Undead (ARC)

by McKay, Kirsty

  They’d hidden in the coal chute, where I’d told them, and I felt a squeeze of pride when gutsy Cam emerged with a smudge on his nose and a big grin.

  “She did not kill me, Malice,” says Smitty, who is propped up on the tarp-covered lawnmower. “And it was not a cow prod. It was some kind of specialist army Taser.”

  “Bollocks,” says Alice. “Cow prod. And she slayed you.”

  “Cow goes moo,” says Cam.

  “Blondie’s called Grace?” I turn to Alice. “Didn’t realize you two were

  on a first name basis.”

  “We were doing just fine before you two came in and ruined everything.” Alice glares at me. “You couldn’t trust us to sort it out, could you?”

  Smitty snarls at her. “No, Malice. We couldn’t trust you not to spill

  your beans to the first person who asks, that’s what.”

  “But I didn’t, did I?” she spits back. And it’s true, she didn’t. I can’t

  fault her on that. “Besides, Michael told us he wasn’t going to hurt us.

  That’s the very first thing he said.”

  “Who, Pube-Face?” Smitty grunts. “Michael’s psychotic. I’m sure he

  couldn’t wait to get his hands on you, Malice.”

  “There are three of them, aye?” Lily says.

  “Yeah.” Alice wrinkles her nose. “There’s this small, weedy-looking

  bloke, too. I can’t remember his name . . . I want to say, Shag?”

  Smitty snorts.

  “Shaq,” Pete mutters. “Personally I think he’s our best hope if we want

  to bond with them. He’s the weak link, the vulnerable one.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind if they ever let us out of here,” I say.

  “What will they do to us?” Lily says.

  “Probably nothing,” says Pete. “Smitty just muddied our collective

  playbook by beating up Michael unnecessarily.”

  “Unnecessarily? Muddied? ” shouts Smitty. “What are you talking

  about, Pete? That psycho was trying to feel up Bobby. He’s the one should

  be locked up.”

  “What else did you find out about them?” I ask Pete, willing myself

  not to blush at Smitty, Defender of my Honor.

  “Not much.” Pete chews the inside of one cheek. “I got the sense

  they’ve been here a while. But it’s not like they own the place, either.

  Maybe they were on holiday here, or studying.”

  “Maybe they’re part of some exclusive rehab program.” Smitty forces

  a sardonic laugh. “Yeah, that’s it. They were all detoxing in this castle, and there was some weird experimental cure with Veggie Juice, but it turns out that it turns people into zombies. As for those three, they were secretly working their way through the basement of booze and didn’t take the cure. So they lived to tell the tale.”

  It’s a stupid idea, but stupider ideas have been right. They are a

  strange group. I can’t imagine them being friends or choosing to spend

  time with each other. And yet, there did seem to be some kind of power

  structure there. Bearded Michael acted like he was in charge, but

  Blondie — I mean, Grace — kind of had the last word on things.

  “It’s obvious they haven’t found help or they wouldn’t have come

  back,” Pete continues. “But then again, they did seem really bothered

  about finding some key.” He rubs his scabbed head. “Shaq was literally

  on his hands and knees looking for it when we walked in. And I think the

  others were blaming him for losing it.”

  Alice’s face blanches, then she smiles. She’s figured it out. “Oh my god.

  The tower key. That must be what they’re looking for!” The smile drops from her face as suddenly as it came. “There must be something really important up there. Too bad we didn’t find it first.”

  I glance at Lily and notice Smitty sneak a look, too, but she’s avoiding

  eye contact by busying herself with Cam, who has decided to make yet

  another nest, this time in a cardboard box.

  “I wonder why it’s so important for them to get in the tower,” Alice

  babbles on. “Do you think there’s something in there that means we

  can get help?” Her mouth drops open. “Maybe they know they can get

  a mobile signal up there! That’s what we thought when we first got to

  the castle!” She jumps to her feet. “We should offer to help them look.

  Imagine if a stupid key was the only thing standing between us and

  getting home safe!”

  Lily looks up at her sharply.

  Alice claps her hands. “With all of us looking, we’re bound to find it!

  If they’re alcoholics, they probably haven’t got very good eyesight.”

  Smitty groans. “They’re not really alcoholics, Malice . . .”

  But Lily stands up. “She might be right about the tower. We could call

  for help.”

  “Then why didn’t they try calling from the tower as soon as the trouble started?” I say.

  Alice shrugs. “The key has been lost all this time? Or, no — they

  didn’t have a cell phone between them — they probably weren’t allowed

  to have them in rehab” — she looks amazed at her own powers of

  deduction — “and they went up to the Cheery Chomper to find one to use

  and now they can try!”

  Fantastic. First we had Pete’s government conspiracy theory, and now

  Alice is running with Smitty’s stupid alco-zombies joke. There’s a small

  chance she might be right about the tower, but that key’s the only leverage we’ve got, and I don’t want Lily to give it up before we know for sure.

  Plus, it begins to dawn on me that there must be a very good reason why

  that tower is locked in the first place. Either to keep people out . . . or to keep something in.

  There’s a noise from the steps. We all look up sharply. The little

  guy — Shaq — is standing there.

  Damn. Lily and Cam. It would have been better to have kept both of them hidden . . . for more than one reason I can think of right now.

  “’Lo!” Cam waves cheerily up at Shaq, who stares at him, horrified.

  Smitty scrambles to his feet.

  “What do you want?” he shouts up at Shaq. “Is Pube-Face itching for

  another round?”

  Shaq raises his hand. “No!” He tentatively climbs down the first couple of steps. “They don’t know I’ve come down here. Don’t shout, OK?”

  Alice gets up and sighs. “Do you want some wine? We won’t tell.”

  Shaq continues down the stairs, face confused. “Er, no.” He looks

  around at us, his eyes stopping on Lily. “How many more of you are there?”

  “Everyone’s here.” I make sure I don’t sound too convincing.

  “Good, good . . .” His gaze flicks toward the curtain-wall. For all

  he knows, there might be an entire busload of teenagers behind it. He

  gestures to a wooden stool by the shelves. “Mind if I . . . sit down?”

  “Sure, make yourself comfortable!” Smitty gestures extravagantly.

  “Might as well rest up before you decapitate another prisoner!”

  Shaq sits cautiously, and pinches the skin between his eyes. “That was

  a . . . regrettable incident.”

  “Shall we go and look at him now?” Smitty’s on a roll. “You can for—

  mally introduce us. I felt quite rude when I met him. I mean, I had no

  idea of his name. Maybe you don’t know it, either. Did you cut off his head without asking?”

  “Smitty!” Pete, who has been silent up until now, leans forward on

  his chair toward Shaq. “Tell us about it.
Who was he?”

  Shaq clears his throat. “Yes, we did kill him. Well, Michael did. You’re

  right about that.” He shifts in his seat and looks up at Smitty. “But you

  said you’d done it yourself. You know what it’s like . . . when they change.

  He left us no choice.”

  “Who was he?” I repeat Pete’s question.

  Shaq’s cool caramel eyes meet mine. “He was our professor. He

  was . . . my mentor. I . . .” He seems to collapse from inside, and his

  head falls forward into his hands. For a moment he stays like that. And

  then a moment longer. I don’t know if he’s crying, but clearly, some kind

  of meltdown is taking place. Alice giggles, embarrassed. Shaq shakes

  himself, and sits up again. The moment has passed.

  “I’m sorry. It’s horrible remembering. He was our professor. We were

  working on a . . . university project . . . and we’d been staying here for a few weeks, a kind of working vacation. Two days ago, one of those things turned up here at the castle and bit him. He passed out, then came to,

  and . . . Well, you know the rest.” He shakes his head. “Michael did what

  he had to do . . .”

  Smitty approaches Shaq and pats his shoulder, making him flinch.

  “I’m sorry, Shaq. That must be really tough.” He crouches beside him

  and smiles. “But do you mind telling us what the merry frig you’re doing

  down here talking to us?”

  Lily gasps, and Pete sighs and glares at Smitty. But Shaq doesn’t

  react. He looks down at Smitty and smiles back.

  “I understand you’re suspicious. But I just came down to see

  if you’re OK, and, well — if I’m honest, yes — I need your help.” He

  looks around at us to see if we’re buying it. “Like I said, the others

  don’t know I’m here. You see”

  —

  he wrings his hands

  —

  “I lost

  something. The key to the tower door in the kitchen. The others are

  really angry with me because all our stuff is in there. We need to get

  in. The others are paranoid that you’ve taken the key. That’s why they’ve

  locked you down here.” He smiles meekly at us. “So have you got it?

  Because if you do, just give it to me, and then I’ll get you out of here.

  Immediately.”

  “Oh!” Alice flounces from her seat. “That key! We haven’t got it, OK?

  If we did, we’d totally give it to you. Look” — she beams at him — “let

  us out anyway. We’ll help you find it.”

  “What’s in the tower that’s so important?” Lily says quietly.

  I look at her and try to make her meet my eyes.

  “Just our things,” Shaq says. “You know what it’s like — you spend a

  little while without your stuff, you want it back.”

  “Phones? Laptops?” Pete says.

  “Well, yes,” Shaq answers. “Not that they work here. But there’s

  an old transistor radio up there, and if I had someone to help me . . .”

  He pinches above his nose again. “I might be able to rig something to

  contact the outside world . . .”

  “I could absolutely do that.” Pete puffs out his chest.

  “Great!” Shaq nods. “But we need the key . . .”

  Lily stands up — and as she does, Smitty blocks her way to Shaq.

  “So yeah, we’ll help you find the key if you let us out,” he says loudly.

  “By the way, Shaq, what kind of study group?”

  Shaq smiles. “Sorry, what?”

  Smitty grins back. “What are you studying? Over Christmas? That’s

  what I call dedication. What’s your subject?”

  Shaq licks his lips. “Shakespeare. We’re studying Shakespeare, and we

  thought it would be great to read Macbeth in a real Scottish castle.”

  “Wow!” Smitty says. “Too right. We did Macbeth last year at school, didn’t we, Alice? Great stuff.” He leans in and stage-whispers to Shaq confidentially, “She made a very convincing third witch. And between

  you and me, Petey here was natural casting for Banquo’s ghost. What a

  coincidence!” He beams around at us all.

  “Yeah!” Shaq says.

  “Kind of appropriate, Macbeth, isn’t it?” Smitty says. “Spooky. And appropriate.” He paces away from us, turns on his heel, opens his arms wide, and bellows, “‘The graves have yawned, and yielded up their dead!’”

  We all look at him as if he’s lost his marbles.

  Smitty winks at Shaq. “Macbeth was on the money with that one,

  wasn’t he?”

  Shaq nods. “Precisely! I couldn’t have put it better myself.”

  “‘Cry, “Havoc!” and let slip the dogs of war!’” Smitty the Thespian

  dances around the cellar. “Isn’t that what he said?”

  Shaq laughs. “That’s right!”

  Smitty laughs, too, dangerously friendly. He flings out a finger and

  points at Shaq. “My arse!” he spits. “Macbeth said no such thing! You

  need to sort out your Scottish kings from your Roman emperors!” He

  leaps onto Shaq and they crash to the ground, Shaq’s stool spinning

  across the floor and narrowly missing Cam’s box-nest. Cam screams and

  starts to cry, and Lily swears and scoops him up.

  “Get the key out of his pocket!” Smitty yells from somewhere underneath Shaq.

  “The key?” I say dumbly.

  “To this basement!” Smitty rolls over and pins Shaq’s arms behind

  him on the floor. “So we can get the hell out of here!”

  Shaq twists on the floor, but Smitty has got him tight. I try to feel

  inside his pockets without actually feeling inside his pockets.

  “You won’t find it!” Shaq squeals at me. “I haven’t got it on me. They

  locked me down here with you until I could get the tower key from you!”

  “Right!” Smitty drags him to his feet. “So we’ll lock you up with your

  ‘Shakespearian mentor’ down there and see if they’ll let you out!” He

  turns to Pete. “Give me a hand!” The two of them drag Shaq through

  the wall-curtain.

  Alice shakes her head. “Who knew?”

  “What?”

  She looks at me like I’m the one with the concussion now. “That

  Smitty could even read, let alone quote Shakespeare.” She scuffs her shoe

  on the floor. “Too bad, though. Now they’ll never let us out.” She sighs,

  and follows the boys through the wall-curtain.

  Lily is holding Cam, who is still sobbing. “This is getting to be too

  much.” She holds a hand to Cam’s forehead. “He’s running a fever,

  too. We need to give them that tower key so they’ll let us out and help us.

  And that radio Shaq talked about —”

  “We can’t trust them.” My voice shakes. “Not yet . . . Please, Lily. He

  just told us a pack of lies. Who knows what they’ll do to us if we give

  them the key? We have to hang tight for a while. Right now that key is

  the only power we have.”

  2 1

  “Who are you really?”

  I can’t help asking. Shaq is sitting on the chair behind the bars, trying

  not to look at me, Smitty’s puke, or the dead body beside him.

  He doesn’t reply. I don’t really expect him to. I’m not even sure I want

  him to, if I’m honest. Why would he lie in the first place unless he had

  something to hide? But it passes the time while Smitty and the others are

  upstairs negotiating our
release.

  “What’s in the tower you need so badly?” I try. “Wouldn’t it be easier

  if you were just honest with us? What are we going to do, anyway? We’re

  just dumb kids, after all.”

  He turns on the chair and looks at me.

  “You’re American, aren’t you?”

  I shrug. “No. Yes. Kinda.”

  His face goes dreamy. “I love America. I have family over there, in

  New Jersey. After all this is over I’m going to emigrate.” He nods and

  smiles at me, as if he expects me to be thrilled, or applaud, or something. Or maybe start singing “The Star-Spangled Banner.” When I don’t,

  he continues, “Americans appreciate talent, you see. Not like here. In

  America, they give you the space and the money to do what you are

  destined to do. Here, everything is red tape, who your parents are, and

  where you went to school.” He squints at me. “I bet you miss it, don’t you?

  The Land of the Free?”

  I look at him. “Don’t try to bond with me.”

  There’s a commotion at the other end of the corridor. I see Smitty

  coming toward me, but something’s not right. When he emerges fully

  out of the shadows I can see he’s being held by Michael — just like he’d

  held Shaq — with his hands behind his back.

  Jeez. Smitty’s stumbling, his eye is swollen, and there’s blood running down his face. And Grace walks alongside, electric cow prod in hand.

  Behind traipse Pete, Alice, and Lily with a crying Cam in her arms, all

  like frightened lambs being led to the slaughter.

  “Open that cell now!” shouts Michael.

  I tighten my fist around the little key.

  Grace steps forward. “Come along, now. Let’s sort this out like

  civilized people.”

  I feel myself go hot. I nod toward Smitty. “You call that being

  civilized?”

  Grace tries to look a little embarrassed. “He really left Michael no

  choice. But there’ll be no more fighting” — she looks at Michael, then

  back at me — “because you’ll let Shaq out, won’t you?”

  “Not unless you let us out, too.” I hold her gaze steadily. She will not

  faze me with her perfect skin and silky voice. “We’ve done nothing to

  you. Why do you need to keep us down here anyway?”

  “Unlock the door!” Michael yells, and throws Smitty to the floor,