Donna of the Dead

by Alison Kemper

  Phoebe always complained about her locker being in the Arts Complex. It was totally inconvenient, schlepping over here every time she needed to switch out heavier textbooks. But tonight, I’m glad her locker’s nearby. I spin the dial of the combo-lock until it pops open.

  As usual, Phoebe’s locker’s a mess: stacks of old Shojo Beat magazines, half-used eyeliners, dog-eared manga. Her mom thought she wasn’t old enough to read anything with a “Teen Plus” rating, so Phoebe used to sneak these books—poring over them on the bus, in the cafeteria, even under her desk during class. I sift through the manga mess, and there, crumpled in the corner, is what I’m hunting for: Phoebe’s Vampire Knight T-shirt. Vampire Knight was her favorite character; she wore this tee at least once a week. But she had to keep it at school, ’cause of the mom thing. I grab the shirt, and shake out the wrinkles. The soft floral scent of Phoebe’s perfume drifts toward me.

  And that’s when I lose it. I thought I was done crying over Phoebe, but seeing her stuff, smelling her perfume, drives home the fact she’s gone. Replaced by that thing at the fountain. A monster, its eyes vacant as white marble. It’s bad enough, watching the army of cadavers outside our walls every night, but to see my friends change—Phoebe, Stanley, Gretchen, and now Lara—to see them all so dramatically altered…so corrupted.

  I try to push away the mental images of Bo as a zombie. I don’t want to imagine his sweet, little-boy face changing into something gaunt and haggard.

  The sobs sneak up and overwhelm me. I bolt for the nearest restroom—a yellow-tiled, single-stalled room—and lock the door behind me. I fling Phoebe’s Vampire Knight shirt at the sink, stuff it into the basin and turn on the hot water—full blast—crying all the while. A squirt of industrial-strength hand soap gets a good lather going. I scrub, rinse, and repeat until the clothes smell only of artificial lemon. I fire up the noisy automatic hand drier, stretch out the wet fabric, and wave it under the hot air, sections at a time.

  It’s slow work, and I have to keep restarting the machine. Gradually, my tears subside. The little bathroom becomes warm and stuffy. Fatigue washes over me. No wonder, since I haven’t slept more than a few hours during the last three days. I fold the dry, lemon-scented shirt in a neat pile, put my head on top of it, and fall asleep on the bathroom floor.

  I dream, of course, of Phoebe. She acts like a zombie, but she’s still Phoebe. I tell her I’m sorry she got zombified. And sorry Deke had to be the one to bash her head in. And sorry the infection’s making her so darned ugly.

  “Have you seen yourself lately?” I ask. “You are seriously messed up, girl.”

  She snickers and says I shouldn’t be afraid to join her. Then, something changes in her expression, almost like a candle extinguishing behind her eyes. Her lips pull back in a snarl, and blood coats her teeth. I try to run.

  I wake with a start. Something’s wrong. The light in the bathroom is off. Thick, heavy darkness presses in on me. The whole building is in an uproar. Kicks and thuds ring out from some other part of the Arts Complex. People shout and feet pound through the halls. My voices chant the same word over and over: desks desks desks.

  Crap. Must be time for the next zombie attack.

  I flounder in my pockets for my trusty cell phone and flip it open. Nothing rushes me, so I figure that’s a good sign. I flash the blue light toward the corner and the other side of the toilet. No one. Then I shine the light on the door. Still locked. Whew.

  Okay, I decide, whatever’s happening, I am facing it in a clean shirt. I shimmy out of my tee and into Phoebe’s. She is, well was, a bit skinnier than me, but I don’t have any trouble sliding into her “size small” today. Too little food and too much running will do that to a person, I guess.

  I almost bust straight out the bathroom door before I remember the unexplained power outage, and the commotion in the hall, and the fact we’re in a building surrounded by the walking dead. Slowly, carefully, I unlock the door, and crack it open. The hallway is dark. I am not crazy about the idea of sticking my cell out the door to check for zombies. I have visions of my entire hand being bitten off with the phone still clutched in my fingers.

  Aiming my light through the crack in the doorway, I shine its beam toward the right side of the hall. It casts a spooky blue glow down the long corridor. Empty. I sweep the phone back toward the left. A face zooms toward me, lightning fast.

  I yelp and drop the phone.

  “Donna! Relax, it’s just me.”

  “Deke! I’m gonna kill you! You scared me to death!” With his dark hair, tan skin, and black tee, it’s hard to distinguish him from the inky background of the hallway.

  Deke cackles with laughter. “Small price to pay after making me wait two hours for you to come out of the bathroom.”

  “You’re so stupid! What if I’d thought you were one of them and tried to kill you?”

  He rolls his eyes at me, “Yeah, right. I can see that happening. What were you gonna do? Throw your phone at me?”

  “I hadn’t gotten that far in my game plan.”

  “That’s the problem, Donna. You never have a game plan. And that’s why I’m forced to sit outside the women’s restroom to make sure you’re safe.”

  “You didn’t have to wait for me. I’m fine. I’m safe. Leave me alone.” I pluck my phone off the floor and tuck it in my pocket. “Well, wait, Deke. First, tell me what’s going on, and then leave me alone.”

  “Zombies cut the power.”

  “Zombies cut the power? Do they know how to do that?” I ask.

  “Well, Saul does, I guess.”

  If they cut the power, and shut down the electrified door, then they can get inside, right? A bubble of panic rises in my chest. Keep it together, Donna.

  I am practically shrieking now. “Can they break in the building?”

  “Not right away. Veronica’s trying to switch to backup power. School buildings have emergency battery banks that kick in when the electricity fails. We’re still running the surveillance cameras, and trying to get power to the door. I figure Saul shut off the electricity for a reason. I’m not sure they’ve got the brains to organize an attack, but cutting the power beforehand would be a smart move. They’re kicking hard at the main doors, but they seem secure.”

  Breathe. Donna, breathe. They’re not in the building. Yet.

  Deke raises his eyebrows. “So, I guess it’s time for me to ask, what’s the scoop, Psychic Girl? Are we in any serious danger?”

  “Desks,” I answer.

  “Desks?” he responds, quizzically.

  “Yeah, desks. That’s all I know to tell you.”

  Deke gives me the same “you’re a complete freak” look he uses when he makes fun of my eyes.

  “Now, how exactly does this predict-the-future thing work?”

  I take a deep breath. “I dunno. I hear voices going ‘desks, desks, desks.’”

  “You hear voices? Actual voices?” He shakes his head. “Donna, that is all kinds of strange.”

  “Oh yeah, and you’re the poster child for normal, right?”

  “Me? I’m not the one—”

  BAM! The noise echoes from the end of the hall. The goons are trying to break down the doors. But there’s no BZZZZZT. Instead, a loud CRACK reverberates through the halls. The crack of reinforced glass, as it splinters.

  Desks! Desks! Desks!

  Deke seizes my arm and we sprint to the stairs, our sneakers squeaking on the linoleum. My heart thumps wildly as we enter the unlit stairwell. There is only one staircase for the whole building. If the monsters breach the doors, they’ll soon be on this dark stairway with us. Deke pushes me ahead of him and I burst up the steps in a blur. When we reach the top, Deke slams the wooden doors behind us, wedging his bat through the door handles.

  “Oh, thank God you guys are okay!” Tara sounds genuinely relieved. She rushes forward to give me and Deke a group hug.

  There are only seven of us left. A few kids form a line in the hall, facing the stairway
, weapons in hand. The lights are off, but an emergency beam cuts a single swath through the blackness. A few feet away, the door to a small closet is open, and inside, Veronica is frantically unhooking wires from a massive metal box. Quentin stands over her, holding a flashlight in his mouth while he expertly strips battery wires.

  My voices are not thrilled that I’m ignoring their warning about Desks! Desks! Desks! They’re used to me doing what they say, when they say it. I have a hunch about what this latest warning means.

  But I don’t like it.

  “Guys!” Deke yells, disentangling himself from Tara and rushing toward the closet. “Give me a status report!”

  “Not breached, buddy, but they’re almost in. Fabio’s watching the monitors—they cracked the glass, but the chains are holding. I’m disconnecting the school’s server battery from the hardware—I can use it to re-electrify the door. But I need more time.”

  “Tell me what to do.” Deke’s voice is determined.

  “Take a few people downstairs,” Veronica orders. “Find something to barricade the main doors. If the infected manage to get in the building, we’ll be trapped on this floor.”

  Deke stares at me. “We can use the teacher’s desks. You know, those big metal ones, to shore up the main doors. If we get four or five of those things, it’ll be enough to barricade us in and buy you some time.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Liam volunteers.

  “Quentin and I need help lugging this battery to the main floor,” Veronica continues, without glancing up from her task. “The thing’s gotta weigh seventy pounds.”

  “I’m on it, man,” Fabio says from his post at the TV monitor.

  Now that the voices’ orders are being followed, they stop saying, “Desks, desks, desks.”

  This is the part where I should volunteer for something. But I can see the video feed from where I’m standing and the way the main doors buckle each time the zombies slam into it. I keep my mouth shut, remembering yesterday’s fountain fiasco, how I froze, and how close I’d come to being zombie food.

  “Okay, let’s put this plan in motion,” Veronica says, “before we run out of time.” She turns toward me and Tara. “You two. If you aren’t going to help, then hide,” she commands. “Just in case.”

  Hide? Is she serious?

  Apparently so. In under five seconds, Tara is gone.

  Deke smiles approvingly. “Are you coming with us or helping Veronica?”

  My mouth goes dry. Deke’s face shifts from hopeful to appalled.

  “Let me guess. Self-preservation, right?”

  I nod.

  “I shoulda known.” Deke gives a disgusted little grunt, pops his bat out of the door handles, and rushes downstairs, directly toward the danger.

  I stare at the closed door, feeling sick to my stomach. I shouldn’t abandon my friend like this. I should stop being a wuss and run after him. But I can only think of the fountain. I was brave then—really truly brave, and what good did it do? Stanley and Gretchen got infected because I wasn’t fast enough. My so-called gift didn’t save them. Deke and Liam almost turned into zombies.

  Hell, I almost turned into a zombie.

  I picture their faces—Phoebe’s, Lara’s, Stanley’s, and Gretchen’s…their complete transformations. What if Dad comes to rescue me and finds me infected? What if I’m growling and snapping like they were, trying to tear out my own father’s throat?

  Terror claws at my chest. I’m done being brave. Acting solely out of fear, I dart to the janitor’s closet and hide behind the mops. As I crouch alone in the darkness, I try to decide which is worse—the sense of terror, or the sense of shame.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  I spend God knows how many hours hunched on the closet floor, shaking in the darkness, waiting for the door to fly open as rabid zombies rush in to eat me. But when the door does finally crack a few inches, there’s no rotting, putrefied corpses.

  Instead, Liam gazes down at me, relief crossing his face. He’s either been sweating or standing out in the rain; his hair is damp and curls near his temples.

  “There you are,” he says in an even tone. By the glow of the emergency light, I can tell he’s alone and unharmed.

  “You’re okay,” I breathe, my fears fading. “Did anyone get hurt? Is Deke—”

  “I’m fine. Everyone’s fine. But I’ve been hunting all over for you.” He pulls the door closed. “I was getting paranoid you’d been stolen like Bo. Deke’s gone to the roof. He thought you might be up there. Didn’t you hear me calling you?”

  “No, I’ve been hiding in this closet the whole time—like a big chicken.” I nod at the door. “It seems quiet out there now. What happened?”

  “After they smashed the glass, Saul’s gang started pushing through the doors, trying to break the chains, but we already had those big desks in place. We pushed back. It was enough to keep them at bay until Fabio lugged the server battery downstairs and re-wired the door. We’re electrified again, and the glass is boarded up, so they’re not trying anything.

  He smiles. A big, dimply smile. “And the sun rose half an hour ago, so that quieted things down. Saul must’ve ordered some of the zombies to stay and guard us, but it’s obvious they’re staying out of direct sunlight. They’re all bunched under that tree and he’s disappeared again.”

  Relief. Maybe we’ve bought ourselves another day of safety. With any luck, Dad and Muriel will be here tomorrow with a ship.

  Dang, I wish they’d call. We didn’t hear from them at all yesterday. I try not to think of the million awful reasons that would keep them from calling or texting. What if Gretchen was right, and they couldn’t find a ship? What if we get to the port and the docks are empty?

  “So, Deke is searching for me, too?” I ask, trying to get my mind off my dad.

  “Yeah.” Liam smiles and clicks the lock on the door. My stomach gives a funny, excited jump. “But I found you first.”

  “I’m glad,” I admit, trying to fight the silly grin spreading across my face.

  “Me, too.”

  He sits on the floor, scooting close until our knees touch—like they did that night on the roof. All the fear and horror of the last few hours melts away. I should go find Deke. Tell him I’m okay. But right now, I can only think about Liam. And the fact he’s sitting very, very close to me.

  And that he locked the closet door.

  That means something, right? That he locked the door? My brain is not quite ready to face what that might mean.

  In a weird way, the emergency lighting is romantic—the soft glow illuminates his smooth, pale features. Good lord, he’s so hot. Why is he here with me? He belongs with a supermodel or a beauty pageant contestant, not sitting here on a dirty floor, next to a row of mops, staring at me.

  Maybe that’s the problem, I conclude. Maybe all the supermodels or beauty pageant contestants are infected? What if Liam figures, out of the remaining mortals, I’m the only female who’d be tolerable to date? What about Tara? Why isn’t he with her? At least she revolves in the same social stratosphere he does.

  I blurt it out, unthinkingly, before I’ve even considered the question. “Wouldn’t a cheerleader be more your type?”

  He winces slightly, like I’ve offended him.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell him, sounding sheepish. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

  He smiles teasingly. “You want me to date someone who wouldn’t be able to understand half my vocabulary?”

  Date. He said the word date. He lifts a curl away from my face. Electricity sparks through my veins. Would Liam really consider dating me?

  “With you,” he continues, “there’s no arrogance, no self-centeredness. What I find most unfathomable is that you have no clue how beautiful you are.”

  I snort a little with embarrassed laughter.

  Liam’s face slides into a frustrated pout. He leans closer.

  “I want to explain to you. To make you understand. I used to sit in journalism class
, two seats behind you. Do you remember?”

  I bob my head up and down. How could I forget?

  He continues, “I was jealous because Deke got to sit directly behind you. Your hair,” he pauses to wrap the curl around his finger. “Your hair is so long it would fall on the top of his desk. I don’t understand how Deke could be oblivious to it. If I’d been sitting there, I wouldn’t have been able to resist touching it. Surreptitiously, of course.” He gives me a mischievous grin. “That coppery color, I wondered if it felt as warm as it looks.” He brushes his hand softly across the top of my hair, as if he’s testing his theory. My heart stutters in my chest.

  His chiseled face is inches from mine, and that hunger in his eyes can only mean one thing—he wants to kiss me. He leans in hesitantly, as if I won’t want him to do it. His gaze bores into mine, almost questioningly. I tilt my chin, angling my face closer to his. This is all the encouragement he needs. He bridges the last remaining inches in a heartbeat and his breath flutters against my face.

  “Donna,” he says in a deep, choked voice.

  And with that one word, everything changes.

  His tone is no longer gentle. Instinctively, I pull away. I hold my breath, listening for voices. Silence.

  Still—something about Liam is off. His stare is too intense. And his satin green eyes don’t sparkle in the usual way. It’s like my dream of Phoebe, when her eyes suddenly went dim. For no apparent reason, my skin prickles. I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself.

  “Okay,” I say, attempting to sound casual, “I guess I should get up now. It might be a good idea for us to leave this closet. Before I get carried away and can’t stop myself. You know, since you are insanely handsome and all that.”

  He continues to sit, saying nothing.

  “C-c’mon,” I stammer, “we could go…uh…up to the roof. Get some air.”

  I push myself up to a crouched position, trying to put space between my body and his.