Night of the Living Wed. Michele Hauf
Читать онлайн книгу.
tion>
Night of the Living Wed
Michele Hauf
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter One
Charlotte winced as an inebriated party-goer stepped on her foot, but she kept moving determinedly toward the doors that led to the balcony. The Duncans would be delighted with their party; it was clearly the event of the season, and their daughter had been successfully launched into society.
Unfortunately, the noise, the heat, and the crowd combined with Charlotte’s pounding headache to make her want to escape for a breath of fresh air. Reaching the balcony doors, she opened them to find two people engaged in a passionate kiss.
“I’m sorry.” The words escaped her mouth before she realized it would have been better to make an exit without being noticed. The couple jumped apart.
Charlotte felt the blood drain from her face as she stared at her fiancé. “John! I thought you were dead!”
John dropped the woman in his arms and rushed to Charlotte. “You’re okay?”
“Of course I am.”
“Then why did you think I was dead?”
“I was being sarcastic! I haven’t seen you all night. You didn’t even join me for the toast. After our fight in the car, I assumed you wanted some space. I don’t know why you can’t agree to allow a priest to marry us.”
“Charlotte, I’m a scientist, I don’t believe in—ah, forget the argument. Don’t you realize what’s going on?”
“Besides me finding you in some woman’s arms? Really, John?”
“Forget her, too,” John said, indicating the woman draped over the balcony railing like a doll dropped on her stomach. “They’re here,” he said ominously.
He glanced over the balcony and Charlotte followed his gaze. On the rose-laden grounds below, a scatter of party-goers screamed and fled from the motley gang of lumbering zombies pursuing them.
“No,” Charlotte gasped. “The zombies—the ones you’ve been studying—are here?”
“Not the ones I’ve studied, in particular. Probably from some other nest.”
News stations had been reporting contained patches of zombies springing up across the state ever since terrorists had unleashed a strange virus during a local fair’s pie-eating contest. John’s research lab had been granted access to a couple of the captured monsters, and he said he’d been making great strides in finding a way to manage the “condition,” as he called it.
“It’s going to be okay, Charlotte.”
“Okay? Oh, I hate your research!”
“Disease control is necessary research, Charlotte. My work saves lives.”
“I know, but— How can you talk about “controlling” them? They’re zombies! They eat people’s brains!”
He kissed her forehead then nuzzled against her hair, a sensual touch that always sent shivers up her spine. “I won’t let anyone touch your beautiful brains.”
Charlotte clung to John’s tall, muscled body. Despite the fact his research had taken a strange turn of late, she loved this man. She wanted to marry him. Even if they had argued all the way to the party about it. They’d both agreed on a small ceremony, but Charlotte insisted they should have a Catholic priest officiate the marriage, while John—being a scientist—preferred no religion be involved.
But right now the argument didn’t matter, as the screams from below were making her heart pound like bongos.
“Don’t look.” John’s deep brown eyes found hers. “I will protect you.”
Charlotte locked her gaze with John’s. Never had she seen her geek of a fiancé act so manly. Normally he had his eyes glued to a computer report or on a petri dish. This powerful, determined side of him stirred a wanting in her she’d never experienced. For the first time, she regretted their agreement to wait until after they were married to have sex. “Promise?”
“I’d die for you, Charlotte.”
“Don’t say that! Oh, John, don’t let them get us. Not before we’re married. Not before we’ve…”
He smirked. “You think I’m going to let a zombie chew on me before I’ve had a chance to make love to the most beautiful girl in the world?”
Basking in his adoration, Charlotte blushed. “Aww—”
Just then she saw John swing a wrought-iron patio chair straight toward her. She screamed and ducked. Behind her, a zombie’s head went flying off its neck as the wrought iron easily cut through its decaying flesh and bone.
John helped her to stand and wiped a chunk of zombie from the shoulder of her pink satin evening gown. “Close one. This must be an older nest of zombies—the older ones are not as durable. That could prove to our favor.”
“Durable?” Growing queasy, she wilted into his arms. “I can’t do this.”
“You don’t have to, sweetie. Stay by me. I’ll get you to safety.”
“Wait, first we’ve got to find Tina. I don’t want my best friend to get eaten by zombies!”
“Right. But we gotta move, and fast.”
He lifted her and carried her over the zombie’s still-twitching body, then set her down. She brushed bits of something she didn’t want to examine too closely from her floor-length gown, and then they both dashed through the eighteenth-century mansion where Tina’s family had hosted her party.
Social event of the season? More like six o’clock news disaster. John swiped a silver candelabra from a marble-topped table as they rushed by. “Arm yourself,” he said. “They are intelligent. After their initial feed they only have to consume small portions of flesh to survive, and there is very little mental depletion.”
Charlotte accepted the candelabra with a wince. Yet she couldn’t help but swoon a little over his take-command attitude.
Sucking in a fortifying breath, she steeled herself to stay strong and not turn into a weeping Wilma that John would have to abandon to the zombies because she was too frantic to deal. They were in this together. And they would have their wedding day.
Then she remembered the seemingly compromising position in which she had found her fiancé just minutes before, and Charlotte couldn’t help but ask, “John, who was that woman on the balcony?”
“What woman?” John kicked open a pair of swinging doors that led into a gallery, only to be greeted by delirious moans and groping arms. A fresh stew of zombies in fancy evening dress—guests of the ball—lurched toward them.
“Wrong door.” John grabbed her hand and they raced away from the approaching horde, taking a sharp turn into the kitchen. John grabbed a steel-legged bar stool and shoved it through the door handles, forming a sturdy barricade. “That should keep them back. For now.”
Charlotte wondered if her ribs could withstand the torture of her thudding heart as she looked around her. The deserted kitchen was beautiful in the moonlight, the stainless-steel appliances shimmering silver.
Their lives had been blessed up until now. Would it all end tonight?
A strange hissing noise alerted her.
Candelabra in hand and prepared to swing, Charlotte crept