Page 81 of Wicked Hungry

“You know how to use all these things?” Enrique asks.

“Kind of,” Andres says. “You know I’ve been training at the martial arts center in cane fighting and Tae Kwan Do. But I haven’t had much chance to practice with the crossbow.”

I’m about to say something, maybe foolish, and then Enrique grabs my arm.

“If things happen,” Enrique says, “you’ll protect Mom and Dad, won’t you?”

“And my parents next door?” I say.

Andres looks from one of us to the other. “You all know something? I’ve just heard a lot of talk and rumors. About something big happening tonight after some big mysterious signal.”

Enrique lets go of my arm. “We talked to Bisabuela, Andres.”

“What?” Andres says. “You what? ¿Pero cómo?”

“With the Ouija board,” Enrique says. “She came to us.”

“What did she say, Enrique?” Andres asks, looking down at us, eager.

“That there’s danger. A gateway. By the mall. But then she spoke through me—it was Jonathan and Stanley who heard most of the message.”

Andres looks at me and Jonathan, and we quickly tell him about his great-grandmother’s warnings about the zombies. About a boy who isn’t what he seems.

“Tell him about the pills, Stanley,” Enrique says. “About what Karen told you.”

Does Andres know we’re taking them? I leave that part out.

But he must suspect something nevertheless. “You aren’t taking them, are you, Enrique?”

Enrique looks at me. “We all are, Andres.”

“What, are you crazy?” he says.

Enrique shakes his head. “We can’t stop until we solve all this.”

“What do you mean?” Andres asks.

“The pills won’t let us.”

“Oh my God, my brother is a junkie.”

“No, Andres,” Enrique says. “It’s not like that. It’s...”

“It’s what?”

“Magic.”

Andres sighs. “Wow,” he says. “I don’t want to, but I guess I have to believe it.”

“You’ll help us, then?” I ask.

“I’m not happy about the pills,” Andres says. “But we’ve got your back. Me and a few friends have most of the neighborhood covered. I shouldn’t be telling you this, but...”

“Dude,” Jonathan says. “We told you everything we know. Except about the zombies outside.”

“Zombies, outside?” he asks. “Where? How many?”

“Take a look yourself,” I say.