Chapter Seven #2
“Jesus, Maisie!”
I start rattling off the list of basic survival items he needs.
“You need base layers for both top and bottom, and get the wool kind—no reason to skimp now. Get an insulated coat that packs up small, no parkas, and some good socks and boots, too.” When Everett doesn’t immediately move toward the men’s section, I nudge him forward with my elbow.
“Go—I’ve got your back with the cashiers. ”
A second, more pointed nudge seems to wake Everett up from his fear stupor.
I guess it’s one thing to stare at the sluggish, docile daytime zombies through your car window, and another to go shopping in plain sight of them, but then he’s off, hurrying through the menswear, grabbing items from my list as fast as he can. When he returns, his arms are full.
I point to the base layers, thick thermal shirt, and water-resistant, thick-lined sweatpants in his arms. “Go ahead and put these on.”
“I can’t here,” Everett whispers, his eyes trained on the zombie cashiers. “They’ll—see.”
“Oh my god, fine.” I stomp, machete leading the way, over to the dark dressing rooms and flick on the lights. “I’ll keep guard, but hurry—we’re losing daylight.”
Everett steps into the dressing cubicle and starts to disrobe.
He threads his brown leather belt back through the buckle, then glances up to find me still staring.
The image of him standing there, the swoop of his wavy brown hair falling over one brow while his large hands gather at his waist, is so jarring that I have to force myself to close my mouth.
Everett’s smile quirks up, and I feel myself heating to one thousand degrees. I whip back around and swing my machete a few times for practice.
“This is the weirdest shopping date I’ve ever been on,” Everett says lightly to my back as his belt buckle clatters against the floor.
I clear my throat. “Look for a weapon before we leave, too. Something you can train with later at the campsite.” I say the word pointedly, trying to summon all the annoyance that flooded my bloodstream at the mention of memorabilia. I can’t sexualize a man who packs memorabilia.
After last night’s frantic make-out, followed by his intense rejection, rescuing him from a horde of zombies, and teaming up to road-trip through apocalyptic America, I have no clue where Everett and I stand. But no matter what, I can’t afford to be distracted right now.
Everett screams. I twist around in time to see him stumble out of his dressing room, dressed only in tight black trunks that hug the round curves of his ass. A figure shambles after him, sightless beneath a giant red parka that’s been thrown over its head, hands outstretched.
See? Distracted!
Also, that parka’s way too thick. Did he listen to me at all?
Everett takes off out the dressing room’s exit, the zombie on his tail.
I leave from the dressing room’s entrance, looping back through the store to cut the zombie off.
This one’s moving faster than the daylight zombies, but slower than nighttime ones.
Even with its head covered, it follows Everett’s mad, half-naked zigzag through the store.
Hmm. Is its sense of smell enhanced somehow? Or hearing?
I pounce between two racks of sensible thermal shirts, ending the chase with a decisive, arcing blow to the zombie’s neck.
It sprawls face-first on the floor. One more chop, and its head is severed, lying wetly in the parka.
It stops twitching. I look up to see Everett on top of a bench in the shoe section, panting down at me.
The rapid rise and fall of his chest, the way the muscles in his abdomen tense and release with each breath…
Damn, I’m staring again.
“So. Um.” I avert my eyes from Everett to the floor and point the tip of my gory machete at the downed employee. “Where did this one come from?”
“The back of the dressing room. It came up behind me while I was in the cubicle.” His voice is reedy with fear, and I feel guilty for being more concerned about the way he fills out those tight trunks right now.
“Good thinking with the parka.” I scratch my head, unsure where to look.
The cashier zombies still stand lifeless at their registers, as though waiting to check us out.
I glance back at him, landing on his socks.
That’s safe, right? Until I notice how they stretch up to his shapely tan calves, fine brown hairs peeking out over top.
“That parka was way too thick, though. Needs to be small and packable, remember?”
“Right,” he says breathlessly.
“You gonna come down now? Maybe get dressed?” I ask gently as I wipe off my machete on a downy pink fleece.
It was ugly anyway.
“Y-yes,” Everett says.
This time, he dresses out in the open. After he gathers up his items again and picks out a weapon, we make for the front of the store, only to find two dark shapes standing before the automatic doors.
The doors slide open, then close, open, then close, perpetually triggered by the cashier zombies standing guard.
“When did they move there?” Everett steps in closer beside me, one hand holding a shopping bag, the other the baseball bat.
“I…don’t know. I didn’t see them move.” It’s unnerving.
Are they really as docile as they seem? Or is their dead blood waking up, demanding they eat again?
It’s only ten a.m., so that’d be upsetting.
I dimly wonder if some primal sense of duty to their employer spurred them into action to stop us flagrant shoplifters, but immediately dismiss the idea as I grab a trekking pole for my other hand.
It’s long, metal, and wickedly pointy at the end, and with what I plan on using it for, I’d rather not think of zombies as anything other than oblivious bags of malice that want to eat us right now.
With the tip of the trekking pole, I prod the cashier on the left. She sways, still motionless, but her eyes look brighter. I note it just in time before she bats at me half-heartedly, and in the trekking pole goes, right through her eye and out the other side with a horrible, squelching plunk.
“Huh,” I say, yanking the pole out and wiping the gore on the collapsed cashier’s apron.
“This works great.” When the second one lunges at me an instant later, I take him out in a similar fashion while Everett gags into the arm of his new coat.
I yank him, still sputtering, through the doors before any more dedicated employees come after us.
Once we’re buckled in, I pull back onto the highway and let her rip. Everett takes out his laptop and begins feverishly typing away.
“What are you doing?”
“Putting down everything I know about zombies.” He sounds focused, determined. With his sleek, expensive winter gear on, those deep hazel eyes trained on his work, he looks like a sexy ski professor. He gives me a grim smile that, for some reason, flutters like confetti in my belly.
“They won’t surprise us again.”
A zombie movie academic with a sensitive gag reflex and a prepper that’s terrified to leave home…what a team. I take a deep, bracing breath and drive past county lines for the first time in my life.