Donna of the Dead

by Alison Kemper

  Wow. I’m impressed. Deke spent his morning coming up with a defense plan. I spent my morning looking for clothes. A weight settles in my stomach, a knot of admiration and shame twined together. I suddenly feel so…so…shallow.

  “Tossing heavy crap off the roof…” Stanley nods slowly. “I like it! We could think even bigger. Get massive objects. File cabinets. And the fridge from the teachers’ lounge.”

  “Yeah,” Fabio says, “Stan and I can muscle the big items to the roof and position them above the door. That way, we’ll be ready if the goons try to break in the main entrance.”

  Quentin laughs. “Pretty fly, man. We could totally squash them meatheads with the fridge.”

  “You know what would be the most awesome thing in the world?” Fabio says suddenly.

  “A pizza delivery?” Quentin jokes.

  “Yes, that. But something possibly even more awesome?”

  “Real shoes?” Stanley points at Fabio’s flip-flops. “Ones you could run in?”

  “That, too, would be amazing.” Fabio frowns at his feet. “Can you believe I have to spend the zombie apocalypse in flip-flops? Anyway, no, I was actually talking about the microwave gun.”

  There’s a collective groan from the other four members of the Robotics Club.

  “Come on, guys. There’s a microwave in the teachers’ lounge—I could turn it into a weapon.”

  “What’s he talking about?” I ask Deke, slightly shocked that such a thing is possible.

  “Microwaves, or, well, the electrons they emit, they sort of fire up molecules, make them dance around. It totally messes with metal—or any kind of electronics.”

  “Or anything with water in it,” Veronica adds, “which happens to be a major component of humans and other living things.”

  Fabio smiles. “Or un-living things?”

  “No.” Veronica shakes her head. “We’re not doing it.”

  “C’mon, Veronica,” Fabio pleads, looming over her tiny, seated figure. “It’s all there—the magnetron, the capacitor, the waveguide. We just need to rearrange it and we’re in business.”

  “No.” Her tone is hard. Fabio might be five times her size, but she’s obviously the one making final decisions. “We’ve discussed this before. Like a million times. We could kill ourselves messing with some of those components.”

  “Dude, we can do it. We have the parts. We have the skills.”

  “What we don’t have is a physics lab.” Veronica pushes her glasses farther up her nose. “We could fry our faces. You need to think of a different idea.”

  Fabio makes an exasperated noise and slouches away.

  Deke eyeballs one of the ancient classroom computers. “You know, even if we don’t make a microwave gun, Fabio’s still got a good idea. We could take things apart, like those monitors—maybe get some capacitors. Those things store a powerful charge. If we attach three of four capacitors to each of your robots, they’d pack more of a punch.”

  A smile spreads across Veronica’s freckled face. “Now THAT might be possible.”

  Deke excels at this, improvising explosives—or electrical weapons—or whatever you want to call it. His voice becomes more and more animated and he gestures excitedly, trying to explain how the new inventions would work. If the world ever goes back to normal, the Robotics Club has totally gained a new member.

  For the next few hours, Deke helps Veronica and the rest of the nerd brigade disassemble old-school PC monitors and laser printers, babbling all the while about overcharged capacitors and battlebots and other boring stuff.

  Just as I work up the nerve to approach Liam, Quentin shows up with an aluminum ladder, and recruits Liam to help him open up the ceiling. They pop out several ceiling tiles and start poking around in the air conditioner ducts.

  “Pipes!” Quentin yells from the ceiling, “Copper pipes. We break these off, gonna bash zombies in dey heads.”

  Liam continues to ignore me. He doesn’t even glance down from the ceiling once.

  Why is he avoiding me? Was I too dorky the other night at guard duty? Did I misread that big, dimply smile? I must be delusional. How could I ever, for one second, think a boy like that would be interested in me?

  Deke slides into the chair beside mine and watches as I combine first aid kits. Since I’m obviously hopeless with weapons planning, Gretchen assigned me some stupid chores. Right now, I’m taking “inventory” of our medical supplies.

  “So, I’ve been thinking about the guy on our ship. The infected one,” Deke says, sounding slightly breathless. “And I’m wondering, since the people who get bitten change so fast, how did he manage to get on board?”

  “Hmmm. I never thought of that. Good question.” I force a stack of Band-Aids into a plastic sandwich bag, and try for the zillionth time not to peek up at Liam. Only the lower half of his body sticks out of the ceiling. His rear end is facing me.

  Very distracting. I keep losing count of the bandages.

  Deke continues, “It’s not like some infected dude could shuffle on board our ship, refrain from eating the customs officer, be shown to his cabin, and then hours later, have someone realize he’s sick.”

  “Uh-huh.” Wow, Liam has such a cute butt.

  “So, I’m wondering…I mean, what if there’s some kind of…of…half-zombie? You know, someone who’s infected but still cognizant.”

  “If you know words like “cognizant,” how come you can’t beat me at Scrabble?” I try not to glance up again.

  Deke ignores my taunt. “And after this half-zombie escaped from the crewmembers imprisoning him, he infected other passengers and orchestrated the attack on the ship.”

  Veronica, overhearing Deke, breaks in to ask, “What do you mean orchestrated? That implies he has some kind of control over the infected ones. The non-cognizant zombies.”

  My brain trips over the word non-cognizant. I have to concentrate to keep up with the science nerds, but I think I understand what they’re talking about.

  “So you’re saying the half-dead zombie controls the dead zombies?” I ask.

  “I think so,” Deke answers. “That guy in the red hat—he might be one of these intelligent goons. And he’s telling the other meatheads to steal cars. It’s not something they could figure out on their own.”

  Veronica looks thoughtful. “Maybe he appears human, but infects like a zombie?”

  “Yeah. He’s a carrier, like people who have the strep germ but never get strep throat.”

  I stop sorting Band-Aids. I’m tempted to fall into our usual pattern of bickering, and tell Deke he’s watched too many horror movies but, truth is, he’s making some sense. My mind flashes back to the ship’s gangplank, and the figure I saw sneaking ashore. What if he was one of these half-zombies? What if he’s the same guy who brought the virus aboard in the first place? What if a person like him—a conscious, infected person—with superhuman strength and speed, is outside the school now, stealing our drinks and plotting against us?

  “It’s like we’re dealing with two different kinds of zombies,” Veronica recaps. “The walkers—slow, mindless, total herd mentality. And the sentient ones. They maintain their intelligence, their personality, but they gain an appetite for flesh.”

  Deke grimaces. “And like I said last night, they also gain strength and speed. I don’t know if that makes them half-zombie, or more like a super-zombie.”

  “You’d better tell our fearless leader about this,” I say to Deke, momentarily forgetting Liam and his butt. Veronica bobs her head in agreement.

  The three of us stare at Gretchen, who hasn’t heard a word of our conversation. She’s busy talking with Quentin, who’s climbed down from the ceiling to show her a copper pipe ripped from the ductwork.

  Deke sighs, running a hand through his spiked hair. “Okay, I’ll give it a shot. Wish me luck, though.”

  As he moves toward Gretchen, Veronica shifts her attention to me.

  “Hey, Donna,” her eyes are huge behind her thick glas
ses. “You got any music loaded on your phone?”

  “No,” I answer, slightly puzzled. “It’s all on my iPod.” I fish my ancient Shuffle out of my back pocket.

  “Cool.” She holds out her hand for it.

  “Seriously?” My fingers wrap protectively around the iPod.

  She nods. Crap. I’m sure it’s for something important. But just…crap. I hand it over. If it was anyone else, I’d put up a fight. But I trust Veronica. She’ll put the teeny-tiny battery to good use, or pull out all the parts for one of her battlebots. Still, I feel selfishly regretful. Just last night I’d lamented the fact there’d be no new music, you know, since all musicians are now, like, zombie musicians. At least it was some comfort to still have my iPod.

  Veronica shows Stanley my iPod, and the two of them take off with the last of my happiness while I flop on the floor to watch everyone work. I’ve finished combining the first aid kits. In a minute, Gretchen will probably notice and give me some other dumb job, like counting pieces of paper in the copier or cleaning the whiteboards. Thank god Deke already took that vacuum up to the roof.

  Too bad Phoebe’s not here. She was always good with creative stuff like this—brainstorming, thinking outside the box. And she took karate for years. She’d be an awesome zombie fighter. A total ninja. Not lame like me. If only I could do something helpful, like invent a weapon or battle plan or fast-acting zombie repellant. I must be the most useless and worthless person left on the planet.

  Why didn’t I ever tag along to Phoebe’s martial arts classes? Or pick up some other practical hobby? I should’ve gone to teen wilderness camp instead of taking all those ice skating lessons. A perfect waltz jump hasn’t been much help in my current life-or-death situation.

  I pick at the last remaining flecks of my nail polish. Too bad I can’t fast-forward through the next few days and—

  Up above.

  What?

  Up above.

  Fab. It’s the voices.

  Okay. I’m listening—up above what?

  Up above. Up above. Up above.

  All right, all right, all right. Calm down.

  I scan the entire ceiling—especially the area directly above where I’m sitting. The space overhead, where Liam and Quentin removed the ceiling tiles, doesn’t seem threatening. Skinny copper pipes snake through fluffy insulation, and the air ducts look way too small for dead people to crawl through.

  My gaze drifts around the classroom. One narrow windowpane of glass sits in a corner, so high on the wall that only tree branches and gray clouds are visible. I march over to inspect it more closely. Most of the school windows are covered with a sturdy layer of wire mesh. Not this one.

  Did anyone go around the school, checking to make sure the windows were reinforced? Or was the mesh removed recently? Either way—not a good situation. The window is high, but we are on the ground floor right now. And there’s that big pine tree growing awfully close to the building…

  “Everybody, back away from the window,” I say, trying to make my voice firm.

  No one moves. No one listens.

  “Um, guys,” I say a little louder. “The window up there. The protective wire thingie is missing.”

  “Huh?” Deke breaks off his conversation with Gretchen to find out why I’m babbling. I point at the window.

  Liam must have heard me, too, because he backs away from the corner, “She’s right. Look.”

  Up above!

  “Get away from the window,” I plead. “Now!”

  Still no reaction. Gretchen examines the copper pipe, Quentin sharpens pencils, and Fabio paws through a pile of computer parts. The three of them stand right below the pane of glass. Only Deke and Liam pay attention to me.

  “She said to get away from the damn window!” Deke shouts.

  Startled, everyone jumps and looks at me weird, but they all take one giant step away from the corner.

  “Uh, Donna,” Quentin asks, his face full of concern, “are you freakin’ out, girl?”

  Above him, the window explodes in a million shards.

  Chapter Twelve

  Glass spills in Quentin’s blond hair. A brick lands on the spot where Quentin stood only a few seconds ago. He throws his arms in the air and bolts from the room, screeching.

  In half a heartbeat, a figure hoists itself through the shattered window. It’s Vice Principal Annunziato.

  “AGGGGHHHH!” she wails.

  “AGGGGHHHH!” we scream back.

  I should run. No! I should fight. I should grab a weapon. I should…do something…but I stand superglued to one spot, unable to help.

  The vice principal lunges at Deke, but he’s too quick. He sails out of her way and she shifts her attack to Gretchen, who now stands closest. Annunziato’s still wearing her typical administrator outfit—navy skirt and white blouse with a large fussy bow in the front. Only now, the bow is dark with dried blood. She advances toward Gretchen, her arms stiff and outstretched.

  “Block the window!” Deke orders. “Before more get in.”

  “Use the pipe, Gretchen!” Fabio chucks a stapler at the zombie, but it bounces harmlessly off her bloated cheek.

  Gretchen backs away as the thing limps closer. She stares at the length of copper pipe in her hand, considering how to wield it, and then suddenly changes her mind.

  “Omigod! Wait! I can’t hurt the vice principal.”

  Fabio shouts in frustration, “Quit being such a suck-up! If you don’t hit her, she’ll eat you!”

  I search the room for Deke, expecting him to grab his bat and wallop the zombie. But he and Liam are busy wrestling a giant wooden candy bar over the broken window. Where the hell is Stanley with his ax?

  Fabio pries the pipe from Gretchen, curses loudly, then clubs our vice principal solidly in the skull. She falls forward like a statue, crashing face-first into the pile of computer towers.

  Fabio scrutinizes the copper pipe. “Well, I guess we know this works.”

  The guys finish wedging the wooden Hershey bar over the empty window. We’re all breathing hard. Except Gretchen, who is completely freaking out.

  “Omigod, Omigod! You’ve hurt Vice Principal Annunziato. We’re all going to be suspended. We’re all going to be expelled.”

  No one has time to deal with Idiot Girl. Liam dumps the orange pillows out of my cheese puff barrel and stuffs the unconscious school administrator in it.

  “Quick—what do we do with her?” he asks.

  Stanley and Veronica fly through the classroom door, Tara and Lara on their heels.

  “Is everyone all right in here?” Tara shrieks.

  “Yeah,” Deke says. “She came through the window. We need to do something fast—before she wakes up. Should we dump her body off the roof?” His face crumples in confusion. “Or should we uh…” He gestures at Stanley’s ax.

  “Omigod. Omigod. No!” Gretchen whines. “Don’t kill her!”

  “We’d have to chop off her head,” Fabio says matter-of-factly. “That’s the only way to kill a zombie.”

  “Ewwww!” Tara and Lara say at the same time.

  “Well, technically, zombies can also be killed by fire,” I say, remembering Dad and Muriel’s escape from the flaming ship. “We could burn Annunziato.”

  “Dude,” Stanley says, “what about—I mean, if we kill her, and then somebody invents a cure? A way to put everyone back to normal? We’re all gonna feel like crap if we chopped off her head or lit her on fire.”

  We stare at the administrator in the cheese puff barrel.

  “I never liked her,” Liam says with an easy shrug.

  “Me either,” I admit quickly.

  “She’s a total dillweed,” Fabio agrees heatedly, like he’s trying to convince us to decide quickly. “And she would have killed us, if we hadn’t gotten her first.”

  “I still can’t do it,” Stanley tells him, arms crossed.

  “Don’t look at me,” Tara says, holding up both hands and taking a step back. “I’m not
going to make this kind of decision.”

  In silence, we examine the motionless body for a few more seconds.

  “It’s a moral dilemma,” I say finally.

  Fabio snorts. “This moral dilemma is going to get our asses killed.”

  “We gots to dump her off the roof. Before she wakes up.” Quentin is back now, peeking skittishly around the doorframe.

  “Works for me,” Stanley says, shouldering his ax and moving forward. “It won’t kill her, but at least it’ll get her out of the school. We can debate our moral dilemma later.”

  Fabio helps Liam roll the barrel out of the classroom. The vice principal’s petrified torso goes round and round as they spin her into the hall.

  Deke grips my arm and tugs me toward him. He’s obviously not focusing on any zombie moral dilemmas.

  “Donna.” His voice is low. “How did you know Mrs. Annunziato was about to jump through that window?”

  I pretend not to hear.

  “Donna. You can’t keep doing this. Hiding this.” He pulls me closer, his words a whisper. “All those times. The day Amy Baker crashed. And you didn’t ride with her.”

  I shrug him off.

  “Tell me. Please.” He moves his head close to mine. His nose bumps my ear. “Are you psychic?”

  I pull away, pressing my lips together. I’m not answering, but it doesn’t matter. I see it in his face. Deke knows. He’s figured it out.

  He nods once and releases my arm, tearing his gaze from me.

  “We need to seal the remaining windows,” he yells to the others, who start grabbing more giant candy bar replicas. “The zombies have found some way to remove that mesh. Do it fast. Before any more sneak in here.”

  Within minutes, the building grows dim. With the windows blocked, we can no longer see outside.

  Chapter Thirteen

  This is a notification from the Emergency Alert System. All broadcast stations shall transmit this Emergency Message.

  The Center for Disease Control detected its first case of Bleek-Burns virus in Charlotte, North Carolina on Tuesday, November twenty-third. This outbreak was effectively contained. A subsequent epidemic struck one week later in Broward County, Florida. Authorities were unable to quarantine these victims, and contagion spread through North America at an alarming rate.