Four (Their Dead Lives,1) Page 2

  “Harder.” The roommate’s whisper tickled his ear as his head pressed against her face. First Angela’s neighbor. Now her roommate. Don’t blame your cursed unmentionable. This is your own doing. Wet sounds of thrusting, smacking and laughing filled the room. The girl’s moans rose into an inevitable scream. A finger to her full lips quieted her. How Scot loved full lips. Angela didn’t have them, but her roommate did. And so he thrust into her without remorse.

  Do it like the asshole you are, Scotty. With his free hand, he brought a whiskey bottle to his mouth. Liquor swirled inside glass and for some odd reason, it gave him the urge to bend the roommate over and have his way with her. However, she made the next move, reaching through his wavy strawberry-blond hair.

  “You can relax, you know. She’s not home,” the roommate cooed, her nails scratching his back.

  Clearly. If she were here, I’d be in her.

  Scot gave his classic cocky smirk. “If you say relax, I relax.”

  The roommate glanced at the bottle he was drinking from. “Do you really need that right now?” She let out a slight moan.

  A pleasured moan or an annoyed moan? Either one works, I suppose.

  “As much as I need you right now.”

  The roommate tried to shove Scot off, but the attempt had zero conviction. “What does that mean?”

  “Means I need both?” Scot shrugged.

  She bit her lip as a strand of blonde hair fell over her forehead. How he loved blondes.

  He fought the distraction. “Why do you care anyway? You know what this isn’t. I’m with Angie.”

  “Of course I know that. She’s my roommate, ass. So why screw around with me?”

  “I guess, well, I guess it felt right?” He drank.

  The roommate chuckled her disbelief. “You’re such a little prick, Scot.”

  Obviously. The empty bottle dropped from his hand and with the loss of his liquor, he finally turned his full attention to the girl. He gave one more thrust before she stopped him, snapping, “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Oh. Did you want me to stop?”

  “Yeah, you’re dirt. Get off me.”

  He immediately hopped off the small bed. “Angie will be back soon, probably.”

  “Yeah, you don’t want to be caught in bed with her fat roommate.”

  Scot laughed his reply, “Not fat.”

  The roommate sat straight, folding her arms to cover her exquisite breasts. How he loved exquisite breasts. “That’s probably the whiskey talking.”

  “Why have sex with me if I’m such a douche-hole?” He pulled his jeans, stumbling to the door.

  “The mimosas,” she quickly retorted. “And I’m miserable.”

  He stared at the empty bottle of whiskey. “So am I.”

  “You know what they say about misery, right?”

  “It loves to fuck.”

  The roommate grabbed at her hair in frustration. “Ugh, your confidence is attractive. Most girls dig that.”

  “Confidence?” Scot struggled to clothe himself, fumbling his collared shirt. “What about being nice? Girls don’t like nice guys anymore?” He hiccupped.

  The roommate leaned forward. “Not when they’re fooling around with their roommate’s boyfriend. See, nice guys are good for dating. They’re good for relationships. Guys like you, well, you would be a shitty boyfriend. I mean, you are a shitty boyfriend. Angela will realize this one day.”

  Psychology major? “Yeah, sure, thanks. But uh, so you’re not telling her, right?”

  Still covering herself with her hands, the roommate rolled her eyes. “Please. Angela is so clueless, not to mention absolutely crazy. She will never find out. Not from me, at least.”

  Scot stopped in the doorway. “Some roommate she has.”

  “Some boyfriend she has.”

  After Scot shut the door, he paused only momentarily in the living room before leaving the apartment. He was well aware he’d done a terrible thing, but he felt nothing. His girlfriend Angela — the one he’d just cheated on with her roommate — didn’t even cross his mind. His thoughts always returned to Kelsey. KELSEY. How he loved Kelsey. They’d started dating freshman year of high school and lasted many years after, and when a crowded world had become scared, sinking to hell, Kelsey gave him a lone spark of hope and—

  Scot groaned to himself. Get over it. But too often, he thought about his past, and his mind traveled back there.

  Since leaving Kelsey two years ago, he’d been seeking escape in his self-described sex-capade, sleeping with copious amounts of girls and indulging in gallons of booze. Why had he stuck around with Angela for three months? Something about her reminded him of Kelsey, he supposed, although they looked nothing alike. Of course, the same connection with Kelsey didn’t exist. Not even close. You’ll never get those feelings again, so keep drinking, keep screwing, because that’s all you have now.

  Feelings, he laughed at the word. Was it that day in high school that deprived him of love? Or was Kelsey the one who held it? He loved all sorts of other things, sure, but the greatest feeling of all — his love for Kelsey — made them meaningless in comparison. Will you man-up and leave already? And although telling someone to man-up was sexist, he did leave Angela’s apartment. But his thoughts kept attacking him.

  Shut up, mind! He tried to never feel sorry for himself. Emo kids continuously wallowing in self-pity annoyed him. However, the more girls he slept with, and the more booze he downed, the more he felt human. Irish human. Scot smiled at this last thought.

  Outside, stairs leading to a parking lot flew under his feet. He nearly trampled over himself when he ran into her. Angela. Girlfriend. He jerked back and grabbed a rail, clearing his throat. “Oh, Angie. Hey.”

  Angela’s almost non-existent lips pursed skeptically to the side. “What are you doing here?”

  No hesitation in his response. “I came to surprise you.”

  She clutched at his hand. “Awww, what were you going to surprise me with?”

  Fucking your roommate. He leaned against a wall with one arm and gave her that dirty smirk. “I’m going to my hometown to meet some old friends and thought you should tag along.”

  Angela jumped at Scot like an excited child. “Come upstairs!” She tugged at his now hesitant body, but he followed with little resistance, staring at Angela’s thick-shaped frame. Not overweight, just meaty in all the right places for his tastes.

  They entered her apartment and the roommate, draped in a black silk robe, greeted them immediately. “Hey, it’s the lovely couple.”

  Angela let an embarrassed smile form as she pulled Scot to her room, her bed. He avoided any eye contact with the roommate. Not that it matters.

  In the end, does any of this really matter?

  Sitting at her bedside, the slender Scot blankly stared at Angela’s moving mouth. Instead of listening to her, he thought about his childhood friends with whom he’d reunite with for the first time in nearly five years. Scot wondered if they were living in a bottomless pit like him. Alec had Nicole, Jeff had the Navy, and Kale, well, Kale probably still lived in his dream world. Scot had booze and girls—things most people never complained about having in abundance. Yet, he still desired to fill an empty void in himself. Way to be a stereotype. He again thought losing Kelsey had caused it all. Or maybe it began on that dreadful day at high school eight years ago. Or maybe he was just being pathetic.

  “Are you even listening?” Angela asked, her mouth hanging open and eyebrows raised.

  “Huh? Oh. I agree.” If he ever blanked out during a conversation, which was frequent, he’d agree with whatever the other person said.

  This stupid tactic rarely worked in his favor.

  “Yes!” Angela hugged her boyfriend and kissed him on the nose. She brushed through his wavy hair, her hand feeling much like the roommate’s—feeling like nothing at all.

  Scot wondered what he’d just agreed to.

  With so much excitement in Angela’s voic
e, maybe she did have the crazies like the roommate had said. “I can’t wait to meet your parents!”

  You had to not listen and agree, you worthless occupier of air.

  A day later, Scot and Angela sped around a turn in his SUV as music blasted out of old speakers. He’d always enjoyed the drive down the Pacific Coast Highway. The scenery alone made the drive worth it. And with the shiny ocean surface at his side, he thought of that pier from his dream. Kelsey. He wondered if she was still in Green Hills.

  “Will you slow down? You’re freaking me out.”

  “Huh? Oh, sorry, Angie,” said Scot, distracted.

  She reached over and interlaced her fingers with his. “You okay?” Her touch really did nothing for him. Not like Kelsey’s touch had done for so long.

  He pretended to concentrate on the road. “Yeah, fine. I haven’t been home in a long time.”

  “You’re going to see family and friends. Might help with whatever is bothering you.”

  She reads me pretty well, minus the obliviousness to the whole cheating thing. “Yeah I guess,” Scot mumbled, hand tight around the steering wheel. She deserves better.

  “You want to talk about it?”

  “I’m good for now, but thanks.”

  Angela tightened her fingers around his. “You’re only twenty-three. Why be sad or stressed when there’s a lifetime right in front of you?”

  How do I respond to that? The highway narrowed in front of him. His eyes stayed on the road.

  “Here, this will help you relax.” Angela leaned close, unzipped his jeans, and lowered her head.

  She reads me really well.

  They continued driving south and were an hour from Scot’s hometown. They’d eventually arrive in suburbia, one which was beautiful, with lush green scenery, sandy beaches, and a refreshing ocean. Don’t forget the rich spoiled kids and the plentiful supply of hot soccer moms.

  Sometimes Scot missed Green Hills, but not often. Too much had happened to enjoy what Green Hills offered. But a part of him felt it time to go home, while another part of him had the sickest of feelings, and yet another part of him wanted to screw around.

  How he loved screwing around.

  KALE

  Don’t look back. Never look back.

  Grotesque moans crawled into his ears, rotten feet rushed behind him, and sweat filled his palms as he sprinted through the school. Legs flying, hands chopping at his sides, he released short breaths. The school hallways were abandoned but for some shredded corpses and trampled essays. Don’t look back. Never look back.

  Kale sprinted for freedom when he heard Tonic call out, “I’m screwed back here!”

  Reluctance consumed his fingers but he slowed anyway. A quick turn revealed Tonic crouching, holding a sub-machine gun, spraying an onslaught of bullets at the oncoming horde. Blood and flesh splattered in every direction. CLICK. The ammo clip fell from Tonic’s weapon. Dozens of flesh eaters swarmed, yards away from feasting on him.

  “Run!” Kale’s lips touched his headset, which smelled like nachos, and he quickly followed his own advice, fleeing for safety.

  “We can take them!” Tonic remained in place as he loaded another clip into his sub-machine gun. Soon enough, shrieks echoed down the hall. Skin was shredded off Tonic’s body, ripped by bloodstained mouths and claws. Tonic reached back toward Kale in a plea for help, but within moments, Tonic’s arm was pulled off.

  Meh. Kale continued his headlong escape, passing empty lockers, scattered notebooks, and abandoned backpacks. The horde is right on my tail. Hide. He leapt to the right, landing in an empty classroom. Door slammed. Door rammed. His predators scratched at the barrier, seeking him. On second thought, this was a terrible idea.

  “Howard, where are you, man?” Kale yelled through his headset. He frantically twirled until his eyes locked on another door on the opposite side of the classroom. A sea of desks stood between him and his exit, his freedom.

  “I’m outside. Where are you guys?” Howard responded in his nasally voice.

  “I’m pinned in the art classroom.”

  “Damn, dude! I told you guys not to go in the school. IT’S A TRAP.”

  “Just shut up and come help me!” Kale’s words cut off. Eyes widened as the door snapped open. “They’re breaking through!” He backed away, and the infected tumbled over each other, the fallen door splintering beneath their weight. Kale squeezed some type of pistol. He didn’t know the name of it, for he was no commando. Three zombies fell before ammo left him. Alone, once again, with them. He cursed and sprinted to the other side of the room. The infected rushed along with him, reaching out to him as if trying to hold his hand. I won’t put out! A few cut in front faster, cornering him. “Bye, Howard.”

  Without warning, a stream of bullets ripped through the infected bodies and a voice screamed, “Yaaahooo!”

  Standing behind the steaming pile of zombies, Howard hoisted a massive machine gun. “Man, I saved your ass again, bitch!” He joyfully skipped in place, looking like a complete buffoon.

  Something murdered his celebration. An approaching force trembled the room.

  Outside . . . in the hall . . . it comes!

  Silently, Howard stared at Kale, then looked at the door and jumped. “Dude, run!”

  Too late.

  The wall of the classroom smashed down as a huge infected roared in. Its hulking arms swung around viciously with no real aim.

  Howard froze in place as the gigantic creature pummeled its way for him. He screamed so loudly it burned Kale’s ears, “Horse manure!” The infected monster swatted Howard, sending the small man flying across the room. He exploded against a wall, a wave splattering from his body. Sticking to the wall a few seconds before sliding slowly to the floor, a blood trail and organs followed, dripping and toppling over Howard’s body.

  “No!” Kale’s throat burned. But really just, meh. He spun to his right, jumping over a desk toward the other classroom door. He tugged it open, and in his stupidity, paused to take one last glance at the creature.

  Don’t look back. Never look back.

  A chair hurled its way through the air, nailing Kale in the face and knocking him to the ground. His weak arms fought to press off the cold floor. Stand. Freedom. With blurring vision, he stared at the creature hovering over him. He swore it smiled before bashing him to bloody mush.

  Kale dropped his video game controller as he watched his character meet its most-unwelcoming fate. His face flushed with frustration. “Shit! Was almost getting into it.” He kicked the controller at the flat screen TV his parents had bought him when he moved in with Howard over a year ago. He smacked the video-game case. “I’m done playing, Howard. This game isn’t fair.” He took off his headset and, slumping on the couch in the living room of their apartment, stared at takeout boxes and dirty clothes scattered about. Two flies swarmed over a half-eaten burrito. Still good?

  A high-pitch whine shot from Howard’s mouth, who approached from his own room. “Life isn’t fair, dude. But we gotta take them all down with us every chance we get. One bullet at a time.” He entered the living room, holding a game controller, still wearing his headset.

  Kale raised a thick dark eyebrow. “You make no sense.”

  “How the hell do we beat this game? I heard it was tough, but damn.” Howard pushed his thin-framed glasses up his nose. It twitched. He sat next to Kale on the dirty blue couch, scratching his scalp through his oily brown hair. “Let’s try again, yeah?”

  “I don’t know, man, seems as impossible as a real apocalypse.”

  Howard hopped once in excitement. “Oh, dude, a real apocalypse! Hah! I would be the best zombie killer, man. I hope they come. I’ll freaking be like, like, Will Smith in I Am Legend.” A rat-a-tat of machine gun noises spat off his lips as he pretended to hold an invisible weapon.

  “Except you’re not black. And I can’t believe you referenced that movie. The world forgot about it, so should you.” Kale smiled, and before Howard could counter, hi
s cell phone vibrated. “Shit, Alec.”

  “Tell him you’re going to Comic-Con instead of that jizz-sauce reunion.”

  “No, look, I should really see them. Been forever.”

  “But you promised to go to Comic-Con with me. It’s going to be legend—”

  Kale pointed a finger. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence. Don’t you do it.”

  “All right, bro, but seriously, you promised.”

  “I know, I know, it’s this damn reunion crap,” Kale muttered as he watched his friend lower his head. “Come on, man! Listen, come with me tonight, then we’ll catch the last day of the Con.”

  “Okay, okay, but only if we suit—”

  “Don’t you dare say suit up.”

  “Dammit, you never let me quote How I Met Your Mother. You know I’ve been on a marathon binge.”

  “Yeah, you can quote it when I’m dead.”

  Howard scratched his cheek. “Right, well I guess I should get ready now.” He paused after standing and said, “Then we should do some more zombie slaying?”

  “Nope, enough of that. Hell, you might as well be a zombie, since you never go out or anything.”

  “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Save the preachy shit for someone else. Now, I’m going to, wait for it . . .”

  Kale raised a fist, mock-angry. “Nooo!”

  “Suit up!”

  Kale laughed, watching his scrawny friend skip to his room. Imbecile. I live with a freaking imbecile. But I love him.

  Scattered clothes covered Kale’s room. Three movie posters lined beige walls. They consisted of Spider-Man, Dawn of the Dead, and Blade. He’d loved those movies growing up, watching them repeatedly.

  Sitting by his bedroom window, viewing the courtyard, Kale thought about calling her. But he knew he shouldn’t. A quick scroll through his contact list brought his index finger to hover over her name. Kelsey. If you pursue her, you’ll end up in a love triangle with Scot. Avoid love triangles at all costs!

  Kale sighed and shut his phone. Sunlight broke through shades, shining off his jet-black hair, and the warmth made him quickly think of her again.