Page 80 of Kiss Slay Replay

People scream. Jump up on their chairs.

“Get behind me,” Wyatt says, darting forward and reaching his arms out.

It’s getting closer. It’s almost to us. I can smell it. I can see its face—wide, sweet eyes oozing yellow, foam spilling from an ash-colored mouth.

The deer comes to a sudden stop just before it gets to us.

It falls.

It collapses onto its side, twitching for a moment before lying still.

A wave of shock and distress passes through the crowd, manifesting in mumbles and small, careful movements. The stench of rot is profound. I try not to breathe through my nose.

“A sick animal,” Wyatt says. “Steer clear and we’ll call—”

The deer stirs again, and it’s up, thrashing around.

“Wyatt!” Evan pulls him back, and he stumbles, knocking over a chair.

The commotion makes the deer go fucking wild. Its eyes bulge, foam spews from its flapping, hungry mouth. Wyatt grabs the chair and tries to ward it off, but it keeps coming. It’s relentless, and it’s loud. The screeching. It’s so, so loud.

What is this? What’s happening? This can’t be it. A rabid deer seems too easy. I look around and spot one of the cater waiters in the distance. He’s pummeling toward the water, frothing at the mouth, tearing at his own face, chewing on his fingers. There’s a spray of blood as he trips onto the lakeshore.

He’s bitten one off. He’s bitten off one of his own fingers.

He turns toward the crowd, but there’s no recognition. Black flies crawl over his face. His eyes leak yellow.

Oh.

Great.

Zombies.

4

“Fucking zombies?” I’m yelling. Psychotic. Who cares? Zombies. It’s zombies this time. Not a single killer with a menagerie of weapons and an obsession with eyeballs. Not a supernatural gothic villain with a horde of narc ravens. Nope.

Zombies.

Why? How?

I’d just give up, lie down, and die if I weren’t so scared that this could be the last time. There’s no guarantee that the day will keep repeating. I don’t know the rules. There are no fucking rules. I’m in a time loop. At a wedding. There are zombies. Nothing makes sense.

I need to accept that this is happening, swallow the horse pill of reality even if I don’t understand the how or why, but God, I swear the only thing more addictive than hope is denial.

“Run!” Luke grabs Cassie, Cassie grabs me, and I reach for Evan. He pulls away from me to stay with Wyatt, who is still fighting off the deer.

“Help!” I scream. “We need help!”

But everyone’s scattering, taking off toward the reception hall.

I turn back to Cassie and Luke. “Go get the van. Hurry! Go!”

They bolt.

The caterer staggers toward us, his legs wide, arms out. Classic monster stance. He’s not a slow zombie, but he’s not a particularly fast one.

“I don’t get it,” I mutter to myself. “I don’t understand the…the escalation.”