“Listen to us,” I pleaded. “Or hell, just look at her if you won’t take our word for it!”
To be clear, I didn’t much mind if the undead Girl Scout decided to take a chomp out of Ranger Dumbass. Someone that dense was bound to become zombie fodder at some point.
But I did indeed mind if his dumbassery allowed the zombified brat to traipse into the ranger station while we were all still restrained.
As he turned back toward the girl, edging away from the building and leaving the front door wide open, I figured he was a goner. But all I cared about was that he’d left the rest of us dangerously exposed—especially if the girl wasn’t alone. She did, after all, have nearly three hundred buddies and thirty chaperones who were likely as deadish as she was.
I stretched my back and tugged at my wrists, futilely attempting to break the zip tie—but, damn, that sucker was strong. No wonder cops often used them in lieu of handcuffs.
Meanwhile, Ranger Bob strolled unconcerned toward the young girl, clearly unalarmed by the torn, bloody green-and-white uniform she wore. As she continued walking—or, rather, stumbling—toward the ranger, I tried to guess her age. Maybe twelve, or a little older.
“OK, that’s it,” I shouted, bolting to my feet.
With my wrists still attached to the backrest, I wasn’t the only thing that rose from the hardwood floor. The chair had come with me, banging painfully into my upper back and the underside of my thighs.
“Oomph!”
Then, without thinking my plan through, I squatted and tried to slam the chair against the floor. I hoped the impact would break the flimsy wooden chair legs, but in my desperation, I hadn’t factored in an inability to maintain my balance. So, when the chair hit the ground, the only thing that buckled under the pressure was you-know-who. I tipped over and tumbled face-first toward the unyielding floorboards, smacking my knees and my left temple so hard that my vision momentarily blurred.
“Ooh, that looks like it hurt,” Jill said, a hint of pleasure in her voice.
A chair scraped on the other side of the desk, as if someone had edged closer.
“Oh, baby,” Clare soothed. “Are you OK?”
I groaned in response.
“Uh, Joe,” George said, “I appreciate your determination, but there might be a safer way to break our bonds.”
“Tell me about it,” I grumbled.
“Why don’t we—”
But before George could finish making her suggestion, I heard Ranger Bob ask the Girl Scout a question—which was cut short by a yelp and a thud. From my crumpled position on the floor, I no longer had a view of the front doorway, but apparently, the juvenile zombie had made her move.
Chapter
12
“You know, somehow, ‘I told you so’ just doesn’t quite say it.” – Detective Del Spooner, I, Robot (2004)
With my hands still secured behind me and the stupid chair still attached to my wrists, it would’ve required more strength and coordination than I presently had to stand on my own two feet again. But with sheer grit and determination, I managed to rock onto my knees and straighten my back enough to peer through the windowed door.
Even from my compromised vantage point, I could see that Ranger Bob had stumbled backward and landed hard on his ass—hence, the yelp and the thud. I also observed the zombified girl hastening toward her fallen quarry. Worse, I could now detect that someone—likely a former fellow scout—had ripped out half the kid’s stomach before she became one of the undead.
How Ranger Bob had missed that little detail, I’d never know.
But he’d certainly noticed the scout’s unsightly condition now. As the ranger scrambled to his feet, the skinny, five-foot-nothing adolescent propelled herself toward him, whereupon he unleashed a shriek more befitting of a young girl than a pudgy, fortysomething forest ranger.
“Shoot her,” George screamed from behind me.
“She’s a fucking zombie,” I added. “Shoot her in the head!”
Bob fumbled with his belt, but not in time to do much good. All the guns, knives, batons, and pepper spray in the world couldn’t save him as the undead girl pushed him to the ground and settled on top of his chest.
Though undoubtedly scared, the ranger had enough presence of mind to grip the zombie’s biceps and push upward before her nasty maw had a chance to reach him.
Hovering above him like that, with her arms effectively pinned to her sides, the zombie could neither bite nor scratch her prey, but she certainly hadn’t given up yet. She just kept jutting her head forward, snapping at the ranger with her teeth.
The awkward standoff might’ve lasted for quite some time—if Bob hadn’t jerked his head to the side and spotted something that must’ve terrified him even more. Summoning all his strength, he abruptly shifted from holding the zombified girl aloft to hurling her off his torso.
She crashed against a solid object beyond my line of sight—perhaps a tree or the golf cart—as Bob once again scrambled to his feet and darted toward the station.
Suddenly, I glimpsed what had frightened Ranger Dumbass: a steady stream of girls and boys, all dressed in their official-yet-tattered uniforms, rushing toward him—and, yes, toward the open door of the building. In a flash, our stubby, over-the-hill adversary had become an Olympic sprinter.
He scurried up the steps, launched himself across the threshold, and slammed the door shut. I opened my mouth to remind him about securing the lock when I felt a cold piece of metal slip between my wrists. I turned and caught sight of Jill standing behind me, sawing at my restraints with a small, rusted pocketknife.
Noting the open desk drawer beyond her—the one that Ol’ Bob had unwisely secured her to—I realized she must’ve slid it open during the ruckus and spotted a multitool that our captor had forgotten to confiscate. Not the sharpest implement for the job, but with a little elbow grease, it did the trick.
A few seconds later, I was free and able
