The glass cracks, the zoms are distracted for an instant, and I see my
chance. Finding new footholds, I pull myself up and scale the bookcase
toward the fridge, kicking the books off into the faces of the ones below, the shelves shaking as I go.
An easy jump away — don’t screw this up . . .
Geronimo!
It seems like I’m in the air for a lifetime, then I land on all fours with the biggest Boom Shakalaka on top of the fridge. Success. But at a price.
Pain shrieks from my left wrist. No time to care, no time to check it.
A body slams into me — it’s Pete, gasping for air and as pink as I’ve
ever seen him. He must have raced to reach me this fast. I grab his
arm with my good hand and pull him against the wall with me. He
mutters thanks.
Back on the ledge, Smitty is still beating them down with his broom.
Beyond him there’s Alice, pressed against the window.
“Alice!” I yell at her. “Move now!”
The going’s as good as she’s going to get; half of the zoms are now
distracted by Pete and me on the fridge, the other half by Smitty. But
she’s crying and shaking her head, and I feel a heaviness in the pit of my stomach because I know the situation’s hopeless. One of us should have stayed. Smitty’s preoccupied, to say the least, and she’s not going to move without some serious intervention.
“Crap!” I look at Pete. “I’m going to have to go back and get Alice.”
“No.” Pete nods to my left wrist, and I realize I’ve been gripping it
with my other hand. “You’re injured.”
Before I can argue, he’s off, spidering back over the bookcase, kicking out at the hands that grab. I slap the top of the fridge with my
good hand.
“Here, you lunkheads!” I shout at the hordes. “Look at me!”
But most of the zoms are on Pete because he’s moving faster, or
Alice because she’s screaming louder. A couple of them have managed to
clamber up onto the desk now. Smitty won’t hold them for long.
“We have to jump!” he yells at Alice. “We’ll go together!”
She moves toward the bookcase, but stops when the ledge does.
“It’s too far!” she screams.
Pete reaches up from the top of the bookcase, holding out a hand.
“Jump! I’ve got you!”
She leans forward ever so slightly, and that’s all Smitty needs. He
bundles her up and practically launches her off the ledge. For a second
she’s all windmilling arms, and then she lands, somehow Pete catches
her, and Smitty catapults himself on top of the two of them, still holding his broom. They made it.
But the bookcase can’t hold three. The monsters surge as one toward
them, and as they scramble to reach the fridge, the bookcase wobbles
threateningly.
“Hurry!” I shout. “It won’t take the weight!”
Smitty’s clear, thumping down beside me on the fridge.
“I can’t!” Alice freezes again, fresh tears running down her face.
“Are you going to let those losers get you?” Smitty yells at her, holding
out a hand. “You’re better than that, Alice!”
It’s the first time he’s called her that. Alice sets her jaw — but before
she can move, Tall Guy shows up from the maelstrom of Undead, a
long Mr. Tickle arm reaching up and clawing at her leg. She squeals and
jumps. She hits the fridge hard, her nails scratching at the smooth, round corners like a desperate cat trying to find some grip. We pull her up by the strap of her thong, giving her the ultimate wedgie.
“By the seat of your pants.” Smitty grins at her.
“Don’t get any ideas, sicko,” Alice gulps, and pushes her hair out of
her eyes.
There’s an almighty crash. The force of Alice’s jump rocked the bookcase too much, and it has come away from the wall and hit the floor,
squashing a handful of zoms.
The good news is, Pete jumped to safety at the last minute. The bad
news is, he jumped back onto the ledge. He looks at us from across the
void, all color draining from his face. He’s marooned.
“Stay where you are!” Smitty shouts. “We’ll find something to
help you!”
Like what? We’re standing on a fridge. There’s nothing in reach. Pete knows he’s not going anywhere.
I look at the doorway to the stairs. It is temptingly clear.
“Maybe there’ll be something in the kitchen?” I shout. “We could
come back up.”
“Screw that!” Alice says, snatching the broom from Smitty’s hands.
With a battle cry worthy of a samurai, she jumps down onto the back
of the fallen bookcase and whacks the first couple of monsters in her
path. “Get away from us, you stinking dirtbags!” she screams. Wielding
the broom like a sledgehammer, she takes out Tall Guy. “I am So!
Over! This!”
Pete seizes the moment, leaping down beside Alice. Instantly, Smitty
and I are reaching down to pull them up, our two heroes — one pale and
panting, the other newly and wonderfully psychotic.
“To the stairs!” Smitty declares, like some kind of musketeer. We leap
from fridge to TV cabinet to doorway, leaving the monsters clutching
at air.
I lead the charge down the tower stairs, hoping and praying there are
no surprises waiting in the kitchen.
2 8
No surprises. But that’s not saying much.
Smoke belches from the mudroom into the kitchen. The fire won’t
hold the zoms outside for long.
“This way!” Smitty leads us out of the kitchen and we race through
rooms until we reach the hall.
“Uh-oh!” Alice yells.
A clutch of Undead are lingering around the globe, batting it with
their mangled hands and trying to make it spin. No doubt they’re planning world domination.
I grab Alice and pull her toward the basement door after Smitty
and Pete.
Down we go, narrowly avoiding the trail of nails Cam left on the
stairs, and arrive in the basement.
“Crap a brick sideways!” Smitty stops dead.
It’s déjà boo. Half a dozen zoms, standing around with nothing to do.
Until they see us.
“Oh my god” — I sound like Alice — “it’s Gareth.”
No doubt about it. There, in the middle of the group, is our old friend
from the gas station at the Cheery Chomper. He’s been through the wars.
The nibbled-corn-cob arm has dropped off entirely, and he seems to have
lost most of his clothing, but it’s him all right. He still has his name tag at least. He looks up at us and snarls.
“Do you think he recognizes us?” I whisper.
“I think he recognizes Smitty,” says Pete.
“Oh yes.” Smitty licks his lips.
“Let’s motor!” Alice goes off raw once more, running down into the
cellar. She grabs the handle of the tarp-covered lawn mower and, with
an almighty grunt, pushes it at the nearest zom, literally mowing him
down. Now there’s a path to the wall-curtain. “Come on, slowpokes!” she
shouts at us.
We run for it.
Pete and I reach Alice at the wall-curtain, while Smitty hefts
up an empty wooden crate and bowls it toward the group, felling
two zombies in one glorious shot. But as he grabs another projectile,
Zombie Gareth grabs him. With his remaining a
rm, he hoists Smitty
up by the back of his leather jacket. Smitty wriggles like a squid on a
fish hook and falls out of his jacket, leaving Gareth holding it up by
the collar.
Smitty is nearly with us when he stops.
“Nah. This is not how it’s going down.” He turns deliberately and
stares at Gareth. “Tosser doesn’t get to keep the leather.”
“Smitty, no!” My scream is useless.
He dashes back to Gareth, dodging the swipe of another monster on
the way, snatches the jacket, and executes a perfect roundhouse kick,
knocking Gareth onto his zombie butt with a satisfying crunch.
Then he sprints back past us, grim-faced. “Lamebrain had that
coming since I met him.”
We run through the wall-curtain, down into the wine cellar, and out
into the corridor past the cells.
“Where is this control panel, then?” Smitty gasps, first to reach the
end of the corridor.
“On the left somewhere.” I join him, running my hand over the stones.
“I looked before, but I couldn’t see anything obvious.” Pete is panting.
“Leave it to me.” Alice crouches low. “Here!” She presses something,
a piece of stone pops out, and there’s the control panel.
An eerie groan echoes down the corridor.
“Hurry!” Alice says. “Open the door!”
Smitty’s finger is poised to enter in the code.
“Your birthday?”
“April sixteenth — wait!” I stop his hand. “Shit.”
“What is it?”
“US or UK?” I rake a hand through my hair. “No!”
Down the corridor the moaning grows louder.
“Enter the code!” Alice screams, trying to force the wall open.
“Which way around?” Pete’s eyes are popping out of his head.
“I don’t know!” I cry, exasperated.
“What do you even mean?” Smitty says, thumping the wall with
his fist.
“The date.” I stare at him. “If Mum meant the US way, it’s month
first, day second. If it’s the UK way — day first, month second. We had a
running joke about it because we could never get it right.”
“They’re here!” Alice is looking down the corridor.
“So which would she use?” Smitty’s finger is poised over the buttons.
I shut my eyes and think.
“Tick-tock, Bobby!” Pete says.
“UK. Day first, month second.”
“Are you sure?” Smitty says. “We don’t get a second chance.”
I nod frantically. “She always said it was more logical. And because,
dammit” — I roll my eyes — “we’re British.”
He punches in 1604, I hold my breath, there’s a grinding noise, and
the wall slides away and disappears into itself. Woulda been nice if it
closed up after us, given the circs, but them’s the breaks. We’ll have to
rely on speed.
We run down a wide, barely lit passage, our feet smacking the con—
crete floor. Down, down, down, the floor slopes and leads us deep
underground. Didn’t I say this was the School Trip from Hell? Well, now
we’re going back there.
Eventually the ground levels off. Now it’s slippery underfoot. There’s
a hissing noise, too, and I feel rain on my face, which makes no sense at
all, because we’re in a tunnel about a mile under the ground. And then
I realize: We’re underneath the loch. I keep running, praying the tunnel doesn’t decide to flood. Alice is on rocket fuel and leads the race, Smitty’s right by me, and Pete brings up the rear. Got to keep going — they’ll eventually catch up, and — “Aargh!”
My head snaps around. I catch the tail end of Pete in a full-on skid.
He goes down hard, his feet twisting under him at speed, chest smacking onto the ground. He lies there in the wetness, arms outstretched, the
cooler held up like a rugby ball in a match he’ll never play.
We race to him; he’s shaking badly.
“Saved it,” he wheezes, handing me the cooler. “Need . . . inhaler.” He
flaps his hands around his chest, looking for a pocket. Smitty crouches
in front of him and searches inside his coat.
The cooler has come unzipped. I hold my breath and take a quick
look inside.
No broken needles.
“We’re good!” I shout.
Smitty has found the inhaler and Pete is blindly sucking on it,
desperately, one hand gripping Smitty’s arm. I secure the syringes and
sling the cooler over my shoulder. Pete leans on Smitty and hauls himself
to his feet.
“You can run?” I say.
He nods, shivering.
“Come on!” shouts Alice up ahead. “There’s something up here!”
We set off, and Pete buckles on the first step, falling to a trembling
heap on the wet floor once again. “My ankle!”
Without discussion, Smitty and I each throw one of his arms
over our shoulders, like we did all those years ago when we helped
the driver out of the snow and back onto the bus. We limp down the
corridor, the cooler bashing my side and my wrist thudding in pain.
The tunnel is uphill now. The water that’s running from the ceiling and down the smooth walls is beginning to stream past us on
the floor.
“It’s a dead end!” Alice cries. The way is boarded up with old, rotted
planks, daylight showing through the cracks between each one.
“Not for long!” Smitty does the same roundhouse kick he used so suc—
cessfully on Gareth, and before I know it we’re all flinging ourselves at
the wood, beating our way through, breaking and pulling off the planks.
We fall out into the open. Freedom.
What remains of daylight, and a rush of cold. Bitter, bitter cold,
with a vicious, penetrating wind. At least it reminds me I’m alive, for
now. I look around, the wind blasting my hair into my eyes and making
them sting.
We’re on the island. It’s about half the size of a football field, but
there’s nothing here other than a clump of trees. I can see the castle
beyond the frozen loch, and snow-laden pine trees with distant blurred
hills rising up to meet the sky. The stuff of Christmas cards.
Alice leans into the tunnel entrance in an attempt to get out of the
wind. Her blond hair is beginning to form dreads, and her cheerful
red miniskirt is now a delicate shade of swamp. No more lip gloss or
mascara. I suddenly feel terribly sad.
“So where is your mum?” she says.
Good question.
And then I see her, by the trees, coming toward us. A lean figure
striding across the snow determinedly. I don’t know whether to run to
her, or away.
I stay where I am. As she gets closer, I see she’s dressed in a black
one-piece snowsuit. She actually looks kinda slick. Not like the mother
I know.
“That her?” says Smitty. “Ding-dong.”
Oh horror. Gross in extremis. Smitty’s hot for my mum. Just when I thought I had kept hope alive.
She breaks into a run. “You’re OK?” She clutches at my face with
insulated gloves, making me flinch. “Injured? Bitten?”
I shrug her off. “Minor stuff.” I hold up my limp wrist and she gives
me a look. “Not bitten, sprained,” I clarify. “Oh, and I can see the bone
through t
he hole in my shin. No biggie.”
“The rest of you?” She turns to them.
“Pete’s ankle’s twisted. He had a wedge of shelf in his skull. Alice
went snowboarding with a concussion. And I got Tasered. And hurled
chunks at a headless cadaver. And scraped all the skin off my back. Other
than that, we’re spanky,” Smitty says, guarded. He may fancy her but he
doesn’t trust her. Not yet.
“Fine. I have transport.” She points to the trees, and now I see a
small jetty I didn’t spot before. At the end of it I can just make out two ATVs, tethered together on the ice. “We should go before they get here.”
She nods toward the castle. Does she mean the bad guys or the zoms?
Through the last rays of day I can make out shadows shambling out onto
the ice from the direction of the castle, arms outstretched, groans building. Super. Zombie freestyle skating.
“You’ve got the Osiris vials?” my mother asks.
I hug the cooler to me like a baby. “Yup.”
“Good work.” She holds her hands out for it.
“I’ll carry it.”
She tuts impatiently. “OK. Let’s go.” She turns to lead the way to the
jetty, and Smitty and I pick Pete up off the icy ground.
“Um, hello?” Alice grabs my arm. “We just go with her? Evil Scientist
Mother?”
The alternative being . . . ?
“We need some answers!” Pete splutters .
“Here.” I unload him onto Alice and stomp through the snow after
my mother, trying to catch up, just like that little girl in the photo
would have.
“Just because we’re being chased by the Undead doesn’t give you a
free pass, you know!” I shout at her. “You were working here! Did you
create these zombies?” The wind whips my questions out over the loch.
“You owe me an explanation!”
She doesn’t stop or even slow down, and at first I don’t think she’s
heard me. But then she turns her head.
“All you need to know for now is that our intentions were good.”
“Yep, Grace already sang that tune,” I shout at her, struggling to keep
pace. “Your little team was re-creating some zombie virus to give to
Xanthro.”
“We were trying to find a cure!” She stops suddenly and spins
around. “The stimulant was a mistake. I tried to hide it from Xanthro.
Had I known there was any question of this” — she gestures to the zoms
Undead (ARC) Page 24
