Laughter of the Undead Page 26

  “Fuck!”

  I grabbed an umbrella from the stand that I could now get to because Levi had lured the thing out of the way and slammed it onto the half-gone’s head over and over.

  “This-” smack “would” smack “have been” smack, “a great time for your gun, Levi!”

  He was beating it with his own makeshift weapon. “Thanks for the input!”

  “Move!” Suddenly there was Connor, hefting a vase of dead flowers, also from the mantel above his head, and smashed it over the half-gone’s head.

  Blood, glass, murky water, and dead flowers tumbled to the floor.

  The laughter broke off, but it took a couple more seconds before the half-gone crumpled too.

  I lowered the umbrella and frowned at him. “You couldn’t have found a less messy weapon?”

  He looked at me in offense. “Like what? The lamp? We need that.”

  “The power doesn’t even work, Connor,” Levi put in, nudging the dead body with his foot.

  Connor rolled his eyes. “It would still be messy.”

  I groaned looking down at the mess in the entryway.

  “Why was there a crash?” asked a tiny voice from up the stairs.

  “Just go back to bed, Tommy,” Connor said, exasperated.

  “But w-”

  I tuned them out and turned to Levi, “What should we do with the body?”

  He snickered, “Not a question I ever thought I’d be answering.” He sobered at my look, “I guess I'll drag it across the street. You and Connor clean up.”

  “What?” Connor’s head whipped around at his name. “No, I can take it, it won’t take as long.”

  “You just don’t want to clean,” he claimed.

  “No! I’m just stronger.”

  “You’re still sick!” Levi snapped.

  “And you’re still in a sling,” he countered.

  I rolled my eyes. “Neither of you can drag it across the street. There’s half-gone out there.”

  Levi frowned, “Well, we can’t leave it in here. It smells horrible.”

  “Backyard?”

  “Nah, that’ll just draw them there,” I pointed out.

  Connor knit his eyebrows together and we glared down at the body.

  “A-ha.” I clapped my hands. “I got it. Two of us go, one person with Levi’s gun, the other dragging the body. There are few enough that it should be safe.”

  “I’ll go,” they both said at the same time.

  “No,” Connor groaned, “you cannot.”

  “Yes! I can!”

  “Jeez, children, calm down. Connor’s right, he is strong and you are sling-ed. Let him do it, I’ll gun.”

  Levi frowned, “Fine, but I don’t think sling-ed is a real word. And gun isn’t a verb.”

  Connor laughed, “Whatever, man. I’m going to go get shoes and a coat and dispose of our friend.”

  I exchanged glances with Levi as Connor disappeared back up the stairs. “I'll get the mop.”

  Twenty-Two

  Levi

  March 20th - 9:24 a.m.

  I awoke on the morning of my twentieth birthday to the sound of screaming.

  For a moment, I lay awake in the frigid room, still buried under the tons of blankets, wondering if I had actually heard it or if it was just the fading of another nightmare. But then I heard it again, closer this time, and the cry wasn’t wordless.

  “Connor!”

  I wasn’t dreaming.

  I threw the blankets off of me and stumbled to my feet, not sure where to run too. I’d been woken by horrible sounds before. The laughter had woken me when the half-gone had wandered in a few days ago, but this was different. The scream that woke me was blood-curdling and filled with pure primal terror. It had come from Tommy. I could tell from the pitch of both the scream and the shouting of Connor’s name.

  I shoved my arms into my aviator jacket and burst through the bedroom door.

  The house looked like it should have been quiet. Nothing was quite out of the ordinary in the living room and the bright morning light reflecting off the snow made the room feel almost peaceful.

  Except for the fact that I could see the snow.

  The front door was wide open.

  Voices drifted in from the yard, angry and scared.

  I went for my shoes, but a soft, quick padding of feet behind me made me turn. Izzy stood at the base of the stairs, looking at me wide-eyed, her double braids a mess from having been slept on.

  “What . . . ” her voice came out loud and sharp in the quiet of the house.

  “Shh!” I patted the air frantically, “I think Tommy and Connor are outside.”

  She frowned and stepped closer to me. “Who the heck screamed?”

  “I think it was Tommy.”

  Izzy’s olive face went pale. “What do we do?”

  I motioned toward the door and crept toward it ahead of her. She grabbed my arm as if for support and together we eased the door open.

  Connor sat in the snow leaning back on his hands, and though he faced the house, he didn't notice either Izzy or I. All his attention was drawn to the figure holding his brother by the back of the pajamas, dangling him in the air.

  It was a figure I knew.

  “Shit.”

  “What?” Izzy hissed. “Who is that?”

  I ground my teeth. “Garrett.”

  My friend from school who’d seemed like he was finally going insane was here. He had Tommy, and he had a gun.

  Connor put his hands up on either side of his head defensively, eyes darting between Garrett and Tommy. “Look, man,” he started, clearing his throat when the gun shifted slightly closer, “whatever shit you’ve got against me, leave my brother out of it.”

  Garrett laughed, a wild maniacal laugh that made however crazy he’d been at school seem like nothing. Somehow Garrett had gone completely insane.

  “Whatever shit?” he asked mockingly and kicked Connor hard enough in the center of the chest to push him back into the snow with an audible grunt. Garrett tilted his head back and gave another one of his insane laughs, the gun’s barrel dancing around, wavering, but never letting Connor out of immediate danger. Tommy had given up on fighting back, hanging pitifully by the back of his PJ’s sobbing and crying out for his brother. Garrett plowed on, “Whatever shit? It’s all you. All this . . . ” he motioned with the gun in a wide circle as if to indicate everything.

  Connor tried to push himself up but stopped on his elbows as Garrett leveled the gun again.

  “Dude, I met you like . . . ” he paused to think, “Two weeks ago and talked to you for a total of ten minutes, in which you threatened to shoot me. Many times. How can you blame me for anything? I don’t know you.”

  I reached down and grabbed Izzy’s arm, turning her to face me slightly as Connor got kicked again, this time in the face. And Garrett didn’t stop, kicking and kicking until Connor curled his arms over his face in an attempt to protect himself.

  Izzy opened her mouth to protest, but I put a finger to my lips. “We have to be quiet. He’s got a gun. Surprise is our only weapon.”

  “Wha— ” Izzy glanced back at where Garrett was still kicking the shit out of our friend, Tommy screaming from his hand. I put my hand up beside her eyes like blinders, so she couldn’t look. It took effort not to look myself. “Focus, Izzy. I'll tackle him and you grab Tommy and get back inside. Hide Tommy, get a gun, and come back. Okay?”

  Izzy took a deep steadying breath and nodded. “As long as you try your best not to die.”

  “I’ll do what I can.”

  Holding a finger to my lips as if to remind my feet to be silent, I stepped off the porch and into the snow. I didn’t know what to do with my hands in sneaking up to tackle someone, it felt wrong to let them hang casually at my side. Did I hold them up like a cartoon burglar, or just stick them in my pockets or wave them above my head like a distressed Kermit the frog? It seemed like an insubstantial thing to worry about, but I couldn’t help it. />
  “Is this what you wanted?” Garrett’s voice cracked as he screeched, ramming his foot into Connor’s side over and over. “Did you want them all dead? You wanted me to shoot them, so why are they still alive? They’re laughing at me! You’re laughing at me! Stop laughing!”

  Connor wasn’t laughing. He had his arms tucked around his head, grunting every time Garrett’s foot hit him. I couldn’t see his face.

  “I’m not laughing! I’m not laughing!” Connor’s voice broke too, but for a different reason. I may not have been able to see his face but I could hear the tears in his voice, “I didn’t tell you to shoot anyone. Please!”

  I was close enough that I could see the sweat dripping down the back of Garrett’s neck. He was sick. In more ways than one.

  I took in a long breath through my nose and launched myself at the bigger boy. The collision felt like getting hit with a sack of meat and bones, and both of us let out an exclamation of surprise as we fell into the snow.

  At some point in the course of the falling and the tackling and flailing of arms, Garrett’s hold on Tommy’s shirt had loosened and I caught a brief glance of the four-year-old on his knees, sobbing in the snow.

  “Izzy!”

  She seemed to remember our plan and through the struggle, I saw her grab the toddler and dart back toward the house.

  But watching her took my focus away from where it needed to be: on the lunatic I was trying to pin in the snow. Garrett’s knee slammed hard into my stomach, and I grunted, nearly losing my grip, but I was clearly stronger. Even so, it took a lot of struggling to get his arms pinned down. My fingernails dug into his wrists to try and keep him from wriggling away.

  My breath came in ragged gasps, each gust of air feeling like frigid shards of glass as they dug into my lungs. Worry and adrenaline had made it so I didn’t notice the cold. But now I did, raking at my bare feet like claws.

  I was shivering, pinning Garrett in the snow, with Connor in an undetermined state of consciousness behind me, groaning softly in a way that signaled he wouldn’t be of much help for a while.

  I was closer to Garrett than I wanted to be. I could smell his rancid breath, and see the reddened whites of his eyes.

  As I panted and glared and shivered, Garrett’s angered and shocked features twisted into what may have once been a smile, “Levi Graves . . . is that you?”

  I shivered again, but this time it wasn’t because of the cold, rather how he’d said my name. Like dragging fabric over sand.

  “How the hell did you find this house, asshole?” I growled, trying to keep my eyes from meeting his.

  Garrett’s smile widened, “He said he didn’t know me. But I’ve known him. For a long long time.” Garrett’s voice turned singsong. “Levi, did you know his mommy was a teacher? Mrs. Storming? She has Christmas parties where all her first-graders come and drink hot chocolate with their own mommies. Sometimes the mommies bring the first grader’s older brothers. I have a sister. Did you know that, Levi? Her name was Stephanie.”

  I swallowed hard, not wanting to know where his story was going to lead me, but I couldn’t help but ask. “Was?”

  “The world's been ending for weeks, Levi, because of that boy behind you. Stephanie ate Mommy weeks ago. She’s locked in her room. I hear her laughing every night. Sometimes, I go to the door and laugh with her.”

  Oh, Jesus. I could picture it, though I didn’t want to. A six- or seven-year-old covered in her mother’s blood, dead eyes and laughing like so many of the half-gone I’d seen.

  Garrett gave another one of those smiles, slow and terrifying. His eyes traced from mine down to where my knees were pressed against his thighs to keep him from moving. I may have gotten the better of him, but I didn’t weigh as much. It took all my strength and body weight to keep him from moving.

  I slammed his arm into the ground. “Eyes up, jackass.”

  “You’re straddling me, Levi. Dream come true, right? But no, not me. Him, isn’t it?”

  I wasn’t even sure what to say to that, but I didn’t have time to think of something because, in my bafflement, my grip must have loosened, and he must have noticed. One of his hands shot out of my grasp and up, slugging me so hard in the jaw that the world started to tilt and spin. I tilted with it, and Garrett kicked me off of him. I landed inches away from Connor, who was still unconscious and curled into a protective ball.

  “Connor!” was the only thing I managed to get out before Garrett was on top of me, his meaty hands clamped around my neck.

  “You think you can take him from me!” he demanded. “He’s mine, mine to hurt! Mine to kill!”

  I wasn’t even sure what he meant at this point because all I could think about was the fact that I couldn’t breathe. One of his thumbs dug into my windpipe so hard that nothing could get through. And it hurt. I wanted to scream but I couldn’t. My dad had tried to strangle me before, so I recognized the feeling of my windpipe being crushed, but my dad hadn’t really wanted me dead, hadn’t held me from breathing with this much conviction.

  Garrett was going to kill me. I could feel it already. Spots danced in front of my vision and I kicked at his sides and clawed at his hands, anything, anything to get him off of me.

  But nothing worked.

  As I said, he was way heavier than me, and with his knees bracing him in the snow on either side of me, all he had to do was lean his weight into his hands.

  Garrett leaned down, so his mouth was next to my ear and whispered, “You’re gonna die. You’re going to pass out any second and then you’re going to die. And I won’t let go until you turn cold. I hope you feel every second of it. And then, I'll do it to him, and everything will go back to normal. When Connor Storming dies, the world will be perfect again. You might even come back.”

  As he spoke, his voice seemed more and more distant, and my oxygen-deprived brain almost believed him. I wouldn’t be dead for long, just until Connor was dead too.

  I stopped struggling. My lungs felt like they were collapsing in on themselves, but that was fine. Who needed lungs anyway.

  Me apparently, I learned, as just before everything was about to go black, Garrett let go.

  Air rushed back down my bruised throat so hard I choked on it for a second before I realized what was happening.

  Izzy had saved the day. She stood above both of us with the gun she’d clearly found digging into the back of Garrett’s head.

  With what would have been a laugh, had I had any breath to laugh with, I collapsed into the snow, hand on my throat, wheezing air in and pushing it back out.

  Izzy cleared her throat. “You shouldn’t have hurt my friends.”

  Garrett started to chuckle, but before it could turn into a full out laugh, there was a loud bang, and another one of those strangled cries from Garrett, followed by a loud thwack and thud.

  When I finally had enough breath that I felt like I could move without my vision swimming, I sat up and raised my eyebrows at Izzy, who was still holding the gun.

  She’d shot him. Not in the head, but in the shoulder, and then knocked him out with the barrel of the gun. He lay in a growing pool of his own blood in the snow, unconscious.

  Beside me, I heard a groan, “Did you just shoot someone?”

  Twenty-Three

  Connor

  March 20th - 9:19 a.m.

  I had come to the conclusion that the universe hated me.

  My week had started with the end of the world.

  And now it seemed like it would end with some guy I barely knew accusing me of causing said end, beating the ever-loving shit out of me, and possibly killing me on my birthday.

  I hadn’t had the best week.

  This morning, the morning of my eighteenth birthday, I’d woken with a knife to my throat. My first thought had been of Tommy. In the moment of sharp cold against my neck and still partial blindness from sleep and darkness, I couldn’t hear him, couldn’t hear anything except someone else’s ragged breathing.

  I blin
ked, and despite how dangerously bad of an idea it was, my first instinct was to grab my glasses from the bedside table, whoever it was let me shove them onto my face.

  The blurry features came into sharp focus. They were features I recognized, twisted into a horribly self-pleased grin.

  My breath caught. “Garrett?”

  His ravaged face twisted into what might have been a smile before something had clawed at the features of his face. Huge gouge marks marred what had once been even brown skin. They appeared raw and newly scabbed. Something or someone had clawed his face. Parts of his cornrow hair had ripped out, taking scalp with it. It must have hurt. A lot.

  A low, gurgly chuckle rose from the bottom of his chest and for a horrible moment, I thought that meant he was what Izzy had decided we should all call a “half-gone”. I thought they knew how to use knives now. I thought they knew how to pick locks now, and I thought for a second we were totally doomed.

  Then I realized I, in particular, was doomed in the immediate future. Garrett was no half-gone, but he was fucking insane and he was ready to kill me.

  “Morning, pretty boy,” he hissed, spittle flying onto my face.

  I’d never understood using pretty boy as an insult. What’s insulting about that? You just called me pretty? Thank you.

  But with the way it came from Garrett’s mouth, it most certainly was one. I did not want someone with that expression to call me pretty ever again.

  “What— ” I swallowed hard feeling the knife on my skin, ”What do you want?”

  Garrett leaned over me farther, and with the hand that wasn’t holding the knife dangerously close to my throat, he grabbed a fist full of my hair.

  “Gah!” I inadvertently cried out and tried to yank away, but that only made the pain in my scalp worse.

  I couldn’t tell where Tommy was when Garrett yanked me out of bed by the hair. I hoped he would stay hidden, even as Garrett threw me to the ground, where my head slammed into a leg of my bedside table.

  For a moment the world spun, and all I could think about was hoping Tommy had enough sense that even if he were awake he would stay under the blankets.