Undead (ARC)

by McKay, Kirsty

  exactly stay there.” She nods to Cam, who is sitting next to her playing

  with the box of nails that had kept the door open. Normally not such a

  great thing for a three-year-old to be playing with, but normal kind of

  flew out the window recently. “They looked like students.” Lily wrinkles

  her nose. “One of them has a beard.”

  “Sounds terrifying.” Smitty stands up. “So give me a good reason why

  we shouldn’t go up there and say hi? It’s not like there’s not enough room here to go around.”

  I nod. “Strength in numbers. And maybe they know what’s going on,

  or how to get help.”

  Lily shakes her head vigorously. “They know someone’s here, and

  they’re really pissed off.” She leans forward. “I could hear them checking the kitchen and the pantry to see what we’d eaten. And they were

  furious, really shouting about something. Then they started looking in

  the other rooms. I think they saw all our bedding, too. They sounded

  so angry.”

  Smitty sighs and sits back down on the step.

  Pete stands up this time, like it’s some kind of bizarro version of

  Musical Chairs.

  “If what she says is true” — Pete’s pale face is luminous in the dim

  light — “they’ll be checking down here soon enough.”

  We all think about this. It’s true. If they think we’re hiding, it’s probably the first place they’ll look.

  “Do you think they killed that guy in the cell?” I say.

  Silence. It’s actually quite a terrifying thought. I don’t know how I

  come up with these gems.

  “Maybe he deserved it,” Alice says eventually. “Maybe he’d turned and

  they locked him up and chopped his head off.”

  It’s easier to hope that this version is true. The alternative could be

  that the dead guy was minding his own business living in his castle

  when a zombie apocalypse broke out and a bunch of ruthless students

  broke in and killed him so that they could make the place their own

  sanctuary. I mean, you’d think that, when faced with an Undead army,

  random human survivors would find a really good reason to get along,

  but that certainly hasn’t happened in our own little test group. No, it’s

  much easier to believe that the maggot-ridden corpse was a fiendish

  monster, locked up and dispatched by the reluctant but plucky students.

  Because otherwise, we could be headless and maggoty ourselves pretty

  soon, if they find us.

  I remember holding the cold cell key in my hand. I look at Smitty.

  “Any chance you locked that cell before we ran up here?” I know as soon

  as I’ve asked him that it’s a ridiculous question. He simply rolls his eyes.

  “What?” Alice says. “The dead thing is not locked up?” She leaps to her

  feet. “How stupid could you be? It might be coming up here now!”

  We all look down the steps.

  “It had no head! That kills them!” But I don’t sound so sure.

  “This is the dumbest yet!” Alice is being way too loud. “We could

  be rescued, and we’re sitting in a basement with a headless body?”

  She stomps up the steps. “I’ll take my chances with the beardy-weirdy

  students, thank you very much!”

  Pete is behind her, and I suppose we all assume he’s going to grab her

  and bring her back, but he does no such thing.

  “Pete!” I say, but his hand is on the doorknob already.

  He turns to me. “Knowledge is power, Bobby.”

  With that, he and Alice are gone.

  Smitty and Lily and I look at each other.

  “What is that supposed to mean exactly?” Smitty says.

  “Maybe they’re right,” Lily says. “Maybe we should give ourselves up.

  They might be able to help us.”

  I frown at her. “I thought you said they were really angry that someone had eaten their porridge and slept in their beds?”

  She sighs. “Aye. The more I think about it, the more I think they were

  angry because they were looking for something. Something they’d lost.”

  “Like what?” Smitty says.

  Lily makes a guilty face and reaches into her back pocket. “Like this?”

  She holds out a shiny silver thing. “It’s the key to the tower. I found it when I was clearing the breakfast things away.”

  Smitty reaches for the key, but Lily reads his moves.

  “No.” She puts her hand behind her back. “I’m holding this for now.”

  “Fine.” He smiles at her. “But do me a favor and don’t tell anyone you

  have it, OK? Not even Alice and Pete. Until we know who these people

  are. And why they want that key so badly.”

  Lily nods coolly. “My thoughts exactly.”

  “So does that mean we’re coming out of cover?” I look up at the door.

  Smitty nods. “Might as well. Can’t trust that Alice won’t give us

  away if it suits her. You and me go up there, Bob. Lily and Cam should

  stay down here for now, until we know it’s sound.”

  Lily’s fine with that. Almost. She smiles thinly.

  “Could you just go downstairs and lock up the headless body

  first, please?”

  It’s a reasonable request.

  We go. I still have my poker, Smitty has his ax . . . but something

  makes me suspect that if decapitation didn’t work, then we might be

  fighting a losing battle.

  With every step I expect the body to leap out at us, maggots flying. But

  all is quiet. The wine is still in the racks — well, most of it is, anyway —

  the corridor is enduringly dank and dark but relatively harmless, and

  by the time we reach the final jail cell it’s almost anticlimatic to see the bundled body still in exactly the same spot as we left it. And of course nobody locked the door. It’s open, the key sticking out of the lock. I shut it firmly but quietly, and turn the key. Smitty reaches over, takes it from the lock, and pockets it. I look at him questioningly.

  He shrugs. “You never know.”

  When we reach the steps, Cam has managed to empty the whole box

  of nails on the stairs and is lining them up nicely, head to point, like a long and skinny snake traversing an invisible maze. Lily is by the door, an ear to wood.

  “We’re all locked up,” I whisper to her. “Have you heard anything?”

  She shakes her head. “It’s really quiet.”

  “If everything’s OK, we’ll come get you,” I say. “If you hear any

  trouble, hide in the coal chute.”

  Smitty adjusts his grip on the ax and puts a hand on the door.

  “Ready?”

  I try to think of something witty or inspirational or both, but come

  up short as usual. I kind of snort and nod at the same time. Smitty gives

  me a raised eyebrow, and opens the door.

  We’re out into the hall.

  I can’t hear any voices. We pause for a moment, then tiptoe around to

  the front of the cascading staircase, where the light is filtering out of the stained-glass window, all heavenly and lovely and churchified.

  Smitty has taken it upon himself to be on point, dashing ahead of me

  and stopping suddenly in shadows. He looks more than a little ridiculous. I mean, we’re not Marines. He puts up a hand. I listen. There’s a

  noise, a scratchy click-clack on the wooden floor.

  The dog appears in front of us. After a moment’s standoff he licks

  Smitty’s hand and trots over to me. He sits, his long tail swishing and />
  polishing the floor, head cocked as if expecting a treat.

  “At least someone’s happy to see us,” I whisper.

  “Woof!” says the dog.

  “Sssh!” I say.

  “Woof! Woof!” replies the dog.

  “Great. Why don’t we just ring the doorbell, announce ourselves with

  a megaphone, and get this over with?” Smitty says. We wait for a second,

  glued to the spot, expecting running feet and strangers to appear at any

  moment. But nobody does. Smitty pads toward the door to the living

  room, and the dog, deciding Smitty is way more fun than me, trots after

  him. I run after both of them.

  Someone — presumably our new co-occupants — has moved the large

  sideboard well away from the door of the living room, and we enter

  without a struggle.

  “Let’s head for the kitchen,” Smitty says, and I’m following him out of

  the living room and through the library when I hear the muffled voices.

  We pause and listen.

  It sounds like Alice is holding court. That’s promising; it’s not as if

  they’re hacking her and Pete to pieces or anything. Then again, they’ve

  only known them for a few minutes . . . give it time. I move my ear

  closer to the kitchen door and catch the words “stupid lame bus” and

  “brains hanging out”; she’s giving them the full story and then some.

  Seems Alice has finally found an audience that is happy to listen

  to her for more than a few minutes without wanting to jump off the

  nearest cliff.

  Smitty leans into the door beside me.

  “Do we knock?” I whisper.

  He considers it. “Probably. Surprises don’t go down too well these

  days.” He holds up a hand and I hold my breath as he raps lightly on

  the door. The talking inside stops. Smitty looks at me and in spite of the scary factor I feel a giggle well up inside me. We both raise our fists and knock lightly again.

  There’s a scraping of chairs and a scrambling noise. As one we take

  a step back from the door. Then the door opens and a head pokes out.

  Dark curly hair, sallow complexion, dark, dark eyes, and a beard. Early

  twenties, with kind of a soulful poet look. Under different circs, I might almost develop a crush.

  The eyes register shock, but quickly harden. The door is left to swing

  open, and the kitchen opens up to us.

  “I thought you said you were on your own,” Beardy says snarkily.

  Alice is sitting at the kitchen table with her back to us — at the head

  of the table, no less — with Pete to her right, his arms clamped to his

  sides. Alice turns to face us.

  “Did I? I don’t think so.” She smiles at us, her face giving

  nothing away.

  Wow, Malice didn’t tell on us? Who saw that one coming?

  “More school trip kiddies?” Beardy asks. I nod. “Get yourselves in

  here.” He points his finger with his thumb cocked, like his hand is a

  gun. I walk into the kitchen — not too quickly, like I’m in control and am nonchalance personified. My ’tude has nothing on Smitty, however. His lopsided swagger reeks FU, and he takes such a long time walking the

  few paces into the kitchen that I begin to think he might have had some

  kind of stroke.

  At the other end of the kitchen is a frowning blond woman. She looks

  a little older than Beardy, maybe late twenties, and she’s ice-cold and

  gorgeous, with arched eyebrows and a full pout. Like Beardy, she’s

  dressed in cold weather gear but on top she has stripped down to a skin—

  tight black thermal T-shirt that shows some killer curves. Out of the

  corner of my eye I see Smitty taking her in and trying not to react.

  Standing behind Pete is the other man. I say man, but only just. His

  skin is brown and his hair black, but really he could be a different flavor Pete, the way he hunches his shoulders nervously and cracks his knuckles. The resemblance is almost funny.

  “So, who are you and what are you doing in our castle?” Smitty speaks.

  “Your castle?” Beardy smiles. “And I suppose, big man that you are, you think you’re king of the castle?”

  Smitty slings himself onto the sideboard, where he sits, legs swinging, like he hasn’t a care in the world. “Don’t they say possession is

  nine-tenths of the law?”

  Beardy laughs in that way that baddies do in movies, like they’re not

  really that amused but they can’t think of anything smart to say right at

  that second. “Clever boy. But unfortunately for you, we have re possessed.”

  “So you claim.” Smitty stares at him. “Doesn’t make it true.” He taps

  his fingers on the counter. “Beheaded anyone recently? I did, just yesterday. At least we have something in common.”

  Beardy raises a black eyebrow. “You have been exploring the place,

  haven’t you? Going through our dirty laundry, too?”

  Smitty snorts. “I think I’m looking at the biggest skid mark right now.”

  “Look,” I interject — because frankly this isn’t going anywhere, “you

  were here first? Great. Tell us where the phone is.”

  “There isn’t one,” says Pete’s older-brother-from-another-mother from

  the corner. “Don’t you think we would have used it if there was?”

  “That all depends if you’d figured out how to,” says Smitty.

  Beardy laughs again and shakes his head, like Smitty is really pissing

  him off and he doesn’t want to show it.

  “Do you know what’s going on?” I turn to the blonde. “Where did you

  go last night? Is there anyone out there? Still alive, I mean? Have you got any kind of transportation? Is anyone coming to help us?”

  “Full of questions, aren’t you?” Beardy’s fake smile is suddenly gone.

  “I think you’d better answer a few of ours first.”

  “Sounded like you already heard our story.” I nod to Alice. “We’re not

  here to cause you any trouble — we just want to stay safe, like you.”

  “You were hiding in the basement like Alice and Peter here?” Beardy

  strolls over to me and fixes me with his dark eyes. He raises the back of

  his hand and puts it up to my forehead, feeling my temperature. “How

  are you feeling, sweetheart? A little cold from being down there too

  long?” I shudder involuntarily. “You’re not coming down with anything,

  are you?” Beardy studies my face and turns his hand around so his fingers trace my hairline from my forehead to my cheek. I want so badly to

  knock his hand away, but for some reason my arms stay stuck to my side.

  “Get off her!” Smitty shouts, and launches himself off the sideboard

  with force, sending a drawer of cutlery spewing out onto the floor. He

  tackles Beardy to the floor, wrestling with him, trying to land a punch.

  I stagger back, too shocked to react. But Blondie is there in an instant.

  “Get up and walk away, kid,” she says firmly to Smitty, but Smitty is

  not giving this one up, and neither is Beardy. “I mean it,” Blondie says.

  The wrestling match is pretty evenly balanced, but finally Smitty

  frees a fist and goes for the right hook. There is a satisfying crunch and Beardy’s head rolls to the side.

  Blondie shouts, “Give it to me!” and Pete’s evil twin throws her something long and thin. She holds it out in front of her and prods Smitty in

  the back, there’s a sizzling sound, and he arches and cries out, springing back fro
m Beardy. “Do not move or I’ll shock you again,” Blondie says as Smitty lies there, dazed.

  “Don’t!” I shout, and reach for the stick.

  She turns on me, stick held between us. “Back down,” she says quietly.

  “Or your boyfriend will suffer.”

  I open my mouth to correct her obvious mistake, but it seems a little

  churlish.

  Beardy stands up, his hand to his jaw and his eyes blazing.

  “Lock them up!” he shouts, with difficulty. “Lock ’em back in the

  wretched basement!”

  Four of us and only three of them, but Smitty is being dragged by

  Beardy, and Blondie has the stick and is not afraid to use it. Alice and

  Pete troop past me out the kitchen door, Alice giving me the death stare,

  Pete protesting loudly and coming up with every logical reason why they

  shouldn’t put us in the basement, or at least why they shouldn’t put him there. I can tell by Blondie’s fixed mouth and Beardy’s barely concealed fury that we won’t get anywhere, but I join in the protests all the way

  to the basement door, if only so that Lily and Cam can hear us coming.

  “Please don’t put us in here!” I fling myself against the door like a

  retro Hollywood heroine, slapping it with my hands in a way I hope is

  not totally obviously a warning to those within. Smitty has come to a

  little, and is playing his part by slowing his progress by grabbing random pieces of furniture leg and carpet, but he’s impeded by the dog, who has reappeared and is attacking him with licks and snuffles.

  Blondie unpeels me from the door with an iron grip I could have

  predicted, opens it, and pushes me — not roughly, but firmly — into the

  dark stairway. Alice and Pete follow, then there is a rush of legs and arms as Beardy half throws Smitty after us.

  “How long are you going to keep us down here?” cries Alice.

  “For as long as you need to stay!” shouts Beardy, and slams the door.

  In the darkness, my ears are filled with Smitty’s indignant pants,

  Pete’s wheezing, and Alice’s forced sobs. But my only thought is that it

  could be a lot worse.

  I’m just glad they didn’t try to lock us up with the last person they

  argued with.

  2 0

  “Grace killed Smitty with the cow prod.” Alice, sitting on a plastic bin in the basement, has got her mojo back and is regaling Lily and Cam.