Page 10 of Infinity (Chronicles of Nick 1)
Nick took deep breaths to calm his racing heart. "Are you sure I can't catch it?" He couldn't even believe he was asking that. This had to be the most bizarre conversation of his entire life, which, given the usual weirdness of Menyara, was saying a lot.
"I'm positive. Believe me, I know my zombies."
Nick scoffed. Is it just me oris that like saying I know my elves and fairies? If it wasn't for the fact Bubba might kill him, he'd say that out loud.
"I still think we ought to disinfect the bites. Just in case it's some military-designed bioweapon."
"Disinfect what? What did I miss?"
Nick turned to see Mark entering the store. Yawning and scratching, he joined them from the door that led to Bubba's upstairs apartment where he'd been asleep on Bubba's couch.
Nick sighed in agitation. "See what you miss by sleeping late? Me and Bubba got bitten by zombies. I say they're contagious. This morning only one of the kids in my school had it. Now, I just got attacked by three more. It's spreading and it's going to infect us all. We need to do something before it takes out all the good-looking women and leaves us with only each other. Call out the National Guard or the CBC or something."
Bubba scowled at him. "The CBC? Is that one of those new anime people?"
Nick rolled his eyes. "No. It's that place where they talk about diseases and quarantine people when they're contagious."
"Bubba, Nick means the CDC inAtlanta."
Bubba made a sound of disgust that originated in the back of his throat.
Mark, who was barely a head taller than Nick, was still dressed in his zombie-hunting ghillie suit. Fluffs of Spanish moss jutted out from all the places where he'd tucked it in his clothes so that he'd blend in with the bayou. His face was streaked with camouflage paint and he wore yellow-colored contact lenses that had a rim of red around them.
Zombie eyes.
Also for camouflage.
But that wasn't the worst of it. As he stopped next to Nick, there was an odor so foul it took his breath.
Nick covered his nose to keep from being sick over it. "What is that smell?" It was like three-day-old cat vomit mixed with rotten asparagus.
Mark scowled at him as if he was crazy for even asking. "Duck urine. It keeps the zombies from thinking I'm human."
Nick snorted. "Yeah, well it keeps me from thinking you're sane."
"Give it up, Mark. The boy don't know nothing about surviving. He actually kept me from shooting zombies who were in the store trying to eat him."
Mark cuffed Nick on the back of his head. "Are you out of your mind, kid?"
"Ow!" Nick rubbed the back of his head where they kept slapping him. If they didn't stop, he was going to get brain damage. "And no. I was keeping Bubba from committing a felony. No offense, but 'he's a zombie, Your Honor, don't electrocute me' isn't a viable excuse. Believe me, I know. My dad's doing three life sentences 'cause he killed, and I quote, 'a crap load of demons who were trying to kill me and if I hadn't killed them, Your Honor, they'd have taken over the city and enslaved all you petty, pathetic humans.' The court's not real understanding of that excuse. They wouldn't even let my dad plead insanity because of it. So trust me, 'zombies needed killing' isn't a legit defense."
Mark shook his head in supreme annoyance. "Well, it ought to be."
"Hey, Bubba? You in here or are you dead?"
Nick cringed as he heard the newcomers.
Bubba handed the gun to Mark and whispered to the two of them. "It's Officer Davis. Don't say anything."
Clearing his throat, he ambled toward the counter up front as if nothing had happened.
Nick hid the gun behind a curtain, amazed by how well Bubba could act. He slid his gaze to Mark, who was finally peeling off his camo suit. Seven years older than Nick, he had shaggy, light brown hair and bright green eyes. His features leaned toward pretty, except for his squared jawline. He also had three days' growth of beard on his face, which made him look a lot older. But it was his build that Nick envied. No matter how much he worked out, he just couldn't get the kind of muscle definition that Mark had without even trying. It was so unfair.
"Can I see your bite wound?" Mark asked. "Could you bathe first?" Mark glared at him.
Sighing, Nick held his arm out so that Mark could inspect it.
He let out a low whistle as he touched the vicious bite, which was still throbbing. "Yeah, we might want to disinfect this."
Nick cringed. "It's going to turn me into a zombie, isn't it?"
"I don't know about that, but the human mouth is the germiest part of the body. You might get parvo or rabies or something."
Nick scowled at that unexpected response. "Isn't parvo a dog disease?"
"Yeah, but who knows what's happening in your school, kid. Could be loup-garous on the loose and that, my friend, is definitely contagious."
Nick jerked his arm back. "I'm not going to turn into a werewolf, Mark."
"Go ahead and mock, but I'm telling you, I've seen them down in the bayou. Many a night. A whole pack of them that shifted into humans. Walking in daylight, they could be right next to you and you wouldn't know it."
It took all of Nick's self-control not to belittle him for that load of horse manure. He wasn't sure what was more pathetic, the fact that Mark was comfortable enough with him to talk about it or that his friend actually believed it.
Deciding on the latter, he let Mark lead him to the bathroom, where Bubba kept alcohol and peroxide.
As Mark cleaned and wrapped the bite, Nick ground his teeth against the pain of the stinging alcohol. "Man, I look like a total goob with both arms wrapped."
"Nah, man, they're war wounds. Chicks dig scars. Means you're a manly man able to protect them."
Nick lifted one disbelieving eyebrow. "Then why don't you and Bubba have girlfriends?"
"I don't want the drama of it. After the last one burnt up all my clothes with my Jack Daniel's Black Label collection and tried to decapitate me with my CDs, I decided I'd take a hiatus for a bit. As for Bubba ... I better not talk about that. Let's just say I don't think he wants to go through that again."
Nick wanted more clarification. "Go through what?"
"That ain't none of your business," Bubba said as he joined them. He narrowed his gaze on Mark. "You should learn to be quiet sometimes."
"Yeah, well, I always say that marriage is fine for others, but remember that it only leads to one thing."
Nick grinned. "Lots of nak*d party time?"
"Nah, kid. Alimony." Mark stepped back to put away the alcohol.
Wow. They were both rays of sunshine that broke through the darkest cloud ... In hell.
Nick turned to Bubba. "So what did the police say?"
"That if any more of my neighbors report a gunshot over here, they'd yank my business license and throw me under the jail for it. Nosy biddy bodies."
Nick scowled. "Isn't that busybodies?"
Bubba gave him a droll stare. "Have you seen Ms. Thomas next door? That's the ugliest witch on the planet. I swear she's a Gorgon."
"A what?" Nick asked with a frown.
Bubba snorted at him. "Get your head out of comic books and read some Greek mythology. Gorgons ... women who were so ugly just looking at one could turn a man into stone."
"Ahh ... in my high school that'd be my English teacher, Ms. Richard. She's such a snotty jerk, I swear she thinks the school's named after her."
Bubba didn't say anything as he started picking up glass from the shattered counter. "So why were the zombies here, anyway?"
"They said they were after..." Nick's voice faded off as he put everything together. Madaug freaking out. Nerd boy...
Holy dog snot. He looked up at Bubba. "Madaug St. James. You know him?"
"Geeky little kid who reminds me a lot of Mark?"
"Hey!" Mark said indignantly.
Bubba ignored him. "What about it?"
"He said it was imperative that he talk to you. He'd just left when the jocks came in, looking for him."
Mark shot a glance to Bubba. "You think he has something to do with this?"
Nick dug the number out of his pocket. "I don't know. But I'm beginning to think that's a real good start." And the more he thought about it, the more sure he was.
Madaug had to be behind this. Nothing else made sense. And if he was and Nick turned into a zombie because of him, brains were going to be spilled.
Lots of them and Madaug was the first person on his list. (Not that he had a list because that would get him thrown out of school and probably jailed—but should said hypothetical list exist, not saying that it did currently, or would in the future, Madaug was definitely target number one.)
CHAPTER 6
They tried for several hours to reach Madaug but he wouldn't answer the number he'd left. Flippin 'figures ...
Nick watched as Mark hung up the phone again before he spoke. "I'm telling you, Fingerman, he was eaten by the jocks. They could smell him from the few minutes he was here and they were hell-bent to get him. I think they ran him down and had a banquet."
Mark smirked. "Zombies have dulled senses, Nick. They're not bloodhounds or werewolves. You don't move, and they'll walk right past you, never seeing you. Believe me, on the scale of scary monsters, they rank way down the 'crap in my pants 'cause they're after me' list. I'll take a zombie over a vampire or werewolf any day."
"What about the duck urine then?" Nick reminded him.
"I was sweating in a swamp and the wind carried my scent. That's different. Their senses are dulled, not nonexistent."
Nick started to argue the point, but really... wasn't whether or not a zombie could smell you the most ludicrous thing on the planet to fight about? Werewolves weren't real and he still wasn't completely sold on the whole zombie thing either.
Something was up with the jocks, no doubt, but he didn't believe in the supernatural. He never had. It was bunk made up by moms to scare kids, and Hollywood to make a profit. The true monsters in this world, the people like his dad, were real and human through and through. Which was what made them so dangerous.
You didn't see them coming until it was too late.
Bubba, who'd been ignoring them, stood up from his stool to tower over both of them. He pointed to the clock over the door. "It's four o'clock, guys. I'm going up to watch Oprah. Unless the shop catches fire or we're under massive zombie invasion, I don't exist for the next hour." He took a step, then paused. "On second thought, don't even bother me if it's zombies—I'll deal with them later. Today's a special episode on how to make peace with people who piss you off. And I definitely need to find my Zen."
Mark snorted. "Your Zen's shooting stuff, Bubba. Embrace your inner violence."
"Fine, then. My inner violence says I'll cut your throat if you bother me until Oprah ends, so sod off."
Nick laughed until the time sank in. "Ah, man, I gotta run."
Mark furrowed his brow. "For what?"
"My new boss was supposed to pick me up after school." Which was thirty-five minutes ago and he'd forgotten all about it. "Ah, geez ... hope I'm not fired my first day."
Bubba hesitated. "Want me to write you an excuse?"
Nick shook his head. "Nah. I better run. See you guys later. Let me know when you find Madaug." Grabbing his backpack from the floor, he hit the door at full speed.
Luckily he was used to running for streetcars, and his school was only five blocks away. Something he made in record time.
There was still police tape cordoning off the front yard of the school and a couple of officers there to enforce it. They watched him closely as if expecting him to start biting on them or something.
Ignoring them, Nick slowed as he studied the cars that were lined up on the opposite side of the street. Only one had someone in it, and it wasn't Kyrian. / am so fired.... Crap.
My mom w'll kill me. More than that, he'd probably have to pay the hospital bill—which at last check had already added up to more than his first two years of college tuition combined —out of his own pocket.
Why couldn't Alan have shot him in the head and ended it all?
/ was cursed from birth. Couldn't he ever catch a break with anything? Disgusted, he hung his head and started back toward Bubba's store.
"Nick Gautier?"
He turned at the unfamiliar voice to find the man he'd seen sitting in the black BMW, now stepping out of it. He was probably mid to late thirties. With dark blond hair and extremely clean cut (in other words he stank of serious money), he reminded Nick of someone, but he couldn't quite place it. "I don't know you."
The man smiled. "No, you don't. My son, Kyi Poitiers"—gah, he said that name like a true snotty blue blood: "Pwa-tee-aa"—"is one of your classmates. Kyrian asked me to pick you up after school and take you to his house. So here I am."
Yeah, right... "How do I know any of that's true?" Other than the fact that he did look like Kyi, which was why he'd seemed familiar. That still didn't make him safe or friendly.
