* * *
As I ran out from the graveyard and onto the road flanked by pastures and farmhouses, Roger wheezed to keep up with me. This wasn’t a good sign for him considering I wore heels and stumbled over my own feet trying to get away. But there was no way I was going to take off those shoes and run on gravel in bare feet. Scrolling through the contact list on my cell slowed me further as I frantically searched for Dr. Carlstrom’s phone number.
I stopped and caught my breath, which gave Roger a chance to catch up. Even if he was the one who had messed everything up with his coughing loud enough to wake the dead, it wasn’t his fault he had asthma. Poor guy, he must have felt horrible.
The number I dialed automatically went to voicemail. This was the third time I’d tried to the professor tonight without any luck. “Hi, Dr. Carlstrom, this is Cindy. This is sort of an emergency. We have a Code Green at Springfield Cemetery. Call me.” I hung up. Roger ran past me. My migraine was returning, so I decided to book it.
By this time, we reached the outskirts of town. Farm houses were replaced by industrial buildings and further in, ghetto apartments. The plots of land between buildings grew smaller. Only one car passed us on the road and the driver didn’t stop to pick us up despite our avid waving of arms and shouting. The zombies shambled after us in the distance. It was a textbook scenario case; they had no other goal than to taste the brains of those who had woken them. The only thing that would stop the zombies this time around was some serious magic.
“Where are we going?” I asked. We were only three streets from my parent’s house. We could head over there, board up the windows, and take refuge in the attic while we contacted someone with more necromancy experience. On the other hand, my parents would be majorly pissed if they discovered I’d snuck out at midnight, then brought zombies home and they wrecked the house’s new paint job. They weren’t exactly ecstatic about my internship as “zombie-sniffer.”
“My place,” Roger wheezed. That was the first good idea he’d had all evening considering he lived on campus and we could probably find a second or third degree necromancer somewhere.
Unfortunately, that was going to take another ten minutes and my feet were already killing me. I detoured toward a major street, hoping to hitchhike, but no one was on the road this time of night. I limped along, lagging behind Roger. The pressure behind my eyes was building. Moans echoed behind us.
Unable to avoid it any longer, I tried calling Doug. I’d already left a message on his phone after waiting an hour for him to pick me up to go on our date earlier. Again, no answer. Maybe he was avoiding my phone calls. It would just be my luck that the most talented necromancer at my school, the one who could put those zombies back in their graves with one harmonious note, might be ignoring all my calls because he had commitment issues.
When we arrived at the school, Roger punched in the security code on the gate. My migraine was so intense, tears streamed down my eyes. I could barely see the door swing open until it was two inches from my face. It hit me in the forehead, multiplying my pain. Roger put an arm around me, guiding me along.
The intensity of the zombie migraine subsided as we retreated further from the stench and deeper into the campus of Victorian statues and Gothic architecture. We passed the stone registration office and Mortimer’s Hall and then headed toward the dorms. The thudding against the metal of the fence signaled the zombies had arrived at the school. It was only a matter of time before they got in.
Roger tugged at my hand. “Let’s get my books from the dorm.”
“No, we have to get one of the professors or a senior,” I said.
Roger sighed in exasperation. “No one’s going to be here.”
I removed my heels, my feet finding sanctuary in the cool, wet grass as we headed toward the ornate, brick residence building. It was eerily dark. I tried ringing each of the numbers, but no one answered. Surely someone must have stayed behind during the vacation. All doors were locked. That meant we didn’t have access to supplies.
“Where’s Dr. Carlstrom?” I asked.
“He got a call about a zombie attack a few towns away.”
A spark of hope alighted in my heart. “Is that where Doug is? Did he go with him?”
“Doug went to some stupid party with Lara Johnson.” At the expression of disappointment that surely must have crossed my face, Roger squeezed my hand. “I’m sorry. Doug’s a jerk. He doesn’t know a good thing when it’s right in front of him.” He brushed a strand of disheveled hair out of my face. I looked up into his adoring gaze as he tilted my chin upward.
The stench of fetid rot wafted toward us and I turned away, trying not to vomit. The chorus of groaning wails rose. My head was clear and free of pain, so I knew the fence hadn’t given out yet. But we were trapped.
As we raced toward the senior building, it too was abandoned. Real panic started to overwhelm me now. This should have been the one place we’d be safe. “We need supplies for a zombie awakening like this.” Candles, a sacrificial knife, animal blood, and spells to name a few.
“Don’t worry. I have everything we need for a zombie attack in my room.” Roger took a puff of his inhaler.
I didn’t have asthma, but by now, I was wheezing too. My legs were heavy as lead and I staggered behind Roger as uncoordinated as a zombie.
We had just reached the door to the student housing when a lance of fire stabbed into my brain, sending me staggering into Roger, who caught me.
“Don’t worry, I’ll save you,” he said. He tried to carry me, but I probably weighed twenty more pounds than he did. There was no way he could drag me to the elevator as sweet as the gesture was. I ended up crawling most of the way.
On the plus side, Roger lived on the third floor, so it would take the zombies a while to figure out how to get up there.
I blinked the tears from my eyes as we burst into his room. Candles set in a circle lit the pentagram on the floor. Mozart played softly in the background.
Roger picked up a bottle and two wine glasses from his desk. “Wow, I’m thirsty from all that running. Can I interest you in some Merlot?”
“What are you doing with a bottle of wine up here? You’re only seventeen. You’re so busted if you’re caught with that.”
He shrugged. “I just thought a little refreshment might—”
I snatched up one of the books that was neatly stacked on his desk and shoved it at him, before leafing through one myself.
“Okay, so what are we looking for?” I asked.
He sighed heavily and plopped down on the floor beside me. “We need to find something about making the dead fall asleep the second time they’ve woken. Or something on reoccurring rising and putting the dead to rest.”
I flipped through the pages, squinting at chapter headings. My vision was still blurry and I had a hard time reading the Latin texts in the candlelight. “Do you have a desk lamp or something in here? I can’t see.”
“Nope, it’s broken.”
After minutes of searching, waiting for the throbbing in my head to explode into a fury of pain, Roger yipped with glee. “I found it! It says the second time the dead wake, the one who sings them to sleep has to gain more magic and strength before doing so. It looks like there’s some spells for that. . . .Do we have any live goats?”
I snapped the book in my lap closed. “Does it look like I have any live animals with me?”
“Right . . . there’s another spell. We could do this one. It requires a virgin’s blood.” He quirked an eyebrow at me, smile mischievous.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I said, blushing. “I’ve already . . . been with someone.”
Even in the shadowy ambience, I could see his eyebrows come together. “With who? Doug?”
I looked away, feeling stupid. Doug had been so sweet and thoughtful. He hadn’t seemed like the kind of guy that would dump a girl the day after he professed his love and got what he wanted.
Dull thuds against the side of the b
uilding caught my attention. I rose to get the sacrificial knife from the desk. It looked kind of rusty and crusted. “Looks like you’re the one who has to donate blood for the spell.” I hoped he had his tetanus shot.
“No! You can’t! I’m not a virgin, either!” Roger screamed in a voice that would have rivaled the highest soprano.
“Whatever. You’re just scared of the sight of your own blood.”
“I’m not! I can’t! I’m anemic. I’m not a virgin. The spell won’t work with my blood. I slept with a girl.”
“Yeah, who?” I reached for his him, ignoring his excuses. “Give me your hand.”
“No! I slept with Lara Johnson two months ago.”
I eyed him suspiciously. Lara hated Roger. Then again, she’d broken up with her boyfriend two months ago. Maybe it had been a rebound thing. And now she was after my boyfriend. I wasn’t sure who I hated more, her or Doug.
“Okay, so what are we supposed to do about the spell?” I asked.
He buried his freckled nose in the book. “Oh . . . it says I can use other body fluids. A necromancer can gain incredible powers of magic from certain acts. . . .And look, there’s an illustration.”
I didn’t have to lean closer to guess it would be an illustration of some druid having sex.
I crossed my arms. “I’m not sleeping with you.”
Somewhere below us, glass shattered.
“They’re in the building. It’s only a matter of time before they find the stairwell.” He leaned forward, his lips almost touching mine. “You know, I’m not like Doug. I wouldn’t use you and then throw you away like he did. This could be something beautiful between us . . . unless you’d rather let zombies eat us alive?”
I turned my face away, tears filling my eyes. I was not sleeping with Roger. I was saving myself for someone smart and kind, someone who loved me as much as I loved him, and someone who wouldn’t cough loud enough to wake the dead and get us into a mess like this. On the other hand, it was pretty incredible how Roger had risen to this dire occasion and saved the town from a zombie attack. It impressed me how prepared Roger had been. He’d had the pentagram already drawn on the floor, the candles, the books with the spells, and the knife. Another fierce explosion of pain sent a wave of nausea to my stomach.
I glanced around at the candles. They’d already been lit tonight. He must have left in a rush when I called him. Though, now that I thought of it, I hadn’t called him. In the excitement of the evening, I forgot that I’d called Doug’s cell, but Roger had been the one who’d answered and taken me to the graveyard.
“Why did you have candles lit in this room before you left to meet me?” I asked.
“Um, I was studying.”
I noticed how his eyes shifted, avoiding my gaze. I whipped out my cell phone and dialed Doug’s number. A muffled, but unmistakable Pirates of the Caribbean ring tone sounded from under the bed.
“Why do you have your roommate’s phone?”
He opened his mouth. Before he could answer, I snatched the spell book out of his hands, trying to concentrate on the text. I expected, or maybe just hoped, what he’d read had been completely made up. But the incantation, as well as the “exchange of fluids” was written out in perfect Latin. This all seemed to be a little too well planned.
I pointed a finger at him. “You were the one who caused the zombies to rise in the first place, weren’t you? And you were the one who probably called to report a supposed zombie attack to get the professor out of the way.”
He scooted back, his awkward pretense of suaveness evaporating.
“And Doug, he’s not really at a party, is he? What did you do to him? Did you kill him?”
“No! I wouldn’t ever do that to someone. That would be wrong and just . . . evil.”
“And forging some ancient spell to create a scenario to force me to have sex with you isn’t evil?”
“I wouldn’t force you. It would be your choice. And for the record, I didn’t alter any spell; I found one that uses sexual magic, then planned a scenario where we’d get to use it. Big difference. You gotta admire my creativity.”
A low guttural growl escaped my throat, dying into a moan of agony as I caught a whiff of death approaching.
Roger leaned back against his bed, cocky grin on his face. “And the choice still is yours; will you be zombie food or have sex with me?”
There was a crash and splintering of wood below us. Moaning echoed through the floor, sending chills up my spine. My pulse thundered in my temples, making me dizzy.
Roger pushed his desk in front of the door. “You don’t have to sleep with me. If you make out with me that will probably work. Saliva is a body fluid too.”
Sweat beaded up on my forehead as another jab of pain ricocheted through my skull. Despite the migraine clouding my brain, one thought rang clear in my mind; I would not reward some creep by giving him exactly what he’d wanted.
And perhaps I didn’t have to.
“It’s just fluids that need to be exchanged. It isn’t like I have to like you, right?” I asked.
Before he could answer, I grabbed him by the front of his shirt with one hand, yanked his head back by the hair and spit into his open mouth. I pinched his nose and mouth closed as he made vomiting noises.
He pulled away and made a face. “That was the worst kiss ever. That wasn’t even a kiss. That was just . . . eew!”
“Yeah? Well, it’s going to be your last experience, period, if you don’t hurry up with your incantation.”
Roger muttered in Latin, his voice growing stronger. I tried to join in with the words as he sprinkled powders into the candle flames, but my voice was weak, the stabbing pain in my temples too intense to concentrate on reading the texts. I squeezed my eyes closed. My eyeballs felt as though they were boiling in my skull.
The moaning and thudding grew closer, footsteps clomping in the hall outside the door.
Out of this menagerie of pain, a beautiful note rose up and drowned out the sound of zombie thumping and groaning. Roger’s perfect tenor vibrated through the air, sending an incantation out to face our foes. He hypnotized them, using the musical arts of the necromancers to lull them back to their graves. Slowly the ache behind my eyes melted away, leaving me calm and serene as though I were waking from a misty dream. The warmth of Roger’s voice and his talent for putting the dead to rest was a skill that could win a girl’s heart—had she not already known what a weasely jerk he was.
As his last note ended, I sat up, only now realizing I’d curled up on the floor from the pain.
“Who’s your hero?” Roger asked, smile smug.
Rage exploded inside me. I slapped him as hard as I could, smarting my hand. “You jerk! What kind of evil moron are you?”
“I’m not evil. I’m just misunderstood.” He gave me his best puppy-dog eyes, which admittedly wasn’t very good. “Hey, you aren’t going to tell Doug about this little misunderstanding, are you?”
“That’s the least of what I’m going to do to you.” I hefted his immense Latin volumes into my arms. “Oh, and by the way, I’m confiscating these books for your own good.”
“So that means you don’t have to tell Doug, right?”
“Not if I don’t kill you first and then use your reanimated corpse to do my bidding,” I said in what I hoped was my most sarcastic tone.
“So I can be, like, your zombie love slave? Kinky,” he said, a little too eagerly.
Wow, he needed a major dose of self-esteem. Or counseling. As big of a jerk as he was, I couldn’t help feeling bad for him.
“Good night, Roger. Have your roommate call me,” I said, closing the door behind me.
Well, if nothing else, I’d at least gotten a volume on necromancy which included some powerful sex magic. I could get that witch, Lara Johnson, to help me resurrect a girlfriend for Roger. I would say that could be my revenge, yet somehow I suspected he wouldn’t mind a zombie girlfriend.
The End
As a c
hild, Sarina Dorie dreamed of being an astronaut/archeologist/fashion designer/illustrator/writer. Later in life, after realizing this might be an unrealistic goal, Sarina went to the Pacific NW College of Art where she earned a degree in illustration. After realizing this might also be an unrealistic goal, she went to Portland State University for a master’s in education to pursue the equally cut-throat career of teaching art in the public school system. After years of dedication to art and writing, most of Sarina’s dreams have come true; in addition to teaching, she is a writer/artist/ fashion designer/ belly dancer. She has shown her art internationally, sold art to Shimmer Magazine for an interior illustration, and another piece is on the April 2011 cover of Bards and Sages. Sarina’s novel, Silent Moon, won second place in the Duel on the Delta Contest, hosted by River City RWA and the Golden Rose contest hosted by Rose City Romance Writers. Silent Moon won third place in the Winter Rose Contest hosted by the Yellow Rose RWA and third place in Ignite the Flame Contest hosted by Central Ohio Fiction Writers.
Now, if only Jack Sparrow asks her to marry him, all her dreams will come true.
Sarina Dorie's YA novels Dawn of the Morningstar and Urban Changeling, and short stories A Ghost’s Guide to Haunting Humans, Greener on the Other Side, Zombie Psychology and other titles can also be found at:
More information and free reads can be found at Sarina Dorie’s website:
https://www.sarinadorie.com
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