Undead (9780545473460)

by McKay, Kirsty

  “What. Is. It,” Alice rasps beside me.

  Nobody answers her. We’re all staring at the blind, which is swinging gently. At any moment glass could shatter and IT will be in the room with us.

  “What —” she tries again, louder now.

  “Carrot Man,” Smitty whispers sharply from my other side. “Don’t make a sound.”

  “Yeah, ’cause we were so quiet before.” I can’t help myself. Smitty gives a low snort, and I feel the thin wall gently shudder.

  The blind stops swinging. I stare at the strips of white plastic with the tiniest creases of bright light between them, and wish for X-ray eyes.

  “Think he’s gone?” Pete wheezes.

  “Want to go and check?” Smitty turns his head, raising his eyebrows invitingly. When Pete says nothing, Smitty winks at me. I feel his body begin to peel away from the wall.

  “Don’t!” I shoot out an arm to stop him, my fist balled tight so I can’t accidentally grab a body part. “Don’t you dare.”

  “Someone has to check.” He stays in place on the wall regardless. I can feel him smiling at me provocatively, but refuse to meet his eyes.

  “Wait a minute,” Alice says beside me. “We don’t know Carrot Man’s bad, do we?”

  “I think the fact that he was handing out the killer fruit juice is pretty conclusive,” Pete gabbles.

  “Vegetable juice, not fruit,” I say, like this makes a diff. “Maybe he didn’t know what was in it? Maybe he’s freezing to death out there and needs our help?”

  “If he didn’t know what was in it, he probably drank it,” Smitty says logically.

  “Either way, he’s hardly one of the good guys.” Pete out-logics Smitty’s logic.

  “People!” Alice hisses. “I can’t believe we’re standing here even talking about this! We need to get out of here.”

  Pete steps away from the wall. “I think he’s gone.”

  “Why?” Smitty takes a step, too.

  Pete squints. “The light behind the blinds. Something changed.”

  I frown. “I didn’t see it.”

  He nods his head. “See the light along the windowsill? A shadow moved along it.” He takes another step toward the window.

  “No.” I ease myself off the wall, but stay rooted to the spot. “I was watching, too. I didn’t see it.”

  “Don’t touch that blind!” Alice begs, and as she does, the lights flicker again, then extinguish, plunging us into darkness once more.

  Before we can react, glass smashes and the blind bulges into the room, light escaping around the sides. Out of the corner of my eye I see Smitty — lit momentarily by daylight — lunging for Alice’s knife on the table as a huge killer root vegetable crashes onto the floor in front of the window.

  “Come on!” I cry, seeing the shadow of my backpack under the desk, diving for it, and scrabbling to my feet again. In the dim half-light I can see that Alice and Pete are already through the office door into the café, and the knife-wielding Smitty is in a ninja squat a few feet from the writhing mound on the floor.

  “Smitty!” I shout, not wanting to leave him. Then suddenly he’s ahead of me, on the chair that we wedged in the doorway, his hand shooting out to grab mine, dragging me out of the room. We run blindly through the café toward the entrance. Alice is screaming and Pete is trying to pull down the barricade at the door. We pile into it, Smitty and me, frantically grabbing at the furniture and boxes we so carefully slotted together to make an impenetrable barrier. We never thought we might have to fight through it ourselves.

  “Hurry!” Alice is screaming still, which is not exactly helping, apart from being a gauge of how much longer we have before Carrot Man gets here. Her shrieks suddenly multiply a gazillion times, and I know The Furry One has made an appearance at the office doorway.

  “Just this last one!” Smitty yells, and Pete and I help him yank a large crate of water bottles away from the exit. As we do, the crate spills and bottles roll out onto the floor. I see Alice take a step backward, and can only watch as a bottle rolls under her foot with immaculate timing. Her legs fly up into the air, she falls back onto her head with a thwack, and she stays there. As I feel the blast of icy air that means Smitty has got the door open at last, I run to Alice and pull her by the arms to the exit.

  The Carrot Man is here, and we have to go.

  Smitty scoops Alice up and throws her over his shoulder with sudden and shocking Herculean strength, and we’re out of the door. I glance back. Carrot Man’s arms swing up in front of him. The eyeholes in his costume are cast into shadow. His green carrot leaf gloves are gone, and his hands are dripping with blood. He groans and takes a heavy step forward.

  He’s one of them.

  Pete has managed to get the bus door open, and we scramble on board. Our sanctuary once more.

  “Start it up!” yells Smitty, bounding up the steps with Alice’s head bobbing over his shoulder.

  “What do you think I’m doing?” Pete yells back. He’s in the driver’s seat, fumbling with the keys, and I thank all the angels that he remembered to pocket them when we made our exit. Who knows what we’ve left behind in the Cheery Chomper — water, food? No time to think about that now.

  The engine starts with a sputter. Smitty hauls Alice unceremoniously down the aisle and dumps her in a seat, shouting at me, “Guard the door!”

  Grrreat. Human shield time again. I race past Pete, who is wrestling the unresponsive steering wheel, and make my legs skibble down the steps. I fling myself against the frickin’ door, arms and legs spread like I’m dancing a tango with it. Bang on cue, there’s Carrot Man, the whole force of seven feet of orange plushy vegetable slamming itself against the doors with such a ferocity I want to weep. The sheer weight of him throws me off balance. The door shudders.

  “Hurry!” I cry. Please hurry, Pete, please hurry, Smitty, please hurry, the armed forces who are — please God — going to sweep down with weapons of mass destruction and save us . . .

  Carrot Man slams again. I press my shoulders and my arms and my butt and my legs across the door, bracing for the next impact, hoping the glass and metal and my spine and nerve will hold out.

  “Why aren’t we moving?!” I scream up at Pete. He looks like a kid sitting on a coin-operated car ride outside a supermarket, wildly spinning the steering wheel, jumping up and down in the seat, and going precisely nowhere.

  “The snow’s too deep, there’s no traction!”

  I feel the wheels turning underneath us as Pete stamps on the gas. “Smitty!” I yell as Carrot Man thumps into my back again. “I need help!”

  “Here.” Smitty appears at the top of the steps with a snowboard. He tosses it down to me and I catch it, swing around, and slot it across the doors. “And another.” Smitty throws down a second board, and I fix it in place beneath the first one. It works. Carrot Man senses the door is not going to open, and he moves to the windshield and starts bashing on that instead. Stupid orange meanie. I wedge myself against a step and brace the bottom board with my feet.

  Pete frantically thrusts the gear stick in a different direction and the wheels roar beneath me. But still we don’t move.

  “Cack.” Smitty is still standing at the top of the steps but is staring out of one of the side windows. “Carrot Man’s got company.”

  “What?!”

  Smitty’s face contorts into a horrible grin. “Heeeeere’s Gareth!”

  “No!” I run up the steps and look in the same direction. There, coming around the corner of the Cheery Chomper, is Gareth. Black pants, white shirt, tie, and name tag, and a grotesque gobbling face. And you know what? He’s still holding the laptop . . . but it takes me a moment to realize he only has one proper arm. There’s a stump coming out of the other shirt sleeve, a stump with a long, white piece of bone, as if something nibbl
ed off the flesh like corn off the cob. I feel the sting of a sob clenching my throat.

  “He never made it,” I mutter.

  “No,” Smitty says quietly. “But he made some friends.”

  I look through the snow. Shuffling figures — four or five, possibly more — are coming this way.

  “Pete!” Screaming, I turn to him. “Get us out of here!”

  Something finally catches and the bus pulls forward slowly, gently nudging Carrot Man to one side.

  “Hang on!” Pete shouts. “I won’t be able to brake!”

  There’s a sharp smell of burning rubber, and I cling to my seat as Pete guides the bus through the snow. There’s no real way to know if we’re on the road or not, but as long as we keep going, there’s no reason to care.

  “Head for the exit!” shouts Smitty, pointing to the road that leads away from the Cheery Chomper and back into the wilds of the Scottish countryside. “It’s our only chance!” His words hang in the air, strangely overdramatic, although if there was ever a time to shout something like that, it would be now. He moves to the back of the bus, looking out tosee how quickly we’re being chased. I follow.

  I press my face against the window and stare out at Carrot Man leading the charge across the parking lot. Well, more of a shamble than a charge. The bus is moving slowly on the snow, but they won’t catch us so long as we keep on truckin’.

  Shit. Nothing in the tank.

  I shake the thought away. The bus started, didn’t it? Even if we only get a couple of miles, it will still be enough to outrun them. Glancing at the back of Pete’s head, I can see he’s as stressed as hell, shoulders up around his ears. But he’s not hyperventilating, and he’s wrangling the wheel like he knows what he’s doing. He keeps this up, we’re golden.

  I stare out at Gareth and his new companions. “Who are the others?”

  Smitty has found the binoculars. “Remember the couple in the Mini? And three blokes. At least, I think that one’s a bloke . . . oh, no. There’s a boob hanging out.”

  “Where did they come from? And where’s Gareth been all this time? Do you think they got him when he went to the Cheery Chomper?” I rant. “Why didn’t we see them before now?”

  “Won’t ever know,” Smitty says. “Might have got some answers if we’d seen the end of that recording, but now —”

  The bus screeches to a halt; I bang my face against the window. Pain and the indignation of a bashed-up nose sweep through me. Tears prick my eyes as my nose burns. I feel to see if it’s still there, and my hand comes away covered in blood.

  “What gives?!”

  Shouting, Smitty runs up the aisle to Pete. I gather myself. Don’t cry, you’re still in one piece. At the front of the bus, they’re yelling at each other. I hear a clatter, and the unmistakable hiss of the doors opening. I spring up from my seat and head for the front, nose trauma forgotten. Hot blood drips down my face and splashes on my coat. Pete stands alone by the steps. By the look on his face I know what’s happened.

  “Smitty’s gone out?”

  He nods.

  “Why did you stop?”

  “That.” He points.

  Through the windshield I see a big white lump across the road. At first I can’t tell what it is, then I realize the lump has branches and roots. A tree has fallen across the road, blocking our way out. Smitty is furiously running around it like an ant, digging away at the edges with his board, leaning into the trunk with his shoulder, trying to push it, lever it, roll it. There’s no way he’ll succeed; ten people couldn’t move a tree that size. You’d have to have chains and a tractor and a good thirty minutes to clear the road before the monsters came. None of which we have.

  I shoot a glance back at our pursuers. We have a couple of minutes, tops.

  I jump down the steps, Pete behind me. “It’s no use!” I shout at Smitty. “Can we go around it?”

  Pete picks his way through the snow to the root end of the trunk. The base of the tree on its side is almost the same height as he is. I know the answer before he gives it. The road is raised, with a ditch on either side, and the tree line is only a few feet from the road.

  “No way.” Pete bends low. “Besides, they put it here.”

  “What?” Smitty’s face is red and steaming.

  “Look, no hole where the roots were.” He scuffs his boot on the snow. “This tree didn’t fall; it was never growing here. It was moved, probably seconds after our bus arrived. Placed here to stop us from leaving. The couple in the Mini? This is why they came back: They couldn’t get out.”

  For a moment I think Smitty is going to try his snowboard decapitation trick on Pete. Then he flings the board down and stomps back onto the bus.

  “We need to go,” I urge them. “Walk out on the main road, take our chances.”

  “Maybe not!” Smitty shouts from the bus.

  “We’ll get back on board!” Pete cries. “It’s safe enough there!”

  I dodge round the side of the bus. Carrot Man, Gareth, and the rest are almost on the exit road. In a minute, they’ll be with us. “No way.” I grab the snowboard from Pete’s feet. “There are seven of them. Adults. They’ll break through those doors and it’ll be suppertime.”

  “What if we hide in the hold?” Pete’s face is stricken. He’s begging me, and I don’t know if I want to hug him or slap him.

  “For how long?” I shake my head. “We hit the highway, we keep moving. They can’t outrun us.”

  “What about Alice?”

  Damn. I forgot about Alice and her lack of consciousness.

  “We’ll work something out.” I pull him toward the doors. “Come on! We have to gather our stuff, we don’t have any time.” As I reach the doors, the bus engine cranks up. Smitty’s at the wheel. We leap out of the way back into the snow as the bus reverses, engine revving violently.

  “No!” Pete and I cry, both knowing what’s coming next.

  Smitty pays no heed. He plows forward and rams the bus into the tree as hard as he can. The tree hardly moves. Smitty reverses the bus with its beaten-up fender again, and tries a second time. This time the tree shifts a little. Thinking he’s on to something, Smitty reverses farther still and goes for third time lucky, hitting the tree with full force. The back of the bus skids and jackknifes, there’s a shattering sound, and the windshield cracks and falls away. Smoke rises from the front of the bus.

  Our sanctuary on wheels has finally met its match.

  I jump on board. “We have to leave!” I shout at Smitty, who is still gripping the wheel. “I’ll get your stuff, you get Alice!”

  I throw our backpacks out into the snow and head to row 21 to fetch some gear. If we can somehow pull Alice along on a board, or use skis to carry her . . .

  I glance outside; they’re almost with us. We have seconds. I load up and begin back up the aisle. Smitty has moved Alice; we can make it.

  The floor lifts up in front of me. Someone is coming out of the hatch. I stop in my tracks.

  A small blond head pops out. A boy, not more than three years old, I’d guess. Then a second blond head. A girl, a couple of years older than me. For a second I wonder how I know them. Then it comes to me. The moody teenage girl in the café and her little brother. I raise a ski pole and brace myself to attack.

  “Hi! Have we crashed?” The girl speaks with a lilting Scottish accent. “Are they here?”

  “Bumped my head,” the boy says.

  I lower my ski pole.

  The girl takes a good look at me and her face changes. “You’re . . . you’re not one of them, are you?”

  I wipe at my face with my sleeve. “Just a nosebleed. And yes, they’re here. We have to go. Now.”

  As I climb out of the bus with the two stowaways, Smitty’s and Pete’s faces are an absolute picture. It’s
a classic moment; I wish I had time to savor it. Pete actually does a double take, then kind of scuffles and falls into the ditch. The boy giggles, and his sister shushes him.

  “Who the f —” Smitty starts.

  “It’s OK,” I say. “They’re not infected.”

  “You sure of that?” Smitty recovers quickly; he’s fixing Alice’s floppy feet to a snowboard.

  Pete picks himself up off the ground, still staring. “You were hiding on the bus? Where did you come from?”

  “I’m Lily,” the girl says. “This is my brother, Cam. We were in the café, but then we went out —”

  There’s an ominous groan from the end of the bus. They’re here.

  “Great to meet you, stories later,” Smitty grimaces, tightening the fastenings over Alice’s feet. “We have to move. Malice is not home, but we can pull her along.” He hauls her to her feet and flings one of her arms over his shoulder. “Muscle up, Pete, and take her other arm. She’s heavier than she looks.”

  “Oh my god!” Lily screams as Gareth appears around the side of the bus.

  I reach down and swipe up Cam, blood from my nose gushing onto his poor little face. Lily snatches him from me as he begins to wail, and they run through the snow to the other side of the tree trunk. Gareth looks really, really annoyed. Maybe he’s got a nicotine crave on. That must really suck: being a zombie who can’t get a smoke.

  Two men appear behind him, staggering forward, drooling and groaning. One is wearing a torn, blood-spattered white shirt and checkered trousers, topped off with a little paper hat. The other guy looks like a builder; he’s wearing the remains of denim overalls and a tool belt. Together they make me think of LEGO figures. “Here’s LEGO Zombie Chef! Here’s LEGO Zombie Builder! See their grasping hands and posable limbs!”

  “Roberta, are you coming?”

  Smitty’s shouting shakes me into reality. I hitch on my backpack and hike another couple of bags over one shoulder, grab a snowboard, and scramble into the ditch and around the tree. Smitty and Pete are handling Alice-on-a-board just fine, but it’s up to me to haul all of our bags. I throw the board down, stuff one foot in the bindings, and push off. I’m no natural boarder, but it’s not like there’s time to don boots and skis.