Donna of the Dead

by Alison Kemper

  “Thanksgiving,” I say aloud.

  Deke eyebrows shoot up quizzically.

  “We missed Thanksgiving.”

  He gives a quick, humorless laugh. “I guess it was Thursday. The fountain.”

  “Oh. Wow. Happy Thanksgiving to us, right?”

  Deke pauses, and I can almost watch his optimism kicking into gear. “We’ll make up for it next year. We’ll all be somewhere safe. Next Thanksgiving will be better.”

  “It certainly couldn’t be any worse.”

  For several minutes, we sit in silence, both alone with our thoughts.

  Deke aimlessly pushes at a jigsaw piece. He’s good at puzzles. I suck at them. I watch him fit a few parts together. He knows better than to ask for my help.

  My mind flips back to the strange moment when Deke held me on the staircase. And that other weird moment on the phone. It had been overwhelming, confusing. Almost like I’d been knocked over the head with Deke’s bat. I wonder if somehow my immunity changed my relationship with Deke.

  I mean, my friendship with Deke.

  Here I am, one of the only humans with immunity to this stupid plague. There’s the crazy possibility my blood has to be protected—which I’m obviously incapable of doing myself. Enter Deke—expert on every movie, every bit of folklore, every urban legend about the undead. Before the outbreak, this useless knowledge was only good for killing video game monsters. But when the terror shifted from the TV world to the real one, the shift, at least in Deke’s brain, had been easy.

  In fact, he’d seemed almost eager for it. He’d stood in the ship’s atrium, clutching his bat, planting his feet, ready to meet the oncoming monsters. No fear—only concentration and strategy. It’s like fate, or nature, or the universe has provided me with the perfect bodyguard.

  And the other weird part: he’s always with me. Nearby, as though he were somehow anchored to me. Despite the teasing and torment I’ve put him through for countless years, he’s managed to be my friend—even though it’s sometimes a one-sided friendship. When the day came for me to be protected, he was already in place, ready to defend me. It makes me wonder, if my immunity is genetic, and his abilities are natural, is there something inside us, some innate tendency keeping us together?

  The thought makes me tremble. His eyes rest on me, and instantly, it’s like I’ve been electrocuted.

  What if Deke and I are supposed to be together?

  For the first time in my life, I give in and let myself wonder what it’d be like to be with Deke. Would it be deeply familiar, the way things have always been between us? With that same edge of aggravation and electricity simmering below the surface? My gut tells me it would be a combination of all these things. And that it might be amazing.

  Without thinking about it, I inch closer to him. He notices and gives me a funny look, like I’m acting weird, and I guess I am. But when he refocuses his attention on the puzzle, his mouth turns up in a small smile.

  “So, what happens next?” I ask, ready for my brain to move on to a less-confusing topic.

  “I’m hoping Gran and your dad move fast. I’m not sure how long the server battery will keep the school doors electrified. I’d guess twelve hours—easy—except every time one of the goons gets zapped on the door, it weakens the battery. If they all line up and take turns, Veronica and the rest of the gang won’t have enough power to last the night.”

  “The doors aren’t electrified here. Why aren’t Saul and his thugs trying to break into the library?”

  “I wondered the same thing,” Deke admits. “I think they’re afraid of Marcella. And her wicked crossbow skills.”

  I nod. “And Marcella’s crate o’ pepper spray. We should call her Mace-ella.”

  Deke ignores my stupid joke, continuing as though I haven’t spoken. “Pepper spray’ll be useful tomorrow when we’re trying to get the others out of the Arts building. You and I should each take a few cans. I just hope everybody in the school makes it through the night. I keep thinking maybe we could grab some mace and try to pick them up now. Gran and your dad will be at the port soon. There’s no need to hang around here. We could get in the bookmobile, swing by the school—”

  I am hit by a tidal wave of sound. Voices yell at me from every side. Male, female,—it’s like an angry mob has moved into my skull.

  My eyes widen. “Um, that might be the worst idea EV-er.”

  Obviously, my voices agree. They grow louder and louder.

  This completely ticks me off. The stupid voices hadn’t said boo! when my almost-boyfriend chowed down on my shoulder, but now they’re warning me? When I wasn’t even considering leaving the library. I try to decipher what the voices are saying, but it’s like they’re all bellowing at the same time. Deke is still talking.

  “I’m sorry, what?” I can hardly hear him.

  His brow is wrinkled, like he’s frustrated by his inability to take immediate action. “I said it would be dumb to risk a rescue right now—while it’s dark. Saul will still have his Super-Saul powers. We should wait until dawn.”

  I relax again, glad Deke is talking sense. The voices cease, like someone suddenly hit the mute button.

  I try to picture the kids at the Arts Complex. Waiting alone in the darkness, praying they’d get through this last night. What would they be doing right now? Veronica would keep them busy—guarding the door, working on weapons.

  “Too bad the power’s turned off. Fabio’s microwave gun’ll be useless.”

  “Don’t count it out yet. Veronica reserved batteries from the school’s emergency lights—she could string a few of those together, the current converter is already built into the…well, never mind…” He trails off, knowing I don’t understand.

  “If I make it out of this alive,” I say, “I’m totally locking myself in a room with a science textbook. I’m tired of not knowing what you’re talking about.”

  Deke doesn’t respond. There’s a long pause while he stares absentmindedly at his knees. I suddenly get the feeling he wants to tell me something. My heart hammers. What if he wants to finish what he said on the stairs? I hold my breath.

  His voice sounds distracted. “I guess we shouldn’t worry too much about getting to Veronica and the others tonight. We may have an ally who’ll buy us some time.”

  Hmmm. This isn’t what I expected. Deke looks like he’s accidentally swallowed a nasty-tasting bug.

  “An ally? Who?”

  He practically spits out the word. “Liam.”

  I’m paralyzed by the name. I pause, waiting for Deke to elaborate. I have a hunch this has something to do with events that transpired while I was floating in zombie-virus oblivion. Deke’s eyes focus on the puzzle piece in his hands, turning it over and over.

  “Deke. Talk to me. Tell me what happened with Liam.”

  “Fine,” he says in a tight voice. “But I hope you won’t read too much into this, Donna.” He absentmindedly kicks his shoe against the leg of the table. His words come out in a rush. “Liam showed me the way here. When we were on the breezeway. When you were zombie playacting. He’s the one who pointed at the sign.”

  It’s coming back to me now. Liam’s bizarre behavior on the breezeway. Blocking the janitors. The frantic gesturing at the sign. Pointing at the soccer field. He’d been trying to tell us how to escape?

  “So, it was Liam’s idea to come to the library?”

  “Yeah. At first, I thought it was another trap. But I was out of options. I didn’t know where to run. Liam helped us. I have no idea why, since he was the one who bit you in the first place, but I’m hoping he might stall Saul tonight. That’ll give everyone a chance to escape tomorrow.”

  “How’d he know the library was safe?”

  “Marcella says Liam visited a few times. Talked to her through the door. Told her up front he’s a half-dead,” Deke kicks at the table again. Harder.

  “If he was so concerned about my safety, why did he bite me and try to turn me into a zombie?” My brain locks u
p. “It makes no sense.”

  “It didn’t to me, either. But then Marcella told me Liam was trying to figure out a way to help everyone at the school. That he didn’t want to hurt any of his friends. I’m not sure I buy it, but Marcella thinks he was being sincere. He told her he was struggling against the illness. Constantly fighting the urge to infect us. Plus, he had to go against Saul’s orders, I guess. Remember, when we were on the breezeway, Saul said Liam takes orders from him? Apparently, he hears his voice in his subconscious.”

  I shake my head. So much of what happened on the breezeway is still clouded in my memory. “You’re saying Liam hears voices?”

  Deke doesn’t answer my question. He’s already shifted gears, getting ready to launch into one of his science-babble speeches. He stops kicking the table, and leans forward, an excited smile lighting his face. “Donna, have you ever heard of a Bokur or an Astral zombie?

  I shake my head. “Does this have something to do with the voices?”

  “Mmmmm…sorta. Let’s go back to the reference department and get the voodoo encyclopedia.” He stands.

  I hold up my hands. “Please, Deke, no more books. Just give me the condensed version.”

  With Deke, there’s no such thing as a condensed version. I have to hear about voodoo priests, called Bokurs, who give poison to their victims, put their souls in jars, and then control their empty bodies. How the leftover human shells become Astral zombies, under the control of their masters. Deke rambles on for ten minutes about these Astral zombie thingies. Just as I think he’s finally winding down, he says, “Then there’s another kind of walking dead called the philosophical zombie, or P-zombie, who—”

  By this point, I’ve had enough. “Blah, blah, blah,” I say over him.

  “Donna,” he chides, scowling at me.

  “Okay, okay. Sorry. I’m trying to keep up. So let’s see if I’ve got this straight? Saul knew I was immune, told Liam, made him trick me,” I choke a little on the word ‘trick’, “but Liam tried to fight against Saul’s Bokur-type power, and helped you rescue me?”

  “Yep, that’s about it.”

  “God help me, I’m stuck in one of your stupid sci-fi movies.”

  “So the part I can’t understand,” Deke says, “is how Saul guessed you were immune in the first place.” Deke absent-mindedly clicks a few more puzzle pieces together. “I hate stuff I can’t figure out. How’d they know?”

  It’s coming back to me now. Liam’s comments about my eyes. Making sure they weren’t contacts. The way Liam questioned me about my voices at the fountain. Something about his mom in DC, working with girls “like me.” Girls with silver eyes.

  “I have a guess.”

  “Let’s hear your guess.”

  “Do you know of anything weird about me?”

  “I know of a million weird things about you, so you’ll have to be more specific.” He is barely paying attention.

  “My eyes, Deke. My silver eyes. Who else has freaky silver-mirror eyes?”

  Deke doesn’t speak for a long time.

  “I’m so used to them,” he murmurs, finally glancing up at me. “I didn’t even consider that. It’s a possibility…”

  “It would have to be a visible trait, right? I mean, unless it’s invisible, like maybe I smell different to them or something.”

  “Maybe.” He tilts his head to one side, studying me. “It’s all a big maybe. The gene for immunity could somehow be tied to the gene for eye color. And those voices you hear? Same deal. Might be a genetic protection mechanism. Like a built-in warning system to keep you alive. Preserve the species.”

  “Or maybe I hear voices because I’m insane.”

  There it is. My biggest fear. Laid on the table.

  “Insane?” Deke appears baffled. “These voices, do they ever tell you to do something bad? To hurt yourself?”

  “No. Just the opposite. I only hear them when I’m in physical danger. They try to help.”

  “That seems logical. Your psychic ability acts as an added layer of protection—when you sense any kind of threat to your well-being, your subconscious manifests the voices. They provide your brain with a more direct, concrete way to work out escape scenarios, or gauge risk levels, or…or simply avoid death.” Deke pauses, then snaps his piece into the puzzle.

  Deke’s explanation is so simple. So plausible. So frickin’ logical. I can almost buy into it.

  “I have weird eyes because I’m immune,” I say, still not quite believing the words. “And I hear voices because I’m immune.” I need to say this a few times to believe it.

  Deke shrugs. “I think so. Just a theory.”

  “So, I’m not a freak?” I ask tentatively. “And I’m not insane?”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Deke smiles. “You are still kind of a freak. But no, of course you’re not insane. The voices are a gift. Like I told you before. The only other option is that you’re channeling something. Detecting electromagnetic signals—”

  But I’m not listening anymore. Inside of me, hope blossoms, like an enormous flower. If Deke is right, then maybe Liam hadn’t betrayed me after all. Hadn’t betrayed any of us. What if his mom discussed her research with him? Told him about girls with silver eyes who heard voices and were immune to this plague? Maybe Liam was only experimenting when he bit me—trying to find out if I was immune?

  And my voices! That’s why they didn’t warn me when Liam bit me. They knew he didn’t intend to kill me. That I wasn’t in any real danger from him.

  This means Deke is right! We might have an ally! A friend on the inside. Sure, he’s a total jerkweasel for trying to infect me, but still, he might help us all escape. And right now, that’s the only thing that matters.

  Relief washes over me. Maybe we’ve finally caught a break.

  “What are you smiling about?” Deke asks.

  I hadn’t even noticed I’m grinning. I try to stop, but can’t.

  “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding,” Deke whispers. He opens and closes his mouth a few times like he can’t figure out what to say. “You can’t honestly be…be…glad that…”

  “Liam isn’t totally under Saul’s power. He didn’t betray us.”

  “He did. He’s infected. He’s on their side. He’s probably the one who kidnapped Bo!”

  “Deke, he helped you escape. Helped you rescue me.”

  “Oh, come on,” his voice grows louder. “What about the fountain? He led us there. He was obviously in on it when we were ambushed.”

  I press my lips together, remembering how frequently Liam checked his watch that afternoon. The attack must have been arranged to happen at a certain time. I feel myself doubting him again.

  Deke seems to sense my hesitation, and continues his rant, “For all we know, he planned the entire thing. Hand-picked your best friend to bite you.”

  “No, I can’t believe that.” I shake my head. “That had to be Saul’s idea. Liam only followed Saul’s orders.”

  “Donna, listen to yourself,” Deke kicks the table. Hard. “How can you defend Liam? He bit you and gave you a killer virus!”

  “But that doesn’t mean he’s completely evil,” I blurt out.

  Immediately, I realize this statement hasn’t come out quite right. Deke might jump to the conclusion I’m still hot for Liam. Which is so not the case.

  I lean in, rushing to correct myself. “Wait, Deke. Listen—”

  But he’s already leaping to his feet, his face pale. “No, you listen. You need to get over it, Donna. Stop acting like some infatuated, overemotional, obsess—”

  Infatuated? Overemotional?

  It’s my turn to stand. “Oh, I need to get over it? You’re the one who needs to get over it. You and I both know the real problem. You harbor all these,” I tap my chest a couple of times, “feelings for me. And for years now, you’ve been completely unable to accept the fact I don’t feel the same way.”

  “Like hell you don’t feel the same way,” he blusters, shifting into my per
sonal space. You almost kissed me in the janitor’s closet.”

  My face grows hot. “You almost kissed me in the janitor’s closet.”

  “You wanted me to.”

  “No, I didn’t!” As the words leave my mouth, I realize I might be lying.

  “So you’re saying, what we have—it’s just friendship?” He stands over me, completely in my face now.

  “Yes.”

  “That’s all?”

  “Yes.” I try to stand taller, but that just inches me closer to him.

  “No special bond?”

  “No special bond.”

  “You’re completely full of it, Donna,” and with these words, he pulls me into his arms, crushing me against his solid chest, and kisses me.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  The kiss ends quickly. Too quickly. I guess Deke’s exasperation runs deeper than anything else he might be feeling. He only wants to prove a point.

  He jerks backward, letting go of me. I half-fall against the couch. My wounded shoulder takes the brunt of the impact.

  I sit there in shock, too surprised to do anything.

  He’s done with me. I can tell.

  Deke spins on his heel, stomping out of the room without another word. After a few seconds, the noise of a fist hitting a metal door echoes from the hall.

  …

  Even though I’d half-guessed at Deke’s feelings for me, I am still breathless with the reality of it. I avoid him for the next few hours, but that doesn’t mean I stop thinking about him.

  My first kiss. I had always pictured—well, fantasized—that my first kiss would be with Liam. And look how that turned out.

  Instead of kissing me, he’d chomped a hunk out of my shoulder.

  I chase away my mental heebie-jeebies, letting my thoughts return to Deke. Our kiss had been short. And it had been more of an angry kiss than a romantic kiss. Nevertheless, it was a kiss. My first kiss had been with Deke.