Cherish Applebottoms's Arc

Chapter 9 of 11

They caught their breath against the diner counter, blood drying on the tile around them. Cherish wiped her crowbar on an apron and told Lisa and Liz they'd rest a few minutes, then move for Doom Medical. As she chugged down some water, she checked the big front window for a clear path. (She breathed by the diner window) Lisa kept watch at the back, after handing out some protein bars. Liz slumped in a booth, bat across her knees. They had maybe minutes before they moved for Doom Medical. Then Cherish saw the arm wave through the fog. A woman stood across the street, half-hidden, crouched in the gap between a fused car wreck, two cars smashed together, moss dripping from the broken glass. Across the diner's lot. Dark ponytail with red streaks. Torn uniform, badge still on it. A cop. She pointed at Cherish, then at the ground beside her, where an old woman in a red dress pressed flat against the tire, shivering in fear. The cop mouthed one word. Help! Cherish did not wave back. She glared at her, scoping the figure in the distance. A wave could mean a survivor. It could also mean bait, something that drew you into the open. That scared thing by the step said help me too. She would not walk Lisa and Liz into a trap on a stranger's signal. "Help us," the woman mouthed through the glass. "Please." Liz hefted her bat. "Could be a trap. A way to bait a group out, swarm them." (She had learned that the hard way, trapped in a bar with a man who locked a door on her.) Cherish knew Liz did not trust easily, and she did not blame her. The waving woman cupped her hands. "Detective Graves. Doom Creek PD." "Stay here," she told them. "I'll—" Then the choice broke on its own! Cherish heard it then. Running feet, wet and fast! Then screaming came from the fog. Two hikers sprinted down the road toward the diner, packs bouncing. Behind one lurched a zombie in a bloody coat, and behind his buddy a runner zombie in a gray hoodie, face peeling in strips, moving fast—faster than any dead thing should. And four more zombies seeped through the mist in pursuit. The detective spun and fired her pistol twice. The crack rolled across the swamp. The runner's shoulder jerked, but it kept coming. She shot three more times and two zombies dropped. A runner slammed one of the hikers into the wrecked car in the diner's lot, and tore into his pack and throat. Then a corpse rose inside the wreck. It had been slumped behind the cracked windshield, still as the dead stay, and reached for her. She shrieked. Graves drew and fired once. The thing's head burst apart. The old woman in a red polka-dot dress burst into the lot, frantically bolting for the front of the diner instead. The second hiker reached and grabbed her arm, pulling her the wrong way, into open ground. Cherish slipped out the back and circled low along the diner's wall. Liz closed the back door behind Cherish. Lisa scoped everything out through the diner's window, low and hidden from sight, watching the activity outside. The old woman stumbled onto the muddy road. The chasing zombie caught her dress and dragged her down. Cherish swung for its skull but was a step too slow. It tore into the old woman's throat! Then Graves's eyes went wide. "Behind you." Cherish spun! Then another runner came through the cover of a car. Cherish had no time to swing fully. It slammed her into a parked car. She jammed the crowbar up as it crashed into her. They hit the mud together. Teeth snapped at her throat. Cherish got the crowbar across its neck and strained. A shot cracked across the lot. The runner's head jerked and went limp. Cherish shoved the weight off and rolled clear. Detective Graves stood over it, pistol smoking. She pulled Cherish up. "Well, this is a weird intro..." And before Graves could finish her sentence, a runner was on Graves, fingers in her hair, jaw wide, snapping at her and nearly taking off her nose. Cherish grabbed its collar and yanked it off balance. Cherish drove the crowbar through its skull, as Graves helped with her baton. They bashed again and again at its head until it was a crushed mess. They stood panting over it. (And glanced at each other with a trusting sign of relief.) Cherish sighed and said with a comedic voice, "It's just another day of Whack-A-Mole!!" (Four more runners approached, jaws snapping, one aggressively tumbling onto another zombie. Like Cherish and Graves were the finish line.) The two of them sprinted for the diner's back door! A glowing-eyed runner leapt at Cherish. She stumbled back. The cop stepped in and shoved her clear, then clubbed the runner down with the pistol butt. It stumbled back until Cherish swung toward its jaw, the zombies' jaw hanging loose from its face like a sagging drip. Then Lisa moved like a gust of wind, chopping at the runner's head and splitting the next zombie's skull clean open. (She looks at Cherish and says, "Like Whack-a-Mole, right!!" With a friendly smile on her face.) Liz opened the door and Lisa covered them with her machete. Cherish shoved Graves through first. Liz slammed the door shut behind them. The horde boiled into the lot where the civilians had fallen. Four of them now, where three had been. The gunshot had marked them. Doom Medical was no longer a walk. It was a race against whatever the noise had woken!