Undead (ARC)

by McKay, Kirsty

  parents and really stupid people actually leave on, because they can’t

  figure out how to change it, or don’t even realize they can.

  And then I click. It’s my phone. I never bothered to change the ringtone because nobody ever calls me on it, because I am Bobby No-Buddies.

  But someone’s calling now.

  I remember Alice dropping my phone on the window ledge.

  I climb onto one of the desks, stick a foot on a shelf, and hoist myself

  onto the ledge. There’s the phone, the screen flashing. I practically fall on it, seeing private caller displayed on the screen a second before I press the answer button.

  “Hello?”

  There is silence on the other end. Then a clicking noise as if someone

  is playing with the buttons. Then silence again.

  “Hello!”

  Smitty and the rest are panting at my heels, squashed on top of the

  desk below. I can see they want to climb up to me, tear the phone from

  my hands — but they’re holding back. Because they’re scared of me.

  Scared of my phone.

  “Hello? Can you hear me?” I shout. “Who is this?”

  I look at the screen. I have reception all right — four bars strong. But

  only one bar of battery. I tussle with the idea of hanging up and calling

  the police — anyone! — but there’s always the chance that if I hang up,

  those four bars will mysteriously disappear again.

  “Hello!” I try again.

  “Hello?” a voice says.

  I nearly faint. There’s someone there.

  “Hi!” I shout. “Can you hear me?”

  “Yes, just about . . . Bobby, is that you?”

  Tears rush behind my eyes, my ears pop, and the ground feels like it’s

  rushing up toward me. I grab at the window frame to stop myself from

  falling.

  “Mum?”

  “Bobby!” My mother’s voice cracks. “Are you OK?”

  “Yes!” I feel hot tears down my cheeks and I don’t care. “I’m here with

  three of my classmates; we’re in the castle!”

  “I know, Bobby,” my mother says.

  “We’re in the tower, those things are outside —”

  “Don’t panic, just listen to me carefully.”

  “What’s going on, Mum?” I scream. “What have you been doing

  here? I know about it all, the research — Grace and everyone — the dead

  professor!”

  Smitty, Pete, and Alice have joined me on the ledge, unable to hold

  back any longer.

  “Bobby, I want you to do exactly as I say,” Mum tells me.

  “OK.” I wipe the tears away.

  “Take deep breaths, remember how Dad used to tell you?”

  “Yep,” I choke.

  “I’ll explain everything, but you need to get out of there now. You’re

  in danger,” she says slowly.

  “You think?” I say. “The zombies are at the door and the castle’s on

  fire, so yuh-huh we’re in danger!”

  “You need to come to me.” Her voice is clear and calm. “I’m on the

  island in the middle of the loch.”

  “What?” I peer into the darkening sky, across the frozen water. I see

  the island, just about. “Maybe you didn’t hear me, Mother” — I grit my

  teeth — “but there’s the small matter of getting out of this castle first.”

  “Bobby,” she reprimands, “you’re not listening. There are people

  coming, dangerous people. They’re coming to collect what’s theirs, and

  then destroy the castle. You can’t get in their way. Keep calm. I’ll help

  you escape.”

  “The Xanthro bad guys are on their way?” I look at Smitty, Pete, Alice.

  Their jaws are slack. Like we needed more incentive to leave.

  “But first, you need to go to the refrigerator,” my mother tells me.

  “Quickly. Look for a syringe marked ‘Osiris 17.’ It’s the antidote. We need it to put things right, Bobby! Go now!”

  I let out a yelp of frustration, press the button to put her on speaker,

  and hurry along the ledge until it ends. There’s a bookcase below and to

  the side. I swing myself onto it and climb down, using the shelves like

  steps, dropping onto the floor beside the fridge.

  Now, in an ideal world, there should be just one fluorescent syringe in

  the fridge with “The Antidote” stamped on it. Instead there are hundreds

  of syringes and test tubes in dozens of trays. They all have handwritten

  stickers with long names, serial numbers, and dates.

  “Hurry, Bobby,” my mother says again.

  I search the shelves desperately.

  Smitty jumps down from the desk, slaps his hand on the fridge door,

  and slams it shut. “What in the name of nuts is going on?”

  “Get off!” I push his arm and try to open the door, but he’s wedged a

  foot against it. Alice is down, too, and places her hand against the door

  in solidarity.

  “Tell us.” Pete arrives, wheezing, and slaps a clammy hand on my

  shoulder.

  “What’s the problem, Bobby?” Mum shouts.

  I shrug off Pete’s hand and turn to face them all. “My mum wants us

  to get the antidote and bring it to her. Xanthro is coming for it, we need to hurry.”

  “And there are more of the infected on their way.” Mum’s voice on

  speaker is loud enough to reach everyone. “I can see them coming toward

  the castle. If you don’t leave now, you’ll be overwhelmed.”

  “I’m pretty friggin’ overwhelmed already, Bobby’s ma!” Smitty shouts

  at the phone. “OK, let’s do this!” He flings open the fridge door.

  “Find Osiris!” Mum barks. “I’ll get you out of there, trust me.”

  I scan the syringes for names. So. Many. Syringes.

  “Osiris 17,” my mother says. “Hurry up, Bobby, I mean it. We can’t

  linger here.”

  “OK, OK.” I pull trays out of the fridge and set them on the floor.

  There’s a bizarre silence as all four of us kneel and sort through

  the syringes; just the occasional rattle of plastic, a swearword here

  and there, and my mother’s embarrassingly loud breathing coming

  from the phone. The seconds tick away and sweat drips into my eyes,

  making me blink. A couple of times the needle covers almost pop off;

  God knows what kind of hell I’d be unleashing if I accidentally stabbed

  someone.

  “I’ve got it!”

  It’s Pete who finds the golden ticket. He holds up a syringe with clear

  liquid inside. It’s labeled “Osiris 17.” He snags what looks like a small beer cooler from one of the shelves, fits the syringe snugly inside, and flings the cooler over his shoulder. “Let’s go!”

  “You’re sure?” Mum says from the floor.

  “No doubt,” I reply, picking up the phone.

  “I’ve found one, too!” Alice is holding another syringe aloft. I snatch

  it from her and check the label.

  “There’s another?” my mother shouts over the speaker.

  “Yes, Mum. Now get us out of here!” I scramble to my feet.

  “What does the label say exactly?” Her voice is shaky.

  I cry out in exasperation, but take another look. “‘Osiris Red.’ Now

  we go!”

  “Bobby, be very, very careful with that vial,” my mother says. “That’s

  the stimulant. Pack it up and bring it with you, but don’t, whatever you

  do, expose the needle, do you hear me?”

  I stare a
t the syringe in my hand. “You mean this is the bad drug? The

  one that turns people?”

  “Yes, Bobby. It’s very valuable.”

  Smitty holds my arm. “That’s the zombiefier junk?” He shakes his

  head. “We leave that here.”

  “Bobby, I want you to bring it!” my mother yells. “Do as I tell you and

  get moving! Now!”

  I look at the vial, then at Smitty.

  Alice is jogging on the spot like she needs to pee. “Whatever you’re

  going to do, do it and let’s get out of here!” she shrieks.

  “We leave it and the bad guys will get it. So it comes with us.”

  Smitty hesitates, then he nods. Gently, I place Osiris Red into Pete’s

  cooler next to Osiris 17.

  “I can’t keep this line open much longer.” Mum’s cool is beginning to

  desert her. “Xanthro controls the signal; we’re going to be cut off.”

  “So tell me how to get out already!” I scream at her.

  “Make your way down into the cellar, go to the end of the cells, and

  feel the wall on the left-hand side. There’s a control box that opens a door to a passage that will bring you to me. You need a four-digit code to open the door — it’s your birthday.” She exhales. “Be careful to enter it correctly the first time or it will go into lockdown. Please hurry, Bobby.”

  There’s a click from the phone.

  “Mum?” I shout.

  Nothing.

  “Mum!”

  She’s gone. And my four bars of reception have disappeared.

  “Come on!” Smitty shouts, and heads for the stairs.

  “Are you smoking crack?” Alice screams at him. “Look!” She’s pointing

  at the security camera screens.

  We all look. On the kitchen cam there’s movement through the

  smoke. Bodies packed tight into the room. It’s a zombie mosh pit. There’s

  no way out.

  “We can get around them,” says Smitty.

  “No way.” Pete’s face is grave. “There are too many.”

  “They’re right at the door!” Alice starts to cry.

  There’s thudding from the bottom of the stairwell. Hands hitting the

  door, knocking, demanding to come in.

  “Then there’s only one thing we can do,” Smitty says. “Let them in.”

  2 7

  We are all crouching on the high window ledge, in a deadly lineup: me

  first, then Smitty, Pete, and finally Alice. Candy in a zombie vending

  machine. Take your pick.

  Alice is gripping the window frame, all set to smash through the glass

  and jump to her certain death below, should the need arise.

  “So, explain to me again how this can possibly work?”

  “Can’t get past them in the kitchen.” Smitty is psyching himself up,

  eyes darting, breath heavy. “But we can in here. We let them up the stairs, they come in, we climb around them.” He points across the room. “Along the ledge, onto the bookcase, across to the fridge, jump to the security

  camera cabinet, and down the stairs. Easy.”

  “Zombie Parkour,” I mutter. “Don’t think that’s been done before.

  Better film this, Alice, it could go viral.”

  “Ha. Ha. Ha.” Pete’s voice shakes.

  “Pardonnez-moi,” Alice says, “but am I the only one who sees the fatal flaw in this amazing plan?” She leans across to Smitty. “Why are they going to clear a nice space for us by the stairs?”

  “We stay on this side of the room, they’ll come toward the meat.” He

  sounds sure. “When they’re all below us, we move. They can’t climb. All

  we need to do is keep off the ground and it’ll be kushti.” He gives us a

  manic grin.

  Like it’s that simple. But it’s a plan, and it’s the only one we’ve got.

  “Do it,” I say to him. “Do it quickly.”

  He nods at me, and before Alice can protest or any of us can change

  our minds, he monkeys down from the ledge, runs across the room, and

  out onto the stairs. There’s no turning back now. The three of us listen to the fading sound of his footsteps as he descends.

  “What if there are too many?” Alice gabbles. “What if we can’t get

  around them?”

  “Looked like twenty in the kitchen, at a guess.” Pete is very quiet. “The

  fire in the mudroom should hold the others outside for a while. It’s our

  best shot.”

  I look across the room and try to imagine it full of twenty zombies. I

  won’t have to imagine for much longer. I trace my escape route out in my

  head. Timing will be everything; if we go too soon, they’ll still be blocking the way to the stairs. We have to wait until they’re all in and right on us. It’s going to be the biggest game of chicken any of us ever played.

  Smitty appears at the doorway, eyes wild.

  “We’re open for business!” He runs across the room, grabbing a plastic

  broom leaning against the wall. “Weapon,” he pants, throwing the broom

  up to me. He leaps onto the desk, pulling himself up onto the ledge. “They were waiting for me, all right.” He’s laughing, pumped up. “Practically fell through the door when I opened it. I had to fly up those stairs!”

  Flying. Now there’s an idea. Pity I mislaid my wings.

  We all watch the doorway.

  “What do we do? What do we do?” Alice panics.

  “We wait,” I answer.

  We watch the doorway.

  “Where are they?” Alice is already close to tears.

  I glance over at the TV screens to see if I can make out movement in

  the kitchen, but we’re too far away to see.

  “Shh!” Pete says. “We’ll be able to hear them.”

  We strain our ears.

  Nothing.

  We should hear them by now; the groaning, the shuffling up the

  stairs. We can’t hear anything — well, except for Alice, who by now is

  sobbing openly.

  “It’s OK,” I reassure her. “We can do this.”

  We watch the doorway.

  Nothing.

  “What’s wrong with them?” Smitty leaps down onto the desk again.

  “The one time you want the morons to chase you, they don’t.” He makes

  his way cautiously across the room.

  “Maybe the door closed again, with the weight of them pushing?”

  I try to be helpful.

  “Guess I’ll have to go and see.” Smitty steps into the doorway.

  “Careful!” Alice screeches.

  “Never knew you cared.” He turns to throw her a kiss, and as he does,

  a bloodied claw appears and swipes at him from behind. Alice, Pete, and

  I scream in unison.

  “Shiz!” Smitty dodges at the last moment, rolling across the floor and

  out of reach. The freerunning is on.

  “Hurry!” I scream at him.

  He’s back up and on the desk. I shoot out an arm for him to grab. He

  pulls himself up to us again.

  “Oh my god oh my god oh my god.” Alice’s eyes are on the doorway.

  The first zombie appears. It’s a he. Youngish. Not in bad shape at all.

  His clothes are shredded, but apart from that you’d just think he was

  suffering from a really bad hangover.

  And he’s tall. Seriously tall with long, dangly arms.

  Darn, that sucks.

  He stands there, head rolling from side to side, taking in the room.

  “Oh my god oh my god oh my god!” Alice’s whispers become a cry.

  Tall Guy turns his head, focuses, and suddenly remembers what he’s here

  for. He starts to stagger toward us.

&
nbsp; “Where are the others?” Pete mutters. “Aren’t they coming?”

  He’s right to be worried. For this to work they’ve all got to come

  at once.

  And then they do.

  A wad of zombies appears at the doorway and squeezes into the room,

  and then there is a flow of bodies, like they were just waiting for the

  bottleneck to be eased, and now there’s nothing holding them back at all.

  Once they see us, the moans start, building, rhythmical almost. They’re

  on the scent. Behind me, Alice’s crying ramps up in response.

  Meanwhile, Tall Guy has reached the desk below us. He smells like

  butt. He looks up at us with blank, cloudy eyes and flails out an arm. As

  one, we shrink up against the cold glass of the window.

  “Nobody. Move,” rasps Smitty. “Wait till they’re all in the room before

  we go anywhere.”

  I hope that the final zombie is kind enough to tell us he’s the last guy

  in. Once we go, there’s no turning back. The room fills up disgustingly

  quickly, and the groans become deafening. I feel stomach acid rise into

  my throat. Keep it together.

  Tall Guy has been joined by the fastest of the rest, and they are trying

  to remember how to climb; one makes it half onto the desk, reaches up,

  and seizes one of Smitty’s feet.

  “Here!” I pass Smitty the broom and he thrusts it at the zombie below.

  What we’d give for his dwarven ax . . .

  “That’s it!” Pete shouts. “Must be all of them!”

  I look toward the doorway. The room is almost full, the flow has

  stopped.

  “We move!” Smitty shoves Tall Guy with his sweeper. “I’ll hold them

  here until you’re all clear!”

  Dammit. That means I’m trailblazer.

  I edge along the ledge. Suddenly, moving is much more difficult. One

  slip, and it’s Game Over. The ledge ends. It’s onto the bookcase now. I did it before; it’s simple.

  It’s not simple. Suddenly it’s waaay too far.

  “Go! Go! Go!” Smitty wrestles with the mass of arms below.

  Hands scraping up the wall at me, I slide down and across to the

  bookshelf. Easy does it. My foot finds a hold. I’m about to leave the safety of the ledge. A hand grasps my ankle. I screech and draw both legs up out of reach, and for a few seconds I’m dangling from the ledge, about to

  tumble into the sea of monsters.

  “Oi, uglies!” Smitty shouts, and bashes the window with his broom.