Everything bumped and rattled along, and it was killing her fucking hangover something fierce. She knew better than to hit those college parties: all they ever did was get her more drinks and then… she always ended up passed out in the back of Sara’s car, begging for the end to come.
“Sara, why did you let me drink with those college boys again?” she croaked out.
Good lord is that, my voice?
“Elliott,” a female voice said from somewhere in the vehicle, “she thinks I’m Sara. I think you really scrambled her brain up.”
Shavian’s eyes flashed open to take in gray blue seats, cloth, and vinyl. Sara’s car was a tan leather and a BMW, not a van. She quickly closed her eyes again as light hit her brain like a mallet through a watermelon. It hurt too much to try and make sense of what was going on; still, her heart knew something was wrong as it tried to escape her ribcage. She tried to work the details out between waves of nausea.
She was in a coffee house, she was told the zombies were coming, an apocalypse, because there was a scale to zombie invasions. Junie, the unfairly tall girl that worked at the coffee shop… Oh god they are going to do horrible things to me and toss my body in a ditch! Her eyes snapped open again and she was face to face with her attacker. That bastard lured her in on her kind heart and now…
“Your soul better belong to Jesus, because your ass is mine!” She tossed herself over the bench seat that separated herself from the snake named Elliott. She saw the panic in his eyes, the plea on his lips, but she knew now it was all a game, the mute silently biding his time.
He collapsed under her as she straddled his chest and they fell onto the floor boards, a flash of red hair crashing over short black locks. She grabbed him by the neck and pounded his head into the carpet, his skull making a large panel in the floor rattle with every hit. He kicked out at the door his hands trying to grip at her arms but she was already locked in.
“Roger, I think Shavian is trying to kill Elliott,” Junie said, sipping at her coffee and looking on.
“Well don’t you think you should help him with the lass? I’d rather not get pulled over with a van full of stolen guns. Good lord girl is he turning blue?” Roger called out as he drove down the busy freeway.
Junie blanched. “I’m a pacifist.”
“How.” Thump. “Dare!” Thump. “You!” Thump, thump. “I’m going to puke!” And Shavian felt the world turn on its ass while she tried to crawl over Elliott in a scramble for the door; he gasped for air then cried out as her knee collided with his nose. She fumbled and shook at the side door trying to open it. “Pull over!”
“Like hell, missy!” Rodger started to protest.
The next sound Shavian made was a gurgle so telling he all but tossed the van into a slide to get to the side of the road just as the door flew open and she leaned her head out the slide, tossing her cookies into the gravel. Words like “kill,” and “prison” came out of her mouth between heaves.
Elliott looked on helplessly.
Rodger asked, “She is getting that all outside of the van right?”
Junie looked down, then over to Elliott. “I think you’re supposed to hold her hair back, lover boy.”