Girl Z: My Life As A Teenage Zombie

Copyright by C.A. Verstraete August 2013

All rights reserved. No part of this book shall be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, magnetic, and photographic including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher. No patent liability is assumed with respect to the use of the information contained herein. Although every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this book, the publisher and author assume no responsibility for errors or omissions. Neither is any liability assumed for damages resulting from the use of the information contained herein.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

ISBN: 978-0-9794788-9-5

Cover design by Iconix.biz

Published by:
Intrigue Publishing
11505 Cherry Tree Crossing #148
Cheltenham, MD 20623-9998

Printed in the United States of America
Printed on Recycled Paper

Big thanks go out to members of my writing group, Steve, Vicki, Doris, Mary Ellen, and especially to authors Stephen D. Sullivan and Jean Rabe for their eagle eyes. Thanks also to friends and family including my sister Sharon, cousin Vanessa and hubby Dave for their ongoing interest, help or encouragement. Also a special thanks to my teen pre-reader Rachel Topps for her suggestions.

Life can suck when you're 16
.
It can suck even worse when you're not-quite-dead.

A virus. A freaking virus.

I'd been sick before, you know, measles, mumps…kid stuff…but not
really
sick.

Never like this.

This…this couldn't be happening. I tuned back in to the doctor's explanation … new diet, pills,
blah-blah-blah …
and let his words fade again into the background.

Gone was the golden tan I'd nurtured over the summer with tanning cream and hours sunbathing by the pool with one of my cousins. My skin had a weird grayish tone, like I'd rubbed myself with fireplace ash.

I gazed at my legs, now mottled with strange gray blotches, and my pretty pink toenails peeking out from beneath the sheet.

The machine next to me made a frantic
beep-beep
. I turned and caught my reflection in the metal canister sitting on the table next to the bed. Whimpering, I rubbed a hand over my cheek, wondering at the scaly texture, while at other times I felt almost nothing.

Large, deep brown eyes under ebony bangs stared back. I saw a decent nose.

Spots.

I took in the pinkish patches and my uneven skin tone, which reminded me of those old battleships on the PBS show I'd watched with my aunt.

For the first time in my sixteen-year-old life I was…ugly. I struck the bed frame over and over, the pain barely registering. The machine's
whir-click-whir
turned into a wail almost louder than mine—
beep-beep-beeeeeeep.

A nurse in blue scrubs rushed in and tried to reassure me, even as she attempted to keep me immobile on this slab they called a bed.

“Relax, it'll be fine,” she said. “No, it won't,” I yelled, “it won't!”

How could looking like freaking King Tut without his wrappings ever be fine?

Funny how the most important or memorable moments of your life are bookmarked between the ordinary.

That's how it was the day my life changed—forever.

My cousin Carm—short for Carmella Sanchez—and I, Rebecca Herrera Hayes (Becca to my friends), hoped to go shopping and get in on the last of the sales for our final summer vacation trip. I was looking forward to visiting my mom's friend in Lake Geneva, but fate, or something else, had other plans.

Instead, my ever-thrifty Aunt Imelda, whom I'd called
Tia
since I was little, told us to dig through the boxes of clothes she'd brought down from the attic before she committed to buying anything new. So, rather than sort through the racks at the store, we picked through our old wardrobes at home. Bummer.

But…maybe it was a good thing since we might not have heard the news otherwise.

To my delight, I grabbed another way-too-small pair of shorts from the box (that shopping trip becoming more real by the minute) when a staccato
dee-dee-dee-dee
signaling a news alert cut off Lady Gaga's wails on the radio.

The announcer's serious tone made Carm and I stop cold and stare at each other, our job, and the clothes, forgotten.

THIS IS AN URGENT NEWS BULLETIN: WINDALE POLICE AND WINDALE COUNTY SHERIFF DEPARTMENTS REPORTED A RASH OF ATTACKS BY UNKNOWN INDIVIDUALS. THE ATTACKERS ARE DESCRIBED AS DISEASED, WITH AN OFFENDING SMELL AND LIMITED VERBAL COMMUNICATION. THE SUSPECTS DO NOT RESPOND TO COMMANDS AND EXHIBIT NO EMOTIONS OR REACTIONS UNTIL THEY ENCOUNTER THOSE NOT INFECTED. THEY ARE CONSIDERED EXTREMELY DANGEROUS AND WILL ATTACK FOR NO REASON. DO NOT APPROACH.

THE NATIONAL GUARD HAS BEEN CALLED IN AND LOCAL POLICE URGE CITIZENS TO LOCK THEIR DOORS AND STAY INSIDE.

REPEAT—USE EXTREME CAUTION

My cousin's face went white. “Bec, what do they mean?”

“I don't know…”

Carm made a face like she'd bit into something bad. “Maybe it's fake, you know like that
War of the Worlds
broadcast
Tia
told us about. I can't believe all those people listening to the radio really thought they'd been invaded by aliens!”

“I-I don't think so. Let's see if there's anything on TV about it.”

Carm and I fell silent. Scenes out of some horror movie come to life flashed across the screen—people running, others fighting off hordes of horrid creatures, their mouths bloody, their diseased hands tearing and ripping at human flesh. A staccato blast of gunshots ripped through the air. High-pitched screams and terrified yells erupted from the fleeing mob. The warnings scrolling across the bottom of the TV screen made the sweat break out on my upper lip—
be alert … zombies…use caution…stay indoors…

I quickly shut it off. The images made me want to puke, or freak out, or both, but I still had trouble believing it was real. I mean, here? In our little Wisconsin town? We weren't in some nowhere place, even if it felt like it sometimes. In an hour or so, I could be in Chicago or Milwaukee, or take an even quicker drive to Lake Geneva.

“It has to be phony, it has to be,” I insisted. “It's too weird.”

Any further discussion had to wait when Carm's cell phone dinged, signaling she'd received a text message. She pulled the phone from her pocket, and seeing her alarmed expression, I sidled next to her. “Carm? What is it?”

She didn't say much before turning off the phone, her face creased in worry. “It's my mom, she's worried. She's going to look for Spence. He texted he was sick and needed help. Now he doesn't answer her calls or texts.”

My eyebrows raised in question when my phone flashed and beeped like that little Star Wars movie robot. I tapped the screen and quickly read the message. “It's my mom, she's going with. She said to lock everything, something bad's going on, and don't go outside. She said they'll be home as soon as they can.”

My fingers flew over the tiny keyboard in response, saying we'd heard the news. No way could I tell her
Tia
had gone to get some milk before all this happened and wasn't back yet. I had a feeling she didn't need more to worry about.

I gulped when the radio announcer repeated the warnings. Now martial law was being declared. Anyone caught out on the street past curfew would be detained or arrested. Looters would be shot.

It didn't get more real than that. Breathing deep, I prayed
Tia
would come back soon. I tried to smother my growing panic at my whole family being somewhere else. I had to pull myself together. The quiver of Carm's bottom lip and the way she picked at the pile of clothes on the table concerned me. My cousin had always been kind of chicken, so I didn't need her falling apart. There was too much to do.

Time for some other distractions. I had to keep Carm busy. “Carm, c'mon, help me. Let's move the couch over in front of the door. Then we better check the bedroom windows upstairs. Make sure they're locked and the shades are down. I'll check the windows in mom's bedroom and the bathroom.”

I crossed the room and stopped on the staircase when she didn't answer. “Carm?” My cousin stood in the living room and peered out the window, an odd expression on her face.

“Carm, you okay?” No answer.

I retraced my steps, reached out, and tapped her arm. “Carm? What is it?”

“I-I'm not sure,” she whispered.

A peek out the window alerted me to the problem—some guy staggering around in the distance. The way he wove back and forth made me uneasy. “I think it's some drunk. I bet our neighbor drove his car into the ditch again.”

“Bec, I don't think so.”

I gasped when she inched behind the loveseat, threw the lock, and opened the door. “Carm, wait. You can't go out there! What about that stuff on the radio and TV?”

When she ignored me, I had no choice but to either hold her back or follow. Part of me wanted to tackle her, but I trailed behind her instead to the porch, my eyes still on the guy in the field. He'd come a little further, close enough that even from here, I could see his hair was black, not gray like my neighbor's.

He staggered closer and began to wave. My alarm grew when Carm stumbled and gasped, hand on her chest.

“Carm-Carm! What's wrong? Are you okay?”

“It's him!” She pushed away my hand and ran down the steps.

I grabbed at her shirt and held on in an attempt to stop her. “Carm, wait, no! You can't go down there!”

She shook my grip loose and shoved past me. I ran in pursuit and tried to catch her, my heart pounding. “Carm, stop, please, Carm!”