As soon as I finished the paperwork, we headed to the prep area. Randy appeared calm and laid back, but I’d known him for too long not to notice the little signs of stress. The way he rubbed his left thumb and finger together. His lack of friendly banter. The creases on his forehead.

Not that I had any room to talk since I was just as stressed. I wanted desperately for my suspicions to be wrong, but it wasn’t easy with how squirrelly all three were acting. It also didn’t help that I kept getting annoying stabs of brain hunger despite the recent “ProteinGel” brain packet. To my relief, Randy wasn’t paying close attention to me, and I managed to sneak a few brain chips into my mouth and gulp them down. That settled the hunger again—for now.

“So, how’s this zombie hunt thing work?” I asked Randy as we neared the prep area.

He blinked as if he’d been deep in thought. “We gear up and load weapons, then around fifteen minutes before our hunt the coordinators come around and check the shit for safety. Once that’s done, we climb in the truck,” he lifted his chin toward a big black pickup with a giant zombie decal plastered along the side, “and they take us to the beginning of the course. When it starts, we have thirty minutes to get through the course without getting painted by any zombies, and at the end you’re scored for how many hits you get on them.”

“Painted?” I asked, frowning. “The zombies have paintball guns, too?”

Randy shook his head. “Nah, see, the only zombies on the course are the ones the Fest hires, and they have gloves that leave paint on you. Plus they have all sorts of people out there watching for cheaters. You lose points any time a zombie grabs you, and if you get grabbed three times you’re dead, though your points still count for your team. If you get disqualified for safety violations, none of your points count.”

A six-foot-tall sign near the pickup had THE RULES emblazoned at the top. A quick scan showed plenty of sensible guidelines such as No open-toed shoes, No shooting point blank/within five feet, No touching or grabbing zombies, NO DRUGS OR ALCOHOL. A line at the bottom stated that Zombie Fest officials reserved the right to eject anyone at any time based on whatever criteria they wanted to use. Nice.

“I gotta know,” I said to Randy. “Does Judd really think people believe he’s drinking ginger ale?”

Randy’s mouth twitched. “Dunno what you mean. Looks like ginger ale to me.”

Judd and Coy stood by a sign with a big red “13” on it. Coy tugged on his equipment vest while Judd checked his paintball rifle. Judd’s mouth tightened at the sight of me. He nudged Coy and murmured something. Coy glanced my way then suddenly became super concerned with the positioning of his gear.

I spied a foam machete lying on the ground a few feet away. “You bringing this, too?” I asked Randy as I scooped it up.

“Nah, that’s not allowed in the hunt,” he said. “There’s a group of people who do a kind of role-play zombie attack thing after hours where they bash each other with hard foam stuff. One of ’em must’ve left it behind.”

“That sounds like fun.” I made a few chopping swings with the foam machete then let out a laugh. “Whack whack whack! Hack a zombie’s head clean off.”

Coy’s throat worked. He turned away and busied himself adjusting the vest.

“Put that down before you do something stupid!” Judd snapped.

Gee, touchy much? I shifted to a two-handed grip. “C’mon, it’s foam.” I batted his arm. “How stupid can I get?”

Judd made an angry grab for the machete, but I jerked it out of his reach. His face reddened, and he balled his fist as if he was ready to take a swing at me, but Randy stepped between us.

“Hey, stop it! Both of you!”

“Jeez, lighten the hell up, Judd,” I said.

Coy seized Judd’s arm before he could respond and dragged him away. “Dude, you’re gonna fuck everything up,” he murmured, and it was only because of my recent brain snack that I could hear him. He tugged Judd back another step and toward the pile of equipment. “Get your shit on so we can get this over with,” he said at a more normal volume.

Randy let out a strained chuckle. “Yeah, I’m ready to be done with the prep shit and get to the good stuff.”

Judd muttered a curse, stomped to the equipment, and started rooting through a bag. A sinking feeling threatened to tug my heart right into the ground. This was supposed to be a recreational activity. Coy and Judd were a bundle of nerves, and Randy was obviously trying to cover for their odd behavior.

Judd flipped open a small plastic case and began smearing on camo face paint. The sinking feeling abruptly tripled in strength. Green goop. Maybe it hadn’t been bug shit on the cigarette butt.

“Y’know, I think maybe y’all will do better without me,” I said and dropped the foam machete. “I need to take care of a few things anyway.”

Randy couldn’t hide his relief. “Yeah. Yeah, I understand.” Not even a token effort to talk me into staying. He took my elbow to walk me out of the prep area, and I didn’t resist. “Sorry, Angel,” he said after we were a couple dozen yards away from the others. “It’s . . .” He sighed. “Sorry.”

Stress carved his face into sharp angles, as if he was carrying the world on his shoulders. It seemed utterly wrong for him to look like that. This was Randy. Easy-going. Laid back. Barely ever worried about anything. “Randy,” I said, voice soft, “is everything okay? You know you can tell me anything, right?” Please, tell me, I silently urged him. Spill your guts so that we can fix this. I know something’s wrong, dammit.

Indecision flickered in his eyes, but then he shrugged it away. “What’ve I got to tell?” he said. “Oh, yeah. Ol’ man Brody’s truck needs a new tranny, and I’m here instead of working on it.”

He’d have told me everything if it was only about him. But he wouldn’t do that with others involved. IF they’re involved, I reminded myself. I didn’t know anything for certain yet. But, damn, the circumstantial evidence was piling up like crazy, and my zombie-senses were tingling.

“Okay. Just remember I’m here for you if y

ou ever get in over your head.” I exhaled. “I’ll see you later.”

Tags: Diana Rowland White Trash Zombie Fantasy
Source: readsnovelonline.net