Gretchen flashes her politician smile, “Now, Stanley. You’re perfectly safe here. The infected people show no signs of intelligence. Sure, they know how to bite you. But they can’t unlock doors. And these school buildings are surprisingly sturdy. Reinforced windows, double sets of fire doors. This building is fortified for a Columbine-style attack. It’s the perfect place to wait for the virus to run its course.”
“What about food?” one of the cheerleaders asks from midway up the aisle.
My stomach growls again.
“And water?” Stanley adds. “Bo’s getting really thirsty.” Ms. Lucent’s son sits beside Stanley, tracing the handle of the ax. They make a strange pair, the tiny boy and the big, scary dude with purple boots.
Gretchen’s plastic smile deepens, “Teensy problem in the food and beverage department. Over the last forty-eight hours, we’ve eaten most of the stuff from the vending machines and fridge in the teachers’ lounge.”
She points toward the boy next to me, “Yesterday, Liam was so very brave, and risked a trip to the cafeteria to bring back food.” At this point, Gretchen is practically batting her eyelashes. I want to punch her. “Unfortunately, he discovered the school’s freezers and refrigerators aren’t working. It appeared that the electrical cords had been cut.”
“The power cords were cut?” Deke asks in a low voice. “That’s weird.”
“Yup,” Liam agrees.
Deke suddenly stops ignoring me and mutters in my ear, “Okay, we definitely need to get everybody out of here.”
Now it’s my turn to ignore him.
Gretchen holds out both hands in a reassuring gesture—one I’ve watched the president use in press conferences. I bet she sits around watching C-SPAN and practicing her politician moves in front of the mirror.
“Don’t worry. There’s still plenty of nonperishable food at the cafeteria. Sloppy joe buns. Soft drinks. That kind of thing.”
“Oh yum,” I say. “White bread and Fanta.” Liam chortles again. I’m on a roll. I should be a stand-up comedian.
Gretchen coughs and shoots me another meaningful frown. I shut up and behave. No point getting kicked out of the zombie informational meeting.
One of the robotics kids, a squat, broad-shouldered guy with the unfortunate name of Fabio, yells from the front row, “We’ve all noticed—these creatures disappear during the day. Wouldn’t it make sense to venture out in daylight to explore nearby buildings for food and water?”
“Well…” Gretchen stalls for a sec, then admits, “yesterday afternoon, when I was on the roof, I spoke to one of the infected persons while he was in the sun. Some of the sick people aren’t disturbed by the light, so I think it’d be dangerous to leave the building, even during daytime. But we’d better go back to the cafeteria at some point, and get more—”
“Wait, back up,” Deke interrupts, his voice carrying across the auditorium. “You talked to a sick person? We saw a ton of infected people on the cruise ship, and they didn’t act like they could carry on a conversation. Like you said before, no intelligence. Are you sure this guy was infected?”
Gretchen shifts uncomfortably. “Um, not at first. He’s just a kid. Our age. He wore a red hat pulled over his eyes, so I couldn’t see his face well—but he acted normal. You know, human. I asked if he was okay.” For a moment, Gretchen’s voice loses its fake peppiness, and she sounds more like a normal tenth-grader, instead of the next governor of Florida. The auditorium goes quiet.
“He laughed and said he was ‘better than okay.’ Then he walked away. Weird, but I didn’t worry. To be honest, I thought he was in shock and might snap out of it later. But last night, he was standing alongside the infected people who surrounded our building. I figured they’d bitten and changed him, but when I was on the roof, he waved and yelled ‘Good evening!’ to me.”
Gretchen doesn’t need to worry about anyone paying attention now. Every eye in the auditorium is focused on her, as we wait for the rest of the story.
“He appears unaffected by the virus, but he hangs with the other sick people, and they don’t attack him.” Gretchen seems to forget us, and rambles to herself, “He’s not human, but he’s not a…a…”
“Zombie.” For a moment, I don’t realize I’ve said the word aloud. My voice carries in the quiet room. A few nervous snickers erupt from the group. No one looks at me. I don’t care. They have to face facts sooner or later.
“Zombie?” Gretchen snaps back to her politician routine. “You’re so funny, Donna.” She laughs her best fake laugh. Everyone joins in, and the tension breaks. Beside me, Deke remains silent and serious.
Gretchen is in full swing again, acting smooth and “in control.” She extends her arms, palms flat, like she’s trying to hold back an angry mob instead of eleven frightened teens.
“Let’s get back to reality, everyone. No need to waste our time entertaining silly theories. Last night, we pulled some long guard-duty shifts. Maybe the new people could help cover the first watch? Um, Liam and Donna, you take the top floor. Deke, you guard the door with me.”
Deke objects, “I want to stay with Don—”
I kick him under the chair and he swivels in his seat to glare at me. And then, realization passes over his face. He rolls his eyes.
Chapter Seven
“Ugh, that meeting took for-EV-er,” I groan. “Gretchen’s such a fricking twit.”
Deke and I walk through the toilet-scented halls, heading to the newspaper room before guard duty. I make a quick mental assessment of our surroundings. The ascending staircase leads to the third floor, where the teachers’ lounge and roof access are located. The descending set of steps takes us to a few random classrooms (including the newspaper room), plus the vending area and main entrance. The auditorium is sandwiched between on the second story. Boys’ and girls’ bathrooms sit on each level, immediately beside the building’s single stairwell.
Today, the school has that alien, abandoned feel it gets after classes have finished and students have gone home for the day. No slamming of locker doors, no chatter of students. I can’t shake the sensation that the principal might stick her head out of a doorway and ask for my hall pass.
Beside me, Deke rattles a bag of trail mix, digging for M&M’s. As we left the auditorium, Gretchen doled out sad little vending-machine dinners. She gave Deke a big bag of snack mix. I got a pack of stale pork rinds. Bleh. Stanley passed around teeny-weeny cups of grape soda. I guzzled mine about five seconds after I got it.
I relax slightly when we reach the journalism classroom. Even though we’re on the ground floor of the building, the room feels safe. Maybe because it’s so familiar, it seems almost normal to be here.
Ms. Lucent decorated the space with tons of posters and other cool stuff. At the beginning of the school year, when we covered the chapter on advertising, each of us made oversized food wrappers for an assignment. Deke created an enormous Hershey bar out of a wooden door. I used a garbage can as a cheese puff container, and filled it with round, orange pillows. Now, our projects are scattered around the room as part of the decor. I grab a couple of cheese puff pillows, sit at my usual desk, and continue my rant about Gretchen.
“The chick has no clue what she’s doing. She’s gonna get us all killed.”
Deke shrugs and takes the desk beside me. “She’s doing the best she can. I’m more concerned with the creepy sick dude in the red hat. The one who’s walking and talking and hanging with the zombies.”
I lean over to steal some trail mix. “You think he cut the coolers?”
Deke swats my hand away. “Makes sense. The goons lack the motor control for that kind of sabotage.” I shiver slightly.
There’s a strange pause as Deke turns to study my face.
“What?” I ask. I can’t quite read his expression. Is he concerned? Or trying to unravel some puzzle? Or just mad because I stole his last M&M?
“We could still leave,” he says abruptly, “if you want.”
“No,”
I blurt out, probably too quickly.
Deke snorts. “Could we not base this decision on your hormones?” Deke’s never understood my mega-crush on Liam. He says Liam is shallow and self-centered and uses way too much hair product.
“Liam is not the reason I want to stay,” I explain. “I feel safe here.”
It’s true. I haven’t heard my voices for the last three hours. Of course, that doesn’t mean they won’t kick in at any moment.
“Who knows what we’d find if we left?” I say, shoving my hands into my hoodie pockets. “It’ll be dark soon and…” I don’t finish my sentence, but I know Deke understands what I mean. It would be a bad idea to drive at night, after the monsters emerge from their hidey-holes.
“Donna,” Deke says, his voice resigned, “if it makes any difference, I didn’t mean just you and me. I meant all of us could leave. Liam too.”
I watch him for a few seconds, unable to decipher the strained expression on his face.
He continues after a moment, keeping his voice casual, “The truth is, I was trying to find out, if you have a…um…good feeling about us staying here tonight, or if we need to get everyone out? Find another place to hide?”
“A good feeling?”
“Yeah, you know, like maybe a hunch whether the zombies will attack or not?”
My brain snaps into overdrive. Is Deke asking what I think he’s asking?
“How should I know?” I try to sound nonchalant. “What? You want me to predict the future or something?” My laugh feels forced.
He pauses, his eyebrows raised, his face expectant. I hold his gaze.
“Just forget it,” he mumbles, finally looking away.
But I can’t forget. His question hangs in the air. Does Deke know about my voices? Has he figured it out?
The two cheerleaders, still in their uniforms, walk past the classroom door without speaking to us. It’s enough to distract Deke.
“You know,” he says, staring at the now-empty doorway, “if they ever turn, let them chase me for a while. It’s always been a fantasy of mine to be chased by zombie cheerleaders.”
“Now who’s the hormonal one?”
My cell vibrates in my pocket. Dad. I mash the speakerphone button.
“We’re off the ship,” he sings out. “Finally!”
Relief floods over me. “And you’re almost here?”
“Uh, no. Still on the ocean. In one of the tenders.”
“A tender? What happened?”
“We couldn’t get off the bridge,” Dad says. “Those sick people kept us trapped for hours. So we set the ship on fire with flares from the emergency kit. Once the flames got going, most of the infected jumped overboard. Muriel used her Taser on the rest of them. We zapped our way to an emergency boat.”
A tender is a small boat used to ferry passengers to shore when a dock isn’t available. They also serve as lifeboats if the ship sinks. Apparently, Dad and Muriel have managed to sink the boat. Grinning, I shake my head, picturing them speeding away in a lifeboat as the cruise ship burst into flames, zombies floundering in the waves.
“It’s too bad,” my dad laments, “that was a nice retrofit we did on the vessel. The new bearings on the—”
“Wastin’ cell time, Dad. What’s the plan?” I’m overjoyed my dad is alive, but I’m ready to hear about how he’s gonna spring me from this hellhole.
“Well, when the ship sank, Muriel got an idea.”
Muriel got an idea? Uh-oh.
“I don’t want to worry you kids, but we’re wondering if this virus thing might last a while.”
Deke and I exchange a glance. They’re just now figuring this out?
“We need a safe place,” Dad reasons. “Somewhere far from the folks who caught that flu. Muriel thinks a cruise ship—an empty cruise ship, without infected people—would be ideal for waiting this out.”
“You know,” Deke says, tapping his chin thoughtfully, “that’s actually a good plan. Plenty of food, fresh water—”
“Toilets that flush,” I add.
“I want to start searching right away. We’ll find a vessel stocked for its next voyage, check it thoroughly—make sure it’s clear of infected people. Meanwhile, you kids should stay in your school, where it’s safe.”
Deke and I look at each other again. Are we safe in our school? Should we tell him about the talking zombie sabotaging our food supply? Deke shakes his head slightly, and mouths the word “no.”
Dad explains more of the plan: “Our first problem—all the berths are empty here in Fort Lauderdale. No boats for us to use. We’ll have to hunt for a ship in a different port. I’ve wracked my brain, trying to remember which boats dock in each city this time of year.”
“You’ll remember, Dad. You’ll figure it out.” My father has worked the dry docks in Dade and Broward for years, decades even. If anyone knows the ships’ schedules, it’s him.
“Should you check Miami?” Deke suggests.
“Miami!” I say. “Great idea! You could be there and back before sundown. We could eat burritos for dinner. And Cokes. I could drink two or three Cokes. Maybe four.”
“Nothing leaves Miami mid-week,” Dad answers. “By now, those ships are deep in the Caribbean. But if I remember correctly, a boat departs from Canaveral every Wednesday. We can start there.”
Port Canaveral? That’s four hours by car, and God-only-knows how many hours by tender.
“If Canaveral is empty,” Dad continues, “we’ll head north to Jacksonville. But to go that far, we’ll need to stop for fuel. If that’s the case, it might take a few days to put this plan into action. And I’m not sure how dangerous it will be, searching the ships. Could you kids sit tight at your school for three or four days, maybe five at the most?”
“If it means a permanent place to hide,” Deke replies, “then yes.”
“Uh, no,” I chime in. “I get a vote, too. I vote no. You guys should come get us now. Take us with you while you search for a ship.”
“I told you, Donna, it’s too risky for you to tag along. And besides, you took the car.”
Oh. Forgot about that.
“Couldn’t you get a car at the port?” I ask.
Deke huffs out an annoyed breath. “What, and hotwire it?”
“Um, yeah. Muriel probably knows how to do that.”
This earns me another eye-roll from Deke. “You want your dad to find a car in that zombie-filled parking garage?”
He has a point.
“No,” I admit.
“We can stay here,” Deke assures my dad. “You find the ship. We’ll drive to the port when you get back.”
I’m so pissed, I barely hear the rest of the conversation. As Deke hangs up, I round on him.
“What’d you do that for? Why didn’t you help me convince him to come here?”
Deke holds his arms wide and matches my exasperated tone. “Donna, look around. Are we the only ones who need rescuing? No. The zombies trapped nine other people here. Aren’t you worried what’ll happen to them?”
“You were serious when you said that before? You want to rescue everybody?”
He huffs out a sigh. “Why not? Plenty of room on a cruise ship.”
“Okay, one problem, genius. I didn’t notice any other cars in the lot. So how do we transport eleven people to the docks? Cram everyone in the Toyota? I mean, Deke, c’mon,” I lower my voice. “Once we get a ship, Dad and Muriel can come back for everyone else. They could find a minivan or something.”
“And what if the other kids don’t last that long?” Deke rises from his desk, his face turning pale like it always does when he gets ticked off. “You know,” he says icily, “don’t worry about it, Donna. Just run along and flirt with Liam. I’ll take care of everything.”
He grumbles something else. The only word I make out is “self-centered.”
“It’s not being self-centered. It’s called self-preservation.”
“No, Donna. It’s called being a jerk.”
> “Well…well…” I sputter. “You’re a jerk for making us leave the port! If we’d stayed there until we knew Dad’s plans, it woulda saved a whole lot of trouble. We could have hidden, and then hopped on the tender once Dad and Muriel got back to the docks.”
“Are you kidding me?” Deke is furious now, his dark eyes almost black. “Then…then all of these people, including your precious Liam, would have no way out of this school. Nowhere to go. Do you realize that, Donna? If we hadn’t shown up, they might have died waiting here.”
Deke’s words hit me like a blow to the stomach. Dead. All those students in the auditorium—the robotics kids and the goth guy with the ax. Quentin, whose family might still be alive somewhere in Bermuda, and Ms. Lucent’s son, Bo. Would they really die—get eaten or turn into zombies if we don’t help?
Deke pauses for breath. “If your dad and Gran find a ship, these kids have a place to go—a place to hide—a way to survive.”
He kneels beside me, staring into my eyes, almost like if he gazes long enough he’ll change my mind. “Can’t you stick it out for a few days? Be brave, so everyone can get rescued?”
I don’t move. I sit on my orange pillow and study the lines of fake wood on the desktop. I’m scared. Beyond scared. Terrified. I want my dad to get me. Now. I want to be on a ship, far out in the ocean, where monsters can’t find me. But deep down, I know Deke is right. This isn’t about just saving us anymore.
There’s something impressive about Deke’s selflessness. I don’t even know most of these kids. And some that I do know, I don’t really like. But still, we’re all human beings. And in the current state of the world, that might be a rarity.
I exhale loudly. “So, we’re planning to rescue every single person here?” I examine a stale pork rind. “Even Gretchen? Can’t we leave her behind?”
The color returns to Deke’s face, and he stands, the tightness around his mouth shifting to a slight smile. “We’ve got a lot of work to do.”
“Yay,” I respond.
I know we’re doing the right thing, but still… I am so not into this.
Donna of the Dead Page 7
