Donna of the Dead

by Alison Kemper

  The voices started on the day I turned eight. Not your run-of-the-mill “little-voice-inside-my-head” sort of thing. It’s more like an entire chorus of disembodied people hanging out in my skull. They chant and sing and get on my nerves to no end. Sometimes I hear only one voice—a woman’s. She seems to show up when someone’s trying to trick me. When I was little, I’d fantasize the woman was my mom, talking to me from beyond the grave, trying to keep me safe.

  As I got older, I realized that theory might be kinda nuts. I’ve read that crazy people get locked up when they hear stuff, so I never discussed my little problem with anyone. I mean no one. Ever.

  Until now.

  In a way, it was a relief to tell Deke he was right—that I do have some kind of bizarre ESP skills. And the best part? He didn’t act like I was insane or making up stuff. It felt good to finally share my secret with someone.

  And I like how he called it a “gift.” My heart stutters at the memory. I never thought of the voices that way. They always seemed like something to hide. Not something I could put to good use.

  Once again, I wonder if my voices knew what they were doing when they told me to stop at the school. Maybe I have a reason for being here, too.

  I flop on my side and adjust the wad of paper towels I’m using as a pillow. My mind spins with unanswered questions. Will Deke press me for more details about the voices tomorrow? Will his plan work at the fountain? Will the voices warn me if zombies threaten our search party? And how the heck did I end up being the secret weapon?

  Chapter Sixteen

  When I wake up, Deke’s not on the floor beside me. Did he pull all-night guard duty? I hope not—we’ll need to stay sharp at the fountain. Won’t do us any good to have Mr. Zombie Slayer along if he’s dead tired.

  Oops. I need to stop using the word “dead.”

  I pull my phone from my pocket to check voice mail—in case I missed a call from Dad and Muriel. Or Liam.

  “You have zero new messages and one saved message,” says the robot-female answering service.

  In a weird way, it’s comforting to hear her familiar voice—reassuring that somewhere out there, cell systems are still up and running. I almost hit end, then change my mind. I’ve just remembered who left the saved message.

  “First saved message, Monday, November twenty-second, two-fifteen PM.”

  Monday. The last day I heard from Phoebe.

  “Don-na, come back… I’m so lonely without you,” Phoebe’s voice fake-whines through the speaker. She laughs and I find myself laughing along with her.

  “Dude. You won’t be-lieve this, but Mrs. Mosely is out sick today—well, actually, a bunch of teachers are out sick, and they couldn’t find enough subs, so Annunziato took over trig class. Oh. My. Freaking. God. Can you grasp the horror of this situation? Me, sitting in math hell with Annunziato, while you’re off sunning yourself in the Caribbean?”

  She laughs again, the sound tinkling through the line like running water. “Tell Deke he’s lucky I’m not there—I’d totally push him overboard. Just kidding! Maybe.” Her giggles dissolve. “Seriously, I hope you guys are all having an awesome time on your cruise. Say Happy Thanksgiving to everyone for me. Love you! Miss you! Call me! Bye!”

  “End of message,” says the robot-woman, “To repeat this message, press pound.”

  I press the pound key seven more times.

  Right now, I miss Phoebe so much, it’s almost a physical ache. I want to tell her about snuggling with Liam on the roof. And how weird Deke was afterward. And about how we tossed the vice principal off the roof.

  I smile in the semi-darkness. Phoebe would like that last story. It was the kind of thing we’d joked about ever since we’d had our first run-in with the administrator.

  Of course, in real life, the whole event had been rather chilling. Too real and too damn scary. My smile evaporates. Maybe we weren’t the ones to end Mrs. Annunziato’s life, but I still wouldn’t wish this change on her or anyone else in the world.

  I find myself thinking about the attack again, and the way I totally froze when Mrs. Annunziato hurled herself into the newspaper room. What if the same thing happens today? Should I really be tagging along on this adventure? What if it costs me my life?

  Last night, when the trip was still hours away, it was easy to say I’d go. Now, in the light of morning, all my fears have returned, crushing me under a weight of uncertainty. Should I bail? Stay inside, like I promised my dad? Deke would be pissed, but he’d still bring me back some water.

  Water. I’d settle for just one glass right now. Tall. With ice. Condensation beading the outside. A lemon slice floating on top. I fantasize about eating an entire lemon. Then, I haul myself off the floor, because if I’m dreaming about lemons, it must be time for breakfast.

  Downstairs, Gretchen stands near the main doors, distributing food from a box on the floor. She hands me an open bag containing three Cheetos. Why is she still in charge of rations? She probably crammed half the food in her mouth before she remembered to share with the rest of us.

  “Have you seen Deke?” I ask.

  “He’s off somewhere with Veronica. Working on something important. Instead of sleeping in, like some people.” She frowns pointedly.

  What the hell? Doesn’t she realize this was the first time I’d slept in days? It takes every ounce of my self-control not to smack Gretchen upside the head with my golf club. But that wouldn’t bode well for my next meal. I’d end up with two Cheetos instead of three.

  Clamping my mouth shut, I force myself to move away from Gretchen and continue hunting for Deke. I place a cheesy morsel on my tongue, planning to let it dissolve slowly. But the instant my taste buds sense food, I lose all control and wind up shoveling the other two Cheetos in my mouth. My entire breakfast is gone in under ten seconds. Dang.

  I head to the nearest classroom—the newspaper room—dark now with its boarded-up window, only slivers of light shining through the chinks. “Deke, are you in—”

  Something groans from the floor and hoists itself to its feet.

  I raise my golf club instinctively.

  “Hey, Donna,” Stanley says, stepping out of the shadows toward me.

  I exhale sharply. “Stanley! You scared the crap out of me!”

  “Sorry. Pulled guard duty all night. Just came in here to grab a nap.”

  “Then I’m the one who’s sorry. I’ll leave and let you sleep.”

  “Nah, no worries. Wasn’t having any luck. Too much to think about. What are you packing here, a nine iron? A mini nine iron?”

  I give him a blank look.

  He laughs and takes my golf club, turning it over in his hands a few times. “You done any damage with this?”

  I gulp and shake my head.

  “It’s sturdy.” He takes a few swings, the metal swishing through the air. “Hmmm. A lot sturdier than I expected. If you hit an infected, make sure you put some force behind it.”

  I hold up my toothpick arms. “Does it look like I could put force behind anything?”

  I expect him to laugh, but he just studies me more carefully, like he’s trying to size me up. He doesn’t even glance at my skinny arms, just focuses on my face. I’m sure it’s covered with orangey dust.

  “Yes,” he says finally. “I think you could do some damage. If you had to.”

  For some reason—probably because I feel like a mega-wimp—I’m compelled to say more. “I did knock out one zombie. Not with the club, though. I ran over it with my dad’s car.”

  “Awesome.” He gives me a big smile, showing off all four piercings in his lips.

  I hesitate a second. “Yeah, I’ve got nerves of steel when I’m locked safely inside a metal vehicle.”

  His smile widens. I can’t believe I ever thought Stanley was scary. He hands back my club. “Don’t worry, Donna. When the time comes, you’ll be able to hit one.”

  “Ugh. I hope that time never comes.”

  The smile fades. “It will—for
all of us. When it does, don’t hesitate. Hit first and hit hard.”

  He stretches, his big frame filling the space between desks. “So, I hear you’re going with us to the fountain. Must be about time to hit the road. You ready?”

  “Not really,” I admit. “I’m having second thoughts. Might just stay here.”

  Stanley reaches toward the wall and flicks on the overhead light. A moan from the other side of the room startles me. Bo lies on the floor, right beside the spot where Stanley had been resting.

  His small eyes barely flicker open.

  “C’mon, Bud,” Stanley says in a bracing voice, striding toward him. “We’re leaving in a few. Gonna get some water. Then you’ll feel better.”

  “Thirsty,” Bo mumbles through cracked lips. Stanley helps him sit, propping Bo’s weak body against a desk.

  Instantly, my fear slides to the back burner. The virus is the reality. Bo is the reality. As he leans listlessly against that desk, his body weak from dehydration, something shifts inside me.

  A gift. I have a gift that might keep these people safe.

  I will not be a wimp. Not this time.

  “I was kidding about the fountain,” I say, watching Stanley wrap his trench coat around Bo. “You know me, always joking around.”

  Stanley throws a questioning look in my direction. “You sure?”

  I thread the golf club through my belt loop—the same way Deke carries his bat. “Yeah. I’m in. Ready when you are.”

  …

  Ten minutes later, when it’s time for the pool party, I find Liam downstairs, waiting by the door for me.

  “Ready?” he whispers conspiratorially, as if five other people aren’t standing there with us.

  “Ready,” I say, resisting the urge to run and hide in the janitor’s closet.

  Quentin shakes hands with Fabio. “Keep it real, yo.” Then he and Stanley thump each other on the back in one of those awkward guy-hugs.

  Stanley has to bend to hug Veronica. “Bye,” she says simply, but there’s a tightness in her face as she throws the switch for the door.

  A lump the size of a golf ball rises in my throat. The people who are staying—are they worried this is the last time they’ll see us?

  In contrast with the rest of the group, Liam appears completely relaxed. He offers his arm, like he’s escorting me to the winter semi-formal instead of a dangerous mission.

  The seven of us slip outside, as quietly as possible, the chains clanking as Veronica secures the door behind us. I stand on the school steps, clutching Liam’s arm with one hand and my golf club with the other. My fears crash down on me at full force. Any second, the goon in the red hat could put in an appearance. Pick me up. Carry me off to Zombietown.

  I squint against the brilliant sunlight, steeling myself for a sudden attack. No zombies by the trees today. No one hiding behind the low Sacagawea High sign. In every direction, the coast is clear. Not a monster in sight. My voices stay silent.

  I smile weakly at Deke and he nods, just barely, showing that he understands.

  On the other side of the glass, Veronica gives us all a thumbs-up, and the door hums back to life. I try to beat down the panic as we sneak away from our safe haven and head toward the college.

  Back in the real world, if I went swimming, I’d bring a towel, sunscreen, maybe even a hat. Today, all I have is a bag filled with soap, stuffed into the front pocket of my jeans. Last night, after my nutritious dinner of barbeque-flavored potato chips, I’d had enough foresight to fish the chip bag out of the trash and fill it with liquid soap from the bathroom dispenser. I have my qualms about taking a bath in front of Liam, but my deep-seated need for cleanliness outweighs my fear of scrubbing my unshaven armpits while he watches.

  The campus stays quiet, and so do my voices. I find myself relaxing slightly. It does feel great to be outside. Different from being on the roof. Cicadas whir in the depths of the lawn. The school’s grass, usually well tended, already appears slightly overgrown. After only a few days, the campus appears unkempt and a little wild—probably just like we do. A layer of civilization is slowly peeling away.

  I steal a peek at Liam, trying to detect changes in his appearance since the zompocalypse. His hair might be less styled than usual, but that’s all. His clothes still look impeccable.

  He catches me staring. “You don’t know how nice it is to have company out here.”

  I’m surprised by his normal tone of voice. It feels like we should be whispering and tiptoeing. But apparently, I’m the only fraidy-cat. Around me, the other kids talk in normal voices.

  “Ugh. I can’t believe you do this—walk around on your own.”

  “I’ve only gone twice, and in broad daylight. Like I said before, no one’s bothered me.”

  “You should at least take a weapon,” I say, noticing Liam’s empty hands. “Borrow Deke’s bat or something.”

  We glance over our shoulders at Deke. He’s several yards behind us, helping Stanley carry Bo, who is woozy, but still conscious. The red bat is tucked in its usual spot in Deke’s belt loop.

  “I don’t think Deke would ever part with that bat,” Liam says. “He probably brings it to the bathroom with him.”

  “It’s true.” I nod. “He does.”

  Liam faces me, the corners of his mouth tilting in an amused way. “Nah, I’m not a Zombie Slayer like your friend. I’m more like the Zombie Evader. They’re so slow, I mean, even if I saw one, I could run away from it. Hell, you don’t even have to run. You can just walk fast.”

  True. But it still gives me the creeps.

  “What if they grab hold of you?” I ask, remembering the monster on the ship’s staircase. “It’s almost impossible to get away. They’re too strong.”

  “So I won’t let them grab hold of me.”

  My thoughts drift to Dad and Muriel. They must be at the Jacksonville port by now. What if it’s mobbed with zombies like the parking garage in Fort Lauderdale? Old people like Dad and Muriel move so darn slow. Could the zombies catch them? What if they come across one of the super-zombies?

  I wish my dad would call. It worries me that I haven’t heard from him all morning. I know he’s busy, and trying to save his cell battery, but still, I’m desperate for news.

  Liam and I walk side by side, silent for the next few minutes. Maybe I should make a move? Reach for his hand or something? That wouldn’t be out of bounds, would it? Not after we’d snuggled and hugged on the roof last night?

  “We’re here,” Liam says abruptly. “See, I told you we wouldn’t run into any trouble.”

  We’ve reached a six-story structure in the north part of the community college campus. Like a lot of buildings in South Florida, this one is painted light pink. Only in Florida can you get away with a pink building. A concrete path leads to the side of the building. A small sign tells us we’re entering the Helen Henderson Memorial Garden.

  Liam checks his watch. “12:08. Plenty of time for a swim.”

  “Plenty of time before what? You got someplace to be?”

  Liam shakes his head. “Plenty of time to swim before sundown. We’re here at the brightest part of the day—which means it’s the safest part of the day, too.”

  His easy confidence is contagious. Maybe I’m wrong about the goons. Maybe the sunlight does keep them away. I grin, enjoying the idea of a sunny, zombie-free afternoon hanging out with Liam.

  I peek over my shoulder toward the rest of our group. Deke’s been so busy with Bo, he hasn’t interrupted Liam and me even once. Hmmm…this expedition feels more and more like a date.

  Liam unlatches a white metal gate. He waves Deke and Stanley toward him and the three of them check inside before allowing the rest of us in the fenced area.

  I hear the fountain before I see it. My mouth waters at the tinkling sound, hidden somewhere behind the trees. As we pass through the gate, I suck in a deep breath—Liam is right. It’s pretty here. Peaceful. The reflecting pond is the size of an average swimming pool,
but completely round and shallow, roughly two feet deep. A cement walkway encircles the fountain, and benches sit at regular intervals facing the pond.

  All sorts of tropical plants grow behind the benches. It resembles a jungle, only on a smaller scale. The dense foliage makes the garden feel enclosed and private. Tall palms lean overhead, creating a dappled pavilion above the pool. One pink wall is barely visible through a screen of palmettos. Bright purple flowers cover—

  What was that?

  A sudden chill shoots through me. Something moved—something deep within the palmettos. I stand immobile, staring into the murky shadows between the plants. Nothing happens for a long moment, and then a slight breeze kicks up, ruffling my hair.

  Voices? Where are you, voices? What was that? Should I be scared? Should we run?

  No response. Not a peep.

  Ugh. Stupid Donna. It was probably just a palm frond, caught in the wind. Time to stop being so fricking paranoid.

  Behind me, the others are already on the ground, kneeling in front of the fountain. I follow, rushing to the water, forgetting everything except my thirst. The water is greenish, from algae or something, but no one cares. We scoop handfuls of the fetid liquid into our mouths. Even me, the girl who only drinks Cokes. I slurp gulp after gulp of stale water. Delicious. I’m surprised how fast energy zooms back into my body. After a few minutes, even Bo can stand on his own.

  We’ve brought empty soda cans, bottles, anything that holds liquid. We fill the containers, and set them in rows near the gate. Then everyone hops in the fountain.

  I watch Deke help Bo into the water, then shift my gaze quickly, before he can invite me to join them.

  When I turn to ask Liam if he’s planning to swim, he’s already headed toward one of the benches, shrugging out of his jeans and sweater. He sets his clothes on the seat, and clad only in his shorts, he moves toward the pool. I try not to gawk, but I’ve never seen him without his shirt. His shorts hang low on his hips, giving me a perfect view of his washboard abs.

  Dang, is there anything about this boy that isn’t perfect?

  He slides into the water, and busies himself fishing out large palm fronds that have fallen into the pond. I use the time to catch my breath, slowly taking off my hoodie and dropping it on the bench with my golf club, grabbing my potato chip soap packet first. Deke’s attention is still fixed on Bo. I walk to the fountain and dip one foot in the water.