A Mad Zombie Party

9: Frosty (#litres_trial_promo)

10: Milla (#litres_trial_promo)

11: Frosty (#litres_trial_promo)

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34: Milla (#litres_trial_promo)

A Note from Ali and Cole (but mostly Ali) (#litres_trial_promo)

A Note from Milla (and Frosty) (#litres_trial_promo)

A Note from Kat (#litres_trial_promo)

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Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

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Check it. I’m only eighteen years old but I’ve already got the coolest résumé in the history of ever.

Mission statement: to save the entire world from the destructive forces of evil.

Abilities: seeing into the spirit realm, pushing my spirit out of my body, covering a person’s memories with a single swipe of my hand, predicting the future and moving at speeds the average human can’t even hope to track. Oh, and creating bursts of energy that toss zombies into the air.

Yes. Zombies exist. Get over it.

I’m a zombie slayer. While there are other slayers in the world, there are no others quite like me. (What? It’s not bragging if it’s true.) Two things we can all do? Set ourselves on fire with only a thought—without actually burning ourselves—and turn our enemy into a pile of ash with a single touch.

Don’t be jealous! Be re-e-eally jealous.

Just FYI, real zombies are unlike anything seen in movies or read about in books. They are spirits that have to be fought by other spirits. Like to like. They don’t hunger for blood and brains but for the very thing they’ve lost: the essence of life. My life...and yours.

They are pitiless darkness and we are shining lights.

But okay, okay, back to me. I won’t mention my other award-winning qualities...like my killer instincts. My rapier wit. Oh, oh, or the fact that I bagged and tagged Cole Holland, the baddest bad boy every girl in Bama—and probably the world—hoped to tame. Nope, not gonna mention. I’m humble like that.

But, despite all my amazing amazingness, there’s one thing I haven’t been able to do, and the failure is tearing me up inside.

I haven’t helped my friend Frosty.

I’ve tried. Oh, I’ve tried. Four months ago, Kat Parker—my best friend and Frosty’s girlfriend—did the unthinkable and...and...passed away. Exited earth. Kicked the bucket.

Good glory, there’s no easy way to say it, is there?

Anima Industries, the company determined to control zombies, bombed our house and gunned her down. (May they forever rot like their creations.)

Frosty witnessed every agonizing second of Kat’s death, unable to save her, and it changed him. The fun, sarcastic and wickedly irreverent boy I once admired is gone. Now he’s moody, and every mood is darker than the last. One moment he wants me to use my ability to cover his memories, the next he curses me for even daring to consider saying yes. He takes off for days, even weeks, at a time without contacting us to let us know he’s okay. He drinks at all hours of the day and night, and he’s sleeping around, discarding girls as if they’re sexual tissues. One and done. Bang and bail. Hit it and quit it.

I know he hates what he’s become. But how can I help him, truly help him, when I’m having so much trouble helping myself?