Mostly Dead (Barely Alive #3) by Bonnie R. Paulson Page A

before motioning for her to move around the side of the other shelves.
    He needed to burn.
    We had to get the hell out of there.
    With my little flame, I started a different box of treats on fire, but the flames didn’t spread fast. An accelerant… I needed something flammable.
    Heather’s feet disappeared around the corner away from the register. At least she had the presence of mind to do what I said and not argue. I moved to my hands and knees and crept into the aisle of supplies. Bug spray stared at me when I’d crawled halfway down. Bug spray wasn’t paint, but aerosol anything would do just fine.
    Minimal smoke moved through the air, suggesting a fire had started, somewhere. Or maybe that someone had lit up a piss-ant sized cigarette. Twinkies hadn’t done more than smolder. Shit. So annoying.
    The zombie noises stopped.
    I froze. Nothing would make them stop. What the hell had happened?
    Moving toward the doors, I strained my ears for any sound, anything that would give away his position. Heather would be screaming, if he’d found her. He could still be close. I could throw myself between them, if there was any danger.
    At the magazine rack I looked to my left. Heather’s fingers peeked at me from the other side of the aisle.
    “Aaahhhaaaaahhhhhh.” Throaty and deep, the zombie’s moan made the hair on my neck stand up. Shit. He was right above me. He grabbed my shoulders and lifted me to stand. And bared his teeth.
    “Hell, no.” I jerked my arms up and sprayed the bug repellant and flicked the rifle. A homemade flamethrower burst a justifiable stream of heat into his face. He didn’t scream or even moan. But he dropped me and I faltered, steadying myself by grabbing onto the shelves. “Heather, run!”
    Feet pounded on tile. She at least made it to the door. He turned his head toward her, but didn’t take up the chase. The smoke had obscured his sense of smell.
    Firelight framed his features. A purplish black haze surrounded him. He could’ve been an angel with the red, orange, yellow, and purple hues splashing him in surreal lights. The only thing that made leaving the fire’s hypnotic pull was the too-recent memory of Brian’s painful death.
    Not one to go down without a fight, I grabbed the closest item to me – a box of pasta, what the hell? – and used it to shove the zombie-skewer over backwards. I didn’t want flames on me.
    He didn’t struggle and landed in the magazines.
    B eside the door, I glanced past the burning man. The forest was dark, sunlight unable to penetrate the foliage and smoke. A shadow shifted in the trees closer to the freeway exit. I couldn’t make out if it was a trick of the light or my imagination… or something else.
    Heather waited for me, clutch ing the Twinkies like a safety blanket. I took her arm – to speed things along but also so I could touch her. I didn’t have long to enjoy the little things. I pushed her in front of me, so I could walk close behind, my hand still on her arm. If I needed to, I’d snatch her up and run. In her ear, I whispered, “I doubt he came alone. There might be something in the trees past the parking lot. I can’t be sure. We need to get out of here.”
    A slow nod and she picked up the pace without runnin g. I kick-started the four-fifty and Heather climbed on. The rumble of James’s bike echoed mine.
    He met my eyes and held up five fingers, once, twice, a third time, then only two fingers. He’d counted seventeen lurking in the woods.
    The creatures would want people. We couldn’t get out the way we’d come in. They could rip us off the dirt bikes with simple clothesline maneuvers or by jumping on the bikes. We’d have to go through town.
    Heather gasped. In my ear, she murmured, “Paul, we have to warn people. This isn’t fair.”
    But what could I do? It was still too early to find anyone on the streets. We’d be running from house to house to save what? A bunch of people who… wait a minute. They weren’t