Chapter 1
We call them 'wanderers', the Dead that walk with us, searching unendingly to quench some unknown hunger. They stumble and trip over limp ankles and broken feet, outstretched fingers clinging to the air for support, heads thrown back, eyes rolling to the tops of their skulls, bodies thrashing. Their faces are familiar and rotted, mothers and fathers and sisters and brothers, sons and daughters, all riddled by decay.
I don't recognize any of the faces; they're all strangers to me.
I stare at them from behind the red-streaked windshield, watch them catch our scent and confusedly amble towards us, sore tongues and dry lips quivering.
"Here we go, you ugly motherfuckers," Hale chuckles brightly. His wild green eyes are alive and magnetic, hungry. His smile reaches from ear to ear. His hair catches the overcast sunlight and dimly burns like embers.
Hale lets the jeep purr and clutches the gearshift with one hand and steadies the wheel with the other.
"Your ass is mine, Hale," Gaz's voice taunts over the radio.
Hale snatches the walkie and laughs, "In your dreams."
"Boys, boys, boys, put your dicks away, you can measure them later," North says; I can hear the smile catch her lips.
Hale smirks and revs the engine.
It's a game we play once every few months, when we have a break from classes in the Compound. There are six of us, North and Lydie, Gaz and Mar, and Hale and me. The objective is simple: Kill as many wanderers in the allotted time limit.
Five minutes, that's all we get. No more, no less.
Gaz and North are on either side of us, revving their engines, taunting one another.
I'm a counter; I tally Hale's body count and keep track of time. Mar and Lydie do the same for Gaz and North.
The groaning from outside sets my nerves on edge and my stomach tightens. The mass of wanderers gets closer and Hale smirks confidently.
The stoplight lingers on red for a few more seconds, the tantalizing ticking of the clock sending Hale and the other driver's over the edge.
Green.
The cars blast off, roaring and blazing like canons. Soon there's a bloody show of guts and brains and ichor as wanderers splatter across the windshield, their blood dancing on the glass like a stage.
My thumb clicks the counter as the jeep tears through muscle and bone. Bodies break and explode, sick smelling showers of scarlet douse the street in puddles. Heads roll across the pavement and the wanderers continue to stupidly, lustfully, saunter towards us, guttural moans filling my ears like the buzzing drones of bees.
15, 16, 17, 18, 19.
The wanderers are torn to shreds and detonate like fireworks, disembodied limbs twitching.
Hale rejoices and throws the car into reverse, spinning in a circle, streaking the road with red donuts.
24, 25, 26, 27, 28.
I hear North and Gaz, but don't look for them.
Instead, I train my eyes on the road, on the wanderers, their numbers dwindling as the three of them blaze through them in tandem.
The timer in my other hand reads 3:45 and I give Hale a warning.
"We got this," he brims.
At 4:05, Hale has reached a body count of 53.
"Ten…," I start the countdown and Hale skids the car and makes a sharp turn, crashing into a small group of wanderers, sending them into the air, flailing bodies resembling the liftoff of birds.
"One."
The cars squeal and freeze in unison, the gurgled moans of the wanderers mingling with the harsh sputtering of the engines.
Exhaust fumes stretch in the air and disappear in a hazy, pale gray gossamer mist. Hale clutches the wheel and snaps his head at me.
"Well? How'd we do?"
"Sixty-seven," I say.
He smiles, comfortable.
The radio buzzes and Gaz's voice shouts, "Sixty-three, noobs! Beat that!"
Hale takes the walkie and waits for North to reply first.
"Fifty-six," she admits.
Hale nods his head triumphantly and says, "Sixty-seven."
Both of them groan, annoyed.
Gaz's car pulls up next to me. Through the horrific, bloody film of red on his window, I can only slightly make out his sharp features, his dark hair and almond-shaped eyes.
North parks on Hale's left and salutes. Her car is mostly untouched by blood, just the expected smears of brain matter and withered skin. North maneuvers through the wreckage almost like a dance.
"Congratulations, dirt-bag, still the leading champ," she compliments in her usual dry tone.
"Don't get too cocky, Hale, you only got me by four," Gaz reminds him, turning on his windshield wipers.
Mar rolls his eyes and says something to him.
"Now, now, Gaz, we all have our moments. Today just wasn't yours," Hale taunts, eyes gleaming.
"Rematch," Gaz challenges.
"I'm out," North sighs.
"What? No, you have to stay," Gaz says.
"It's nearly nightfall. The Compound gates are going to lock soon," she shakes her head and starts the engine.
"Don't be a bitch."
"I don't need a car to kick your ass," she snaps.
Hale puts the walkie to his lips, "She's right, Gaz. We can't risk it."
"Come on, just one more time," he pleads.
North stares at Hale through Lydie's window, her light eyes tempted by the promise of feeling that pounding adrenaline rush again.
"What do you think, North?" Hale asks.
She squints at Gaz and tightens her long, brown ponytail, eyebrow raised and ready for the challenge.
"Just one last time," she says.
Gaz hollers so loudly I can hear him through the glass.
They follow the road back to the intersection, delving deeper into downtown Houston to bait a new batch of wanderers.
The city is mostly ruins now, haunted souls weakly crawling on worn streets, ghostly images of wanderers lingering behind once glossy building windows. They become alert and hundreds of rotted eyes turn follow us.
"This isn't a good idea," I mutter.
"Come on, Wit, it's just five minutes and then we're done," Hale says.
"Five more minutes in Hell."
"Just keep count and it'll be over in no time. We're a team, remember? I can't do this without you."
I sigh.
I watch the crumbling city around me, teeming with undead souls. They gurgle and trip and moan, all desiccated and foul.
From the rearview mirror I can see Gaz and North trailing behind us, veering in and out of the road and hitting wanderers as they dare towards them.
That's when I see it: North swerves her car to avoid a falling streetlamp as it gives way years of rusting. The car jerks violently to the left and loses control, tires imprinting into the road as it begins to run into the sidewalk and collide into a glass building. The car fades inside in a shower of glass.
"Hale!" I cry.
He reacts quickly, making a sharp U-turn and blazing towards the wreck.
I can see North reaching into the passenger seat, yanking on Lydie's seatbelt. Lydie's out, a sliver of blood oozing from a thin cut on her forehead.
Hale's car squeals onto the sidewalk, getting close to North's car.
"North! Lydie!"
Wanderers start gathering; when I throw open my door, their moans rise around me and suddenly I'm drowning in the sound. Hale and I run towards the back of the jeep as Gaz brakes next to us.
"What the fuck happened?" he yells, pulling a rifle from the back seat of the car with him.
Mar clutches the AK-47 desperately, standing guard as Hale and I arm ourselves.
"Never mind what happened, just get in there!" Hale says, climbing to the top of the jeep and readying the machine gun.
I load an arrow into my crossbow and sling the rest behind my back and run through the wrecked opening.
The stink alone makes me want to vomit and I almost do.
"North, Lydie!"
Wanderers begin to swarm and I hear Hale let out a round of fire. Bodies collapse around us, flopping to the floor in worse conditions.
A deep moan lurches from my right and I release an arrow, launching it towards the stumbling wanderer; the arrow whistles through the air and breaks against the wall after tearing through its head.
Mar and Gaz reach the car take either side, forcing the doors open.
I turn back and watch Hale watching us, intent like a hawk. He releases another round of fire and keeps the wanderers at bay. I grasp my crossbow and make my way towards the SUV, loading another arrow.