Waking Up Dead

Her adrenaline peaked to the point of implosion when she spotted Luke and the girl. They were in the corner of the room, Luke pulling the girl into his arms. Jackson swallowed down the lump in her throat and looked around. She’d expected to be confronted with something, other people, a pack, but there was nothing, not even the usual odds and ends such a garage would hold.

“We have to get out of here,” she stammered. “Right fucking now.”

“I told you to wait. Jesus Christ, Jack.”

“Right now, Luke.”

She ran over to them and grabbed the girl from Luke, right into her arms. Up close she could see that she wasn’t eight or nine like she’d first thought. The distance changed her perspective and Jackson knew now that she was six at most. Her small, mud-covered body quivered in Jackson’s embrace. Her eyes wide and terrified.

“It’s okay,” Jackson reassured, running back to the door. “We’re leaving.”

The child let out a small moan and wrapped her free arm around Jackson’s neck. The weight of her little body was negligible but it sent a deeply maternal thrum through Jackson. She’d always loved children, always imagined having a big family. Of course that would never happen now. So don’t think about it.

“You’re safe,” she said, swallowing the lump in her throat. “We’re gonna get you out of here.”

The little girl shifted so that her lips were now level with Jackson’s ear and her breath was oddly cold, shivering along her skin.

“They’re coming,” she whispered. “The monsters.”

And in that moment Jackson knew with a horrible certainty that Luke had been right. That the trap was not one designed by humans at all but by zombies.

Chapter Twenty-four

As soon as he heard the kid’s whispered words, Luke crouched down and looked under the door. What he saw was enough to make him feel sick. A quick count and he was about ready to check right on out. He lifted and turned to Jackson, their eyes met, and that was enough.

“How many?” she whispered.

Deja vu hit and Luke’s head pounded. It was always “how many,” or “how close,” or “where are they?” Would they ever get any peace? Couldn’t the damn things leave them alone for more than a week?

“Luke?” Jackson prompted, and he made a concerted effort to get himself under control.

“At least fifteen.”

He checked the garage door and was unsurprised to see that it had been jammed in place, jammed just enough for a person to fit through—like a fucking burrow. No way at all to loosen it, no way to shut it.

“Too many.”

Sweat was snaking its way down his back now and the grip on his weapon was moist.

“Three packs?”

“Yeah. At least.”

The girl buried her face in Jackson’s chest. Small sobs erupted from her. With Mandy in her hand, holding the girl, Luke was struck forcibly by the image. Despite the weaponry, and the impossibility of the situation, it had an almost Madonna feel to it. Jackson did not know the child, yet she was willing to risk it all to save her.

But I can’t save her. I can’t save either of them.

Panic shot through him and impotent dread held him in its clutch.

“Let’s be glad it’s not a horde,” Jackson whispered.

But in the end it made no difference. A horde, fifteen? Any more than one pack was too much in this situation, and Jackson knew it just as well as he did. And there was another difference now, one that couldn’t be ignored. Before it had only ever been about him, grabbing what he needed, killing the dead, and making his way back to the bunker. Now it was all about Jackson. Keeping her safe, and now, by default, the child, too. From here on in she would be their responsibility—for who else could possibly step up to the plate?

But how? Luke bent down again and eyed the dead through the gap in the door. They were fanned out in a loose arc—their usual hunting technique—their mottled gray legs lined up in all directions. As usual, some were naked, some clothed in months-old material. He could see wounds on the limbs of some. Those strange wounds, created perhaps because their skin was so thin and so easily broken. How many times had he had to flick the stuff off his own clothes? The wounds were, as always, dripping pus. It stuck to their bodies and the stench was disgusting even from where he stood. The smell of death and mold. Like heated garbage.

How he hated it. How he hated them.

“Ideas?” Jackson whispered.

Luke shook his head slowly and signaled them to move farther back into the garage. He needed a moment to think.

He heard Jackson shush the girl, her words soft and comforting, and his mind swiveled in about a million different directions. What to do? His heart pounded so heavily that combined with the heat, he felt light-headed. He was reminded irresistibly of the moment in the bunker when he’d set out to help whoever was attracting the zombies. The start of all this really. The start of him and Jackson.

He shot a look at the two females huddled against the wall, Jackson’s stance protective, her eyes darting from him to the child. Her pixie hair was fanning around her head in little spikes. He’d promised her a haircut soon. She did not like it getting long, fearing the dead would use it to grab a hold of her. Sweat was beading along her brow and down her chest and he swallowed down the lump that threatened. They’d eat her quickly, that was something to be thankful for. She was so thin it wouldn’t take long at all. And the child? She too would be eaten in no time. They wouldn’t suffer.

The child. It really was the perfect trap, he thought. Maybe that was why it had clicked so quickly with him. A child as bait, who the hell wouldn’t stop to save her? And the zombies knew it. They’d really become that clever. How the hell had they gotten a hold of her? And how long had they had her? How had they communicated with her? He couldn’t wrap his mind around it all and the horrific image of one of the dead holding the little girl’s hand filled him, making him swallow down the bitter bile.

He had to find a way to save them all. Fucking hell he had to. He couldn’t just give it up. Think, he told himself. Think it through. Their access to the car was completely blocked, though that was his fault more than anything on the part of the dead. But it was too far away to make a run for and there was no way they could run from that many waking dead on foot. No way out of the garage except through the locked door.

The door.

Luke nodded slowly and walked backward to Jackson, his gun trained on the gap in front. “What type of lock is it?” he whispered.

Jackson knew what he meant immediately. “Nothing fancy. We can easily break it.”

“In and through then? Out the back door and we can go back around to the car?”

“We can try.”

He ignored the note in her voice. The one that said she didn’t hold out much hope but would give it a go. “Don’t you worry, Jack. I got this.”

She laughed softly. “You’ve always got it, baby.”

Because so often he didn’t, her words meant so much.

“Put her down. You can’t fight and carry her.”

“No. It’s safer with her in my arms, and if it comes to a fight against that many, we’re pretty much fucked anyhow. I won’t risk them getting her.”

He nodded. “Okay then. I’m gonna break the lock and there’s no doubt they’re gonna hear. So we need to be quick. I’ll break and cover. You go through. Head for the back door, then circle around. I’ll be right behind you.”

“You make sure you are,” she said, reaching out to him. “I mean it, Luke. Don’t be a hero.”

He nodded and wrapped an arm around her, and the kid. Gave them one swift hug. It wasn’t enough. Not