulder. Polina could see the fear in her mother’s eyes, which created more fear and doubt in her. Her father shouted, “Polina! Run!” He pointed to his left. “We’ll meet you down the road.” “Okay,” she tried to say, but the word stuck in her dry throat. “Polina!” The intensity of the tone and the increased volume broke through her stupor. “Run!”

She nodded and took off with the crits five yards from her. She did not look back, not wanting to see if they were following. Twice crits stepped into her path, but she altered course without breaking stride. She had always been a good runner, able to go long distances without much effort. Spurred by her fear, her ability took on new heights. She had no idea how long or far she ran but when she finally stopped, no crits or people were in sight. Po slowed and turned, moving backward. The road they had been traveling on was gone. Confused, she started to call for her parents but stopped herself. If crits were around, they’d be drawn to her. Instead, she moved toward where she thought the road should be. Her steps increased with speed and desperation as the road was nowhere. She broke into a run and despite knowing it was foolish, her desperation to see her parents or anyone from her group won out. “Mom! Dad!” No one answered. She backtracked to a point where she spotted wandering crits. They didn’t appear to be pursuing anyone and just walked aimlessly. She didn’t want to give them a target to chase, so she took a circuitous route back. It was near dark by the time she arrived. To her horror and revulsion, she found the remains of four bodies on the ground. They had been torn apart. Po had seen bodies before from a distance, but this was different. These were people she knew. People she had hiked hundreds of miles with. But the unanswered question was if any of the four were her parents. With tears streaming and hands to her mouth, she crept toward the first body. It was a man. His bloody remains were strewn over the road. Po had a strong urge to vomit but managed to hold it back. The man was not her father. This man was bald. Her father had long flowing brown hair. The next was a woman. Not her mother. Her mother wore jeans. This one had on a dress, now shredded under the teeth and nails of her assailants. The next two were not adults. One was a boy of about four, and the other, a teenage girl. Polina knew her. She had been much like her. Adventurous, fun, with dreams and a future, though limited as it was in the midst of a zombie invasion. The sight was too much for her. The grief, loss, anguish, and horror bubbled up from deep in her core and exploded in a jet of bile and liquified food.

As her stomach emptied, she rolled to the ground and sobbed both for the loss of her friend and her family. Polina was lost and alone to face a world she was unprepared for. She did not want to move, to face what might lie ahead. Her mind shut down amidst memories of her mother and father. Had her parents escaped the fate of her friend? If so, why weren’t they searching for her? Where were they? With no answers coming, she curled into a ball and wept some more.

CHAPTER TWO

With the darkness came the first drops of rain. They splattered against her face, eventually snapping her from her internal withdrawal. She sat up and looked around. The blackness that surrounded her was too thick to see through. How would she know where to go if she couldn’t see? The rain picked up pace, wetting her hair and plastering it to her face. She wiped it back and stood. A bang to her left made her jump, but she did not call or cry out. Instead, she moved in the opposite direction, taking small sideways steps. Her foot caught on something and she tripped and fell over the body of the halfeaten woman. She muffled a scream and caught her weight on her hands, scraping her palms on the blacktop. She crawled swiftly away and wiped her hands frantically on her pants as if wiping away a spiderweb. Then her feet danced in place as if with a mind of their own. The noise came again. This time she was too creeped not to scream. She covered her mouth with both hands and backed up fast, tripping over the man’s body. Po fell on her butt but bounced to her feet fast. She scanned the dark in search of the source of the bang. Her breathing came fast and shallow. A low whine escaped her lips like a tea kettle building to a boil. A scraping sound not twenty feet away drew her attention and allowed her to narrow her focus. It was then she realized she was holding the knife straight out in front of her. The sight intrigued and mesmerized her. She pulled it in closer to examine the blade like she had done so many times before, but this time it had a purpose. Was she strong enough to use it? If she didn’t move, she might be forced to find out. With slow, soft steps she retreated, testing each step before planting to prevent another trip. The rain poured now. In the distance, thunder rumbled. A quick flash of lightning gave off enough illumination for her to see two crits advancing toward her. She jumped back but restrained herself from. Could they see her in the dark? She took five steps to the side to flank the advancing creatures. It took an eternity for another bolt of lightning to show her what was in front of her. Both crits had moved past her and were swiveling their heads and swinging their arms

around in an attempt to find her. Surprised at how calm she was, Po turned to leave while they still couldn’t spot her. She had gone ten steps when the lightning came again and reflected off the shiny blade and the sight made her stop. Her lips curled as fear was replaced with anger. These stupid animals had separated her from her family and killed her friend. She turned to face where the crits were the last time she saw them and moved closer with surprising confidence. These crits were going to pay for what they had done. She changed her grip on the knife several times before letting it settle in its most natural position with the blade straight out. Po stopped and waited for more lightning. When it came, she screamed. The first of the two crits was three feet in front of her with its back to her. Alerted by the scream, the crit turned in quarter moves. Po was already moving when it faced her. With all her strength, she drove the blade deep into the beast’s chest. Her glee and satisfaction with the attack fell away fast as the creature latched onto her arm and pulled her close. Why didn’t that work? She saw her father do the same thing and the zombie died. She pulled the knife out and plunged it into the body again with no effect. What was wrong? She was so stupid. Why did she think she could do this? Now she would get bitten, then eaten, and die. With panic beginning to take control of her mind, a flash of memory came to life. She saw her father strike at the crit and watched it go down. How? She replayed again as she struggled for more time, placing a foot against the crit's leg and pushing backward to break the hold. Her father had struck sideways. But wait. It wasn’t so much a swipe, but more like he’d punched the thing in the head with the knife. That was it. Headshot. The creature stood a head taller than Po and was leaning down to take a bite of her precious tender skin. As its jaws came within inches of her arm, Po drove the knife sideways into its skull. The force of the blade halted it for a moment but pushed through and slid with a sickening sucking sound deep into its brain. The creature stiffened, held upright for a moment, then fell to the ground with the knife still stuck in its skull.

Still frightened Po was relieved, though not for long as dried, scratchy hands grabbed her from behind. Once more she screamed but did not allow her terror to incapacitate her. She pulled free and dove for the knife, but she had trouble dragging it free. When it finally slid loose the crit had re-engaged and was moving in for the bite. Po stiff-armed it in the forehead, snapping its head back for a moment but the creature was strong. She lined up her attack and pushed the knife through its eye. As the plunging blade reached its limit, she yanked it out. She stumbled backward with its sudden release, and when the next bolt lit the sky she was rewarded by seeing both crits dead on the roadway. A nervous laugh escaped her throat as if some maniac had possessed her body. Thunder boomed overhead and the skies opened up, pouring a heavy curtain of rain down on her. The rain stole some of the exhilaration of notching her first kills. Though she survived the crits, if she didn’t find shelter, she might drown. She found a house a block down with the door kicked in. Drenched, she ran up the steps and through the door, closing it behind her. It would not stay closed, so she dragged a chair and a coffee table from the living room and shoved it against the door. Then she went around the house to ensure she was alone and barricaded the back door as well. She slid down an interior wall of the living room, too exhausted and shocked to think. When a chill swept through her, she knew she had to get out of her drenched clothes. She slid out of the small pink Hello Kitty backpack. She looked at the childish image. Though she couldn’t see it well she knew the image from memory. She’d wore it when she was in second grade and it was all they had available to pack on such short notice. She rifled through the pack, pulling out a few of the contents. Her one change of clothes, the four granola bars handed out to everyone in the group, and the halffull plastic bottle of water. She also had a small pocket flashlight she had forgotten about as well as a toothbrush and toothpaste, a hairbrush, a hotel-size soap bar along with a travel size shampoo, a washcloth, and two twist ties for her long hair. With a glance around to make sure no one was watching, she stripped out of the wet clothes and changed. She laid the wet clothes over the banister leading to the second floor then sat to enjoy a meal of granola bars and water.

As she ate, she pondered her day. She’d lost her parents, she’d found the shredded body of her friend, and slew two crits. When she finished and lay her head down on the empty backpack, she wondered what new events the morning might bring.

CHAPTER THREE

THAT HAD BEEN...WHAT, four months ago? She was twelve then. Po was pretty sure she’d had a birthday since but had lost track of the days a few months back. Now she was an experienced woman of thirteen with a lot of kills to her credit. Her child’s body had changed. She was leaner, stronger. Her confidence was high now, borne of experience and new skills. Po the child was long ago forgotten. Po the woman was a warrior. She had discovered the island fortress where she now found herself hiding from the new occupants. If her parents had arrived here, they were long gone. She still hadn’t found them, and by now they must think her dead. If she wasn’t careful how she handled this new situation, her death might become reality and come quick. She was in an alley squatting behind a large metal dumpster with four crits rambling down the garbage-strewn path toward her position. She knew they saw her turn into the alley but didn’t think they’d arrived at the mouth before she ducked behind the dumpster. Po pressed back against the wall and slid out of her heavy hiker’s backpack. The Hello Kitty pack had been tossed months ago for the roomier one she wore now. She had taken it from the dead hands of a man not a mile from the island. Though it held much more, it was burdensome in a fight. She slid the long sword strapped to her back slowly over her shoulder. She also carried a small hatchet on the belt she now wore. It was big for her but served its purpose ing not only the hatchet but the knife her father had given her and two small pouches for small tools and snacks. With knife in one hand and sword in the other, she waited as her shambling attackers drew ever nearer. Po was no longer a frightened child. She considered herself a confident young woman. She had grown beyond her years during her time living on her own. She no longer cowered or screamed when trouble arrived. Oh, she was still scared of death but had chosen to face each new challenge head-on as it came. For a while she attacked every crit she saw, wanting to eradicate them from the world but after several close calls, she learned to avoid the fights she could and deal with the rest. The first zombie ed her. She waited. Once the second had gone by, she

stood. She took a wicked backhand stroke at the next crit. As the blade bit deep, she was already driving the knife toward the fourth. The crit’s head smacked to the alley as the point of the knife broke through the side of the last crit's skull. Po ripped the knife down and clear, then turned to face the first two as both bodies hit the ground at the same time. She was so much stronger and faster now. She seldom had trouble getting a blade free after an attack. Where once she had to hack and chop to sever a head with the sword, her improved skill and strength allowed her to remove a head with one slice about fifty percent of the time. The surviving two turned in slow motion to face her. She knew she should run. It was the smart play, but she was feeling too good and wanted the fight to continue, if only for another thirty seconds. She slid the knife back in the sheath and took a two-handed grip on the sword. She swung the blade at the first one. Though it bit deep, the angle of the attack was high because of the height of her opponent. The blade did not cut all the way through, but caught in the spinal column between vertebrae. Angry with herself for being overconfident, she placed a foot on the crit's stomach and pulled. The blade gave with a rush that sent her sprawling backward. She did a backward roll and came out in a crouch with the sword swept wide to the side. It was a pose she saw in a movie once, though the title escaped her. She stood in slow motion, placed the flat of the sword against her forehead, and gave the crit a salute, then she sheathed the sword and turned to go, but she had waited too long. Now she had four more filling the alley mouth. She was trapped between them. With a sigh, she withdrew the sword and the knife and readied for battle. She strategized her battle plan. Four in front, two behind. Behind was the smart choice and this time, she decided to do the smart thing. She whirled and attacked. With a vicious cut, she sliced through the leg of the first crit, sending it toppling. As it fell one way, she moved the other, however, the crit’s hand reached out and snared her foot, tripping her. She fell headlong into the second one, bowling it over. She rolled to her back but it fell on top of her. Keeping her composure, she lined up the knife with the face and it impaled itself.

Po rolled clear, got to her feet, and sprinted. Before she reached the end of the alley, five more crits blocked the exit. She came to a halt, wondering how this was possible. This new group hadn’t seen her enter the alley. Only the first four had. So how did these others know she was there? It was like the first group had sent out a message or something, but that was ridiculous. Wasn’t it? She came to the same plan as before, choosing the side with only four instead of five. Why didn’t she run when she had the chance? Would she ever learn? She ran toward the foursome, arms pumping, legs churning, head down, and wondered about her chances of just plowing through. That thought came to an abrupt halt when three more crits filled in ten yards behind the four. Dumbfounded and quickly losing confidence, she examined both directions for an out. Regardless, she needed to dwindle the odds. She moved forward. One of the four was a step ahead of the others, perhaps having a stronger desire for her tender flesh. As she neared, it reached for her, keeping her too far for a clean neck shot. She swung downward and severed the arm, then whipped a clean stroke through the neck, unseating the head. It flew to the side, bounced once on the alley, then off the wall before spinning to a stop. The remaining three came at her as one, giving her no advantage. She turned and ran the other way. The group on this side were staggered more, giving her a chance. With a few swipes more than she wanted, two more heads rolled. Though getting arm weary, the quick dispatching of two gave her hope of getting clear. Then two more entered behind them, and her hope bubble burst. This was impossible. No longer having the energy to waste, she walked backward. As she neared the dumpster, the crit whose leg she took reached out and tripped her. She fell and the crit dragged itself along the dirty concrete to get at her. Panic began setting in. She kicked at the head, snapping it back, then crawled backward. Once out of reach she stood. They were closing in, leaving her nowhere to go. Her only option was to fight from high ground. She scampered up on top of the dumpster. The heavy plastic covers were strong enough to her weight as long as she didn’t stomp or jump around. With her back to the wall, she waited for the first attacker to arrive. With luck, she could whittle

their numbers down enough to make a run for it. She estimated only two from each side could reach her. The first group was the three to her left. When they pressed in, she lopped off a hand, then took an overhead stroke downward to cleave a skull. Her blade stuck and she tugged and wiggled the blade to extricate it. When it broke loose, it pitched her backwards against the wall, causing the dumpster to roll forward a foot. That was bad. If they got behind her, she wouldn’t be safe. Her only hope might be to drop into the dumpster. She stood and sliced downward strokes in each direction as both sides filled with potential diners. She held her own for a while but the constant bumping by forces from both sides kept the dumpster rocking and unstable. Twice she almost fell within the crits’ reach. As they squeezed closer, the dumpster inched farther away from the wall until a crit from each side was able to get behind her. Po searched desperately for an out and was about to give up and jump inside the dumpster when a loud piercing whistle echoed through the alley. Startled, she lowered her guard and scanned the alley. The whistle came again but whoever was doing it was out of sight. A hand latched onto her leg. It almost yanked her off the dumpster but she sliced the arm off at the elbow and stepped toward the center where the plastic covers were at their weakest point. “Hey!” a voice called. “Up here!” Po looked up, then kicked another hand away. She glanced back up and spotted two figures on the roof of the five-story building the dumpster stood against. They waved at her. A woman cupped hands to her mouth and shouted, “The rope! Grab the rope!” The other figure, a boy, pointed at the wall. Dangling eight feet above her was a heavy rope, the type school kids played tug-of-war with. She stretched on tiptoes but there was no way. “It’s too far! I can’t reach it.” The figures disappeared and Po feared they had given up, but then the rope moved closer. Six feet. Five. Four. Then it stopped. “Can you reach it now?” the woman asked.

Po swiped the sword in both directions, then shouted, “No! It’s closer, but not enough. If I miss, I’m dead.” The boy said, “You’re dead anyway. Just try.” The woman said, “Hold on a second.” Then the two heads were gone. Something tugged on her leg. She looked down to see a thumb and forefinger pinching the fabric of her jeans. She kicked away violently, which threw her off balance. “Try it now,” the woman said. Po was unable to look at the rope right away as she cleared the desperately reaching hands. The rope was now less than three feet from her fingertips. Even if she jumped, there was no way she had a three-foot vertical. To have a realistic shot at snagging the rope, she needed it to be two feet closer. As if reacting to her wish, the rope lowered again. It looked to be a few inches less than a foot. She might be able to do this now. She sheathed the sword and swung her arms up twice. On the third sweep, she pushed off hard. The plastic lids gave way, stealing most of her lift. She missed the rope and fell back. The lids bent but held and now, she was six inches lower. The covers were only going to hold for one more attempt. How would she make this work? The hands were getting closer. A few of the crits were leaning over the sides. If they figured out how to get up on the dumpster, she had no chance to survive. She swept her gaze over the dumpster. The best place to make her next leap was at the hinges where the covers were across the solid metal of the dumpster. However, that put her within the grasp of three or four crits. Still, it might be her only chance. Quickly, she worked the sword back out and began hacking at hands, arms, and fingers. The increased action from both her and the crits rolled the dumpster farther away from the wall and the rope. She had little time left before it was beyond her reach. Once more seating the sword, she plotted her moves, took a long look at the wall and the rope, then took a big step forward. She hit perfectly on the metal hinge and pushed off with all her might. One foot planted on an angle on the wall

where she pushed off again. The added lift brought both hands within reach of the rope. She wrapped them around the rope but whatever was securing it above gave way and she fell. Though she still clutched the rope, she had no way to prevent multiple hands from snagging her legs. She kicked wildly to free herself but without help from above, it was a losing contest. Then she began to rise, but it became a tug-of-war with her as the prize. She kicked but was afraid of being too aggressive, for fear that whatever held her above could not maintain its hold. For a moment nothing happened, then a brick whizzed down past her and plowed into the head of one of the crits that held her leg. With its hand off, she kicked free and began to rise. Relief flooded her. Her eyes filled and she fought to keep her emotions in check. In all the months she’d been on her own, this was the single most terrifying experience. The second floor went past. As she reached the third level, she was suddenly swept sideways. “Huh? What? What’s going on?” The woman leaned over. “We need you to step on the windowsill there for a moment.” Po glanced at the window and her nerves fired up again. “Why?” “Because we can’t hold you. We need a break so we don’t drop you.” Po looked down at the many hands stretched in the air reaching for her. Yeah, down was not the direction to go. Her toes found the sill and she squatted on it, bracing her hands against the sides. She waited a long time. Her legs began to cramp. Then the woman shouted, “Okay! We’re ready, but we need you to stop on the fifth-floor windowsill. Be ready.” “Okay.” She was rising again. She realized they must be lifting her by hand. Though she wasn’t heavy, she understood that lifting even a small amount of weight that high by hand had its challenges.

She found footing on the windowsill and paused. This time, the wait was longer, but when it was time to lift off, she rose fast. Her head crested the roof edge. A young woman and teenage boy were on the other end of the rope straining to land her. Once her torso was high enough, she leaned forward, released the rope, and brought her legs on top. The sudden release of the rope sent her two saviors sprawling. Too exhausted to rise, they sat and stared at her. “Well,” Po said. “That was fun. Who wants to go next?”

CHAPTER FOUR

“H i. I’m Annalise. Call me Anna.” She was tall and slender with a round face and mounds of curly brown hair. Po guessed she was between eighteen and twenty. “I’m Paul,” the boy said. He had red hair and pale, freckled skin. His bright blue eyes sparkled. Po figured he was closer to her age; maybe fifteen or sixteen. “That was a close one. We were watching for a while before we decided to help.” That made Po stop short. “Excuse me? You were watching? Why didn’t you help sooner?” Paul turned on her fast. “Don’t judge us. Be happy we made the attempt at all.” Po felt her jaw drop. “What Paul means is we thought you were going to get out on your own. We stepped in when it looked like you might not get free. We wouldn’t have let them take you down. I promise. It’s just that we don’t want people to know we’re here. It might cause problems.” Po thought that strange. “People? They’re crits. Zombies. It’s not like they’re going to climb stairs to get up here.” Paul said, “You’d be surprised what they can do now. Haven’t you noticed lately they seem to be working more as a team?” In truth, she hadn’t noticed, but that might explain why so many of them entered the alley. “Ah, what? Like they can think?” “Not sure,” Paul said, some of the anger and challenge gone from his voice. “But it’s been obvious they can communicate somehow. If a crit sees us in the northeast corner of the island, more will come from the southwest corner to the chase. It’s uncanny to watch. Worse to be trapped by them.” “Yeah, don’t I know.”

“Besides,” Anna said, “crits aren’t who we’re talking about. There are other people here. They just aren’t friendly.” At the mention of other humans, Po perked up. “People? Real live people?” “Yeah,” Paul said. “We think they were soldiers at one time. Maybe the ones who protected here. From what we can gather, a few months back the crits staged an attack and broke through the defenses. People fled in all sorts of vehicles ranging from boats to school buses. Shortly after that, there was a huge battle here between two forces vying for control of the island. Since then, one group took off while some soldiers stayed on. We figure there are about ten of them left.” “We’re trying to stay hidden so they don’t chase us off and steal our stuff,” Anna said. Paul said, “Yeah, if not just plain kill us.” “If it’s so dangerous, why stay?” “There’s nowhere else to go. At least up here, we’re safe from the crits,” Paul answered. Anna said, “Yeah, at least for now.” They walked to stairs leading down into the building. They used the rooms on the fifth floor. It had once been used for storage but there was no indication of what the original business was. Paul and Anna had carved out a living area and two separate bedrooms. Paul told Po to have a seat and disappeared through a door. Anna stripped off her gear and sat down across from her. “So, anyway, what’s your name?” “Polina, but you can call me Po.” “Okay, Po, where you from?” “A small town in western New York. We came here because we heard of the island fortress. Our town was overrun and we had to leave.”

“Who’s we?” “My mom and dad.” Anna pursed her lips. “Oh, ah...are they dead?” Po froze. She never wanted to think they might be and didn’t like anyone else thinking it either. “No,” she snapped, immediately regretting her tone. “I mean, not-not that I know of. We got separated along the way. Since I knew we were coming here, I came hoping to connect with them.” “As best we can tell, the last people took off out of here on school buses maybe two months ago.” “Do you know which way they went?” “East toward the water,” Paul said as he entered the room. “He had his hands full and stopped in front of Po. “Here. Thought you might like a snack.” He handed her a juice pouch, a small pack of chocolate chip cookies, and a small bag of Doritos. “Wow! Thanks.” “It’s not much, but it’s food,” Paul said with a shrug. “Compared to what I’ve been eating, it’s great.” She reached for her pack and realized she left it by the dumpster. The loss upset her. When she left, she’d have to recover it. He handed the same assortment to Anna and they were all quiet for a moment while they opened packs and munched. “Where’d you find this kind of stuff?” “We searched the buildings when we got here and found a massive food store two blocks over. We figured it belonged to the soldiers. A lot of it was taken when the one group battling the soldiers left. We thought that a good time to take some supplies too, figuring the soldiers would think the other group took it. We

went back two more times to grab a few more items...you know, not enough to get missed...but the last time, they had a guard posted so we haven’t been back since.” “So, what are your plans,” asked Anna as she tipped the Doritos bag upside down to get the crumbs, most of which ended up on her chin and shirt. “Well, since my parents aren’t here and you said the last ones went east, I guess that’s where I’m heading.” “Are you kidding?” Paul said, crumpling up the bag and pitching it over his shoulder. “Paul,” Anna onished. “What? Who’s going to care if we leave a mess?” Anna rolled her eyes at Po. “Boys.” “Anyway,” Paul continued, “why go where you have no idea what you’re going to face? It’s safe here. There’s food. People. You’ll be out there alone with no food. Who’s going to save you the next time you get in trouble?” Po finished chewing a cookie. “Guess I’d better stay out of trouble then, huh.” Anna made a plea. “Stay with us. Please.” Po sighed. “I’d like to. Really. But until I know for sure what happened to my parents, I have to keep searching.” That answer angered Paul. He stood and threw his empty juice pouch on the floor. “That’s just stupid. You know your parents are dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. And probably zombies.” Po was on her feet in a flash with her knifepoint under Paul’s chin. “Don’t you say that. Don’t you ever say that or, or—” She had no or. She lowered the knife and hurried from the room. Behind her, she heard, “That’s just great, Paul. Your temper is going to chase her away.” Quick footsteps sounded behind her. Po reached the end of the hall, only

to discover it was barricaded. “Po,” Anna said. “Please forgive him. He can be such a fool sometimes. He didn’t mean it. It’s just that neither of us knows where our parents are either. We’ve been traveling for months and settled down here because it seemed foolish to continue on a hunt that we had no idea where it might lead. We’ve been here for almost two months now and have not had to fight one crit since moving up here. We have enough food to last...well, a long time, and-and it would just be nice to have someone else’s company. I think we’re tired of each other.” “And how long before you’re tired of my company? Look, I get why you want to stay and I don’t blame you, but I haven’t given up on finding my parents. I’m sorry, but I’m going to continue searching.” Anna’s gaze fell. When she lifted her head again, her eyes were filled with tears. She wiped them, nodded, and without a word went back down the hall. Po frowned. She felt bad but she had to go. She examined the barricade. It appeared every bit of furniture on the floor had been piled in the stairway. No way was she getting through. She stalked back to the room. As she entered, Paul turned to her. “Nice. You made Anna cry.” Po had enough of this drama. If this is what it was like being with people again, maybe she’d stick to crits. At least they didn’t put a guilt trip on you. “How do I get out of here?” “Figure it out yourself.” He stomped into a room and slammed the door. Well, if that’s how they wanted it, fine by her. She noticed Anna hadn’t opened her cookies. Po picked the pack up and stored it in her jacket pocket. After a quick look around, she exited and went back up to the roof.

CHAPTER FIVE

Though the roof gave her a good view of her surroundings, she saw no way of getting down. If there had been a fire escape, it no longer existed. She moved to each corner and peered down, hoping for some way that didn’t require climbing. Now what? She turned around and leaned against the short roof wall. Arms folded, she scanned the rooftop for something, anything that might get her closer to the ground. A long wooden plank. An emergency rope ladder. Anything. Her eyes landed on crisscrossed wires running from a brick chimney across the open space to another chimney on the next building. What was their purpose? Clotheslines? One was high, one low. Were they electrical wires or antennas? Some crazy form of lightning rod? Curious, she moved to the chimney to examine the wire. They were taut, and each wire had been scored into the mortar between the bricks a half-inch to prevent them from slipping. She moved around the chimney, studying the wire. It was thick, rope-like, and had an intertwined pattern showing many strands woven together. Her foot kicked a dark weather-worn tarp on the backside of the chimney. Whatever was underneath was hard and heavy. She lifted the tarp with tentative movements in case some creature flew out. What she discovered were two bicycle handlebars. “What?” she said aloud. She picked one up. It was heavier than she expected but having never taken apart a bike, she didn’t know if the weight was normal. Something was off about the construction. On the bottom side was a metal wheel. In the middle of the wheel was a deep groove. To the side, off-center from the first one, was a second wheel. She spun the top wheel. It rolled easily. There was no rust. If anything, it looked new and judging by the slight liquid trace on her finger, it had been recently oiled. The second wheel appeared to be hinged. She flipped it down then up, then down again, observing the space between the wheels. What was this for? The answer came like a punch. She looked at the wire, then at the gap between the wheels. Her gaze shifted following the path of the wire to the next roof.

“Seriously?” She tried to squeeze the wheels over the wheel. When it didn’t fit, she realized her mistake and flipped the bottom wheel up. With the groove of the top wheel fitted over the wire, the bottom wheel snapped into place. It wasn’t a tight fit, but maybe it wasn’t supposed to be. Po tested the handlebars, running with them toward the edge of the building. They rolled freely. With a satisfied smile, she looked down at the ground five stories below then at the other roof. What was the distance? Twenty feet? No more than thirty. She stood on the wall, gripped the handles, and rocked back and forth, sucking in and blowing air in rhythm with the rocking. “This is crazy. This is nuts. This is—” She pushed off and tried to contain the squeal of fear, joy, and discovery at being airborne five stories from certain death. The wheels rolled smoothly and the other building was underfoot in seconds. Exhilarated, she stood holding onto the handlebars with one hand and her thumping chest with the other. She glanced at the other roof, then did a double-take. Anna was standing by the chimney. For a moment, a lance of panic pulsed through her. Was she there to stop her from leaving? Anna made no move for the second handlebar. Instead, she waved. “Be safe.” Po nodded. “And you.” “You can get to street level through that building.” “Thanks.” “Before you go, please send the coaster back on the other line. If they come for us, we need it to escape.” “Of course.” Po unhooked the coaster and reattached it to the higher wire, then gave it a shove. It rolled freely to the other side where Anna snagged it. She unhooked it,

gave Po a sorrowful smile, then walked away. For a moment Po was sad at the loss of a potential friendship, but she still had to find her parents. It was time to get back on mission. Five minutes later she reached the street. She cracked the outside door and scanned both directions. With the street vacant she stepped out and ran to the corner building. There, she peered down both streets. She spotted movement at the end of each street. By her recollection, she had to move one block east and two blocks south to reach the bridge attached to the mainland. She needed to get there without being seen especially if the creatures had developed some form of telepathic communication. Checking both ways, Po darted across the street and pressed against the building. In a crouch, she made her way down the block. The side street had a lot of crit activity on it in both directions. Getting across without being seen was a problem. She decided to try it zombie style. She stood straight, rotating her neck in both directions, then shook out her arms and legs like an athlete ready to compete, then slumped her shoulders, took on a forward lean, and walked stifflegged. She stepped away from the building and into view. The hardest part was not looking to see if anyone had noticed her. If one of the crits had, no alarm was given unless it was silent. She crossed the street and reached the safety of the first building. There, she allowed herself to relax for a moment, feeling the pressure in her chest and the tension in every muscle. Thinking it best to maintain character, she resumed her posture and kept moving. The buildings ended at the end of the block. A wide channel of water separated the mainland from the island. One block over was the long two-lane bridge that would get her off the island and away from the crits. She still had one block to go to reach it and at least a hundred crits to go through to get there. Would her zombie character hold up to scrutiny? Could they smell she was alive and a possible meal? The mind-numbing thought of being eaten left her motionless and sweating. “One block to go. You can do this. It’s Polina versus the dead. Place your bets. Smart money’s on that Polina girl.” Po steeled her nerves, got back into character, and stepped into the open.

She angled across the street with the slow, shuffling gait most of the others used. Her first test came in the first ten yards. She kept her head down but could not control the pounding of her heart, the popping of sweat beads from every pore, or the unsteady breathing. The first crit ed within five feet of her. She had no idea if it noticed she was different. She was too scared to look. She kept moving. The entrance to the bridge got closer with each sliding step. She estimated her chances of making it across if she broke into a sprint. With all the crits still between her and land, she decided it was too soon. She’d save the sprint for an emergency. Her next test came seconds later as a group of five crits came near. They were five yards away. This time she couldn’t help but flick a glance at them. Four of them never looked her way but one nosy lady followed her path as they ed. Po felt the hairs at the back of her neck shoot up. Was the crit still watching her? Halfway to the bridge, she noticed a change in the behavior of some crits in front of her. Some stopped in place with a sudden suspicious jerk. A few kept moving, but their heads began turning in unnatural ways to their previous patterns. Were they looking for her? She increased her pace slightly, wanting to be closer to her escape path should the need to run arise. A few of the crits shifted position and then direction. Although most continued on their same course, those who turned began moving in her direction. What did that mean? Did only a few have the telepathic ability? Within five steps, it was apparent she’d been busted. She could not allow them to close in on her. To escape she needed room to maneuver. She waited for the first one to come close before making her move. If the crit walked past her, she was still all right, but if it made a move for her it was time to go all-out warrior Po on these beasts. Her hand slid to the knife. Her fingers wrapped slowly around the hilt. The crit was on a path to her three feet away. It showed no interest in her. Was it an act like hers? Were they capable of such deception? The flick of the eyes toward her gave it away. She was already sliding the knife free when it made its move. In a surprisingly fast pivot, it reached for her. Expecting a move, though not so fast, Po ducked under the arms, stepped inside its reach, and drove the blade up through its half eroded jaw, through the mouth,

and into the brain. It stood glaring at her for a moment. Did these things feel pain? She twisted the knife one direction then the other before yanking it out. The crit remained standing for a moment before toppling over, which frightened Po more than the attack. The secret was exposed. Po looked up to see every crit in her range of vision now moving toward her.

CHAPTER SIX

Po shifted the knife to her left hand and drew the sword. “All bets down. It’s showtime.” With a warrior's roar, she charged forward. Her sword sliced a head clean. The knife pierced a thigh. She didn’t need them all dead, just incapacitated and out of her way. Like a beautiful yet deadly ballerina, Po danced, glided, pirouetted, and leaped in a glorious and fluid assault. She reached the bridge and paused to catch her breath. Behind her was a trail of bodies, some unmoving, but many writhing, still trying to get to her. Ahead a wall had formed three deep in places. It stretched from one side of the bridge to the other in a coordinated effort to prevent her escape. It was a frightening sight. If the crits had this level of sophistication in their thoughts, mankind might be in more trouble than ever. She started forward, scanning for the weak link. If none existed, she’d have to make one. Whittle. Whittle. Make them break formation and give her room to slip by. Once past, it was open ground to the mainland. They closed, a horrifying assortment of smelly and grotesque dead things. In a probe, she darted left. They did not alter position. She moved right. They maintained their discipline. “Oh, man!” Her eyes kept surveying. “Don’t get your hopes up, ladies and gentlemen. I haven’t lost the fight yet.” There. To the left, the end two crits angled toward her, leaving a small gap to the second row. A small smile creased her young face. “Oh yeah. It’s Polina versus the dead, part two.” With ten yards separating the combatants, Po took two running steps to the right. As she’d hoped, the two on the end shifted forward even more. Their angle now interrupted the path of the next crit, forcing it to turn in as well. She darted left, straight at the end two crits. As they extended their arms to reach for her, she ducked, swiped the leg out from under the right side crit with the sword, then exploded up inside the reach of the left side crit, burrowing the knife up through

the jaw and into the brain. As the two fell and she turned to take out the last two in the second row before freedom, her victorious smile faded. The entire right side of the line had shifted to the left while she took down the two. Instead of facing two more, she now had eight to deal with. Not only that, but the rest of the front row moved past her and was swinging around in a pincer move. She was trapped, outfoxed and outmaneuvered by a bunch of mindless zombies. She took a desperate swipe with the sword but though it struck, it was not going to be enough to keep them off her. As they pressed in closer, she backed to the sidewall of the bridge. She stabbed and danced, but nothing was going to prevent them from taking her down. The half-circle closed to within five feet. Whatever room she had to work was dissolving fast. She glanced around and spotted her one avenue of escape. With no other option, she climbed the wall, looked at the dark and deep water, and leaped. The drop was maybe forty feet. She held the two blades, brought her arms in tight to her body, and pointed her toes. The water was icy cold and shocked her like a stab wound. She wasn’t sure how far down she plummeted, but extended arms and feet to slow the descent. Still trying to keep her grip on the knife and sword, she propelled upward with her arms and legs. Without the benefit of her hands to form a web to push through the water, the rise was slow. With air running low, a thrumming in her head spread throughout her body. She could feel the blood pulsing. She had to drop the blades or drown. Pressure built in her chest. Her vision narrowed and thoughts became muddied. She reached across her body and slid the knife into the sheath. With one hand free, she increased her speed. With saltwater seeping between her clenched lips she broke the surface with a loud gasp. She coughed. Once her breath steadied, she glared at the bridge. Many crit faces peered down at her. As she struggled to stay afloat against the current, she saw one tall crit with the tatters of what appeared to be a policeman’s uniform hanging on his gaunt frame turn his head to the right. Immediately several crits broke away from the group and moved toward land. The policeman crit looked left and again a group went toward the island. Was this crit the leader? If so, he was not giving up. He sent a group to both shores, figuring if she survived she had to go to one

side or the other. God. Was food so sparse, or was there something more going on? With a final look at the crit leader and with great effort, she managed to sheath the sword, then paddled as fast as she could toward the landside shoreline. The water was quickly robbing her of warmth and strength. She kept pushing. If she didn’t get to shore soon, she’d drown. But if the crits got to shore before she did, wasn’t drowning preferable? Her foot kicked bottom. She was close. Two more strokes and she could stand with her head above water. The current shoved her sideways, but she walked as fast as she could in the water. Above and to the right, the crits had just reached land. She hurried, knowing once out of the water she’d be in no condition to do battle. She leaned forward and used her hands to help pull the water and crawl along the rocky bottom and coast. She climbed in slow motion. The crits were descending. One toppled on the uneven rocks and rolled to the water. Its grip slipped from the wet rocks and the current carried it downstream. Polina angled up and away. Now in the air, her body chilled. Unable to prevent the shivers from cascading over her, she worked hard to keep her thoughts focused on survival. She reached the top of the angled coastline with a ten-yard lead. Her body felt frozen, which prevented her from moving much faster than the crits. Well, she could do something about both. She turned to face the six crits now struggling to climb after her. With a determined sneer, she slid the sword free, then reached for her knife. The hand came up empty. She stared at it, confused, then looked at the sheath. The knife wasn’t there. She must have missed the sheath and it now lay at the bottom of the channel. The knife her father had given her, the last connection she had with her family, was gone. With an anguished howl like for the loss of a loved one, the warrior Po reached for the hatchet and faced the enemy with more hatred than she’d ever felt before. As the first head raised above the land edge, she sent it rolling down the coastal rocks with one wicked sword swipe. The next took the hatchet through the top of the head. It would not release, so she let it go. Over the next two minutes, Po

dispatched each crit that dared rise high enough to be reached. When the last crit lost its head, she stepped down and yanked the hatchet loose. With a hundred crits watching from the bridge and another group moving toward land, Po raised both arms in a defiant and victorious war cry. “And that’s how it’s done, bitches. Pay up. You lose.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Though the battle had warmed her somewhat, the heavy chill of the channel water seeped deep into her bones. She ran, hoping to shake the cold, but her body refused to give it up. She didn’t have a change of clothes, having forgotten to retrieve her backpack. She forced herself to keep moving even when she could no longer run. Po reached a road and followed it east. It was the only clue she had to find her parents. Her parents. The thought saddened her. She had trouble bringing up images of them. That made her sob. She wanted to sit. To cry. To give up. The loss of the knife hurt her far more than any crit could ever do. Tears flowed as she walked. She lost track of time, distance, and her surroundings. She was nothing more than a zombie herself. Ahead she spotted a log cabin. She needed a place to stay the night and get warm. No houses had electricity or gas, but she spotted a grill on the back deck with an attached propane tank. The sight invigorated her enough to pick up her pace. On the deck, she checked the grill. She had no idea how to tell if the tank had gas. She wanted to drag it inside where she could test it out of the chilled air. Night was coming. She estimated she had less than an hour. With the heavy tree cover, any warmth the sun might offer was slim. She tried the back door and found it open. She took out the hatchet and entered. No crits waiting within, and to her surprise, the cabin had not been ransacked like so many she had come across on her journey. With the cabin clear, she dragged the grill in and closed the door. She knew lighting a grill inside was not smart, but she needed warmth and would worry about smart later. She turned on the gas and hit the electronic ignitor. Nothing happened. She clicked again and again. Frustrated and on the verge of tears, she clicked it nonstop for a full minute before slumping to the floor. Was it out of gas? No. She could hear the gas rushing through the line. It had to be the ignitor. Not wanting to waste gas, she shut the valve off and went to find some source of fire. She pulled out drawers and rummaged through their contents, then started on the cupboards, ignoring the assortment of canned goods. She was much more

interested in heat than food. Once she exhausted her search of the kitchen, she went through the entire house and found nothing. Defeated, she collapsed onto the sofa. Her body was racked with violent shudders as it fought for warmth. Her eyes fell to the fireplace. Her mind struggled hard against the allencoming cold. Gas or wood? her mind asked. It looked like wood logs in the hearth. She forced her body to the floor. She crawled toward the stone fireplace. In a round holder attached to the side of the fireplace was a half dozen long-stemmed matches. Her excitement was tempered by the bone-numbing freeze and her mind fighting to shut down. She stretched to reach the holder. Her fingers wrapped around it but her body collapsed, ripping the holder from the wall. The matches went flying. Desperate fingers jabbed at the floor to find one. She could not take the pain of the cold much longer. She brushed a match, snatched it up, and lifted her body to the outer hearth. She yanked the screen aside, sending it falling to the floor. The logs looked ready, but shouldn’t there be kindling or something to start a fire? Exhausting her last reserves of energy, she stood and stumbled into the kitchen. On the counter was a notepad. Was that enough? She ed magazines. She moved toward the family room. She could not feel her legs, which made walking difficult. In a wooden rack next to the lounge chair was a stack of old magazines. She grabbed a handful and went back to the fireplace. She fell more than sat in front of it and crumpled the magazines, then stuck them under the logs. She closed her eyes, said a prayer, then struck the match against the stone. Her prayers answered as the match lit. She placed it under the notepad. The paper caught. The warmth and glow of the flame mesmerized Po for an instant until the flame licked at her fingers. She tossed the notepad on the magazines, then readjusted them so the flame would catch them before it went out. She held the pages in the small flame until they fired, then moved it to the right side of the logs then did the same with another magazine to the left. She made sure each magazine was aflame before placing them. The fire sputtered. The logs were too thick to catch under such a small fire. Panicked, she began looking for items around the house to burn. On the right side of the fireplace in a wooden basket were long slivers of wood. With a burst of energy and swelling hope, she grabbed as much kindling as possible in both

hands and tossed it under the logs. For a moment it appeared she had doused the fire. Then a thin stream of smoke rose in one corner. A glowing spark turned to a small flame in the middle of the logs. She waited with hands folded in prayer until the fire grew and expanded. The flames now curled around the log. She stretched her hands toward the fire, absorbing the warmth. Her face heated. A strand of hair glowed. Po backed away and smothered the hair in her palm. With the cold ebbing, she stood and went into one of the bedrooms. She found clothes in the closet. Whoever lived there was bigger than she was, but it didn’t matter. She peeled off her wet clothes, grabbed the new ones, and went back to the fire to let her body toast for a while. When she no longer felt cold and was on the verge of sleep, she dressed, pulled the homemade blanket from the sofa, set the screen back in front of the fire, and lay down on the floor. Her next conscious thought was that the sun was up. Awake and warm, she set about taking care of the next concern: her hunger. She found a box of healthy cereal, packets of assorted wheat noodles, two large plant-based cookies, and about twenty cans of assorted food. She grabbed two cans of beef and barley soup and pulled the ring to pop the lids. She dumped them into a pot and went to the fireplace. The logs were still glowing and emitted heat. She stuck the pot between two logs and grabbed the box of cereal. She hated the bland, dry taste but needed the nourishment. The refrigerator held two bottles of warm water and six bottles of beer. She took the water, drank one almost gone, and set the other down for later consumption. If need be, she’d drink the beer. She’d tasted beer before and did not like it, but liquids were hard to find. She rationalized that beer was nothing more than flavored water. Ten minutes later with the cereal half gone, she reached for the pot. She jerked her hand back fast, finding the handle too hot to touch. With a kitchen mitt, she took the pot off the hot embers and sat at the small round kitchen table. She ate out of the pot. The food was scorching hot but she could not wait for it to cool. Sated, she went through the house again in search of anything of use. She found an old-style canvas backpack with a single strap. Inside, she stuffed an extra shirt, underwear, and socks. Before it got too full, she went to the kitchen and

emptied the cupboards of their contents. The bag was beyond full. It closed with ties. She made a quick knot and set the bag down. In the bathroom, she found toothpaste and a new toothbrush still in the pack. She couldn’t the last time she had brushed her teeth. She flicked her tongue around her glistening teeth. She used a bottle of beer to rinse her mouth out rather than wasting the water. She gulped down the last few ounces, making a face after the bitter taste. Before she left, she took a last look around the cabin. She picked up the matches and slid them into the pack. She found a small flashlight and tucked it into the pocket of the denim jacket she found. It hung to mid-thigh, way too big, but was better than nothing. She slid a chef’s knife from the woodblock on the kitchen counter. She eyed it. It wasn’t the same and could never replace her knife, but again, it was better than nothing. She slid it into the sheath. It was loose but would stay put. Satisfied with her haul, she stepped out on the deck, closed the door, and caught movement on the road through the trees. She squatted and squinted. Blue pants, a tattered blue shirt. Her eyes widened and terror shook her to the core. It was the policeman crit. He had tracked her. She now saw other bodies moving behind the him. She had to go. To run as far and fast as she could. They’d stop chasing her eventually, wouldn’t they?

CHAPTER EIGHT

Po ran as hard as she could through the woods, past other houses, until she emerged onto another street. She sprinted across the road and around a large mansion. At the back of the house, she stopped and stared. Water stretched on as far as she could see. Was this the ocean? Now what did she do? She scanned the shoreline for a boat. Nothing. Another mammoth house was to each side. Past the house on the left looked like the end of land. Only water was beyond. That meant either hiding in one of the houses or going right. She chose right and ran along the Atlantic coast behind the houses. She’d gone over five huge properties before slowing. By now she had to have a big lead. No way could they follow her or know where she was. A thickly wooded area blocked her path. It might take work to get through. She opted to move back to the road and take the easier route. In more of a strolling pace, she moved down the road. If Paul had said the last buses went east, she was as far east as she could go. Had they settled here someplace? There was certainly enough space, plus they had the ocean to fish in. They had to be somewhere around here. With her hopes high, she picked up her pace and examined each massive house for signs of life before moving on. She reached the end of the row of mansions keeping her spirits high, believing her parents were close. Then she caught movement on the road ahead. She was so excited she ran toward them, ready to call out when she noticed the shuffling gait of the mob. She stopped, aghast. It wasn’t the same group. The policeman wasn’t with them. The twenty or so crits seemed to zero in on her. She backed away, then turned and jogged down the road. She ed the first two mansions, her mind whirling over options. As she approached the third, the policeman emerged from the woods. He stood there in open challenge, as if daring her to take him on. She swayed under the pressure of his gaze and what his presence meant. Behind him, a slower-moving horde of crits exited the trees one by one and positioned behind their leader. Clearly, he was something more than a mindless zombie. Was he the next generation? How would they defeat him? More importantly and more immediate was how would she defeat him? She scanned the surrounding houses. If she could get into one of them, she might

stand a chance. However, if she needed to break in, then the crits would have an entry point too. Regardless, she needed either a place to hide or to defend where she faced as few crits at once as possible. The back stairs of one of the mansions came to mind. A flight of marble stairs led up to a balcony overlooking the ocean. She’d be able to funnel them two, maybe three at a time. With each she dropped, it would make ascending more difficult for the rest. It gave her options. If she felt overwhelmed she could run along the balcony and jump down or break into the house, exiting through the front. Yes, that was a plan. As the policeman led his troops forward, Po ran around the mansion. At the back, she discovered the house she had in mind was one down. She sprinted all out, the heavy backpack bouncing against her body. If she didn’t reach the stairs before they cut her off she’d be surrounded with only the ocean as an out, and she’d already taken that route once. She was not anxious to do so again. She reached the large space between the houses. Crits were already coming around the house. She had a good hundred yards to go to reach the stairs. It was easy to burst past the first group but as she neared her goal, she spotted others coming around the far side of the house. She tried to estimate her chances of reaching the stairs first. They didn’t look good. She angled toward the water and more open ground. The crits reacted. She did not see the policeman. He had to be close directing traffic. When she was even with the stairs and had lured them away from the house, Po altered course and speed, sprinting hard toward the white marble. She was sure she could reach the stairs, but now she feared she might be too exhausted to defend. Something moved under the balcony. It was the policeman, and he was moving much quicker than the other crits. He carried something long and shiny. She almost stopped when she recognized what it was. He had her knife. Her father’s knife. But how? Had he gone into the water to retrieve it? With steel in her heart, she vowed he wouldn’t have it for long. She drew the sword, still at a full run. He moved to cut her off and swung the knife in an awkward attack. She easily ducked it and slashed across his arm. It cut but she was too far away to severe a limb. She leaped for the first stair and ran halfway up. The pack slid from her shoulder. She whirled it around like a

lasso, then flung it up on the balcony ten stairs above. The hatchet filled her left hand as the sword tapped at the marble steps. With all her fury, the warrior Po sent her war cry as a challenge to all. “Polina versus the dead, round three! Even money, but only a fool bets against me!” The horde arrived from two directions and mingled together in a band she estimated to be near thirty. She was surprised when the policeman stood aside and let others come up first. Maybe she had hurt him more than she’d realized, or perhaps he wasn’t as brave as she thought. He was probably waiting for others to take her down before he made his move. “Coward,” she spat. To her surprise, he cocked his head as if he understood the word and the challenge. Still, he made no move for her. Good, she thought. She’d kill him last and take her knife back. The first two arrived. She stepped down one stair, lopped off one head, and buried the hatchet in the other. With a twist, she pulled the hatchet free and waited for the next two. The bodies were stepped on rather than stepped over. If she made the stairs red with zombie blood, maybe they’d become too slick to climb. Two at a time she dispatched three rows. Their path indeed got more difficult to ascend, but so did hers. As her feet slipped as she swung her weapon, she was forced to move up to find more solid footing. She dropped a dozen before she was at the top and her advantage dwindled. If she gave more ground, a lot more of them would have access to her. With a backhand swipe, another head rolled down the stairs. However, as she stepped in to deliver a chop with the much smaller hatchet, she slipped and went down on her butt. Hands reached for her legs. She kicked free and scampered backward through the blood and gore. A hand snagged her leg and pulled her toward the ever-expanding group at the top of the balcony. She swung the hatchet, severing the hand that held her. She scrambled to her feet and without thought, scurried along the balcony. She meant to go through the

house. Now it was too late and she was trapped. She kicked the backpack as she backpedaled toward the railing at the end of the balcony. With a start, she realized her left hand was open. She’d lost the hatchet. She bent and snatched the strap of the pack. With the weight of the cans inside, she might be able to use it to knock a few down. They came for her, five abreast, pressing her as far back as she could go. With the railing at her back, she readied for what might be her final battle. She tilted her head back and released a roar at the sky that sounded more scream than battle cry. With tears flowing, she thought about her parents as she took the first swipe of her sword. It was not a clean blow. The crit staggered, head lolling, but continued to advance. Her arm was too weary to hold it up, let alone make surgical strikes. She focused through bleary eyes. This time a head rolled, but it was too little too late. She was going to die here on this balcony and no one would her or know where she was. She climbed to the railing, ready to jump. It was higher than she thought. She might break a leg, but what other choice did she have? Beneath her, the policeman moved, ready to pounce when she jumped. Was it her imagination, or was the foul creature smiling? She took a final slash and turned to jump when a shot echoed across the open grounds. The crit nearest her pitched to the side and went down. Another shot and another crit dropped. Shots popped in a steady stream, mowing down the crits before they got within arm’s reach of her. She searched for the source and found a group of people. Real live people. Men, and women, spread out over the grounds. A large speed boat was at the dock. One of the men motioned to her with his arm. “Come on!” he yelled. “We’ll cover you.” She still only had one path, and though distracted by the shooting, the policeman still waited for her. She aimed the pack and dropped it on top of the policeman crit, then climbed over the railing. She scooted as far down as she could, then extended her legs so she was hanging. It made the drop a little shorter. As hand reached through the banister to catch her, she let go. She hit the ground and fell backward. Though not as hard as it might have been, her head struck the ground, stunning her for an instant.

Voices screamed for her. She cleared her mind and got to her feet. Still bent over and trying to clear the cobwebs, she noticed feet approaching. She tracked the black shoes up blue pant legs to the tattered shirt and the smirking face of the policeman crit. He lunged at her. That cleared her mind fast. Po jumped back, barely missing being impaled. She went to swing her sword only to discover she no longer held it. She ran back. The police crit stalked her. She spotted the sword next to a massive overgrown white marble flowerpot. She ran and dove to snatch it up. She crawled behind the pot as the policeman arrived. He shoved the knife through the spidery foliage growing in the pot. The blade came out the other side, inches from her face. She leaped to her feet as he withdrew the knife. With the sword overhead, she swung a ferocious downward slice into the growth, estimating where she thought the arm might be. The blade bit deep, stuck for a second, then cleared. It smacked into the top of the marble pot and sent a reverberation up her arms. A second later, an arm tumbled from the pot and landed on the ground. It was still holding her knife. She took a step around the pot and came face to half face with the policeman. His expression was one of shock as he looked from his missing limb to her. “Not smiling now, are you?” She ripped the sword through his throat and out through his spine. The head flipped into the pot and the body fell. “Shouldn’t have taken my knife.”

CHAPTER NINE

As she bent to pry the knife from the hand, Po was aware much of the shooting had ceased. She tossed the chef’s knife and slid her combat knife into its proper place. A man ran up carrying a rifle. “You all right?” Po nodded. “I am now.” “Come on. We need to go before more arrive.” He grabbed her arm and began leading her away. She pulled away and picked up the backpack. It was her food. She wasn’t leaving it for the crits. He ran and she followed. Others were already retreating to the boat. The engine was running and a man she assumed was the captain stood at the wheel urging everyone to hurry. Behind her, there was an increase in shots. Someone shouted, “There’s more coming!” The man who came for her yelled, “Everyone! Back to the boats. Now.” They ran along the dock, their feet causing it to bounce and vibrate, then jumped aboard. Po was ushered on and moved toward the back. The small force of ten people piled in and the lines were released. The large craft reversed away from the dock. Polina looked at the shore and spotted another twenty crits coming around the house. Where did they all come from? “You sure you’re all right?” the man said. “Yes. I think so.” A dark-haired woman squatted in front of her. “Here. Let me check just to make sure.” As the woman scanned her body, no doubt looking for bites, the man said, “We came along at the right time. Looks like you had your hands full.” She nodded nonchalantly. “I had it, but thanks for the help.”

The man smiled. “I’ll bet you did. Well anyway, welcome aboard.” “Where we headed?” “To an island a distance offshore. It’s safe and we have a community there.” “Ah, can you drop me off someplace? I’m looking for my parents.” “We can, but the area is not safe right now. We’ve noticed increased groups of crits, and something strange seems to be going on with them.” “You mean like communicating and planning?” “Yeah, exactly. Have you noticed it too?” “That guy in the policeman’s uniform I fought at the end tracked me from the island fortress. He was calling the shots.” “I’ll tell you what,” the woman said. “Come to the island with us for a while and if you want to come back, we’ll bring you when it might be safer. The last two times we’ve come ashore, we were attacked. It’s like they were waiting for us. My name’s Teke. This is Evan, but everyone calls him Stu.” Stu said, “Did you say island fortress?” “Yeah, back that way. It’s where I was going with my parents, but we got separated.” “That’s where we came from,” Stu said. “We abandoned that place months ago.” “Maybe you know my parents.” “Possibly. What’s your name?” “Polina.” “Wait! What?” A voice shouted from behind the others who were listening to the conversation. A man stepped through who she recognized as the captain. “Did you say Polina? Po, is that you?” He rushed forward and scooped her up in his arms, swung her off the deck, and

squeezed her tight. He cried loudly. “Oh, my sweet little girl!” “Dad? Daddy? Is that really you?” Tears erupted from their eyes. Everyone else stood back to give the reunion room. “We thought we lost you. Your mother will be so happy to see you. She hasn’t been the same since we got separated.” He set her down. “Let me look at you. You look so much older. How did you ever manage to survive out there by yourself?” “It was me versus the dead. They didn’t stand a chance.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR Ray Wenck taught elementary school for 36 years and was also the chef/owner of DeSimone's Italian Restaurant for more than 25 years. After retiring, he became a lead cook for Hollywood Casinos and then the kitchen manager for the Toledo Mud Hens AAA baseball team. Now he spends most of his time writing, doing book tours, and meeting old and new fans and friends around the country. Ray is the author of thirty-nine novels, including the Amazon Top 20 postapocalyptic, Random Survival series, the paranormal thriller, Reclamation, the mystery/suspense Danny Roth series, the hard-hitting Bridgett Conroy suspense series, and the ever popular choose your own adventure, Pick-A-Path: Apocalypse. A list of his other novels can be viewed at raywenck.com. His hobbies include reading, hiking, cooking, baseball, and playing the harmonica with any band brave enough to allow him to sit in. You can find his books on your favorite online sites. You can reach Ray or sign up for his newsletter at raywenck.com or authorraywenck on Facebook.