The Zombie Chronicles HTML version
“But you told me you loved it when somebody shook the cart at the very top. And I do too.
Love that adrenaline rush.”
She smiled and batted her lashes at me. Her whole demeanor screamed flirty, so I inched
closer and wrapped my arm around her to pull her closer. “Do you want to play games or make
out?” she whispered suggestively.
Her eyes sparkled like big onyxes as I gazed into them. We had liked each other for months,
and we’d been shamelessly stealing glances at each other until I finally plucked up the courage to
ask her out. It was our first big date, and I’d been dying to kiss her all night. “What do you
think?” I asked with a smile.
She inclined her head as though in thought.
That same moment, a piercing scream echoed from below us. Forgetting our first int imate
moment, I peered below into the darkness to the gathering mass.
“What’s going on down there?” Sherry asked.
“I dunno.” I squinted to get a better view, but the steel rods of the Ferris wheel blocked most
of my view from where we were dangling. All I could make out were red and blue lights flashing
in the distance, blinking in rhythm to the sound of blaring sirens. I leaned out until I could count
five police cars speeding toward the midway.
“What’s happening?” Sherry asked again, this time more quietly, as though she was talking
I paid her no attention as I continued to scan the commotion below. A man tumbled to the
ground. The same moment, a group of people pounced on him. From up above, they looked like
they were attacking him with their bare arms and legs.
Sherri grabbed my shoulder and gave it a hard squeeze to get my attention. “Oh my gosh,
Dean! I think a gang of thugs are attacking the people in line.”
I shook my head. It can’t be. We lived in a family tourist town, its biggest crimes consisting
of kids stealing sweets from the local supermarket and old ladies complaining about Friday night
litter on their porches; the crime rate was so low that misdemeanors made the front page. I
couldn’t even remember the last time there’d been a public beating or any kind of vicious attack.
“Maybe it’s nothing,” I said, my brain trying to justify the picture before my eyes.
“It sure doesn’t look like nothing,” Sherry said. “You think they’re on drugs?”