Page 12 of Creepy (The Zombiepidemic #1)

T he next day I did my chores on autopilot. Driving through Creepy, all I could think about was Arlo and his good manners. It was the end of the goddamn world. Nobody had time for that.

That was until I saw a familiar face streak by.

Was that Rowan Anderson? What the hell was an old boyfriend of mine doing going down Main Street?

I’d only been going ten miles per hour because of a speed bump, but he’d been going much faster.

I slowed for the next bump before pushing the gas to speed up. Sputtering, the Beast gave out on me.

“Oh, come on,” I screeched at the ornery truck.

The engine wouldn’t turn over. I stepped out.

Cupping my hand over my eyes, I searched down the street.

What the hell was Rowan doing in town? Before I could think, I saw another man coming at me fast. Biking toward me and after Rowan, I suspected, was none other than Troy.

He stopped right in front of me, nearly hitting me. “Did you see a guy on a bike come through here?”

“Yeah. Just now.” My voice sounded excited, confused.

“That motherfucker.” Troy rode on after him, leaving me standing on the street.

I walked in the same direction, thinking maybe I should throw a bike or a skateboard in the back of the truck for times like these when the Beast gave up.

When I realized I forgot my backpack, I came to a halt.

I didn’t go anywhere without it. With no hope of catching up with the bikes and no sign of Troy ahead anymore, I turned and walked back to the truck.

I climbed in to retrieve my pack just as Troy was riding back my way, shouting something.

“Huh,” I said as he shouted again. I vaulted out of the big truck to greet him, wanting to know what the hell was going on.

Sensing a presence behind me, I whipped around and was greeted by a zombie instead.

The undead thing was practically on top of me.

No time to unsnap my gun, I rushed and kicked, just like Arlo had taught me.

I made contact and then some. My foot went through the rotting corpse and hung inside, my tenny shoe all but disappeared.

In character, the thing didn’t react. It continued its sluggish, relentless pursuit.

My balance wavered as I watched in horror, the mindless corpse impaling itself on my leg.

Making eye contact with the thing, I thought I recognized the man it used to be.

Jimmy Porter was a nice enough man while alive.

None of that mattered now. My other foot gave out, and I crumbled to the ground, bringing the meat bag on top of me.

The monster’s teeth latched onto my neck.

They always went for the neck, trying to get to the brain.

I fought with all my might, dislocating its shoulder but not prying it off me.

A zombie attack in the day was usually more annoying than anything with the way they were slower, practically melting in the heat.

But now the damned eyesore had the upper hand.

One initial bite wouldn’t end me, but the abomination could sever an artery in the next moment, so I had to act fast. I’d have to escape its slimy grip.

A shot sounded, piercing my ears. Zombie bits rained onto me as it slumped, and I knew I’d been saved.

Troy, on his knees, shoved the zombie off me. Looming over me, his mouth moved, but no words came out. He scooped me into his lap, asking if I was okay. My hearing slowly returned.

“You could’ve shot me,” I complained.

“No way, baby. I’m wet.”

“Is it raining?” His words confused me. Although sweating, Troy appeared dry enough. I felt wet but knew I was covered in guts.

“I make it rain.”

I reached up to get a chunk of corpse out of my eye. “Like throwing money?” I shook my head.

“No.” He laughed. “I always make my shots.”

“Oh, got it,” I said, realizing it was some basketball saying I wouldn’t understand.

“Are you going to pass out?”

My head spun, and I felt queasy. I thought maybe I would, but then fought it. “No. I’m usually the one getting wet.”

“Um... I don’t know...”

I hadn’t said the phrase right. “I’m usually the one shooting zombies. I’m used to it. The gore and the shock. It will pass.” I put my hand over the bite, knowing it needed to be disinfected. “I’ll be okay.”

Troy loosened his grip a bit, and I tried to move. Nothing hurt too bad until I moved my leg, my foot. He helped me try to stand. I couldn’t put pressure on my right knee or ankle.

“Geezus,” I cried out, trying to walk.

“Take it easy.” Troy caught me and steadied me. “I can help you into the truck. I’ll drive you home and clean you up.”

“It won’t do any good, the truck died.”

“Well, hell. I’ve got to get you off the ground.” Troy helped me into the truck, anyway. “You’ll have to stay here until I go get a vehicle.”

I studied the zombie on the ground and shook my head, no. “Why were you biking?”

“I should ask you.”

I gave him a bewildered look.

“I followed you last week. I saw your friends, those motorcycle men, leave your diner to chase me down.”

“The Stayers are not my friends.”

“Stayers, huh? Is that what they call themselves? I gave them the shaft. Haven’t seen them again.

But this morning I was over at the Pump and Shop, looking for caffeine.

And this crazy motherfucker comes out of nowhere, warning me to stay away from you.

He slit my tires and escaped on bike. But the fucker didn’t realize, I had a bike too, found it earlier this week.

Still had it in the back of the Suburban.

I rode after his ass. I almost had him, but he let out some zombies on me. He one of your friends?”

“No... Well, he may be my ex. If that was Rowan, but I didn’t know he was in town, I swear.

.. He might be my stalker.” I thought about all the flowers and was sure it was Rowan who’d left them.

We’d dated before I dated Dillon, and he always brought me the most beautiful flowers from his mother’s flower shop.

“What’s the deal with these Stayers? You can’t tell me you don’t know them. I saw them at your diner and your house.”

Fuck. “You know where I live?” I asked but worried about him knowing about Dillon and me.

“I told you I was watching you. Not in a sinister way.”

“Then why were you?”

“I was worried about you after those men came around.”

I wanted to trust that.

“Listen. If I wanted to kill you, rape you, don’t you think I would’ve by now?”

“I don’t know you.”

“Here’s a fact about me. I don’t hurt women. I don’t rape women. Or men, come to think of it. I don’t rape. Period. To be honest, I think your cute, maybe even sexy, but I wouldn’t rape you. So, how about you be honest and tell me about those men?”

“I do know the Stayers and Dillon their leader, but they’re not my friends. They’re bad news. They are murderers and rapists.”

“Come on. I saw a motorcycle leave your place Sunday night at a real friendly hour.”

I didn’t like being interrogated, especially when I needed medical care. “Dillon is my ex too. He’s my ex-fiancé,” I added, so it wouldn’t sound so slutty. “He’s blackmailing me, so he pretty much comes and goes as he pleases.”

“Girl, you sound like trouble. Where are your friends?”

“I have none. Well, I have one now.”

“That’s mighty sweet of you.”

I laughed, and it hurt to do so. “Besides you. A guy showed up in town.”

“Dude in the Prime truck.”

Dude was right. “Yes. You know about him too?”

“I saw him going through town.”

I was feeling woozier. “I’m going to have to get this bite cleaned.”

Troy’s expression changed like he remembered I was hurt. “I know. I got you.” Troy gingerly shoveled me into his massive arms.

“Is there anything you don’t know?” I asked, my eyes feeling heavy as I let my head rest against his shoulder.

“No. I’m a know-it-all,” he started. He carried me all the way to the diner since he knew where it was, talking about himself, just to keep me awake.

I could tell by the way he peppered the one-way conversation with, “I don’t know if I should let you fall asleep or not,” and, “stay awake, Sissy.” At the diner, he sat me on the stainless-steel island.

He doctored me up there, cleaning the bite as best he could.

“Got water?”

Then I told him about the generator, the cooler, and the freezer. I wanted a can of Pepsi I’d stolen from his garage. He handed me some Motrin to take with it. On account of my ankle looking like a ham, he also got a bag of frozen peas.

The freezing pack snapped me out of my shock-induced torpor. “I’ve kept it going all this time. Not sure how I’m going to now.” I spoke of the freezer.

Troy seemed pleased I was more alert. “Just ask.”

“What?”

“Just ask me to, and I’ll do it.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to.”

Wrapping my ankle, he gazed up my leg, his dark eyes kind but strong. “You sound like someone who’s not let anyone take care of you.”

Thinking of all my past relationships, I said, “I guess that’s sort of true. Certainly not since the pandemic hit.”

Luckily, I’d kept a first aid kit and was lucid enough to point it out. Although there was no gauze, Troy MacGyvered a tampon into some.

“Nice trick,” I complimented his resourcefulness.

Troy stood, wiping my arms with a wet cloth. It was doing no good. “First of all, you’re going to need someone to help clean you up.”

I nodded my head. I was pretty much covered in guts.

Troy went on, moving my matted hair out of my face. “Help you out while this ankle’s healing. You can’t survive out there with an injured foot.”

“You’d be talking about staying with me all day and night kind of help.”

With Troy leaning in, willing, I let myself fall against him and rest for a moment. It felt good to be comforted; him stroking my hair and back, not caring I was nasty. “Yeah, bathe you, feed you, sleep in your bed kind of stuff...”

I began to argue.

“No, baby. I won’t try anything. I promise. That’s unless you want me to.”