Donna of the Dead

by Alison Kemper

  Veronica hunches toward me, eyes large behind her glasses. “I’m starting to agree. I can’t speak for the rest of you, but personally, I no longer have a moral dilemma. Donna’s right. We need to take a tougher stance. Get on the offensive somehow. Maybe I was wrong, Fabio. Maybe we should try the microwave gun. We need a serious weapon. These zombies are ruthless. Soulless.”

  Tara lifts her head off Quentin’s shoulder. “Beyond soulless. They attacked Stanley and Gretchen. Infected them.” She’s loud now. Indignant. “Our friends will never be the same. And then they take Bo, too? Hurt him or…or…infected him…or eaten him.” At this point, she loses all control and totally dissolves into tears. Quentin pulls her closer, making soothing noises and patting her back.

  Deke’s the only one who hasn’t spoken. I think about how careful he’s been over the last few days, not killing the zombies—only knocking them out, in case they could be cured later.

  He meets my eyes, grimacing slightly. “If it’s true…if they’ve taken Bo…then I don’t care anymore about a cure. I don’t care who these infected people were a week ago. I don’t care if they ever go back to normal. I only want to light these mothers up.”

  Quentin’s eyes widen. “Yippee ki-yay,” he says.

  Tara lifts her head and actually gives me a tearful smile. “It’s too bad we don’t have a stockpile of machine guns,” she sniffs.

  “Or flamethrowers,” Veronica adds.

  “Machetes,” Quentin says. “I could use me a machete.”

  “A sword,” Fabio almost smiles. “I’ve taken fencing lessons for ten years. If I had a decent sword, I could go medieval on some zombie ass.”

  “A sword and some sneakers,” Quentin says. “You’d break your face sword-fightin’ in them flip-flops.”

  We all laugh, but it’s a sad, resigned kind of sound. Our numbers have dwindled drastically, and we all realize it—even if we’re not talking about it. Any of us could be next. It might even be me.

  Veronica shakes her head a little sadly. “No swords, no flamethrowers. All we’ve got is liquid soap and paint thinner. All in favor of the Molotov cocktails?”

  Every hand goes up.

  “Guys, guys!” Running footsteps echo through the hall. Hands still in the air, we turn as Liam bursts through the doorway.

  “What are you doing here?” Veronica demands, “You’re supposed to be on guard duty with Lara.”

  Liam’s perfect face is all business. “You need to get on the roof. Quick. Something’s happening.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  At the top of our building, everyone gathers along the low roof edge, gazing at the ground below. The moon glitters on puddles scattered across the roof. Trash cans line one wall, each holding a couple of inches of rainwater. The storm brought a change in the weather, and I regret leaving my jacket on the floor of the janitor’s closet. My jeans and tee are still slightly damp from the fountain. As we dash toward the edge, a breeze sweeps across my arms, raising goose bumps.

  The wind carries more than a chill. A thick, rotting smell floats on the night air—reminding me of the time Phoebe and I walked past a dead possum in the road. I know what’s happening: it’s been three days now and the zombies are decaying. Fast.

  “Wow,” I choke, coughing into the crook of my arm, “smells even worse than the bathrooms did.”

  Deke and I stand next to Veronica. I scan the knot of kids, searching for Liam, who’d bolted up the stairs far ahead of me. He’s already on the opposite side of the roof, talking to Fabio. I fight the urge to walk over and stand close to him, like some clingy, annoying stalker girl. At some point, I need to talk to him—find out what the heck he meant at the fountain—about the voices. About his mom and girls “like me.” But the memory of the fountain is still too fresh. And part of me worries it’ll just lead to some confirmation of my freakishness. Maybe I’m lucky he hasn’t brought it up again.

  I shift my focus to the action on the school grounds. If the smell of rotting corpses didn’t take my breath away, then the scene below would. Hundreds of zombies swarm our parking lot. Beneath us. All around us. Cutting us off completely.

  Beside me, Deke looks unnerved. “It’s like…like a massive army of the undead.”

  Behind her glasses, Veronica’s eyes are wide and startled. “I can’t figure out where they all came from.”

  “Have they been hiding in the woods?” Deke’s words are careful and precise. “Maybe they were drawn to this spot, when they ran out of, um, food?”

  “What does that mean?” My chest rises and falls rapidly. “That we’re the only food left in town?”

  Deke nods. I’ve never seen him this scared. The longer we stand here, the darker and colder it seems to become. Beside me, Deke moves closer and I bury my face in his shoulder, not wanting to watch the fright-fest. Part of me is glad Liam is distracted. Right now, I need the comfort of Deke.

  “Do you see Bo?” I’m almost afraid to ask.

  “No.”

  I raise my eyes again. The zombies fidget, like they need to move around and bite someone, but have been ordered to remain still. The guy in the red baseball cap stands at the head of the zombie battalion. We know he’s the leader because he’s got Gretchen on a leash. Gretchen is growling. I shudder convulsively, imagining myself in her place.

  It so easily could have been me in her place.

  “Hey,” Deke says, nodding toward the boy in the red hat, “is that the weird homeschooled kid from the Brain Bowl Competition?”

  I struggle to push back my fear and crane my neck for a better look. This is the closest I’ve been to Red Hat Guy, and Deke’s right—he does seem familiar. “Was he the one who beat you in the math portion? What was his name?”

  “Saul.”

  “Silence!” Saul yells. Immediately, every goon in the lot shuts up. The quiet spooks me more than the zombie noises.

  I don’t want to watch the guy in the red hat. I don’t want to watch legions of undead standing behind their leader, just a few yards from us. And despite the fact Gretchen was one of the biggest idiots I’d ever known, I don’t want to watch her get yanked around on a leash.

  Somehow, Deke senses I’m on the verge of losing my grip. He twines his hand in mine, and together we peer into the cold and the darkness.

  The zombie in the red hat gears up to speak.

  “Hello, Veronica,” he calls in a friendly voice. “My name is Saul. And this is my army.” He gestures at the restless meatheads. “We live nearby. And like you, we are hungry.” Despite Saul’s cheerful tone, his words are chilling. “You escaped today. Clever. My army is not as clever as yours, but we are patient. We will watch. We will wait for your next attempt to escape.”

  “Does he always sound like that?” I ask Deke.

  “Like an evil overlord? Yep. You should’ve heard him talking smack before the Brain Bowl: ‘I will defeat you and your pathetic team with my vast knowledge of hyperbolic trigonometry.’”

  Below us, Saul continues his speech. “I was kind enough to turn on your water supply—since the rain ruined my plan.” He runs his fingers over his mouth in a weird way. For a split second, I think he’s twirling his moustache like an old-fashioned villain.

  “Do you see any more mathletes?” I try to joke. “Any more Darth Wanabees?”

  “No, mostly jocks—but I can’t really tell. There’s just so many more zombies now.”

  I don’t like the note of fear that’s crept into Deke’s words.

  “You are rapidly running out of food,” Saul says in his loud, prissy voice. “At some point, you must come outside to get something to eat. At some point, we must come inside to get something to eat. Let’s see which happens first.”

  He does that weird mouth-stroking motion again, and I stare hard, trying to figure out what he’s up to.

  “Look,” Deke whispers, “Saul did something bizarre to his braces.”

  Ugh. I can see it now. Saul must’ve ripped the wires from a few o
f his front teeth and angled them outward, causing sharp filaments to stick out beyond his lips. I can’t think of a reason for doing this—unless the pointed metal causes, like, serious pain when Saul bites into a victim’s flesh. I shiver involuntarily.

  Deke puts an arm around me and gives my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “You know, personally,” he says, in a voice reminiscent of awards show commentators, “I think the creepy braces totally complete Saul’s villain ensemble. It must be what all the zombie fashionistas are wearing this year.”

  I can’t help but laugh.

  Suddenly, I’m uber-thankful to have a friend who keeps me sane. “Deke,” I say, tilting my head against his shoulder, “I would be absolutely lost without you.”

  A shriek rips through the air. Startled, Deke and I turn.

  “Look, everybody! Over there!” Lara bounces up and down, pointing at the zombies.

  “Oh, good God,” I say, hoping, as usual, that my bravado will mask my terror. “Who is it now? Her bikini waxer?”Please don’t let it be Bo. Please don’t let it be Bo.

  But the expression on Lara’s face is pure bliss. “It’s Zack.” she breathes. For the first time in days, she’s completely lost that empty, glassy stare.

  I scan the zombie crowd. There he is. Six foot two. Jet-black hair. Perfect body. And missing half his face. Which doesn’t seem to bother Lara.

  “There’s my baby! There’s my handsome boy. Zack! I’m up here.”

  “I’m not sure it’s a good idea to call one of those things closer,” Veronica warns, but Lara ignores her.

  “Over here!” she calls again.

  “Rawr,” Zack answers. It almost looks like he’s trying to smile. Where his flesh is torn, he reveals a row of skeletal teeth.

  “Did you miss me, Baby?” Lara squeals.

  Zack cocks his head to the side, gazing vacantly at Lara. He moves to the front of the zombie brigade and extends his arms in a standard zombie gesture.

  “Awww, look! He did miss me.” Lara’s face crumples, like she’s about to cry. She mirrors his pose, raising both arms in Zack’s direction. For a long moment, they stare at each other, like some bizarre balcony scene from Romeo and Juliet.

  Tara is the first to sense what’s about to happen.

  “No,” she screams, diving in Lara’s direction. She grabs for her friend, and catches nothing but air.

  Lara is already in motion, streaking across the roof. She’s always been the most acrobatic of the cheerleaders. With a good running start, she uses the half-wall as a vault, and launches herself off the top of the building—directly into the zombie horde below.

  The goons catch Lara, and for a few seconds, they hold her above their heads, like some random crowd surfer at a concert. And then she sinks, her long body disappearing in the mass of rotting faces and grabbing hands.

  Saul raises his head to flash us a metallic grin. “Mm… Thanks for the snack.”

  Lara screeches.

  “No!” Tara shouts, leaning over the edge of the roof. Quentin wraps his arms around her to keep her from falling.

  Below us, Lara’s scream ends abruptly.

  Deke tries to pull me away. “Don’t watch,” he whispers.

  I wrestle out of his grasp. How could Lara do this? How could she have gone so totally insane? Why didn’t any of us try to help her? Why didn’t I try to help her?

  Below us, the undead tumble together in a savage, writhing pile. I stand useless, helpless, frozen with shock. As usual.

  God, maybe if the dumb voices would warn me about someone else for a change! If only I could hear them more clearly, if only I could get warnings about other peoples’ safety. If only I could do something to protect the others, then maybe I wouldn’t always feel so paralyzed with fear.

  Tears coarse freely down my face again. Poor, messed-up Lara. Stupid, stupid Donna.

  “Rawr!” Zack yells louder than any of the others. He bares his teeth and dives into the frenzy.

  The zombie crowd parts. Lara lies on her back in the grassy area next to the flagpole, her hair spilling behind her like golden pillow. A JV soccer player kneels beside her, his mouth attached to her neck.

  “Rawaawarr,” Zack protests, and rips the guy off Lara.

  Quentin’s orthodontist tries to sneak closer, but Zack bats him away.

  “Rawr,” he repeats. All the zombies take one step back.

  Lara lies on the ground, quivering, as Zack hovers over her almost protectively. Within seconds, her body is rising. Jerking. Twitching. She gains her footing and takes a few tentative steps toward our building. Zack stumbles forward, reaching her side. Together they march closer to the Arts Complex.

  In some remote corner of my brain, I remember last month’s big football game, where Zack and Lara were chosen for Homecoming Court. I can still picture it—the two of them strutting across the football field after the announcer called their names. Back then, Zack had his whole face. And Lara didn’t have a neck wound seeping blood on her cheer uniform.

  My heart breaks for the change this virus has wrought on them. For the change the virus has wrought on all of us.

  Saul keeps his distance, watching the couple, a catlike grin playing across his metallic lips.

  “Ahhhh,” he says, placing one hand over his heart. “True love. Is there anything more beautiful?”

  I resist the urge to retch up my peanuts.

  Veronica pushes her glasses up on her nose. “You know what, Fabio? That gun is sounding better and better. We’ll start on it right away.”

  Fabio nods grimly.

  Veronica takes a deep breath and shouts down to Saul. “Where is Bo?” Her voice shakes with the effort of trying to keep it steady.

  “Who is Bo?” Saul yells back. “I don’t know any Bo.” He turns to his zombie friends. “Do you guys know anyone named Bo? Sorry, haven’t seen him. Did you lose him? That seems careless.”

  “Cut the crap.” Veronica’s voice is steadier now. “What have you done with him?”

  The night is deathly quiet. The zombies fall silent. Even the wind is still—waiting for Saul to speak.

  Moonlight bounces off his metallic grin. “Bo belongs to me now.”

  Chapter Twenty

  The meathead mob spends the night in our parking lot. Around midnight, they start fighting amongst themselves, and Will. Not. Shut. Up. I wonder if I could text Saul and ask him to do that “Silence!” thing again.

  My brain shifts into overdrive. I’m stretched out on the floor of the auditorium, utterly exhausted, but unable to relax. How did they get Bo? Did he leave on his own? Did they take him from the building?

  I’ve got to stop thinking about him. Or about Lara’s last scream. Or about Gretchen and Stanley changing into monsters at the fountain. Or worst of all—about Phoebe’s body, lying motionless on the ground.

  This is hard to accomplish, since bruises are blooming across my throat and arms where she grabbed me with her scabby fingers.

  In one quick motion, I sit up, tossing my jacket to the side. I’m sick of spending sleepless nights lying on this dusty floor, staring at the auditorium ceiling. I’ve got to do something. Get my mind off this nightmare. Maybe I’ll hunt for clean clothes again. How long have I been wearing this stupid hoodie?

  I count backward. Two, no three days, since it all began.

  It seems like so much longer.

  Deke is on guard duty, stationed near a blocked-out window on the second floor. He sits in a desk chair, staring at a portable video screen. After we sealed off the windows, Veronica started using the school’s closed circuit TVs to monitor the front lawn. The image is black and white, good quality, well-lit, but silent—a live feed of security cameras mounted on the Arts Complex roof. The undead, in various states of decay, lumber back and forth across the screen. For the past two nights, it’s been Deke’s job to keep an eye on them. Make sure they stay put.

  “The most boring zombie movie in the world,” he says, watching me approach.

&
nbsp; As I move closer, his gaze locks on me. He does this sometimes—just stares at me, unflinching. It’s like the other day, on the cruise ship, when he watched the blond girl strut past our deck chairs. Only this is deeper, more intense. And directed at me. Heat spreads across my face.

  A million different thoughts rattle in my brain. That strange moment in the janitor’s closet, when it almost seemed like Deke was about to kiss me. And I almost wanted him to. That was crazy. What were we thinking?

  I like Liam. Not Deke.

  “I-I’m going to get clean clothes,” I tell Deke, still feeling slightly unnerved.

  “From where?” His voice is deep. Almost luxurious, like he’s in the middle of some pleasant daydream.

  “Downstairs. I thought of a place I forgot to check.”

  “Wait ’til I’m finished with guard duty. I’ll go with you.”

  The weird, unnerved feeling dissolves. This is Deke. Same old Deke. The one who said I needed a babysitter.

  “I’ll be fine. I’m just going downstairs.” I move past him, heading into the stairwell.

  “I’d feel better if you wait,” he calls after me.

  I don’t respond. I figure Deke’ll sit there a minute, let out an exasperated sigh, and then peek around the corner to make sure I’m staying nearby. I hope he won’t tail me, once he realizes I’m headed to the lockers on the first floor. Sometimes, I hate having a babysitter. Deke probably hates it, too.

  Part of me wonders if I’m being stupid, wandering around on my own—especially after what happened to Bo.

  Am I like those dumb chicks in horror movies? The girls who go outside in skimpy pajamas after they hear scary noises in the backyard?

  Instinctively, I soften my footsteps, listening for strange sounds. Looking for anything out of the ordinary. The halls of the school are quiet. Brightly lit. Almost sterile. White walls, beige tile, gray lockers. Nothing scary here. I decide to keep going. The voices are silent—that’s good enough for me.