Alice in Zombieland

She sucked in a breath, stiffened. I’d probably just shocked the crap out of her. I was the calm one in the family. I hardly ever lashed out, rarely went mental. For the most part, I accepted and I rolled.

“Alice,” she said, and I gritted my teeth.

Here it comes. The refusal. Tears of crushing devastation burned my eyes, splashed onto my cheeks. I scrubbed them away with the back of my hand. “Forget about my lack of forgiveness. I will hate you for this.”

She glanced back at me, sighed. Her shoulders sagged in defeat. “All right. I’ll talk to him.”

All through her performance, Em glowed. She also dominated that stage, kicking butt and not bothering with names. Honestly, she put the other girls to shame. And that wasn’t sibling pride talking. That was just plain fact.

She twirled and smiled and utterly dazzled, and everyone who watched her was as enraptured as I was. Surely. By the time the curtain closed two hours later, I was so happy for her I could have burst. And maybe I did burst the eardrums of the people in front of me. I think I clapped louder than anyone, and I definitely whistled shrilly enough to cause brain bleeds.

Those people would just have to deal. This was the best. Birthday. Ever. For once, the Bells had attended an event like a normal family.

Of course, my dad almost ruined everything by continually glancing at his wristwatch and turning to eye the back door as if he expected someone to volley in an H-bomb. So, by the time the crowd jumped up for a standing O, and despite my mad rush of happiness, he’d made me so tense my bones were practically vibrating.

Even still, I wasn’t going to utter a single word of complaint. Miracle of miracles, he’d come. And all right, okay, so the miracle had been heralded by a bottle of his favorite whiskey, and he’d had to be stuffed in the passenger seat of the car like the cream filling in a Twinkie, but whatever. He had come!

“We need to leave,” he said, already edging his way to the back door. At six-four, he was a tall man, and he loomed over everyone around him. “Grab Em and let’s go.”

Despite his shortcomings, despite how tired his self-medication had become, I loved him, and I knew he couldn’t help his paranoia. He’d tried legitimate medication with no luck. He’d tried therapy and gotten worse. He saw monsters no one else could see, and he refused to believe they weren’t actually there—or trying to eat him and kill all those he loved.

In a way, I even understood him. One night, about a year ago, Em had been crying about the injustice of missing yet another slumber party. I, in turn, had raged at our mother, and she had been so shocked by my atypical outburst that she’d explained what she called “the beginning of your father’s battle with evil.”

As a kid, my dad had witnessed the brutal murder of his own father. A murder that had happened at night, in a cemetery, while his father had been visiting Grandmother Alice’s grave. The event had traumatized my dad. So, yes, I got it.

Did that make me feel any better right now? No. He was an adult. Shouldn’t he handle his problems with wisdom and maturity? I mean, how many times had I heard, “Act like an adult, Alice.” Or, “Only a child would do something like that, Alice.”

My take on that? Practice what you preach, people. But what did I know? I wasn’t an ever-knowing adult; I was just expected to act like one. And, yeah. A real nice family tree I had. Murder and mayhem on every gnarled branch. Hardly seemed fair.

“Come on,” he snapped now.

My mom rushed to his side, all comfort and soothing pats. “Calm down, darling. Everything’s going to be okay.”

“We can’t stay here. We have to get home where it’s safe.”

“I’ll grab Em,” I said. The first flickers of guilt hit me, stinging my chest. Maybe I’d asked too much of him. And of my mom, who would have to peel him from the roof of the car when we finally pulled into our monster-proof garage. “Don’t worry.”

My skirt tangled around my legs as I shoved my way through the crowd and raced past the stage curtain. Little girls were everywhere, each of them wearing more makeup, ribbons and glitter than the few strippers I’d seen on TV. When I’d been innocently flipping channels. And accidentally stopped on stations I wasn’t supposed to watch. Moms and dads were hugging their daughters, praising them, handing them flowers, all about the congratulations on a job-well-done thing. Me, I had to grab my sister’s hand and beat feet, dragging her behind me.

“Dad?” she asked, sounding unsurprised.

I threw her a glance over my shoulder. She had paled, those golden eyes too old and knowledgeable for her angel face. “Yeah.”

“What’s the damage?”

“Nothing too bad. You’ll still be able to venture into public without shame.”

“Then I consider this a win.”

Me, too.

People swarmed and buzzed in the lobby like bees, half of them lingering, half of them working their way to the doors. That’s where I found my dad. He’d stopped at the glass, his gaze panning the parking lot. Halogens were placed throughout, lighting the way to our Tahoe, which my mom had parked illegally in the closest handicapped space for an easy in, easy out. His skin had taken on a grayish cast, and his hair now stood on end, as if he’d scrambled his fingers through the strands one too many times.

Mom was still trying to soothe him. Thank goodness she’d managed to disarm him before we’d left the house. Usually he carried guns, knives and throwing stars whenever he dared to venture out.

The moment I reached him, he turned and gripped me by the forearms, shaking me. “You see anything in the shadows, anything at all, you pick up your sister and run. Do you hear me? Pick her up and run back inside. Lock the doors, hide and call for help.” His eyes were an electric blue, wild, his pupils pulsing over his irises.

The guilt, well, it stopped flickering and kicked into a hard-core blaze. “I will,” I promised, and patted both of his hands. “Don’t worry about us. You taught me how to protect myself. Remember? I’ll keep Em safe. No matter what.”

“Okay,” he said, but he looked far from satisfied. “Okay, then.”

I’d spoken the truth. I didn’t know how many hours I’d logged in the backyard with him, learning how to stop an attacker. Sure, those lessons had been all about protecting my vital organs from becoming some mindless being’s dinner, but self-defense was self-defense, right?

Somehow my mom convinced him to release me and brave the terrifying outdoors. All the while people shot us weird looks that I tried to ignore. We walked together, as a family, our feet flying one in front of the other. Mom and Dad were in front, with me and Em a few steps behind them, holding hands as the crickets sang and provided us with an eerie soundtrack.

I glanced around, trying to see the world as my dad must. I saw a long stretch of black tar—camouflage? I saw a sea of cars—places to hide? I saw the forest beyond, rising from the hills—a breeding ground for nightmares?

Above, I saw the moon, high and full and beautifully transparent. Clouds still puffed through the sky, orange now and kind of creepy. And was that … surely not … but I blinked, slowed my pace. Yep. It was. The cloud shaped like a rabbit had followed me. Fancy that.

“Look at the clouds,” I said. “Notice anything cool?”

A pause, then, “A … rabbit?”

“Exactly. I saw him this morning. He must think we’re pretty awesome.”

“Because we are, duh.”

My dad realized we’d lagged behind, sprinted the distance between us, grabbed on to my wrist and jerked me faster … faster still … while I maintained my grip on Emma and jerked her along. I’d rather dislocate her shoulder than leave her behind, even for a second. Dad loved us, but part of me feared he’d drive off without us if he thought it necessary.

He opened the car door and practically tossed me in like a football. Emma was next, and we shared a moment of silent communication after we settled.

Fun times, I mouthed.

Happy birthday to you, she mouthed back.

The instant my dad was in the passenger seat he threw the locks. He was shaking too hard to buckle his belt, and finally gave up. “Don’t drive by the cemetery,” he told Mom, “but get us home as fast as you can.”

We’d avoided the cemetery on the way here, too—despite the daylight—adding unnecessary time to an already lengthy drive.

“I will. No worries.” The Tahoe roared to life, and Mom yanked the shifter into Reverse.

“Dad,” I said, my voice as reasonable as I could make it. “If we take the long way, we’ll be snailing it along construction.” We lived just outside big, beautiful Birmingham and traffic could be a nasty monster on its own. “That’ll add at least half an hour to our trip. You don’t want us to stay in the dark, at a standstill, for that long, do you?” He’d work himself into such a panic we’d all be clawing at the doors to escape.

“Honey?” Mom asked. The car eased to the edge of the lot, where she had to go left or right. If she went left, we’d never make it home. Seriously. If I had to listen to my dad for more than thirty minutes, I’d jump out the window and as an act of mercy I’d take Emma with me. If Mom went right, we’d have a short ride, a short anxiety attack to deal with, but a quick recovery. “I’ll drive so fast you won’t even be able to see the cemetery.”

“No. Too risky.”

“Please, Daddy,” I said, not above manipulation. As I’d already proved. “For me. On my birthday. I won’t ask for anything else, I promise, even though you guys forgot the last one and I never got a present.”

“I … I …” His gaze shifted continually, scanning the nearby trees for movement.

“Please. Em needs to be tucked into bed, like, soon, or she’ll morph into Lily of the Valley of Thorns.” As we’d long ago dubbed her. My sis got tired, and she left carnage in her wake.

Lips pursed, Em slapped my arm. I shrugged, the universal sign for well, it’s true.

Dad pushed out a heavy breath. “Okay. Okay. Just … break the sound barrier, babe,” he said, kissing my mom’s hand.

“I will. You have my word.”

My parents shared a soft smile. I felt like a voyeur for noticing; used to be, they’d enjoyed these kinds of moments all the time, but the smiles had become less and less frequent over the years.

“All right, here we go.” Mom swung the vehicle right, and to my utter astonishment, she really did try to break the sound barrier, weaving in and out of lanes, honking at the slower cars, riding bumpers.

I was impressed. The few driving lessons she’d given me, she’d been a nervous wreck, which had turned me into a nervous wreck. We hadn’t gone far or cranked the speed above twenty-five, even outside our neighborhood.

She kept up a steady stream of chatter, and I watched the clock on my phone. The minutes ticked by, until we’d gone ten without a single incident. Only twenty more to go.

Dad kept his nose pressed to the window, his frantic breaths leaving puffs of mist on the glass. Maybe he was enjoying the mountains, valleys and lush green trees highlighted by the streetlamps, rather than searching for monsters.

Yeah. Right.

“So how’d I do?” Emma whispered in my direction.

I reached over and squeezed her hand. “You were amazing.”

Her dark brows knit together, and I knew what was coming next. Suspicion. “You swear?”

“Swear. You rocked the house hard-core. In comparison, the other girls sucked.”

She covered her mouth to stop herself from giggling.

I couldn’t help but add, “The boy who twirled you around? I think he was considering pushing you off the stage, just so people would finally look at him. Honestly, every eye was riveted on you.”

The giggle bubbled out this time, unstoppable. “So what you’re saying is, when I tripped over my own feet, everyone noticed.”

“Trip? What trip? You mean that wasn’t part of the routine?”

She gave me a high five. “Good answer.”

“Honey,” Mom said, apprehension straining her voice. “Find some music for us to listen to, okay?”

Uh-oh. She must want him distracted.

I leaned over and glanced out the front windshield. Sure enough. We were approaching the cemetery. At least there were no other cars around, so no one would witness my dad’s oncoming breakdown. And he would have one. I could feel the tension thickening the air.

“No music,” he said. “I need to concentrate, remain on alert. I have to—” He stiffened, gripped the armrests on his seat until his knuckles whitened.

A moment of silence passed, such thick, heavy silence.

His panting breaths emerged faster and faster—until he roared so piercingly I cringed. “They’re out there! They’re going to attack us!” He grabbed the wheel and yanked. “Don’t you see them? We’re headed right for them. Turn around! You have to turn around.”

The Tahoe swerved, hard, and Emma screamed. I grabbed her hand, gave her another squeeze, but I refused to let go. My heart was pounding against my ribs, a cold sweat beading over my skin. I’d promised to protect her tonight, and I would.

“It’s gonna be okay,” I told her.

Her tremors were so violent they even shook me.

“Honey, listen to me,” Mom soothed. “We’re safe in the car. No one can hurt us. We have to—”

“No! If we don’t turn around they’ll follow us home!” My dad was thoroughly freaked, and nothing Mom said had registered. “We have to turn around.” He made another play for the wheel, gave another, harder yank, and this time, we didn’t just swerve, we spun.

Round and round, round and round. My grip on Emma tightened.

“Alice,” she cried.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” I chanted. The world was whizzing, blurring … the car teetering … my dad shouting a curse … my mom gasping … the car tilting … tilting …

FREEZE FRAME.

I remember when Em and I used to play that game. We’d crank the volume of our iPod dock—loud, pounding rock—and boogie like we were having seizures. One of us would shout freeze frame and we’d instantly stop moving, totally frozen, trying not to laugh, until one of us yelled the magic word to shoot us back into motion. Dance.

I wish I could have shouted freeze frame in just that moment and rearranged the scenery, the players. But life isn’t a game, is it?

DANCE.

We went airborne, flipping over, crashing into the road upside down, then flipping over again. The sound of crunching metal, shattering glass and pained screams filled my ears. I was thrown back and forth in my seat, my brain becoming a cherry slushie in my head as different impacts jarred me and stole my breath.

When we finally landed, I was so dazed, so fogged, I felt like I was still in motion. The screams had stopped, at least. All I heard was a slight ringing in my ears.

“Mom? Dad?” A pause. No response. “Em?” Again, nothing.

I frowned, looked around. My eyesight was hazy, something warm and wet in my lashes, but I could see well enough.

And what I saw utterly destroyed me.

I screamed. My mom was slashed to ribbons, her body covered in blood. Emma was slumped over in her seat, her head at an odd angle, her cheek split open. No. No, no, no.

“Dad, help me. We have to get them out!”

Silence.

“Dad?” I searched—and realized he was no longer in the car. The front windshield was gone, and he was lying motionless on the pieces a few yards away. There were three men standing over his body, the car’s headlights illuminating them.

No, they weren’t men, I realized. They couldn’t be. They had sagging pockmarked skin and dirty, ripped clothing. Their hair hung in clumps on their spotted scalps, and their teeth … so sharp as they … as they … fell upon my dad and disappeared inside him, only to reappear a second later and … and … eat him.

Monsters.

I fought for my freedom, desperate to drag Em to safety— Em, who hadn’t moved and wasn’t crying—desperate to get to my dad, to help him. In the process, I banged my head against something hard and sharp. A horrible pain ravaged me, but still I fought, even as my strength waned … my eyesight dimmed …

Then it was night-night for Alice, and I knew nothing more.

At least, for a little while …

2

THE POOL OF BLOOD AND TEARS

They were dead. My family was dead. Gone. I knew it when I woke up in a hospital bed, and the nurse standing over me wouldn’t meet my gaze or tell me where they were.

When the doctor came to spill the news, I just shifted to my side and closed my eyes. This was a dream. This was a horrible dream, and I would wake up. Everything would be okay when I woke up.

I never woke up.

Turns out, the car wreck that killed my mom, my dad and my … my … I couldn’t think about her. I just couldn’t. So. Rephrase. The car wreck that killed my family had caused minimal damage to me. A concussion, a few cracked ribs, but that was it. And that just seemed so wrong, you know? I should have been slashed to ribbons, like my mother. I should have needed a total body cast. Something.

Instead, despite some minor aches and pains, I really was fine.

Fine. Yeah.

My grandparents from my mother’s side visited several times, crying for the family they’d lost. I’d seen them two weeks before, when my mom had taken me and my—My chin trembled, but I ground my teeth together to stop it. When she’d taken us to visit. We’d stayed only a few hours, though, just long enough to have lunch and a light, fun conversation.

Though Nana and Pops liked me and had always treated me well, I’d never been the favorite; I think I reminded them too much of my father, who had never been good enough for their only baby.

Still, they weren’t going to abandon me in my time of need, they said. I would move in with them, and they would see to everything.

So, I would now be living in a two-story just as unremarkable as my own had been, but one that was mostly unfamiliar to me. One my dad had not built—one that was not reinforced for my protection. But that was no big deal. I’d never even stayed the night with a friend, never slept in any bed but my own. But yeah, no big deal.

I should care, wanted to care, but I was tapped out … empty … nothing but a shell.

The doctors and nurses threw out a thousand I’m sorrys and you’ll be okays. Words like fine. Such meaningless words. They were sorry? So what. That did nothing to bring my family back. I would be okay? Please. I’d never be okay again.

What did they know about losing the only people they loved, anyway? What did they know about being alone? When their shifts ended, they would go home. They would hug their kids, share a meal and talk about their days. Me? I would never again enjoy something as simple as that.

I had no mother.

I had no father.

I had no sis … family.

Heck, I think I was even without my sanity. Those monsters …

Cops came by, and so did a social worker and a therapist. They all wanted to know what had happened. The cops, especially, were interested in knowing if a pack of wild dogs had attacked my parents.

Wild dogs. I’d seen no wild dogs, but that made a whole lot more sense than what I had seen.

I said nothing, though. We’d flipped and we’d crashed. The authorities knew that much, and that was all they needed to know. I would never mention the monsters; there was no reason to. The concussion was responsible for that little gem of a hallucination, surely.

I would never mention the fact that my mom had been in the car with me when I first opened my eyes after passing out. But the next time I’d opened them? Her body had been outside the car, the headlights spotlighting her just as they’d spotlighted my dad, her body jerking and writhing as the things dove inside her, disappearing for endless seconds before coming back up for air. Her skin had bubbled up, as if burned and turned black, before finally splitting open and welling with blood.

Though I’d tried with all my strength, I hadn’t been able to free myself and save her. My belt had been fused to my seat, locking me in place. And when the monsters had next focused on me, evil eyes piercing me, taking one step, two, toward the car, I’d panicked, desperate to protect my … other family member.

Before either of us could be taken—by the wild dogs, I told myself now—another car had come by, spotted us and sent the beasts running. Though running wasn’t the best word. Some had seemed to trip, some had seemed to glide. I don’t remember much after that. Just flashes. Bright lights shining in my eyes. Sounds, like metal grinding against metal, and men shouting at each other. Then a pair of strong hands lifting me, something sharp poking at my arm, something being fitted over my nose. After that, nothing.

“Hey. You’re Alice, right?”

I blinked out of the hated memory fog and turned my head toward the room’s only door. A pretty girl, probably my age, stepped inside. She had straight dark hair, large hazel eyes framed by spiky black lashes, and skin the perfect shade of sun-kissed. She rocked a long-sleeved pink T-shirt that read I’m With Genius with an arrow pointing up, and a micromini that barely wrapped around her waist. Actually, bathing-suit bottom might have been a better description.

Needless to say, my ugly paper-thin gown with uneven ties did not compare.

“I’m Ali,” I said. They were the first words I’d uttered in what seemed forever. My throat was raw, my voice hoarse. I just couldn’t let her call me Alice again. The last person who had was … never mind. I just couldn’t let her. “I’m Ali,” I repeated.

“Cool. I’m Kathryn, but everyone calls me Kat. And do not make any cat jokes or I’ll have to hurt you. With my claws.” She waved the long, blunt tips of her fingers at me. “Truth is, I stopped speaking meow a long time ago.”

Speaking meow? “I’m guessing calling you Pretty Kitty is out.” I don’t know where my burst of humor sprang from, but I wasn’t gonna fight it. All of my energy was needed fighting everything else. “But what about Mad Dog?”

Her lips twitched into the semblance of a grin. “Har, har. But now I’ll be disappointed if you don’t call me Mad Dog.” She shifted back on her heels, the movement graceful, fluid. “So, uh, yeah. About my visit. Let’s get the info exchange out of the way first. My mom works here, and she brought me with her today. She said you could really use a friend, or something equally tragic like that.”

“I’m fine,” I rushed out. There was that stupid word again. Fine.

“I know, right? That’s what I told her.” Kat sauntered over, pulled the only chair in the room next to my bed and plopped down. “Besides, people don’t open up to strangers. That’d just be weird. But she’s my mom, and you’re clearly in need of a shoulder to cry on, so what was I supposed to say? No? Even I’m not that cruel.”

Her pity wasn’t something I’d accept. “You can tell your mom I was rude and kicked you out.”

“Also,” she continued as if I hadn’t spoken, “life’s way too short to wallow in sorrow, I know. Anyway, as I’m sure you’ve already deduced, I’m stellar company. Oh, oh. And guess what? There’s an opening in my Fave Five—not those old lame phone commercials, but my actual inner circle—and I’m actively looking to fill the top spot. We’ll just consider this your interview.”

Somehow, her little speech caused that flicker of good humor to stir back to life. I couldn’t help but say, “Your top spot is a job, then?”

“Of course.” She fluffed her hair. “I don’t want to brag, but I’m very high maintenance.”