The Zombie Playground Page 2

  He hovered over his Pinnacle and got into position. He tried to focus on his upcoming shot, but all he could think about was that strange yellow creature. He wasn’t crazy; he had seen something weird in those watery depths. But where did it go? And what was it trying to do?

  He tried to clear his head as he brought his eight iron up over his head and swung down against his ball. He knew it as soon as he hit it; while he had hooked most of his shots since the first hole, he had opened up his club face too wide on this one, causing the ball to slice way right.

  “Damn it!” Tristan said, smacking the club against his bag.

  “Wow,” Percy said, laughing. “Good luck finding that.”

  Tristan found it in the forest near the cart path. He managed to hit his ball over an intimidating pair of trees, but then his ball landed in the center of a sand trap. By the time his Pinnacle stopped within a feet of the hole, he was lying five strokes, making for, at best, an ugly triple bogey.

  “Yikes,” Percy said.

  “Shut up.” Tristan didn’t even bother knocking the ball in the hole; he just picked it up. He didn’t care anymore. He just wanted to move on to the next hole, finish the round, and go home.

  Percy laughed. He still needed to make his par.

  “Watch how the master does it,” he said.

  Tristan watched from the side of the green as Percy sunk an easy five-footer for par. He twirled his putter around in the air and stopped in front of the hole.

  “You’ve just gotta deal with it, Tristan,” he said. “I’m a better golfer than you.”

  “I’ll beat you next time.”

  “No, you won’t. You won’t beat me next time, or the time after that, or the time after that! Because there’s no stopping me.”

  He bent over to pick up his ball.

  “Nobody… not you… not Crispin… not anybody… will ever take me down—”

  A hand burst through the ground, up through the cup, catapulting the golf ball fifty feet into the air. Percy screamed as a revolting yellow hand took hold of his sweater and started pulling him down.

  “Oh my God!” Percy swung his putter at the figure as the sunken head and gooey chest emerged.

  Tristan looked on in horror. He couldn’t move; he couldn’t say a word. He watched as the yellow figure, definitely human, but definitely not human, uttered one simple word as he pulled Percy down beneath the green.

  “EEEEEEEEEEEAT!”

  The creature, covered in worms and peeling flesh, sporting big red veins and a pair of black molten eyes, sunk its teeth deep into Percy’s right hip, just as Percy reached his arm out toward Tristan.

  “Tristan! Help me!”

  But Tristan didn’t have time to help his friend; he didn’t even have time to take a step forward. He watched, helplessly, as the creature chewed deeper into Percy’s stomach and started to pull him down, down, down…

  Chapter One

  “No, no, no, no! I don’t want to go down!”

  “Brin?” Paul jumped up to his feet and raced toward her dad’s grave. “What’s going on?”

  She couldn’t escape from the figure’s grasp. She couldn’t breathe; she felt like she was choking. She felt her head pushing against the wet dirt. She felt ready to join her father in the grave beneath the soil for all eternity.

  “Oh God! Oh God!”

  “Brin!” Paul leapt forward and grabbed her by her legs. She forgot how much strength he had. He started pulling her back out. “Brin! Don’t worry! I’ve got you!”

  “Don’t let go, Paul! Please don’t let me go!”

  “I won’t! I promise!”

  The hand rising from the grave below had a tight grip on her, but the power from beneath couldn’t defeat the power from above. Paul let out a loud shriek—the kind of noise that could only come from a member of the undead—and flung Brin back toward him.

  The hand from below let go, and Brin slammed into Paul’s chest, hard, like the crushing tackle of a football player.

  She gripped her neck and started coughing. She needed to catch her breath. She crawled up to her feet and spent the next minute coughing and crying at the same time.

  “What the hell was that?” Paul said, standing up, too.

  “He talked… oh God… he talked to me!”

  Brin looked back at the grave. The hand was gone. Worse, the spot where the hand had burst through was magically repaired, like the incident had been nothing but the result of her overactive imagination.

  “What…” Brin took a step forward. “But…”

  “Don’t worry,” Paul said. “You have a witness. You’re not crazy. I saw it, too!”

  “You saw it? I felt it!” She rushed back to the grave.

  “Uhh, Brin,” Paul said. “Shouldn’t we move away from there?”

  She didn’t listen to him. She dove her body right back in front of her father’s tombstone and started scratching her fingernails into the dirt.

  “Daaaaaaaad! Dad, are you in there?”

  “Brin! What are you doing—”

  “Dad! Answer me! Talk to me!”

  Paul wrapped his arm around Brin’s stomach and brought her back up to her feet. She tried to kick Paul in the shins, but he stopped her. He shook her and brought her face to his.

  “What’s the matter with you?” he said.

  “He spoke to me, Paul!” Brin had tears streaming down her cheeks. “My dad talked to me! He said that he missed me!”

  “Your dad is dead!”

  “No! No, he’s not! It was him! It was his voice!”

  “Brin, listen to yourself!”

  She wiped a tear from her cheek. She stared into Paul’s eyes. “What? Are you saying I’m being unrealistic that my dad could still be alive, Paul? Because the last time I checked, you were someone who came back from the dead!”

  He shook his head. “That’s different.”

  “How so?”

  “There’s no way your dad could be like me. Not if he was buried in the ground. Not if he…”

  He didn’t finish his sentence. He just stared at her, a woeful look on his face.

  “What? Not if he what?”

  Paul turned around and started marching back toward Brin’s car. “Let’s go. It’s getting dark. Your mom’s probably getting worried.”

  “Wait! What aren’t you telling me?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I saw that look, Paul.”

  “Haven’t we had enough excitement for one weekend?”

  Brin pulled Paul around. “A hand burst out of the ground in front of my father’s gravestone, and you want me to just forget about it? Pretend like it didn’t happen?”

  “I just don’t want you to jump to any conclusions, that’s all.”

  “There’s a chance my dad could still be alive out there. There’s a chance he could need me. I’m not going anywhere—”

  She turned toward the grave, but Paul grabbed Brin’s arm and pulled her back toward him.

  “Stop! Brin, you have bigger problems at stake than this! Do you have any idea how you’re going to go to class tomorrow, with two of your classmates dead? Have you thought about how you’re going to explain that to everyone?”

  “Let go of me.”

  He did.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I’m still trying to process everything.”

  “You don’t have much time. You could be in some serious trouble. You need to start thinking about this coming week, about what you and the others are going to say.”

  “I know. Trust me… I know there’s a lot to figure out. But, Paul, it’s my dad.”

  He stared at her for a few seconds, then casually nodded. “You want to come back?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “OK. But promise me something.”

  Brin pursed her lips and didn’t give him a response.

  He continued on anyway. “Promise you’ll never come back here without me with you. Promise you won’t come back here by yourself.”r />
  Again, she didn’t say a word. She just looked at him, like an answer to that question couldn’t possibly be as simple as a yes or a no.

  “Brin, damn it, come on.”

  “OK,” she finally said. “I promise.”

  “Good.” He looked toward her father’s grave one last time and then turned toward her car in the dark, empty parking lot. “Come on, let’s go.”

  Brin and Paul trudged back toward her Jeep. Unlike Paul, Brin didn’t look back at her father’s grave.

  But it was all she could think about.

  That was you, Dad, she thought. You’re still alive. I know it.

  And I’m going to prove it.

  Chapter Two

  Brin didn’t want to go home yet. She wanted to spend time with Ash. She wanted to see her group and talk about what they were going to say in Film class tomorrow, if any of them wanted to even show up at all. They had been through so much chaos since Saturday that Brin figured she might be the only one who survived the Bodie tragedy to actually report to school tomorrow.

  But Brin hadn’t received a proper meal in forty-eight hours. And her mom was making her favorite: Chicken Divan. It was time to head home.

  Silence permeated around the kitchen table before Brin’s mom Tessa sat down with her glass of white wine and immediately smiled at Paul. He was only taking small bites of his dinner.

  “Paul, right?”

  He nodded. “Yes.”

  “Do you not like your food?”

  “Oh, no, Mrs. Skar. It’s delicious. I’ve just… I’m kind of a picky eater.”

  “Oh? You’re not a vegetarian, are you?”

  He sighed. “Yeah, you could say it’s something like that.”

  Tessa stood up from her chair and kneeled over to grab his plate. “Here, let me make you something else. How about a grilled cheese sandwich?”

  He didn’t let her take the plate away. “No, no. This is fine.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes. Thank you again.”

  “OK. Well, speak up if you need anything. We don’t have a lot of guests around here, and when we do I like to make sure they’re happy.”

  Brin rolled her eyes. She stuffed another huge glob of chicken and cheese into her mouth. She was acting the opposite of Paul; she had to keep herself from gorging.

  “So. Tell me again, Paul. What part of Germany do you come from?”

  He looked at Brin, then at her mother. “Dusseldorf.”

  “Dusseldorf. I’ve never heard of it. Is it near Berlin?”

  He looked again at Brin. She had coached him in the car about what he was supposed to say. She hoped he wouldn’t mess up.

  “Yes. Well, it’s not around the corner or anything, but Berlin’s a train ride away. Dusseldorf is on the western side of Germany. It’s close to France, actually.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Tessa said. “I’ve always wanted to visit Europe. I’m not sure if Germany would be at the top of my list, but I’d love a quick tour on my way to Italy.” She pressed her hand up against her heart in an overly dramatic fashion. “Oh, Brin. Your father… he always said he would take me to Florence one day.” Daughter and mother shared an awkward silence. Tessa dug her fork back into her food and sighed. “Guess that’s not gonna happen.”

  “Yeah,” Brin said, wanting to change the subject fast, but not knowing what to say.

  “So I know I asked you this before,” Tessa said to Paul, chicken, cheese, and white wine rolling around in her open mouth, “but what happened to your previous host family?”

  Paul tried to sort the lies in his head. “They pulled out of hosting me, at the last second. After I was already off the plane and everything.”

  Tessa shook her head. “Unbelievable. Who would do such a thing? Are they close by?”

  Brin butted in. “They’re not in Grisly.”

  “Oh. Reno?”

  “No,” Brin said. “Worse. Fernley.”

  Tessa took another sip of her wine and chuckled. “Ridiculous. Such a shame.”

  “So yeah,” Brin said, trying her best to keep up with the big fat lie the best she could. She didn’t know how long it would take for her mom to discover the truth about Paul. She could imagine their awkward future conversation: You figured it out, Mom. Paul’s not a pasty-faced kid from Deutschland. He’s a bloodsucking vampire from Bodie. Oh, and his dad may pay a visit one of these days and try to kill us. But yeah…

  “Yeah?” Tessa said.

  Brin had lost her train of thought. “Oh, I was just going to ask, could Paul stay with us for a while? I mean, he’s going to Grisly High, he’s stuck here through the semester, and he doesn’t have a home. We have that basement downstairs with the foldout bed. It’s the least we can do.”

  “You don’t have to pitch me the idea, Brin,” Tessa said. “I agree with you. Paul, it would be lovely to have you.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Skar,” he said. “That’s really kind of you.”

  “I just need to make some calls. To the school. To the family from Fernley. I need to make sure I get all the paperwork—”

  “Oh, I’ll do that, Mom,” Brin said, interrupting. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve already called the school. They already know we’re going to be hosting him.”

  “You have?”

  “Yeah. Is that all right?”

  “It’s fine.” She smiled. “I feel like I can trust you both. You didn’t just bring him off the street, right?”

  Her mom started laughing, and Brin and Paul laughed along with her. Brin felt bad about lying to her mother, but she knew there was no other way. And besides, her mom was clearly excited about having a third body in the house. It had been so claustrophobic, so stifling, with just the two of them lately. Paul would be a welcome change of pace to their daily lives.

  Even if he is a vampire.

  “I just have one more question for you, Paul,” Tessa said.

  Uh oh, Brin thought. She could hear the question coming. You’re not going try to sleep with my daughter, are you? You’re not going to sneak up to her room in the middle of the night and start playing with her boobies, are you?

  “Can you say something to me in German?” Tessa said. “I’d love to hear some. You’re fluent, I presume?”

  Paul darted his eyes at Brin. Even though they both felt confident in their German exchange student story, neither had actually studied the language.

  “They actually teach a lot of English over there,” Paul said, “and that’s what I’ve been primarily speaking the last few years.”

  “Really?” she said. “That surprises me. I thought the Germans looked down on anyone who didn’t speak their language.”

  “That’s the French,” Brin said quickly.

  “Oh, that’s right. You’re right.” Tessa shrugged. “Still though, Paul. Just a little something?”

  He furrowed his brow and leaned forward over his lukewarm food. “Of course. Umm…”

  Brin’s eyebrows went up, not down. She hoped he could think of something. The guy had been alive for decades; he had to have read or heard something in German.

  “Hallo, guten tag,” Paul said, clearly searching his memory. And then: “Ich liebe es zu trinken menschlichen blutes.”

  Tessa set her fork down and smiled. “Wow! I love it. What did that mean?”

  “I said, it’s a pleasure to be in your company tonight.”

  “Well, it’s a pleasure to be in yours, Paul. I’m glad to have you.” Tessa looked at Brin and brought her palms together in delight.

  Brin nodded back at her mom. She wanted to tell her everything. She wanted to tell her about Bodie Ghost Town, about the vampires, about the ritual, about Droz, about Ash’s rescue, about that little girl by the RV who took a chunk out of Lavender’s throat. And she wanted to tell her about her surreal visit to Dad in the cemetery.

  But she didn’t.

  “So, Brin, how did the movie shoot in Bodie go? You haven’t really talked about it.”


  Brin stared at her mother. She hadn’t a clue what to say. “It was… interesting.”

  “Yeah? Did you get any good shots?”

  “I… I really don’t know yet.”

  Brin took her last bite of the chicken dish, then dabbled her napkin against her mouth, trying to show Paul that she wasn’t a ferocious carnivore like that little girl by the RV, but a real deal female who had the occasional manners.

  “That was delicious, Mom.”

  “Thanks, honey. I know it’s your favorite.” She stood up from the table, grabbed Brin’s plate, and looked again at Paul. “You sure you don’t want me to make you something else?”

  He shook his head. “I had a lot to eat earlier, Mrs. Skar. I’m fine.”

  “All right. Please don’t be afraid to speak up. You’re going to be staying with us for a while, Paul. I want you to feel at home.”

  He gave my mom a big smile as she departed the table and walked around the corner to the kitchen.

  Paul and Brin took this rare moment alone to look at each other and sigh with relief. Brin couldn’t believe it: their plan had worked. Her mom actually bought their lame story.

  And best of all, her mom didn’t seem worried that a young male would be staying under the same roof as her daughter.

  She’s probably so sick of Ash by now, Brin thought, that she thinks any other male figure in my life is a good thing.

  Brin reached over and grabbed a piece of Paul’s chicken from his plate, but he put his hand on hers before she could bring the chicken to her mouth. He touched her, sweetly, and peered into her eyes with a strong sense of gratitude.

  “Thank you,” he said. “You know… for everything.”

  “Of course. We’re going to figure this out, Paul. We’ll—”

  Tessa returned from the kitchen, without warning, and Brin pulled her hand away from the courteous vampire.

  Her mom stopped. For a second, Brin worried she had seen their tender embrace.

  But then Tessa smiled and lifted up a small lemon bundt cake. “Who wants dessert?”

  Brin was full from dinner, and she knew Paul wouldn’t want to have a taste of the cake—unless it has some blood-flavored red dye in it, she thought—but before Brin could say a word, a loud knock on the door emanated from the hallway.