Chapter 1

Mia

4.23pm Friday

“Get the hell away from me, you zombie bastard!” I yell at the top of my lungs.

Not exactly Academy Award-winning dialogue, but when Jake Saunders, currently playing my zombie ex-boyfriend, lunges for me, I scream bloody murder.

Dressed in high heels, a torn blouse that exposes my bra, and a mini skirt, with fake blood splattered over me, I look like what I’m supposed to be.

The airhead slut who gets killed in act one.

From the corner of my eye, I catch the director yawning, the second AD is downing her fourth coffee, and while I’m putting every damn thing I have into my final seconds before I become another zombie, most of the cast are already on the bus and the crew are quietly packing their equipment up, and looking at their watches.

It’s hot. Sweat is trickling down my back. And this close up, Jake’s body odor is as horrific as his make up and close to making me gag.

My throat is getting raw as Jake clamps his sweaty hands on my arm, groans pushes me against a tree, and pretends to bite a chunk of flesh from my neck.

“Cut,” I hear mid-scream.

Jake releases me, and we both turn to look at Mark Jenkins, the director. “Are we done? I gotta take a dump,” Jake says.

I screw up my face. Great. I need the bathroom too, and the only options are the trailer, and since no one but Mark is allowed in the lake house, the woods.

Mark checks the screen beside him and nods. “Yeah. Let’s wrap this shit up. Rest can be done in post-production.”

Jake barely glances at me before he walks in the direction of the trailer all the actors are sharing.

I sigh and roll my shoulders back, wishing I could take a shower or at least take a swim in the lake to wash off the disgusting blood splatters, and the days worth of sweat and grime.

The only good thing is that now we’ve shot this scene, we can all go home.

Most of the equipment is already on the bus and packed away in the trucks, so I don’t have long before we’re stuck on the bus for the four-hour drive back to L.A.

Not a trip I want to take covered in goop, half-dressed and needing to use the bathroom.

I try to catch Mark’s eye to say I’m going to clean up, but he’s distracted, and busy flirting with the makeup girl I’m pretty sure he’s sleeping with.

My bag is inside the trailer, so I edge towards it and open the door. Trapped heat washes over me as I quickly grab my overnight bag.

I don’t want to stay to hear Jake’s IBS problems for the fourth time today so I exit as quick as I can.

Sweat has started to drip down my forehead, making my eyes sting.

I hurry towards the lake house, rubbing at my eyes as I head towards the trees behind it.

The sun is dipping lower, twilight creeping closer as I walk as quickly as my stupid heels allow for.

My legs and feet are aching by the time I reach the treeline. I glance over my shoulder to make sure no one is around and crouch down to unzip my bag.

I pull out makeup wipes, hand sanitizer and a plastic bag I brought with me. At the slightest sound of rushing water, I tilt my head and squint through the trees.

I’m fairly certain I heard someone mention there was a stream at the back of the lake house.

I’m also sure I heard Mark say he didn’t want anyone wandering around back here. Why I’m not sure. And with the bathroom out of action, I have no choice but to find some privacy.

I chew my lip, check behind me again, and pick up my bag ready to head down to the water.

I hurry, acutely aware of the time, and manage to find a small stream where I can wash off a little.

I check around me, kick off my shoes and strip off my skirt and torn blouse. Since the bus has no air con and I know soaking my underwear will keep me cool, I slide down the bank into the water.

Shivers cover my warm skin as the water washes over me. The makeup is crusted onto my skin, so it takes me longer than I expect to scrub it off my body.

I splash water over my face and instantly remember the makeup isn’t supposed to get in my eyes.

Muttering and cursing, I scramble up the bank, dripping all over my bag as I try to locate the makeup remover wipes.

I take a seat on the bank, scrubbing at my face, blinking to try to wash the pancake makeup from my eyes.

My vision is still blurry when I think I hear someone headed my way. I grab a t-shirt and pull it over my head, heart rate rising as I try to tug on my jeans before I get caught half-naked.

I keep my eyes on a fenced-off area that looks oddly out of place amongst the lush greenery.

I duck down, eyes on the spot as I see movement through the trees. Someone is back here with me. But with the thick undergrowth, I can’t make out anything other than a man’s shoulders, and the top of his head.

Half expecting to be discovered, I manage to pull my jeans over my hips as I sneak looks in the direction of the fenced-off area.

I can hear someone talking low as if they don’t want to be disturbed. For a horrible moment I think I’ve stumbled on a couple having a quickie, and with Mark’s reputation, I wouldn’t be surprised to find him screwing the make-up girl while everyone gets ready to leave.

When minutes have ticked by and I can’t hear anything apart from the water running over the rocks, I shove everything back inside the bag, zip it up and lace up my sneakers.

I toss the bag over my shoulder and walk over to where I saw movement.

I stare, bewildered at the patch of dirt I didn’t see on my way in. An elaborate watering system has been added, and dozens of tiny plants are pushing their way up out of the soil.

I tilt my head and crouch down to see if I recognize them. Are they herbs? Potatoes? I know nothing about gardening, but something tells me this is an odd location to grow vegetables.

I give up trying to figure it out and head back to the house. I’m at the treeline just behind the lake house when I notice how quiet it is.

I’m puzzled until in a moment of panic, realize, I stand a very good chance of missing my only ride back.

I pick up my pace, listening for the tell-tale signs of activity. When nothing greets me but the sound of birds in the trees, I break into an awkward run.

I’m out of breath when I arrive back into the clearing and find myself staring at the bus driving away.

I drop my bag, screaming as I chase after it, waving frantically. I run as fast as I can, heart thrashing about in my chest as I scream at the top of my lungs.

When it’s obvious I stand no chance of catching the bus before it gets to the road, I quit yelling and try to think.

I didn’t even tell anyone where I was going. And no one knows me. Which means it’s unlikely that any of the cast or crew will miss me.

Shit. Shit. Shit!

I watch the bus disappear down the track and try to remain as calm as I can despite the blazing panic trying to overtake me.

I need to do something.

I scan the area and find nothing remains except for the track marks and depression the trailers and trucks made on the grass.

From here I can’t see my bag, it’s closer to the lake house but inside it is my only food and drink, and more importantly, my phone.

I reach my bag and unzip it, feeling hopeful until I find my phone and, like a final nail to my coffin, I see that my battery is almost flat.

Cursing myself for not being better prepared, I press the call button, eyes flitting around as I try to breathe evenly.

The phone switches instantly to voice mail causing a strangled sob to escape my raw throat.

When I hear the beep, I jam the phone hard against my ear. “Mark. This is Mia Dylan. You, um, I’m still at the lake house. Could you turn around and pick me up?”

I chew on my lip, throat closing as I try not to sound as desperate as I feel. “My phone’s going flat. But I’ll stay put…”

My voice is starting to wobble so I end the call. The signal bar is flickering and my battery light is on red.

Unsure of whether I should keep calling him, I take a shuddering breath and look at the lake I so wanted to swim in. Now it looks as menacing as the forest surrounding me.

And if Mark doesn’t check his messages, I could be stuck here for a while. I gulp, and wish I’d prepared better.

I literally ran out the door the second Sally handed me the script saying I’d earn scale for a simple one-liner.

It was a one-day job, so I never dreamed I’d need to bring supplies with me. All I have is what I’m wearing, my costume, a nearly out of charge cell phone, a candy bar, a bottle of water, my purse, a towel and makeup remover.

I could try to walk until I find help, but not when it’s getting dark, and not when anything or anyone could be in the forest leading to the main road.

My breathing is starting to speed, and I’m close to hyperventilating.

I have no way of knowing when or if Mark will come back for me. He’s driving. He might not even check his phone until they reach the city. That’s four hours away.

And it’s his daughter’s birthday tomorrow. If he checks when they are in the city, it’ll take him another four hours to return. That’s eight hours minimum. On my own. No food. No shelter. Nothing.

I swallow hard, wincing at the pain as I look in the direction of the lake house.

I’m not even sure what I’m contemplating doing. My thoughts are spinning painfully in directions I wish they wouldn’t.

Every horror movie I’ve seen is replaying in my mind. I’ve been abandoned, forgotten and I have no idea if anyone will come back.

With a sob caught in my throat, I start walking back to the lake house, eyes locked on the window I peeked inside when I arrived here this morning.

I reach the steps to the front door and collapse on them. In a moment of clarity, I realize that I have no real idea of my location. I could be anywhere north of Route 50.

I vaguely remember a small town nearby, but I can’t remember the name of it.

My stomach is starting to backflip as I stare down at my sneakers. I pull the phone out, stare at it, wondering if I should call 911, noting my fingers are white-tipped from how hard I’m gripping it.

I take what I hope is a calming breath and look over my shoulder at the door.

There is no mat a key might be hidden under. But one of the windows at the back is low enough I might be able to climb inside.

If Mark is on his way back, and I’ve barely been here for an hour, I seriously doubt he’ll appreciate me breaking in just because I’m freaking out.

Whether I like it or not, I have to sit tight and wait for him. Above me, dark clouds are gathering, and the air seems condensed, just like it gets before it rains.

Before the heavens open, I pull myself to standing, switch my phone off, leave my bag and start to walk around the back of the house.

My hope that the owner has left a key somewhere obvious dissolves when I find nothing around the back entrance either.

There’s a shed and a garage to the side which seems like the perfect place to stash a key.

My hand is on the doorknob, and I’m still deciding whether I could even break in when I hear the slightest noise coming from the direction of the lake.

Heart starting to thrash against my ribs, I tentatively take the few steps across the lush grass and peer around the corner of the house.

Ice runs through my veins as I see the water rippling as though someone or something is swimming.

In the fading light, it’s impossible to see whether it’s man or beast, and the knowledge I’m not as alone as I thought is making cold sweat start to creep down my spine.

I edge along the side of the house, hands shaking as I squint as the figure swims closer.

Panic is surging through me as I try to decide whether to stay put or grab my bag and go hide until they leave.

But it could be anyone swimming in the lake. Maybe a local or an extra I hadn’t met? Or a crew member who wanted to wash off like I did?

I mentally try to run through the people I met today. But I was tired, sleepy and it was a rush job to get the grizzly makeup done on all the zombies.

I hardly had time to get changed and my own horrendous makeup done before Mark was yelling at me to get into place.

Since I’m not about to risk exposing myself if it’s some wacko, I crouch down and stay where I am, hidden and hope they’ll at least do something to prove they aren’t dangerous.

I keep my eyes on the ripples of water as the shape in the water reaches the jetty.

I suck in a breath, and my eyes pop as I lock on to a muscled man hauling himself out of the water, buck naked.

He staggers and clutches his side as if he’s in pain.

Whoever he is. Whatever he’s doing here. He’s heading my way. Completely, freaking naked.

I crouch awkwardly, thighs burning as he stumbles down the jetty. When he nearly topples in the water, I jump to my feet, and out of concern, edge towards the front door.

He’s still staggering, almost dragging himself towards the house, until he’s close enough to see the defined muscles of his body.

He’s at the end of the jetty when he collapses and I find my feet starting to creep forward.

When he lays unmoving for long enough for me to think he’s not getting up, I pick up my bag and jog as close as I can, hoping I’ll recognize him.

I reach him, slow down to a walk, and cautiously approach him as he lies sprawled out gasping, mouth open as he sucks in air.

His dark eyes are flickering as if he’s trying to stay awake. Stubble covers his jaw, his hair is cut short and he’d be incredibly handsome if it weren’t for the bruises on his face.

I stand a foot away from his head, heart in my throat as I try not to look in the direction of his crotch.

My shadow falls over him and he squints up at me and his voice comes out a croak. “Water.”

He looks so pathetic, my initial concern is overridden by worry he’ll pass out and I’ll have to try to revive him.

With a weak nod, I crouch down so I can unzip my bag. My eyes on him, I find the water bottle I brought and uncap it for him.

I stretch out my trembling fingers as he rolls on his side so he can accept it.

His face contorts and he spills some before he manages to bring it to his lips.

While he guzzles it greedily, coughing and spluttering, I search in my bag for my towel so I can offer it to him.

Without a word, he snatches the towel from my outstretched hand, throws it over his waist and flops back on the jetty. “Thanks,” he rasps.

His fingers are still closed around the bottle when he closes his eyes.

I rock back on my heels, staring at him, waiting for him to speak, but he just lies on the jetty as though he’s too exhausted to move.

I have no idea where he’s come from but when the faint sound of thunder comes from the direction of the mountains, one thing is for sure, we can’t stay outside.

I look back towards the lakehouse and let out a long breath. My initial thought that I’d have to break in somehow, is looking more and more like the only viable option.

When I look back at him, his eyes are locked on mine and he’s scowling. “Don’t suppose you have any spare clothes?” he croaks.

I shake my head and shift back to give him room as he pulls himself up to sitting. He groans and his hands go to his side again.

The towel is slipping and I have to fight to keep my eyes on his face. “What happened to you?”

He winces as he slowly gets to his feet, brow still creased as he fixes the towel around his waist. He jerks his thumb to the lake house. “This your place?”

I don’t even have time to answer before he’s started taking dragging footsteps towards the front door.

With a frown, I grab my bag and catch up to him. Injured as he is, I don’t think he’s in the position to harm me, and he seems more interested in getting inside than attacking me, but still, I keep my distance as he approaches the steps.

He pauses and looks about ready to collapse again when he takes another step, falters and stumbles up the stairs, slamming into the glass door hard enough to make it shake.

He checks the door, finds it locked and squints over his muscled shoulder at me. “This isn’t your place?”

I shake my head as he curses under his breath. “What are you doing here then?”

I stand at the bottom of the stairs and watch him check the same places I did for a key. “I was filming out here. I missed my ride.”

His expression darkens and he freezes. “Is someone coming back for you?”

I shrug, ready to say I was planning on trying Mark again when he near growls in my direction.

Without a word, he awkwardly swoops down and grabs a large pebble from a pot plant.

I open my mouth to protest, but before I can move, he smashes the pane of glass.

Way too expertly, he pushes the glass away and shoves his hand inside so he can twist the lock.

The door swings open just as a peal of thunder grumbles closer. His eyes meet mine before he stumbles inside, trying not to stand on the broken glass with his bare feet, almost compelling me to follow him.

With a quick prayer he’s not a serial killer, a rapist or worse, I head inside.