Once all the doors and windows were boarded up, Dad, Tim, and Mark sank onto the couch next to Mom and Jess. I paced around the living room with my phone in my hand. I called the state police, the National Guard, and even the Department of Defense. The latter put me on hold. Uh, hello, zombies wait for no man.

Outside, the dead attacked the doors and windows. The table covering the front window trembled, and the entertainment system shook in place. The barricades - a haphazardly-slapped-together pile of wood scraps, interior doors, the coffee table, credenza, and other things - wouldn't hold for long; soon, they'd give way and the zombies would get in.

"Alright," Dad said, "how exactly did this happen? You read a book?"

Still pacing, I told him how I found Ellie Rimbugh's book at the library, what I learned about it, and then finally, about reading it as a joke. He listened intently, nodded here and there, and exhaled deeply when I was finished. The pounding filled the house, an apocalyptic din that made the walls seem closer, the air hotter. Jess hugged herself and Mom chewed her nails (her nails, not Jess's).

"Where is the book?" Dad asked. "Maybe there's a spell that'll send them back."

"I left it at the cemetery."

Dad groaned.

"I'm sorry! I didn't know this was going to happen!"

He sighed. "It's not your fault I wouldn't have believed that shit either."

The window flanking the door broke with a tinkle and the door nailed over it vibrated under the zombies' assault. "We can't stay here." Dad got to his feet and grabbed the AR-15 then jammed a new magazine into the stock.

"What are we going to do?" Mom asked incredulously. "Those things are everywhere. They'll tear us apart the moment we set foot outside."

"The car's in the driveway," Dad said. "Twenty feet away. If we can get to it, we can get out of here. And getting there shouldn't be too hard. Those things talk tough but they're a bunch of pussies."

"How?" Mom demanded. "You saw how many are out there. Even with the guns, we'll be kibble in seconds."

Jess whimpered, and Mark slipped his arm around her shoulders.

"And where will we go?" Mom continued.

Dad pulled back the gun's lever and chambered a round. Clack. "To get that book."

Terror pooled in Jess's eyes and she rocked faster, shaking her head no.

"I say we just leave town," Mark said. "Problem solved."

"And let those undead assholes eat everyone we love?" Dad asked. "Your parents? Your friends?"

Mark didn't have a rebuttal for that.

Shoving the .357 into his waistband, Dad slung the rifle over his shoulder, reached into the box, and brought out an Uzi.

Jesus, Dad, now you're scaring me. I knew you liked guns, but holy arsenal. What else you got in there, a bazooka?

Actually, that might come in handy right about now.

Mom stood up and raked her hands through her hair. It started the evening in a professional bun, but over the course of the past half hour, strands had worked free and hung limply in her face, lending her a frazzled appearance. "Before we do anything or go anywhere, we have to worry about getting to the car." She gestured to the door. "How are we going to do that with a million zombies trying to get in?"

"Maybe a distraction," Tim spoke up, and everyone looked at him. "One of us runs, leads them away, then the others swing by and pick them up."

Dad considered the plan, then rejected it. "Nah, that won't work. Those things will be on top of the car like that. It's too dangerous."

Darn. That was actually a good idea, too. I stared down at my gun and wracked my brain. Alright, Dad said you got us into this mess and he wasn't just whistling Dixie. You did.

But Alex -

No buts, Alex. Maybe that book exerts some kind of power, but this wouldn't be happening if you didn't read it in the middle of the cemetery like a doofus. It's up to you to save the day. Your parents, your Tim, and your Jess are on the line here.

And Mark too. Can't forget him.

Think...think...

Then it hit me like a pie to the face. "I know what we can do!"

Mom, Dad, Mark, and Tim all turned to me. Jess kept on rocking and breathing through her nose, trying to stave off a total emotional breakdown...or epic gas.

"What?" Dad asked.

"I saw it in The Walking Dead one time."

"What?"

I held up my pointer finger. "First, we get some bed sheets and put them on. Second, we get a zombie. Third, we cut the zombie open, smear its guts on the bed sheets, and then walk outside. The zombies will think we're one of them and ignore us. Fourth, we get in the car, put on our seatbelts, and cruise out of here in style."

Mom and Dad looked at each other, and a thought passed between them. "That's the stupidest idea I've ever heard," Dad said.

"Really, Alex, why not just slather ourselves in BBQ sauce while we're at it?" Mom asked.

Eyeroll. Everyone's a critic. "Do you have a better idea?"

The clatter of the dead trying to break their way in reached a fever pitch. The entertainment center shifted, and the door opened just wide enough for a half dozen arms to get through. Dad and Tim hurried over and threw themselves against the blockade. "We're gonna have to fight our way out," Dad called.

What? No.

"That's insane!" Mom yelled. "We can't do that!"

Leaving Jess's side, Mark picked the hammer up from the coffee table, went to the door, and smashed the claw end into one of the hands. He hit another, and another, and one by one, they slithered away until Dad and Tim were able to get the door closed.

"What's the situation out back?" Dad asked.

I rushed into the kitchen ahead of Mom, splayed my hands on the counter and leaned over to see out the window above the sink - it was too high for zombies to reach, so Dad left it uncovered. In the backyard, a couple zombies stumbled around like guys on a jobsite with nothing to do. One trampled Mom's rose garden, and she gasped. "Hey! Get out of my roses!"

The zombie looked up toward the window. "Yeah, I'm talking to you, no nose."

Back in the living room, Dad, Tim, and Mark had shoved one end of the couch against the entertainment center. It was a fold-out, and heavy as a mofo. Jess was perched on the edge, no longer rocking but still traumatized; she stared into space and rubbed her hands along her arms as if for warmth, her breathing so shallow as to be nearly nonexistent.

"There're a couple," I said, "but not many."

Dad pursed his lips in thought. "Alright, we'll go out the back and around the side. If we stay low and quiet, we can get to the car."

"I-I can't go out there." Jess stuttered. "M-my ankle. I-I twisted it."

"Goddamn it," Dad sighed. He glanced up the stairs, then to the door; the entertainment center trembled, and beyond it, the door cracked under the barrage. "Alright," he said, "you stay here. Ronnie Anne and Mark, you stay with her."

My heart sank. Mom and Jess...staying behind? "W-We can't leave them."

"We don't have any other choice." They'll be safe in the attic."

Mark and Dad helped Jess up the stairs and Tim took up position in front of the entertainment center with a shotgun; he looked so much like Elmer Fudd hunting wabbits that I would have laughed under other circumstances.

In the second floor hall, Dad pulled the cord and the accordion stairs folded down. Mom went up first with a flashlight, made sure it was safe, and called down for Jess to come up.

"Can you make it on your own?" Dad asked.

She nodded, and favoring her bad foot, scurried up the ladder. Dad turned to Mark, un-shouldered his AR-15 and handed it to him. "This is an AR-15; the clip holds 99 gas-tipped bullets and the chamber fires at a rate of twenty rounds per millisecond. It doesn't matter where you hit your target, it will instantly die. One shot has enough terminal velocity to cut through ten feet of concrete. All you have to do is hold the trigger down and rain hell at whatever you want to die."

Mark took the gun with a puzzled frown. "I don't know much about guns, Mr. Loud, but I think you got a few things wrong there."

Clapping Mark on the arm, Dad said, "Not if you ask a liberal."

Before we went back downstairs, I climbed up the ladder to say goodbye to Mom and Jess. Mark sat to one side with the rifle propped between his knees, and Jess rubbed her ankle with a grimace. "Be careful," Mom said and hugged me fiercely.

"I will."

I turned to Jess. I'm not a very good writer even though I might like to think otherwise, and there's no way I could even begin to describe what my sister means to me. I know I have a reputation for playing and being silly, but...a long time ago, a little girl came to live with me and my parents, a little girl who had just lost her own mother and father. She didn't fully understand death, I think, but she knew her mommy and daddy weren't there, and she was alone with strange people she barely knew. She was like...I don't know, a sad little lamb or something. Mom told me once as she tucked me into bed that I had to look out for my little cousin because she needed me, and I vowed that I would.

Over the years, Jess and I have had some pretty wacky adventures. We've fought, bickered, played, and no matter what, we've always been there for each other.

Emotion welled in my throat, and I blinked away the tears forming in my eyes. 'I'm sorry," I said earnestly. "I should have listened to you about that book. You were right and I was wrong. Like usual." I took her hand. "This is all my fault. I was dumb and selfish and if we just stayed home and watched TV together, we wouldn't be in this mess."

She drew a deep breath and let it out through her nose. "I'm not worried about that," she said. "If you want to show me you're sorry...do me a favor."

"What?"

"Be careful out there."

We hugged, then feeling a mixture of shame, guilt, and fear, I left her and Mom in the care of Mark. "You better not screw this up, buddy," I told him.

"I won't," he promised.

Dad gave Mom and Jess both a kiss, and Mom hugged him. "No stupid shit," she said. "And watch out for our little girl."

"I will." He stroked her cheek. "Then, when this is over, I'm grounding her."

"Me too," Mom said.

Ugh.

Downstairs, the entertainment center had begun to split and fissure and the couch to move. Seven arms, now eight, reached through the gap between the window sill and the coffee table. Hands gripped the edge and worked the table back and forth trying to free it.

"Stop," Tim begged.

"'Stop,'" a zombie mocked.

"We're gonna eat'cha," another taunted.

"I call his nuts."

Dad grabbed the Uzi from the couch, slipped the strap over his shoulder, and handed Tim a Glock. "Here's the plan."

Five minutes later, we huddled around the back door, Dad with one hand on the knob and the Uzi in the other. "On the count of three, Alex, stay right behind me. Tim, bring up the rear. If you have to, let them eat you while we get away."

"Dad!"

"I said only if he has to."

He curled his finger around the trigger. "One…"

I checked my gun to make sure the safety was off. Heh. Bet'cha thought I was gonna forget.

"Two…"

Tim pumped the shotgun. Chu-chu.

"...three!"

Dad pulled the door open and went out low and fast. I followed, and Tim came behind, pulling it closed and locking it behind him. The three zombies in the backyard stumbled toward us. Dad ran at the closest and threw a punch that drove it back into the others. He darted around the side of the house and I stayed hot on his heels.

A narrow strip of yard runs between our house and the wood stockade fence trimming Mr. Grouse's property. The tree branches overhead blotted out the moon, and for a second, the darkness was total.

Dad stopped at the corner and I came to a halt next to him. He leaned over to see around it, then glanced at me and Tim. "Stay down and be quiet."

I nodded, too scared to speak. From here, the pounding wasn't as loud as it was inside, but the moaning was clear and chilling.

Not waiting, Dad hunched over and darted out from cover. I took his place and peeked around the corner post: The car sat to my right at the head of the driveway. Dad ducked behind the front end and crept to the passenger door. The zombies from the backyard were closing in, and Tim brought the butt of the shotgun up and rammed it into one's face, knocking it down. The other reached for him, and pushing it away, he kicked it in the stomach, folding it over, then crashed his knee into its face. The cacophony of moans and hissing covered the sounds of the scuffle

Dad eased the door open and slipped in. Taking a deep breath, I crouched and hurried to the car. I climbed into the passenger seat and Tim got in the back. Behind the wheel, Dad looked pleased with himself. "That went a lot easier than I thought it would." He patted his hip pocket...then sagged.

"What?" I asked.

"I forgot to get the keys from your mom."

My heart sank. "Really?"

"No worries," he said. "I can hotwire it."

In the back, Tim gulped. "You better hurry."

All of the zombies that had been trying to get in the front - four dozen at least - were shambling toward the car. "Fuck," Dad whispered.

He ripped off the plastic paneling under the wheel and dug frantically in the mess of wires. The zombies reached the car and closed around it in a black, spreading tide, blocking the light, slapping the windshield, and rocking the frame. One tried to pull my door open, and another smooshed its face against Dad's window, its teeth chattering spasmodically (give me your braaaaain, Mr. Loud). The car pitched side-to-side like a boat in stormy swells, and I held on for dear life.

"Hurry!" I screamed.

Dad cussed under his breath and pulled two wires out to see them better. "I think it's these two."

My window exploded, and cold fingers threaded through my hair. I let out a high pitched squeal, and tried to pull away. "I got her!" the zombie cried triumphantly. He yanked my head to the side, and a shard of glass gashed my cheek, sending stinging pain into my head. Tim leaned over and jabbed the barrel of the shotgun against the zombie's face, pushing him back.

"Aha," Dad said. He crossed two wires and the engine roared into life. He threw it in reverse and hit the gas; we rocketed backwards, and the hand released my hair as the zombie attached to it lost its footing and went down.

Dad spun the wheel, and we angled sharply to the left, the tires leaving the driveway and tearing up the grass. We hit the mailbox and the trash cans, then Dad slammed on the brakes, throwing me against the dash. Ow. I really need to start wearing my seatbelt.

The zombies ran after us, and Dad put the car in drive; he hit the gas, and I flopped back against my seat like a ragdoll. A few ghouls coming down the middle of the street jumped out of our way, and Dad swerved to miss a few bent over eating something. For a heart-stopping second, I thought it was a wayward trick-or-treater, but it was only roadkill.

Whew.

In the rearview mirror, the zombies dwindled until they were gone, and I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. I hoped they all followed us and none tried getting into the house. Mark, Mom, and Jess should be okay where they were, but these weren't your garden variety Romero zombies; these were black magic psychopaths.

Dad took a sharp corner, and the wheels screeched on the pavement. "When we get there, find this damn book and make these assholes go back where they came from, alright?"

"I will."

If I can find it, I added to myself. Remember, I had no clue what I was even looking for. I started reading the last spell totally at random. Those words could have literally meant anything - they could have made puppies, kittens, and free healthcare rain from the sky and I would have been none the wiser. Funny thing: I don't even know what I said back at Westvale. I remember the words terra and ad hoc. What did those even mean?

On Main Street, a zombie ambled hurriedly down the sidewalk like it was fleeing something, casting a worried glance over its shoulder. Dad turned, but right before he did, I swore I saw a shirtless Langston stalking after it.

We reached the cemetery five minutes later. A lot of body parts were strewn across the ground, a macabre confusion of arms, legs, and other human detritus that you'd need a pathologist and full-scale dental records to identify. With so many decades-old corpses walking around, it stood to reason some of them would kind of...shed.

Shiver.

Dad parked behind Tim's car and got out, leaving the engine running. The gate stood open, and I couldn't help feeling like it wasn't an entrance at all, but a big, hungry mouth. Tim jerked an overwrought look around and Dad held the Uzi tight to his chest. A cold wind rustled the trees, but otherwise, nothing moved; the world was silent, dead, the plague demon moved on to the other side of town. How many people in the houses between here and home had been killed by zombies? How many men and women torn apart and eaten? How many terrified children ripped from their parents' arms and murdered all because of me?

Hot tears flooded my eyes and I cut that thought off. If I started thinking about stuff like that, I'd go to pieces.

"Keep together," Dad said. His voice was low and bloodless, and the moonlight glinted in his big, unblinking eyes. For the first time all night, he looked afraid. I swallowed and turned away. I tease him a lot, but my dad's the strongest and bravest dude I know; knowing he was scared made me even more scared than I already was.

He pointed the Uzi out in front of him and went through the gate, gravel crunching under his feet. Holes dotted the ground, marking the spots where the earth spat up a corpse; the wind knocked barren tree branches forlornly together. Tim swept the cemetery with the shotgun, and jumped when an owl hooted. Aw, poor baby. I patted him on the butt and he looked at me strangely.

"You're hot when you're armed."

I expected a blush and a giggle. Instead, I got a glare and a, "This is not the time for that, Alex."

Well then.

See if I ever compliment you again.

"Where are we going?" Dad asked.

We stopped and I scanned the cemetery. Tombstones huddled in the darkness and a skim of wind-driven leaves whispered along the overgrown grass. Something moved and I tensed; seconds later, a skunk waddled out from behind a headstone shaped like a cross and disappeared into a gaping hole.

It never occurred to me, but the cemetery is really the safest place during a zombie apocalypse. All the dead people have already gotten up and gone forth in search of blood, leaving it empty. Heh. They can take over our world, but we'll just take over theirs.

Now where were we? In the night, everything had a dull sameness. I thought we were farther along the gravel road, but couldn't be sure. "This way," I said.

After a couple minutes of walking, we came to a wide, grassy area. This looked like the place. I ran my gaze over the ground, and when I saw the book, my heart jolted. "There!"

I brushed past Tim, bent, and picked it up. The cover – totally human skin, why was I in denial – throbbed in my hands, and the face seemed bigger than before. Dad leaned in over my shoulder, then shuddered. "That thing's creepy. You really had that thing sitting around the house for days?"

"She carried it around, too," Tim said. "Like a little girl with a teddy bear."

"I blame her mother."

"Nah, she's messed up on her own."

Flashing, I rammed my elbow into Tim's ribs, and he let out a breathless oof. "I'm not messed up."

Am I?

Reckoning that was a question for another day, I went to open the book, but a high, grating laugh stopped me.

Uh, what was that?

"Back again, I see."

The book.

It was talking.

Its mouth curved up in a wicked smile, and I blinked my eyes like a cartoon character. I'd seen a lot in the past couple hours...but this? Now this was pushing it.

"Holy shit," Tim breathed.

The book laughed again, its mouth making funny and - I felt - mocking shapes. "I'm surprised you made it. Not many people can withstand an army of the dead."

"Y-Yeah, w-we made it," I said. What's next, aliens? "Now, uh, how do we stop this?"

The owl hooted again, and the boughs of the trees rattled in the wind. "I'm not telling you," the book said, as though explaining something simple and obvious to a particularly stupid child. "This is the most fun I've had in centuries; do you really think I'm going to spoil it for myself?"

"Oh, come on," I said. "Please?"

The book made a show of mulling over my plea. "Nope, uh-uh."

I sighed. "Look, I know you've been locked up for a long time, and I'm sorry for that, but I did something really stupid tonight and put everyone I love in danger: My mom and my sister, my boyfriend, my dad...everyone in town. This is all my fault. I'm selfish, careless, and probably ADHD or something. I've hurt a lot of people and...and, I just want to make things okay. Please, please help me."

The book sighed, my appeal to its heart having succeeded. "Alright fine, you have swayed me. I will tell you how to send the dead back to their graves, but you must do exactly as I say. Understood?"

"Yes."

"First, set me down."

I carefully set the book in a soft tuft of grass and stood up straight. "All of you, get in a line."

Dad and Tim stood on either side of me. "Now...spin in a circle."

We all spun in stiff circles.

"Stop."

We stopped.

"Slap yourselves in the face."

I hesitated...then whacked myself with my open palm. Dad and Tim did likewise.

"Now...do I'm A Little Tea Pot."

Uhh...okay? I put my hand on my hip and held my opposite arm out, palm up. Tim and Dad copied, and in unison, we sang. "I'm a little tea pot, short and stout. Here is my handle, here is my spout; when I get all steamed up, hear me shout. Tip me over and pour me out."

"Did that work?" I asked hopefully. "Are they going back to their graves?"

"No," the book shrieked with laughter. "I lied. And you three morons fell for it. Ahahahahahaha."

Growling, Dad grabbed the book and held it to his face. "Look asshole, I'm done playing games. Tell me how to get rid of these zombies or I'll blast you back to hell."

The book laughed. "Don't threaten me with a good time."

A long, low moan drifted through the cemetery, and my spirit withered. A group of zombies appeared at the gate; one poked his head in, saw us, and pointed. "There they are!"

"Shit," Dad hissed. He threw the book down and held the Uzi at his hip. Tim planted the butt of the shotgun in his shoulder and aimed; his hands trembled and his nostrils flared with ragged inhalations. "Alex," Dad said over his shoulder, "find that spell now."

Right.

I picked the book up and brushed my hair out of my face. "You better hurry," it said, "or all of the people you so love will be torn apart." It cackled, and my eyes narrowed. Making a fist with my hand, I flashed it up, then down, hitting its stupid, ugly face. Its satisfying cry of pain was sweet music to my ears, and I would have done it again, but Dad and Tim opened fire, startling me. Zombies streamed through the gate, rank after rank, ten across and twenty back. The first row absorbed the bullets, some falling, others merely staggering.

I opened the book and quickly went through the pages, ripping some of them in my haste. "Ahhh," the book yowled. "Be careful!"

Where is it? Where is it? Whereisitwhereisitwhereisitwhereisit? The shotgun roared, and Tim racked it, the empty casing flying from the chamber. Dad pulled the trigger, and fire leapt from the Uzi's barrel. Tat-tat-tat-tat. Zombies jerked, spun, and fell, but the seething mass continued its slow and inexorable march, treading them underfoot. Tim took aim at a woman in a burial dress, and her head exploded in a burst of broken skull and moldy brain matter. Dad raked fire low, and a couple zombies dropped. "My leg!" one screamed. "Oh, my leg!"

"Alex!" Dad shouted.

Right - off track: I really am ADHD. Where is it? Where is it? God, where is it? And what is it? I squinted to read by moonlight, didn't see anything that jumped out at me, and turned the page, ripping it. "Ouch!" My heart slammed, my stomach rolled, my entire body trembled, and pressure wound around my neck. The moaning was closer, closer, ever closer, and the gunfire slackened as Dad stopped to reload.

At the very end of the book, I came to a page written in Spanish. I glanced over the text, and my stomach sucked into my throat. I could read a little of Mom's native tongue, thanks to her stubborn insistence that I learn all things Mexican. I picked out dead, back, ground, and stop.

"I found it!" I exclaimed.

"Hurry!" Dad yelled. "They're getting closer."

The vanguard was twenty feet and closing, arms up, teeth gnashing, moans, hisses, and other hellish sounds rising from decaying vocal cords. A gust of wind flipped my hair in my face again, and I tucked it behind my ear.

Alright Alex, you read Latin earlier. After that, Spanish is a walk in the park.

Still, I felt like a little girl standing before a big, scary monster: Weak, powerless, afraid.

Swallowing my fear, I started to read...haltingly.

"M-Muertos, r-regresen a sus tumbas. Vuelve a dormir. D-Deja de hacer lo que estás haciendo y vuelve al suelo."

"Roll your Rs!" Dad commanded over his shoulder.

"I'm trying!"

The dead were ten feet from our position and closing in. Tim aimed dead center and fired, cutting three of them down.

"Gente muerta, váyanse, detengan esto ahora y dejen en paz a los vivos. Has vivido, ahora vuelve a la tierra."

The words felt like mush in my mouth and sounded like gibberish in my ears, but it was working: A stiff wind sprang up, and the trees whipped back and forth. Massive white clouds rolled across the sky like celestial mountains and lightning crackled in their depths. Energy went through me, just like before, and power. My hair writhed around my head, and I swear to God, I'm pretty sure I levitated six inches off the ground on a tide of magic. In that moment, understanding dawned on me, and I could see - all too clearly - why witches consort with Satan; like drugs, Satan makes you high...but in the end, he always brings you down low.

"¡Ir! Ve y nunca vuelvas!"

A whip-crack of thunder split the night like a Godly pronouncement, and the zombies stopped bare inches from Dad and Tim, who hugged each other and whimpered like babies.

For a moment, nothing happened, then, one-by-one, the dead began drifting away, some of them mumbling under their breath and others yawning as though suddenly exhausted. I watched, stunned as they returned to their graves, and a big, shit-eating grin spread across my face.

It was over.

I did it.

I actually freaking did it.

"Noooo," the book lamented. "My good time."

I snapped the cover closed, and tears leaked from the face's eyes.

Being petty, I stuck out my tongue.

Close to me, a zombie wiggled into a hole, only for another to shuffle up. "That's my grave, buddy, yours is over there." He hooked a thumb over his shoulder.

"Whoops, my mistake."

Someone bumped into me, and I turned.

My spirits crashed.

A zombie with a half skeletal face glared at me. I held the book up like a shield and cringed, but the ghoul made no move to attack. "Don't wake me up again," he said.

"Yeah," another called from its grave, "leave us alone."

"Don't you know children shouldn't play with dead things?" the first one demanded.

I opened my mouth, but shaking its head, it waved me off and shambled away.

Well...I know now.

A hand fell on my shoulder, and I whipped around, but it was just Dad. His face was dirty and covered in sweat. "Where'd the dirt come from?"

"One of those assholes threw a dirt ball at me."

"Pegged him in the nose too!" a zombie called and the legion of the dead erupted in laughter.

He looked like he wanted to say something, then pulled me into a hug. "I'm glad you're okay." His voice welled with emotion and I swallowed a cold lump. "I was...a little scared." It was clear from his tone that he was actually a lot scared.

"I was too," I said, "but only a little."

Tim leaned on the shotgun like a cane, and when a dead woman in a pink dress passed close, he cringed. She stopped, flicked her eyes up and down his body, and gave a suggestive wink.

I walked over, but he was too busy staring after his new girlfriend to notice. "You okay?" He jumped.

"Yeah." He looked nervously over his shoulder as a deader waddled past. "I'm fine." He showed a wan smile that was cute despite its pallor.

I rubbed the back of my neck. "I-I'm sorry about this. You know, raising the dead and putting us all in mortal danger. I promise it won't happen again."

Tim grinned. "Well, this was certainly a Halloween I'll never forget."

We hugged, and after all we'd been through that night, being in his arms made everything alright.

"Come on," Dad called from near the gate. "I wanna get home and check on your mom and Jess."

Hand-in-hand, Tim and I left that place of the dead. At the gate, Dad waited by the car, warily watching zombies file past like bone-weary convicts returning to their cells after a long day of breaking rocks. Dino stopped next to Tim's car and squinted down at his iPhone. "Yes, nigga," he said as his thumbs flew across the screen, "it's really me." He shook his head and shoved the phone into his pocket. "These niggas trippin'. Act like they ain't ever seen a resurrection be'fo."

On the car ride home, we passed a dozen zombies heading in the direction of the cemetery. None of them made any move to attack us; none of them even looked at us. Gray State Police cruisers were scattered around downtown and troopers in riot gear stood idle, revelers too late to the party and not realizing it. A block from home, the headlights washed over a figure sitting despondently on the curb, its face resting in its upturned palms. It was tall, kinda pudgy, and shirtless.

Langston.

"Slow down," I told Dad.

We stopped next to him and I rolled down my window. "Yo, Langston."

He looked up, and the puppy dog sadness in his eyes caught me off guard. "I was having fun," he muttered.

Oh. I wasn't. "I'm sorry." I lied, "You want a ride?"

He took a big, watery breath. "No, I wanna sulk."

"...Okay. Uh...have a good night."

I like Langston...a lot, he's a cool guy...but he's also a giant weirdo.

At home, we pulled into the driveway and got out. The night was silent save for the quiet cricket nocturne, a sound that once represented the epitome of boring to me but now represented peace.

The back door was closed, as Tim had left it, and the kitchen and living room brightly lit but deserted, making it somehow more eerie than the dark, cold cemetery. Upstairs, Dad pulled the cord and the folding door dropped. "It's us," he called.

After a moment, Mom's head appeared. "Is it over?"

Dad nodded. "Yeah. We did it."

"Thank God," she sighed.

She, Mark, and Jess climbed down the steps, and at the bottom, she hugged me. "I'm proud of you," she said and held me at arm's length.

"For waking the dead?" I asked wryly.

"For cleaning up the mess you made. That shows responsibility."

A flush of pride came over me.

"You're still grounded, through."

I opened my mouth to protest, but...you know what? Considering all that happened, that wasn't so bad. My family was safe, the world was saved, and I later learned not a single person died in Royal Woods that night. A grounding was a small, small price to pay for that.