Dawn of the Zombie Apocalypse

by Murray, Lee

  My heart skipped a beat. Mr Davies was an adult, the only one I’d seen today not hunched over a computer in a daze.

  Darren thought it was important too, because he ran forward. “Mr Davies?” he said. “Is everything okay? You weren’t at footy practice, so we—”

  Without even a flicker of his eyes, Mr Davies stepped around Darren and kept walking.

  “Mr Davies!” Darren called.

  The coach shuffled over on the grass verge to get past Ava and me. He must have used extra-sensory perception to know we were there because his eyes didn’t budge from the phone. I checked out his face. He looked as haggard as Dad.

  Darren trotted beside him a few steps, waving his hands in front of Mr Davies’ face. The coach grimaced and pulled his mobile to the side. He carried on, his attention fixed on the phone, treating Darren as if he was nothing more than an annoying fly. Darren stopped, his shoulders sagging. We watched Mr Davies’ back as he walked away.

  Darren looked at me and didn’t say a word. What was there to say? Things were seriously bad. I handed him Cody’s leash and clamped my hands on the back of the orange computer chair. “Let’s get going,” I said.

  CHAPTER 6

  Grandma had been living at Sunnynook for four years now, not because she was sick or anything—although her eyesight wasn’t great—but because she’d been lonely. After Grandpa died, she’d complained there wasn’t anyone to talk to at her old house, but Sunnynook had lots of people her own age to hang out with. It was pretty nice with a library, pool, gym, even a bowling green. Dad reckoned it was like living at a resort. I said he had to be kidding. What kind of resort kept a vegetable garden for Brussels sprouts and broad beans? Although, Sunnynook did look a bit like a hotel, with drive-up access, a porch to stop the oldies from getting wet, and automatic sliding glass doors.

  Leaving Cody tied up under a tree out front, I wheeled Ava into the lobby. Darren held the computer chair steady while I lifted her off it.

  As always, Mrs Wentworth, the receptionist, was at the counter. Only she really wasn’t. I knew she wasn’t because she didn’t say, ‘Hello Sebastion. Here to see Constance, are you? That Constance is the lucky one, isn’t she? So many handsome young men popping in to visit her!’ I knew because she didn’t nod at Darren and ask me who my ‘little friend’ was in that clucky voice of hers. She didn’t remind me how important it was to use the hand sanitiser to prevent the spread of infectious diseases, and nor did she hold out the pen—the one attached to a chain of tiny steel balls—so I could sign the Visitors’ Book allowing her to keep track of who was and wasn’t in the building in the event of a fire. Mrs Wentworth was like every other adult I’d seen that day. Spaced out.

  “Let’s just go in,” I said to Darren, hoping I’d made a mist­ake and she’d call us all back with one of those, ‘Where do you think you’re off to, young man?’ looks of hers.

  I would’ve done anything to see her glaring at me over the rim of her glasses.

  I glanced back. No way. She was breathing, but otherwise Mrs Wentworth was as still as a shop mannequin.

  We traipsed through the doors leading from the reception area, and turned hard left.

  “Grandma, where are yoooou?” called Ava, running along the corridor to Grandma’s room. It was empty. Grandma’s bed wasn’t made. Her rose coverlet was pushed back and the sheets were wrinkled. That was weird. Perhaps she was sick? I knocked on the bathroom door.

  “Grandma?”

  “She’s not here,” Darren said.

  “I can see that,” I said. “She must be in the lounge.”

  “Fis way,” said Ava, running ahead. Ava and Dad came here most days, so she knew her way around, although it wasn’t hard to guess where everyone was. We followed Ava—and some tuneless singing—to the lounge, where we found Grandma and a string of her friends dancing The Locomotion. Ava ran to Grandma and threw her arms around her knees.

  “Ava, don’t!” I shouted, rushing forward. I was too late.

  Grandma wobbled and fell backwards, landing safely on a squishy floral sofa.

  “Hey, no upsetting the train!” a man grumbled.

  “Ava, that was naughty!” I growled.

  “Whoopsie-daisy,” Ava said, looking out from under her eyelashes.

  I gave Grandma my hand and helped her sit up. A sappy slow song came on the sound system and the other dancers collapsed into the armchairs and sofas.

  “It wasn’t her fault,” Grandma said when she was settled. “It was me, tripping over my own feet.” She patted the couch beside her. “So, my best wee girl, have you come for a visit?”

  Why do old people insist on asking obvious questions? Of course we were there for a visit. We hadn’t come for the Brussels sprouts. I rubbed my face with my hands. Why had I thought Grandma could help?

  Ava climbed onto the sofa, turning so her bare feet stuck out over the edge, and started playing with the wrinkles on the back of Grandma’s hand.

  “Hey Seb, look, it’s Talia,” Darren said, nudging me.

  I turned to see Talia pushing a tea trolley into the lounge. She looked up and spied us and her face darkened. Frowning, she stormed over to Darren and me. “You!” She poked her index finger at my chest. “This is all your fault.”

  Startled, I took a step back. “My fault? What’s my fault? What are you talking about, and why are you here, anyway?”

  Talia must have been aware that people were looking at us because she inhaled deeply and smoothed her skirt. “I’m here every Wednesday,” she said. “I’m doing my community service badge.” She poured a cup of tea from a large urn, adding a chocolate biscuit to the saucer before handing it to Grandma. “Here you go, Mrs MacKay. I didn’t add any sugar because I know you’re sweet enough.”

  Grandma giggled. “Thank you, dear. That’s so kind. This handsome fellow here is my grandson, Seb, and his friend Darren.”

  “Um…yeah Grandma, we’ve met. Talia’s in my class.” My face went hot.

  “In your class? Really? Isn’t it a small world?”

  Nodding, I pulled Talia away from Grandma. “What’s all my fault?” I hissed.

  “You should ask Talia on a date, Seb. Take her to the movies,” Grandma called before turning her attention to Ava.

  My neck prickled with embarrassment. Luckily, Talia was scanning the lounge and didn’t seem to have heard Grandma’s comment. Several of the oldies were ambling over to the trolley and were helping themselves to tea and biccies.

  “Talia?”

  “Not here. In the corridor,” Talia said. “You too, Darren.” She was acting like a secret service agent.

  I checked on Ava. She was eating Grandma’s chocolate biscuit. That should keep her busy for a bit. We followed Talia out into the corridor where she whirled to face us, her hands on her hips. “You know how there were no teachers at school today?”

  “Yeah,” Darren and I said in unison.

  “Well, there are no staff here at Sunnynook either.”

  Darren groaned, thumping his hand theatrically against the wall.

  “Actually, that’s not entirely true,” Talia said. “Some of the staff are here, but they’re completely out of it. All they’re interested in is their computers or their phones. They’re practically glued to the screens. They’re here, but at the same time, they’re not really here at all.”

  “Somnambulists,” said Darren.

  “Mrs Wentworth,” I said.

  “Exactly,” said Talia.

  Darren put his hands behind his head. “I knew it. I told you it was the apocalypse.”

  “It’s not the apocalypse,” I insisted. “And I still don’t get why you think it’s my fault.”

  Talia whipped her head around. “You don’t get it? Apart from the residents here, who hardly ever use the Internet, all the adults we know are behaving like zom
bies.”

  “So?”

  “They’re zombies, Seb.”

  I shook my head.

  Talia’s eyes flashed. “It’s your game, isn’t it? The one you got off the Internet last night. The one you shared with Darren.”

  Darren’s eyes widened. He slapped his hands to his mouth in horror. “Perhaps it was you, Seb.”

  Whose side was he on? He was supposed to be my best friend. So I uploaded The Dawn of the Zombie Apocalypse onto my computer. What was so bad about that? It was just a game. I didn’t see how…

  My face went hot.

  I’d selected the small town option. All it had to do was trawl my email contacts, and the contacts of those people… I shuddered.

  But surely people must have played the game to be affected? Unless the game introduced other weird stuff to people’s computers. I remembered that extra effect—the one where I hadn’t known what it meant and I’d clicked the button anyway.

  “Could it be something to do with the subliminal quotient?” I asked.

  “The what?” Talia said, her eyebrows coming together.

  “The subliminal quotient. It came free with the game,” I replied.

  Darren was pacing the corridor like a caged panther. “That must have been it. The subliminal quotient. Subliminal. Something that works without you being aware of it. A suggestion that influences a person’s behaviour.”

  This wasn’t sounding good. I was beginning to feel like I’d just eaten a cockroach.

  “For example,” Darren went on. “Remember this morning when we were playing basketball in the quad? Andrew chanted, ‘Missy, missy, missy’ and then, when you laid up the ball, you missed the basket.”

  “Yeah, so?” I wished he would hurry up and get to the point.

  “That’s how subliminal messaging works. Andrew planted the idea of missing the basket in your head, and you missed. He used the power of suggestion, a subliminal technique.”

  “That was not subliminal. It was a fluke. I almost never miss the basket.” I gave Talia my most dazzling grin.

  “That’s not what Darren means, Seb,” she said. She threw her hands in the air the way Mum did when Jason was being dense. ‘It’s…it’s—”

  “A subtle form of brainwashing,” Darren finished.

  “Exactly,” Talia said again.

  She folded her arms across her chest. “So? What are you going to do about it?”

  “Me?”

  She tapped her foot. “You downloaded the game.”

  “Well, then,” I said, running a hand casually through my fringe. “It should be easy to fix, shouldn’t it? I’ll go home and delete the game from my computer, and everything will go back to normal.”

  Darren shot a look at Talia. She sighed. They both shook their heads.

  “It’s too late for that,” Talia said. “It’s a virus. It will have spread everywhere by now.” Talia’s parents were doctors, so she knew about diseases and stuff. For her science fair project she’d taken photographs of a cream cake decomposing. It had gone all green and furry. It was really gross.

  “Talia’s right,” Darren said. “Once a virus makes it through your virus protection into a system, there’s no way to call it back.”

  “Well, what do you expect me to do?” I said.

  Talia didn’t have the answer. “I don’t know,” she said. “Something. Anything.”

  I looked at Darren, but he just shrugged. I knew then that we were in big trouble. This wasn’t the kind of virus you fixed with a squirt of hand sanitiser.

  Ava appeared, her face and t-shirt smeared with chocolate. “Fingers icky,” she said. She opened and closed her fingers in a Vulcan salute. I sighed.

  Live long and prosper.

  “Look, I’ve got to get back to work,” Talia said. “Here’s my number.” She thrust a scrap of paper into my hand. “Call me, when you’ve got it sorted.”

  Dropping my head, I stared at her tidy even handwriting. My heart did a flip. The Prettiest Girl in School had given me her phone number. I could call her.

  All I had to do was save the world.

  CHAPTER 7

  I cleaned up Ava’s hands with a tissue in Grandma’s room.

  “I’ve got my toothbrush, my nightie, and some extra clothes,” Grandma said as she squeezed the items into a pink leather handbag with an over-sized rose buckle. Also pink. “How long will I be staying?”

  “It’s just for a few days, until Mum and Dad are feeling better.”

  Grandma put her bag down so she could slip on her coat. “This should do it then. You can come back and get anything I’ve forgotten, although, it must be a really nasty cold if Rob and Grace are as poorly as you say.”

  Darren raised his eyebrows.

  “We think it could be a virus, Grandma.”

  She nodded. “Yes, it sounds like it. Well, there’s no cure for a virus.” She picked the bag up off the bed. “All we can do is give them lots of fluids and wait it out.”

  I sighed. If only it was that simple.

  We went to the lobby. Through the automatic doors, Cody went berserk, straining at his leash. He must have been lonely out there waiting.

  “I’ll go,” Darren said. He hurried outside.

  “Just stepping out for a few days to check up on the kids, Valma,” Grandma said to Mrs Wentworth while I signed her out. “You know, my son, Rob and his family? Their contact details are on file if you need to get hold of me, or in case the lottery people pop by with my winnings.” She winked conspiratorially.

  “Hmmm?” the receptionist said, not bothering to look up from her screen.

  Grandma frowned.

  “I think she’s busy, Grandma,” I whispered.

  Grandma’s face softened. “Yes, the poor dear. There’s been some sort of staffing problem today.” She leaned in close to me. “The beds haven’t been made.”

  Outside, Darren was struggling with Cody. We needed to get going. I rolled the orange computer chair out into the porch, and was about to sit Ava on it when I realised I couldn’t ask Grandma to walk home. She was pretty fit and healthy for an oldie—she’d been dancing The Locomotion after all—so she could probably make the distance, but I remembered the pot hole outside No 36 and Dad telling me that old people are like race horses; their spindly legs are almost guaranteed to break if they tripped over. I couldn’t risk it. There’d been that near miss when Ava tackled Grandma around the knees earlier and I already had enough to cope with today, especially since the zombie apocalypse was all my fault.

  Instead, I got Grandma to sit on the chair.

  “Oooh, I feel just like the Queen in her carriage,” said Grandma, spinning a little from side to side. She raised her palm and gave a slow wave.

  Ava’s scowl could’ve stripped paint. She looked like someone had mentioned bath-time. Things were already bad enough. I didn’t want her throwing a tantrum, too.

  “You can be the beautiful princess, Ava, and sit on the Queen’s knee,” I said quickly, relieved when Ava’s scowl flip-flopped into a smile. She put her arms up for me to lift her.

  “Take Grandma’s handbag, will you?” I said to Darren, holding out the bag.

  Darren raised his eyebrows. He curled his fist tighter around Cody’s leash. “No way,” he whispered. He turned his back to Grandma and whispered in my ear. “I’m not carry­ing any old lady’s handbag. You carry it. She’s your grandma.”

  “Come on, Darren. Help me out here.”

  Darren shook his head.

  “Okay. Okay, I’ll carry it then.” There was no way I was going to carry it. I put the bag on the ground while I lifted Ava onto Grandma’s lap. That’s when I spied the rain hood on Grandma’s jacket. It was the perfect pocket for stowing a pink handbag. I wouldn’t have to carry the bag over my shoulder and, tucked behind Grandma’s
back like a cushion, no one would see it. Although, I’m not sure why I was worried. There hadn’t been a single car on the road all day.

  On Grandma’s lap, Princess Ava was waving enthusiastic­ally to her pretend subjects. She was too wiggly. Grandma wouldn’t be able to hold her. I unclipped the shoulder strap from Grandma’s handbag, clipped it to the base of the chair and fastened it over Grandma and Ava’s hips.

  “Safety belt,” I said.

  Grandma patted my hand and gave me a smile. “Thank you, darling.”

  Trying not to roll my eyes, I slipped the pink handbag into the rain hood and we set off, Cody ahead, dragging Darren. The chair was a bit heavier with Grandma on it, so it was harder to push, but the added weight gave me more control and I was able to keep it on the straight and narrow as we retraced our steps.

  We were half way down Hulme Street when Darren stopp­ed. He turned to face me, Cody twisting the leash about his legs. “Seb, can you hear something?” he said.

  I strained to catch the sound. It was a car, and it was coming this way! All at once, I felt like a little kid seeing a train for the first time.

  “Darren. A car! Someone’s driving a car. Someone who isn’t a zombie.”

  I stepped around the computer chair for a better look as a red hatchback swerved into the street. You didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to know it was going too fast to take the corner. It bumped over the curb, the impact slowing it slightly, and barrelled along the white line in the middle of the road.

  Darren yelped and jumped back, startled.

  The car sped past us. It roared over the grass verge into a driveway where it hit another car, shunting it into a garage door. The door crumpled in a shriek of metal. A car alarm blared briefly, then whined to a stop. The street was quiet again.

  We ran along the footpath making for the wreck, me push­ing Grandma and Ava, and Darren grappling with Cody.