This Isn't the Zombie Apocalypse

30. People Need to Run More Often

Someone screamed.

Of course someone screamed. What would life be without that one person that screamed their guts out instead of doing something? There would no terrible, cliché horror movies, that's for sure.

Death raced around, bellowing and making a general ruckus and completely ruining my day. Calvin sat, eyes wide, hands clutched to the steering wheel. "No..." Not a sound came out, but I saw his lips move and I whipped around only to see Denton go up in smoke. Well, vaporized and then eaten. Either way, the end result was the same: Killed by Death itself.

"Go," I told Calvin. "GO!" I screamed. Nothing. I scrambled out of my seat and leaned over, ready to push Calvin to the side if I had to—even though I still really, really didn't want to drive—but then he pointed and I looked back to see Darell racing for us, his hand outstretched.

I slapped Calvin's head, shouted, "Start moving," and leaned out to reach Darell's hand. Death noticed him trying to escape. After it disintegrated Hunter and Andrea, who were wrapped around one another in a last attempt at protecting each other—it didn't work—Death started after him. Darell was slowed down by his bag, and Calvin was picking up speed. "Drop it and run!" I barked, and suddenly the bag was hitting the ground and Darell came faster, dropping his hand to pump his arms and legs. Death came up behind him, and my whole body shook and trembled, adrenaline thrumming through my veins.

Then Darell was there, finally, arm outstretched, hand reaching out, fingers grasping. Gripping the open door, I leaned, nearly horizontal, and strained myself just a bit farther...

Darell's hand slapped mine, and we both gave brief huffs of hysterical joy. I began reeling him in, arm tensed, body vibrating and feeling weak and faint, and then Darell began slipping. His hand slid through mine, his fingers wrapped around nothing, and suddenly Death was looming behind Darell. Viciously victorious, Death grinned, teeth glistening.

Then Darell's hand fell from mine, and his mouth opened in a shocked, pained little 'O' and his eyes widened in fear. I screamed to stop—stop, stop, stop!—but Calvin only drove faster and faster. And Darell was left farther and farther behind, arm held out, hand limp, fingers curled around nothing.

After a few seconds, with Darell's face twisted into something like sad resignation, his arm dropped, and he slowly turned to Death. Before him, Death crowed with delight and then gingerly reached a clawed hand to Darell, hovering, as if waiting for permission. Slumped over, Darell looked at the hand, then Death's swirling, shadowy body, and finally its face.

Darell nodded, once, slowly, carefully. Then a second time, quicker, more self-assured, as if he had made a decision. Reached out his own hand and held Death's.

And then they were gone, ashes swept in a soft breeze.