Donna of the Dead

by Alison Kemper

  “Not yet.”

  “Promise you will? Soon?”

  He laughs. “I don’t know. The last promise I made you ended up being very complicated.”

  The last promise he’d made? Oh—his promise to take me outside…to stay with me.

  “So,” I ask ruefully, “I’m guessing my completely hot crush ended up being some sort of sentient half-zombie, controlled by Saul?”

  Deke doesn’t even try to hide his expression of glee. “Looks like it.”

  “Damn. I have the worst luck.”

  “Yep, and now you’re stuck with me.”

  “Like I was saying…”

  I’m keeping my tone light, so Deke knows I’m kidding, but honestly, at the moment, I’m feeling completely overwhelmed with gratitude toward him. He took me outside the building and stayed with me. He rescued me from Saul and took me someplace safe. Then he sat with me for hours while I fought off the virus. How many times would Deke risk his neck for me? Apparently there was no limit.

  I mash my lips together to keep from crying. I am so unworthy of this unconditional friendship.

  I hang onto Deke all the way down the stairs, grateful for his strong arms. I still feel like I might topple over at any moment. Exhausted, I lean into him as we reach the ground floor. He makes a slight noise, deep in his throat.

  “Did I hurt you?” I ask, afraid I’ve put too much weight on him.

  “No.” He adjusts his arm to support me better. “It just feels…well…a few days ago, you would have pushed me away, told me to get my hands off you.”

  I glare up at him, already preparing one of my cutting remarks. But the words die on my lips. His face is so serious, and so close and so…so familiar. Suddenly it’s like all the air has been sucked out of the atmosphere. I remember that moment in the janitor’s closet, when I thought he might kiss me.

  No, this is friendship. Unconditional friendship. Nothing more.

  At the curve of my waist, Deke’s hand moves on top of mine.

  “Donna,” he says, with a ragged edge to his voice, “I—I need to tell you something.”

  My heart rate spikes. “Okay.”

  His eyes grow dark and solemn. “I want to—damn, this is hard.” He breaks off for a minute, like he’s trying to corral his thoughts. “God, I’ve got to just say it. I won’t take the chance again. Of not letting you know how I feel.”

  If there’s no oxygen left in the room, why am I breathing so fast?

  “I—I thought I’d lost you,” he whispers. “I went crazy. I—”

  A sound splits the silence, a door slamming nearby. I leap away from Deke, adrenaline pounding through my veins.

  “What’s that?” I gasp, looking around, wild-eyed.

  “It’s okay. There’s someone else here. In the building. A librarian. But Donna, I’m trying to tell you. I—”

  “What? Is she a zombie? A zombie librarian?” Every other thought in my head disappears. It’s like I’m outside the library again. Hunted, attacked, a target.

  “No, Donna. Calm down. The librarian’s not infected,” he exhales. “She let us in here, remember?” My brain reaches for the memory, but it’s like I’m watching everything through a frosty window. I have only a dim recollection of a cursing, white-haired woman. Deke takes a step away from me, his dark gaze still locked on my face.

  I force myself to take calm, measured breaths.

  “I guess I should introduce you.” He seems reluctant to move.

  “Okay,” I squeak out, and Deke’s lips go thin with disappointment. He shifts away from me, obviously giving up on whatever confession he’d been about to make. I can’t decide if I’m relieved or disappointed.

  Deke motions for me to follow him. I watch his back as he leads me past the reference desk.

  Wowza. My head feels like a giant piece of cotton. What had Deke been trying to tell me? Before I heard the noise? It’d felt super-weird to be that close to him and my head is still so darned cloudy.

  Was he really going to say he has feelings for me? Or am I making up crazy stuff?

  Deke opens a door labeled “Staff Kitchen” and I follow him into a windowless room with apricot-colored walls. Despite the lack of natural light, the room feels sunny and warm. A frail-looking, elderly woman sits at a table, holding a coffee mug. A loaded crossbow rests beside her teaspoon.

  “Hi,” I say, brightening at the sight of her cup. “I’m Donna. Do you have an espresso maker?”

  “No, but there’s a coffee machine in our vending area. It’s still working.” I resist the urge to hug her.

  The librarian’s name is Marcella, and she’s tiny and wrinkled, just like librarians are supposed to be. She wears a yellow sweatshirt covered with pictures of kittens chasing balls of yarn. Marcella might appear frail and sweet, but when she talks, it’s obvious why she’s the only one in this building who survived the zombie invasion.

  “After that school shooting a few years ago, I purchased a gun,” she explains in a soft, genteel voice. “But I was not permitted to bring it into the library.” She gestures at the “No Handguns” sign on the bulletin board. “So I started checking into—well, how should I phrase it? Viable alternatives. Did you know that a crossbow is just as effective as a gun? In fact, many hunters prefer them. And there aren’t any signs in our library saying “No Crossbows.” The nice gentleman at the firing range says I’m his best student.” She pats her white hair primly.

  “Unfortunately, a crossbow is large. Difficult to hide. Oh, I put it in my file cabinet, but I wanted something else to keep within easy reach. Something a tad more…discreet. Working with the public. Well…there are just so many strange people out there. My friends at the tactical ops store talked me into buying an entire crate of pepper spray.”

  She fusses with a wrinkle in her pants, pressing it smooth. “I duct-taped quite a few cans to the bottom of my desk. So, I was, how do you say? Locked and loaded when the crazies came through the doors. I was working the evening shift—I grabbed my bow and my pepper spray, and I stood at the reference desk and shot them through the heads, one by one as they walked through the security gate.”

  She beams at us. “Eventually, they stopped coming. I used up most of my high-impact aluminum arrows. I’m down to a few packs of gold-tip bolts. When the sun rose, everything got quiet. I was the only one left in this building.”

  I lean forward in my chair, totally engrossed in her story. “Why didn’t you leave the library? Didn’t you want to go home?”

  “Oh, of course. After all, I needed to check on my kitties. But unfortunately, some of those infected gentlemen were still outside, lurking by the doors. Guarding me, I guess. That teenager with the red hat. He keeps trying to talk to me. Trick me into coming outside. Oooo, I wish I could get a good shot at him. I’ve been stuck here for days now.”

  She pats me on the knee. “It’s very nice to have some company, dear.”

  Deke brings me a large cup of vending machine coffee, a bagful of pretzels, and an aerosol can filled with bright orange cheese. I’m so hungry that I scarf down pretzel after pretzel coated with spray cheese. As I eat, the tension tightening Deke’s shoulders ebb in visible degrees. I guess he’s still harboring some fears about me being a half-dead. I stuff more and more pretzels in my mouth, hoping to reassure him even further.

  As I eat, a regretful sort of embarrassment creeps over me. I should’ve tried some kind of food test on Liam. Or at least noticed the fact he never ate anything. Kind of an obvious tipoff he was undead.

  In the future, if I ever fall for a boy again, I’m going to make sure he eats real food. I’ll be like, No, I will not give you my phone number until I watch you eat an entire pizza.

  If I ever fall for a boy again…

  When I think these words, my heart almost wrenches out of my body. I’ve been crushing on Liam for sooooo many years; I wonder if I’ll even know how to fall for anyone else. Right now, I should be grateful to be alive. I should be doing cartwheels
on top of the bookshelves. But instead, my insides feel raw and scraped, and it has nothing to do with the virus that recently attacked my body.

  The boy I liked, who finally liked me back, was not only a member of the walking dead, but also wound up being a complete butthead. I mean, holy hell, he bit me and infected me on purpose! He could have frickin’ killed me!

  But there’s another feeling at play here, too. A deep, sucking sadness. It takes a few moments to label it. Regret. Not just over the events of the last day, but over the last five years. Why did I waste so much time obsessing over Liam? I mean, underneath his good looks and sexy command of the English language, I didn’t even really know the guy. He never paid attention to me—I mean, at least not until the last few days. I’d spent so much energy idealizing him, that when I finally got to spend time with the real Liam, it didn’t take long to find out he’s not the demigod I’d imagined.

  There’s five years of my life I’ll never get back.

  Marcella had disappeared into another room, but she’s returned now, standing over me again, and holding a book. I wipe cheese off my fingers.

  “I am one of those old-fashioned librarians who can find things without a computer,” she says with a proud little wink.

  The book is entitled History of the Black Death. She and Deke smile, looking at me expectantly. Obviously, they bonded while I was tied up in La-la Land.

  “I don’t understand. What’s this about?” Marcella flips to a page marked with a Post-it note.

  “Read this section,” she says. “We think it might be about you.”

  I read aloud: “Certain individuals possess resistance to viruses because of inherited cell mutations.”

  Great, so I’m a mutant. I’ve always expected as much.

  “In these subjects, cell receptors do not allow the virus to enter…blah blah blah…CCR5…Black Death….blah blah blah.”

  Marcella and Deke are still smiling, like they just handed me the original Declaration of Independence. But I have no idea what I’ve read.

  “Uh Deke, in English?”

  “Your cells protect themselves, Donna.” He holds up his hands and gestures excitedly. “It’s like they close a gate and don’t let the virus in.” I can tell his inner science nerd loves all this virus research stuff.

  “But that’s not the same thing as being a half-dead?” I ask.

  “Definitely not,” Deke answers. “The virus has changed Saul and Liam in obvious ways. You’re exactly the same as you were before you were bitten.”

  “What’s happened to you,” Marcella says, “is nothing new. Fifteen percent of the medieval population was immune to the bubonic plague or whatever virus decimated Europe. And now, their descendants have the same immunity to HIV. I’m not a scientist, but all the reference sources point to you having this type of cell. When the virus attacked your body, your cells simply closed the gate, and didn’t admit the contagion. You are a very lucky young woman.”

  I scowl and gaze out the window. Lucky. Marcella thinks I’m lucky. I don’t feel lucky. As happy as I am to be alive, I now have visions of myself being the last human on Earth, with only creepy Saul, jerk-hole Liam, and a bunch of stumbling meatheads for company. Well, at least I guess I’d be the only human left alive.

  “Fifteen percent?” I ask. “So, I’m not the only one with the zombie-proof cell?”

  “Probably not. It’s likely both your parents possess the gene,” Marcella responds.

  “Not any way to test the theory, is there?” I ask.

  “Not that I can think of.”

  I give Deke a smug little grin. “Guess I didn’t need a babysitter after all.”

  He snorts and shakes his head. “You’ve got to be kidding, Donna. This means you need a babysitter more than ever. You might be immune to the virus, but you can still be killed in all the normal ways. Or the abnormal ways. You know, like being chewed apart by zombies.”

  I shiver. He’s right, of course. As usual.

  “In fact,” he goes on, “your immunity could make you more of a target for the infected people. That might be why Saul wanted Liam to get you out of the building.”

  I shoot him a puzzled look. “I don’t get it. Why?”

  “Because, well, not to be melodramatic or anything, but the future of the human race may depend on you. If you and your descendants are immune to this virus, then theoretically, you might be the only ones who survive the plague. Or there may be a way to use the antibodies from your blood to make a vaccine. Saul doesn’t want that—sentient humans who can survive this plague. Who can fight back. Who can help others survive the plague. He seems to be enjoying his evil overlord status. Your immunity throws a wrench in all his plans.”

  It takes a minute for this ludicrous idea to sink in. I am going to help the human race survive? Me? The freak with weird eyes? The nutjob with voices echoing through her cranium? The human race is going to be perpetuated on my genes?

  Wow, if that’s the case, our entire species is in some serious trouble.

  …

  During the last four days, while we were stuck at the school, I made a colossal effort NOT to think about Dad. To block out thoughts of him getting hurt…or infected…or even killed while he searched for a ship.

  So, as I stand in the staff kitchen and his familiar voice booms in my ear, I find myself crying noiselessly in my phone. Dad and Muriel are in open water, speeding toward Fort Lauderdale. I can relax a little, let down my guard. My dad sounds fine. Better than fine. He sounds triumphant.

  “Did you hear, Donna? We got one. We got a ship. We should be there early tomorrow morning.”

  “Does it have food? Does it have fuel?” I turn away from Deke and Marcella, wiping my face with my sleeve.

  “Completely provisioned. Must’ve been heading for the West Indies when all this virus stuff went down.”

  “Did you have any problems getting aboard?”

  He takes a deep breath. I can almost hear him trying to decide how much to tell me.

  “That’s why I didn’t call for such a long stretch. We had lots of…adventures.” He chuckles. “But my stories can wait. I want to hear about you. The last few times I called, Deke said you weren’t feeling well. And you were sleeping. Is everything okay?”

  I turn slightly to face Deke. Our eyes lock. I give him a grateful half-smile. Of all the things he’s done for me in the last twenty-four hours—hell, in the last four days—this might be the nicest. Protecting me, saving my life, all that stuff’s second nature for Deke; he would have done the same for anyone. But sparing my dad’s feelings, not wanting to give him anything extra to worry about. Well, that means a lot to me.

  “Yeah, Dad. I was sorta under the weather. But I’m better now. Guess I’ve got stories to tell you, too.”

  I’m still staring at Deke. Frozen. Unable to turn away. It’s like we’re in our own atmosphere—no Marcella, no Dad. No one but us. My mind races through the last few years. All those times he tried to touch me so casually. The way he always asked me to dances “as friends.” Why didn’t I ever consider the fact he might like me as more than a friend? Why didn’t I ever think about his bravery? Or his loyalty? Or all those muscles under the black tee shirt?

  I know why. Because I was busy thinking about Liam. Stupid, stupid Liam.

  “Donna?”

  Dad’s voice snaps me back to reality.

  “Yeah, I’m still here,” I force my brain into gear. “Like you were saying, Dad, we’ll swap adventure stories later. The important thing is you’re safe. And the ship, it’s got a lot of food, right? Enough for everyone? So my friends can come, too?” I hold my breath, feeling hopeful for the first time in days.

  “Well…the other children do create some logistical problems,” my dad’s tone deflates my optimism. “Marcella and I discussed our options earlier today while you were sleeping.” His voice is serious and slightly bleak. “I figured you and Deke would simply hop in the car and drive to the docks, but Deke says
the car is gone. And now, with so many children…”

  “Dad, we’ve got to figure out something. Some way to get the other kids to the port.”

  “Donna, I understand—”

  “We can’t just abandon them. Those crazy infected people kidnapped a little boy. And some of my other friends have already been bitten.” A small part of my brain wonders when I started referring to all these people as “my friends.”

  I pause for a moment. It feels right to call them my friends. I wouldn’t have survived the last few days without these kids. It’s my turn to start helping them, too.

  My dad continues speaking. “Donna, listen—”

  “Dad, it’s not an option. I’m not leaving without all—”

  “Donna!” he roars.

  Startled, I bite my lower lip to keep from talking.

  He exhales. “Marcella says there’s a bus.”

  I turn to Marcella and Deke, my eyebrows raised. “There’s a bus?”

  “Well, not a bus, per se,” Marcella explains, her voice hopeful. “It’s a bookmobile.”

  I stare at her, unblinking. “We’re all going to ride to the port in the bookmobile?”

  In answer, Marcella holds up a set of keys and shakes them.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Marcella and Deke leave me alone long enough to use the bathroom. The first thing I do is check my bite in the mirror. Bile rises in my throat as I remember Liam’s teeth gnawing my skin. I wash the wound with soap and water. It looks and feels awful. I look and feel awful. Shallow scratches pattern my cheek where Saul’s braces scraped my skin. Dark smudges rim my eyes, and my pupils are the exact color of slush. I may not be a zombie, but I sure as hell look like one.

  I dig the lip gloss out of my pocket, and put on some. Now I look like a zombie with lip gloss. I smear it off with a paper towel. Who am I trying to impress anyway?

  Deke sits outside the bathroom door, waiting for me.

  He hands me a fresh cup of coffee and leads me to a seating area just inside the library entrance. We flop down on an overstuffed purple sofa. Magazines and puzzle pieces are spread across a low table. A nearby rack displays outdated newspapers. I check the date: November twenty-third. The first day of the zompocalypse. The headline says something about the economy. It’s weird how none of it matters anymore. No one will put out current newspapers. No one cares about the economy. No one even knows the date anymore.