Hardcore Twenty-Four (Stephanie Plum 24)

Diesel followed the trail, and I followed Diesel. After a short walk, we came to a hole that had been dug in the ground. It was about six feet deep, and it looked like a tunnel opened off to one side. A ladder was propped against the wall of the hole.

Diesel jumped in and looked around.

“What’s down there?” I asked.

“A tunnel. Mostly dirt shored up with some wood. Smells like dirt and carnations.”

“Zombies!”

“Sweetheart, zombies only exist in Hollywood.”

“I thought you said you believed in everything.”

He looked up at me. “Rule number one. Never believe anything I tell you. I’m going to see where this tunnel leads. You want to come along?”

“No! How can you see in there? Do you have a flashlight?”

“I have good night vis

ion.”

“Am I supposed to believe that?”

“Your choice.”

He disappeared into the tunnel, and I was left standing on the edge of the hole. I called down to Diesel, but he didn’t answer. It was late afternoon, and it was getting dark under the tree canopy. I checked my email and slid my phone back into my pocket. I heard rustling behind me, turned, and came face-to-face with a zombie woman. Two men were behind her.

“I’d like your brain,” she whispered to me.

Her face was smeared with dirt, and her hair was fright night. Her voice was six-packs-of-Camels-a-day raspy.

I stumbled back and almost fell into the hole. I yelled for Diesel, and then I took off. The zombies were in the path, so I ran through the woods in blind panic. I tripped and scraped my knee and my hands. I got up, listened for footsteps, and heard that they weren’t far behind. I ran toward a patch of light and came out at Diggery’s double-wide. I tried to get into the car, but it was locked. Diesel had the key. I ran for Diggery’s front door, put my shoulder to it, and popped it open. I slammed the door shut and slid the bolt.

I was gasping for air, bent at the waist, and I saw Ethel looking at me. She was curled on the dining table.

“It’s you and me against the zombies,” I said to Ethel. “I’m counting on you.”

There was banging on the door and some doorknob rattling. A moment of silence and then a rag-wrapped fist smashed through the window over the table. It broke the glass away, and a grotesque face looked in at me. Ethel raised her head and hissed at the face, and the face fell away.

God bless Ethel. I was going to bring her a leg of lamb tomorrow. A porterhouse steak. A ham.

I rummaged through Diggery’s kitchen drawers and found a chef’s knife. I went to his bedroom and searched for a gun. I found one under the bed. It was a long-barrel revolver, and it was loaded. Grandma had a similar gun.

I went back to Ethel and was about to dial Ranger when Diesel called.

“I’m outside,” he said. “Open the door.”

“I thought you had this mysterious ability to open doors.”

“I didn’t want to startle the snake.”

“You don’t like snakes?”

“Not my favorite.”

I opened the door and looked past Diesel to the woods, checking for red eyes.

“What’s with the gun and the knife?” he asked. “Are you planning to shoot the snake?”