Connor CONNOR “Okay, so we’re dropping you off at the shed, which is your starting point,” said the guy in the Peterman’s Pumpkin Patch trucker’s cap. “Go inside, get ready, and whenever you feel good to go, venture out and start hunting zombies... before they start hunting you.” I glanced over at Duffy and she widened her eyes, giving me a look that said, It’s go time. She hopped off the flatbed truck without waiting for help and I followed, charmed as shit by her buy-in. She’d exited the house in full hunting camo when I arrived, like she was ready to take this shit seriously. She’d actually eyeballed my clothes when she got in the car like I was the one in the wrong. “You’re wearing a tan jacket and jeans,” she said, her eyebrows all scrunched together. “Yeah...? So?” She scowled as her eyes dipped down to my shirt. “So you’re not going to blend very well in the woods, especially when it’s getting dark.” “You know we’re not going to be running from actual zombies, right?” According to the online registration, the zombies were fully trained paintball experts whose priorities were “customer safety” and “delivering a rollicking good time.” “You sound like you’re going to lose when you say things like that,” she said quietly as she got in the car. “Are we not taking this seriously, Cunningham?” “My apologies, Distefano; I was foolishly thinking of this as a date,” I said, unable to ke ep a straight face. I loved that she was nerding out over zombie paintballing, and I felt a sense of accomplishment that I planned the perfect date for her. “I will now concentrate on the more important task at hand of ‘winning’ against the zombies, who are probably just adolescents doing this for minimum wage.” She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t underestimate the zombies. It’s a historically accurate fact that everyone who’s ever lost a battle in a war lost because they underestimated their enemies.” “Not a historically accurate fact,” I said, shaking my head. “But I bet it still tracks,” she insisted as she buckled her seat belt. We fell into easy conversation on the way to the pumpkin patch, her telling me about the latest drama at her office. Apparently, there were some inappropriate relationships going on between the head of HR and one of the executives, and no one was getting any work done because they couldn’t stop talking about it. Which made Duffy crazy. It was so her that she was annoyed by the fact that no one was working. She wasn’t above being mildly entertained by the news, but she didn’t understand why people weren’t able to multitask while gossiping. I swear to God I could just listen to her for hours because she was so uniquely Duffy. We followed the rest of the group—there were ten of us total—into the shed and closed the door behind us. It was literally just a shed with nothing inside but a dirt floor and big wooden crates that the
other players used as seats. The rest of the participants were dressed in regular clothes, relaxed and exchanging small talk as they settled into the scene—the total opposite of Duffy and her current vibe. Duffy looked on edge and ready to hunt. “Hey,” she whispered, st epping a little closer, distracting me with the smell of her perfume. “This doesn’t make any sense.” “What doesn’t?” I asked, letting my eyes drop down to the shine of the gloss on her bottom lip. “Why would they drop all of us in one central shed without an official starting shot?” She tucked her hair behind her ears and said, “I mean, it makes us sitting ducks. The second we walk out that front door it’s going to be easy for them to take us all out in one fell swoop.” I didn’t say anything because I was trying not to laugh at her hypercompetitiveness. “I bet they love this,” she said, and she leaned closer so no one else could hear. “They get all these people to spend money to hunt zombies, then they take us out in five minutes.” “That’s... actually probably true,” I agreed, though the idea of it didn’t really bother me. “Let’s not let them,” she said, her eyes sparkling like she had a plan. I was too mesmerized by her eyes to answer. People always talked about blue eyes like they were magic, but there was something about her brown eyes that felt so warm and inviting and playful and shit—I needed to focus. “Let’s not go out with the rest of them. Look,” she said, giving my arm a tiny smack. I followed her eyes to where she’d pointed with her chin to a window in the back of the shed. “Holy crap, if we stealthily slide out that window, we can totally take off into the woods without the zombies even knowing,” she said. “What?” I looked at the window and clearly didn’t see what she was envisioning. Because it wasn’t a big window. Like, at all. “Hear me out,” she said emphatically. “They’re expecting all of us to stumble out the front door like a bunch of idiots, where they can just tag us immediately. But if you and I quietly slip out the back window and don’t make any noise, when all of these other people go through the front door, we can take off in another direction. They won’t even realize they’re missing two people at first. Then we can hide and we can stalk them and we can win.” “Is it possible to win at this? I’m pretty sure it’s just a random shooting game.” Hell, I had no idea, even though I was the one who’d set up the excursion. She looked at me like I was ridiculous. “If we make it to the end without getting shot and we take out a few zombies while we’re at it, then it’s a win, right? Pretty simple.” All of a sudden this seemed like the greatest idea. Her enthusiasm was contagious, and this sounded really fucking fun. I glanced at the window. “Do you honestly think I’ll fit through there?” “It’s a ridiculous time to fish for compliments on your body, Cunningham,” she teased, “but for sure you will.” “What if the others follow us out?” I asked, glancing toward the group, who were still just leisurely hanging out like there wasn’t a zombie war about to begin.
“They won’t because you’re going to tell them not to,” she said in a hushed voice. “Everyone was giving you the whole ‘ohmigod it’s him’ look on the truck, so they’re all in awe of the football golden boy. So if you just say something like ‘We’re going to provide a distraction so you guys can get out safely, no one follow us’ they will totally listen.” “You want me to lie and get them thrust into the gunfire?” I asked with a laugh. She was fucking cold with this. “I can’t do that.” “Oh my God, you were the one saying this isn’t real so why with the ethics,” she whispered, her mouth turning up into a smile as she gave me an exaggerated eye roll. “Fine, don’t lie, just tell them not to follow us and they’ll still listen to you because you’re you.” “Um—” “Listen,” she interrupted. “We need to go now because you know the zombies are all lined up, waiting for these people to move. We gotta go before it’s too late.” Without missing a beat, she turned toward the group. “Excuse me,” she said, st epping away from me. “We’re going to go out this window because we want to split up the group and try to not all get mowed down by gunfire at the same time. Hopefully some of the zombies will chase us and you guys will have a better chance, but the goal is to scatter them. I just wanted to let you know so you don’t freak out when you see us go through the window.” “But don’t follow us,” I added, feeling slightly guilty for saying that when this was just a silly game that no one truly cared about exc ept for Duffy Distefano. “Why not?” asked a man with huge square glasses that reminded me of Harry Caray. “Why can’t we follow you?” “I mean, it’s a free country, so you’re welcome to follow whoever you want, but this is her idea, and I think it’s terrible,” I said, realizing how to make this work. “She’s not actually known for her good judgment.” “That’s right, she’s the girl who beat up Carl,” the man’s wife said, nodding. “I didn’t beat up—” “That’s her,” I said, cutting off Duffy. “So we’re going to go through the back, but please think about your next moves. It really may not be the best idea to follow us.” As soon as I said that, I heard her sliding the window open behind me. “It’s so sweet that he’s willing to lose for her,” the big-haired blonde in the corner said. “And that he warned us not to follow. I really don’t think we should.” “He’s a good guy,” someone else said. I turned and watched as Duffy hoisted herself up with her arms and quickly popped through the open window. I still wasn’t sure my ass was going to fit through there, but I was willing to risk it to follow her. She immediately disappeared from my line of sight, and I loved her verve. I hurled myself through the opening, squeezing and wriggling a little to get through. There was a solid half second where I thought the jaws of life would have to pull me from the window, but fortunately I made it. I dropped to a crouch next to Duffy as soon as I landed. It was getting dark, and we were underneath a bunch of bushes, but you could hear the sounds of the pumpkin patch off in the distance and smell the smoky scent of fir epits.
“So I think we should sprint in that direction,” she said, pointing toward the dark forested area. “It’s the absolute wrong direction, but that’s how we get on the offensive and start tracking them.” “You want to go backward?” I asked. “Feigned retreat, Football. We run backward, we hide, then we get to see them in front of us and know where everybody’s at while they try to figure out where we went and what we’re doing. Once we have them in our sights, we make our move.” “Why do I feel like this is very Tony-coded?” I asked. That made her smile. “Because it is. I’ve spent a lifetime watching his beloved war documentaries, and between that and deer hunting with him and my brothers, I feel like I’m unhealthily excited to kick some zombie ass.” “Yeah, you are definitely that,” I said, “but it’s surprisingly cool.” “Surprisingly cool, huh?” she said quietly, still smiling as she added, “High praise from the MVP.” “There you go, busting my ass again,” I said. “The ass that slipped impressively through that window, by the way,” she said with a laugh. “You doubted it’d fit, didn’t you?” “I am simply stating a fact,” she said, feigning innocence. “Or simply being a dick,” I r eplied. “I think you can handle it, Mr. Thirst Trap,” she said with an eye roll. “That fitness tracker ad with you wearing only tiny shorts is obscene.” “First of all, don’t pretend you don’t love my slutty little short-shorts. Also, do people still say ‘thirst trap’?” “I don’t think so, actually.” “We can discuss our thirst traps and ignorance of modern slang later, but maybe let’s focus on zombies right now?” Her eyes crinkled as she gave me the biggest grin, the kind of smile that felt like we were about to do something magical together. “Okay.” “I think—” “Here’s the thing, though,” she said, holding up a hand. “I know how fast you are, with your four-point-four forty at the combine, but you can’t be heavy-footed. It’s better to be slow and lighter on your feet—conjure Ja’Marr Chase with a sideline catch—than to make a lot of noise and get their attention.” “Smart,” I said, nodding. It cracked me up the way she knew things like how fast I ran my forty; she was definitely the biggest football fan I’d ever dated. “But also consider this. Maybe if we wait until someone stumbles out the front door and gets their attention, everyone will be making noise and —” “Brilliant,” she interrupted with a smile. “Now you’re thinking—I’m proud of you, buddy.” “Oh, joy,” I quipped. “By the way,” she whispered, the teasing grin simmering into something softer. Sweeter. A little shy. “Unless I end up having to kill you or I literally die out here tonight, this might be the best date ever in the history of the world. Like, I literally can’t think of anything I’d rather do on a Friday night. You could’ve planned a normal, boring dinner date, but you threw me on a flatbed truck and gave me zombies and a paintball gun. I mean, talk about swoony.” I felt a twinge of guilt as she said this, because she was giving me credit I didn’t fully deserve. Yes, I may have discovered the zombie activity, which was perfectly tailored to her interests, but the pumpkin patch idea had been Bethany’s.
God, I hated remembering that. I hated remembering that any part of us started as a career favor. It had switched to something genuine almost instantly, but it still felt gross every time Bethany’s part popped into my head. “Here,” she said, handing me a huge rock. “Where did this come from?” I asked, taking the heavy stone from her hands. “I brought it with me in my pack,” she said, giving me a hesitant smile that let me know she was embarrassed that she had given it forethought. “Do you think you can throw this over the cabin?” “Are you seriously asking me if I can throw?” “You’re not a quarterback, so this isn’t me busting your ass,” she said. “It’s a heavy rock and it would be difficult for anyone to throw it over a cabin. But if you can, they’ll hear it land, take off in that direction, and then we can run the other way.” “Of course I can throw it over the cabin,” I said. “Do you want me to do it now?” “No time like the present,” she said, tightening the straps on her backpack and gripping her weapon. “Let’s go.” I launched the rock before grabbing my weapon from the ground, and I wasn’t sure if it was a coincidence or if one of the other participants saw the rock fly, but just as I heard the thud of it hitting the ground, the front door of the cabin opened with a squeak. And Duffy was right—the other players were absolutely unpr epared for the reality that the zombies had them surrounded. They were laughing as they exited, from what I could hear, and then immediately silenced by the pops of paintballs bursting. It was a barrage. “Let’s go!” she whisper-yelled, then took off sprinting into the woods. I followed, suddenly hyperaware of how heavy my footfalls were as we ran in the opposite direction of the end point. We heard laughing and yelling, which wasn’t surprising because no one else was in it for the win, so odds were high that most of the other players were already tagged. We ran for a few more seconds before Duffy stopped and crouched behind a tree and its surrounding bushes. “Can you see anything?” she asked, gesturing in the direction of the shed. I stood and looked, impressed by our vantage point. She’d taken us up a hill, so it was easy to see what was happening below, and I started counting. Every person who’d been in the shed with us had apparently been taken out—or they just didn’t care—because the entire group was walking with the zombies. We’d been given a cute little pamphlet of the “zombie squad,” along with the map, so we knew the five that were coming for us. I immediately spotted Conan the Zombarian, the green-haired zombie who was as tall as I was, and I also had a visual on Zedd the Undead, a scrawny little guy in purple face paint. Zombie Quinn—dressed like Harley Quinn but with a green face and blood around her mouth—was walking behind the group, twirling her paint guns as she did her best to look menacing. But the twins—Shaun and Zaun—didn’t appear to be with them. Duffy must have realized the same thing, because she looked at me and whispered, “We’re missing two.”
I nodded. “Let’s just hold tight for a minute because they have to be circling somewhere.” It got a little eerie when the group disappeared from our line of sight and the woods grew quiet. It actually felt like we were hunting or being hunted. “This is a little cre epy.” “Are you scared?” she teased, her eyes dancing in the darkness. “Of course not,” I said, making a face and reaching out a hand to give her a little push. “Sure you’re not,” she said, pushing back. “Do you need a snack, by the way?” “What kind of snack?” I asked, looking down at her in surprise. “You brought snacks?” “I mean, just some energy bars, a few nut mixes, and a couple sandwiches,” she said, quietly taking off her backpack. “How long do you expect us to be camping out here?” I asked. “You brought fucking provisions?” “I believe in being pr epared, and the twins are still unaccounted for,” she said with a shrug. “Do you want something or not?” “THE TWO REMAINING PAINTBALL GAMERS!” Someone was shouting into the woods. At us. “YOU NEED TO COME OUT NOW!” “No,” Duffy said, grabbing my arm. Her eyes were a little wild when she whispered, “Don’t move. That’s what they want us to do.” She was insane and I loved it. “I think we should probably—” “No,” she insisted, frantically shaking her head. “They’re just trying to get us to come out so they can shoot us.” I tried not to laugh but it was impossible. “We can’t just hide forever, Duff.” “I know, but if we just wait a few minutes and they come looking for us, then we can get our shots in.” My phone buzzed—hers did, too—and when I pulled it out of my pocket, I could see it was a notification from the Zombie Hunt app (which she hadn’t allowed me to download until I turned off my location). REMAINING PLAYERS—RETURN TO THE SHED. THE PARK IS CLOSING IN 15 MINUTES. “No,” she said, shaking her head. “I know it sounds crazy, but I just want to shoot them. You paid for us to hunt zombies, dammit, and we should be allowed to finish. If we wait a couple more minutes, just until we get them in our line of sight, then we can take them out and return to the shed.” “Duffy.” “I know I sound crazy—” “No, I love it,” I said, and I meant it. I hit r eply in the app, then typed: THAT’S WHAT YOU WANT US TO THINK. YOU’RE TRYING TO GET US TO COME OUT IN THE OPEN SO YOU CAN TAG US. She giggled as she nodded for me to hit send, and I was in love with the sound of her laugh. With this ridiculous moment that I couldn’t imagine sharing with anyone else. “If we get arrested, promise me you’ll smile in your mug shot,” I said. Her eyes met mine and she nodded. “Deal.” A few seconds later the app buzzed again, and it had to have been a teenager in charge of communication because all it said was: NO SERIOUSLY.
Duffy snorted and texted back on my phone: NO SERIOUSLY. This was becoming the funniest fucking thing I’d ever participated in, her stubborn refusal to give in to something that totally didn’t matter. It might’ve seemed unhinged if she weren’t having so much fucking fun. Those pretty eyes were sparkling and she was basically buzzing, looking like she was going to fall on the ground laughing at any minute. She sent: YOU NEED TO CROWN US THE WINNERS—THEN WE WILL EMERGE FROM COVER. OVER. “We aren’t on a walkie-talkie, dumbass,” I teased. “It feels right, jackass,” she teased back. The phone buzzed, and the response was simply: NO. That had her laughing so hard she couldn’t speak, her hand over her mouth as she tried staying quiet. “I can’t believe those little shits said no,” I laughed. This situation was so bizarre, but I found that I didn’t want to leave this spot where I was sitting behind a bush with Duffy in the woods in the dark, hiding from Peterman’s Pumpkin Patch employees. “Right?” She leaned closer—so close but not close enough—and said, “I’m a little afraid that we’re going to have to live here now because I just can’t give in to not getting the W.” My phone buzzed again. THE PATCH IS CLOSING AND WE NEED TO BRING THE GROUP BACK. “Okay, suppose we put ourselves in the park’s shoes for a minute, Duff. They can’t just leave two random customers in the forest after they close. I know you don’t want to, but we probably need to go back.” She bit her bottom lip like this was a major decision to consider. “I know you’re right, and you definitely can’t afford to be in the news because of my nonsense, but I just don’t want them to get the win. Is that so wrong?” “No,” I said, and then it hit me. An idea came to me, so damned perfect, and she was going to fucking love it. “Holy shit, you can still win, Duff.” Her eyes widened, her smile huge. “How?” “We’re going to go out in a blaze of glory, honey.”