Dead Over Heels by Alison Kemper Read Free Book Online Page A

Beavers? From the hunting pack?
    I shift positions, trying to get comfortable…trying not to touch Cole any more than I already am. Here I am, the girl who isn’t supposed to spend too much time outside and I am sleeping in a freaking tree. Madness.
    Weee-eeek. A sudden sound from a nearby oak makes me jump. Of course, I end up jerking even closer to Cole.
    “Just a branch moving—from the wind.” He doesn’t try to shift away. But maybe he can’t on this narrow board. “Seriously. You go on to sleep.”
    I’m about to tell Cole that there’s no way I’ll ever get to sleep up here when a wave of exhaustion knocks me out cold.
    I wake with a start. One of them has me. A monster. It’s on top of me, hands covering my mouth, blocking my air. I try to scream, but a voice hisses in my ear. “They’re coming. Stay still. Not a peep.”
    Cole’s voice. Cole’s arms pinning me down.
    And behind his words, the low growl I already recognize as the undead.
    I go rigid, sucking in a deep breath. Cole keeps hold of me, but shifts his weight off me slowly, careful not to make noise. My feet are still hanging over the lip of the board, and I draw them in until I’m crouched in a fetal position. I peek over the edge.
    The stars give just enough ambient light to illuminate a ten-foot radius—beyond that, the world is inky black. How far off is the dawn? Will we have to fight for our lives in utter darkness?
    I shake with fear. Cole clutches me tighter.
    Two figures shamble along the river trail, shifting into my range of vision. Broad-shouldered, thick-necked, and reeking of rotten meat. The infection has changed their eyes—made them almost luminous—and they glow pale white in the dark. One of the glowing eyeballs hangs loose in its socket.
    The Beavers have found us.
    They sniff the air like hounds on a scent and stop at the base of the tree.
    Directly below the deer stand.
    Fear freezes us into statues. We don’t move, don’t breathe, don’t anything for the next minute.
    I grit my teeth together, trying to make the Beavers leave through sheer force of will. Go away. Please. Just keep walking.
    And then, almost like he hears me, Mr. Beaver takes a few shuffling steps farther down the path. Bubba sniffs the air one last time and follows his father. Two steps…three. They’re moving away.
    My breath comes out in a relieved rush. We did it. We tricked them.
    Cole flashes me a triumphant grin.
    At that exact moment, my phone rings.

Chapter Five
    “Rawrr!” Mr. Beaver lets out a bellow of rage, like he realizes we tricked him.
    “Lord God almighty,” Cole swears.
    There’s no point in hiding. We rise up just in time to watch Mr. Beaver rush back to the tree and ram the trunk with one massive shoulder. The flimsy deer stand quivers in place.
    “No!” I yell grabbing for the board’s edge, hoping to hold on.
    Wham! As usual, Bubba follows his dad’s lead. His head slams the tree like a battering ram. That’s gotta hurt. Or, it would if his nerve endings still functioned.
    The particleboard creaks. Still clutching it with both hands, I peek over the edge. The phone keeps ringing in my coat pocket, and I’m sure it’s my parents, but I can’t answer—I’m too busy holding on for dear life.
    Mr. Beaver tries another tactic—grabbing the tree and shaking, like we’re coconuts he’s trying to knock free. His loose eyeball shakes and swings with the motion.
    My horrified brain latches on to one important detail—any tree strong enough to hold me and Cole shouldn’t succumb to all this shaking. News stories filter back through my memory—the reporters talking about increased strength. My terror doubles. Not only are the Beavers violent monsters—they’re super strong, violent monsters.
    “This deer stand ain’t gonna hold!” Cole yells.
    “Tell me something I don’t know.”
    “Move to that limb!” He points. “No, that one!”
    I squint into the darkness, trying to see where he’s pointing.