Donna of the Dead

by Alison Kemper

  And the kids still can’t get out.

  Marcella throws open the back doors of the bookmobile, launching an all-out crossbow assault. Deke hesitates atop the vehicle, staring at me as I make another slow loop around the parking lot, zombies in tow. I gesture frantically with both hands.

  “Go!” I have to shout above the confusion, above my voices. I wave him toward the school. “Help the others. Get them in the bookmobile.”

  He hesitates.

  “I swear, Deke. I’m fine. Go.”

  He raises his bat and leaps feet-first into the melee.

  RUN-RUN. RUN-RUN.

  My biggest fear, that Saul will use his super-speed to catch me, doesn’t come to pass. He’s standing in the middle of Broward Boulevard, trying to multitask, shouting first at one group of minions, then the others.

  “Go faster, you morons! Get her!” Then, a minute later, “Not you, idiot. Stay there. Hold the line. Don’t let them leave the building. Why are you collapsing on the steps? Get up!”

  Zombies are not ideal warriors. They lose focus the second Saul stops screeching at them. I wish the sun would rise. We might have a chance then. Surely to God, it must be almost morning.

  Bam! The school doors fly open. Oh crap, here we go—they’re making a break for the bookmobile.

  Veronica is first to bust through the doors. She scrambles over the pile of immobile corpses zapped by the microwave gun and makes her way down the stairs. In one hand, she clutches a cloth backpack and in the other, an object like an oversized battery with hairpins on top. Zombie-Zack waits for her at the bottom of the steps.

  “RUN!” I screech, my words in harmony with my voices for a second. But Veronica stays put, letting the zombie-quarterback inch closer and closer. At the last possible second, Veronica touches Zack’s skull with the wire prong. Blue-green sparks light up his cheese-colored skin.

  “RAWWWR!” Zack jumps away, frightened.

  What in the heck has Veronica got in that battery thingy?

  Capacitors. In the newspaper room, when we brainstormed for weapons, the robotics kids kept talking about computer components that store a charge. How they could modify them to work on the battlebots. Veronica shocks three more monsters in less than a minute. Damn. The capacitors kick ass. She rips open the backpack, and battlebots tumble onto the pavement.

  “It works!” Veronica shouts over her shoulder to the kids still in the school. “They work—go, go, go!”

  From behind the broken glass of the main doors, the rest of my friends emerge—not acting scared and desperate, but determined and organized. Fabio, Quentin, and Tara strut down the entry-walk, shoulder to shoulder, each clutching remote control boxes for the battlebots. An entire squad of robots zooms onto the breezeway, ready to fight. The gizmos emit a high-pitched whir as they rocket around the sidewalk, causing goons to lose their balance and tumble on top of one another. The remote-controlled bots head directly for the bowled-over zombies; the instant the capacitors on the robots touch them, the creatures are down for the count. In less than a minute, the mechanical gadgets clear a path through the walking dead.

  RUN-RUN. RUN-RUN.

  My voices kick up the volume. This parking lot is becoming crowded with corpses, making it harder to skirt their pursuit. I force my attention away from the action at the school. My zombie followers are getting a little too close for comfort, and the voices have gotten louder than I ever thought possible, roaring in my ears.

  RUN-RUN-RUN-RUN.

  Twenty yards away, a squad of cheerleaders breaks from the horde and moves behind the dumpsters in an attempt to block my escape route. Lara’s new zombie status hasn’t stopped her from being the most athletic of the cheerleaders. She towers over her teammates, growling in my direction like a zombie-Amazon woman on a mission.

  I concentrate on putting distance between myself and their rotting bodies. My heart pounds like I’m competing in a marathon. I duck behind the hair salon, emerging on the other side of the building, then cross the road again—where I’ll have more room to maneuver. I’m back on the same side of the street as the school, near the metal gym building at the edge of campus.

  RUN-RUN. RUN-RUN.

  The other kids have reached the bottom of the steps. Another forty feet and they’ll make it to the bookmobile. Quentin and Tara drop their remote controls and pull new weapons from another backpack.

  Quentin bounds forward shouting, “Ready?”

  Fabio and Tara answer in unison. “Okay!” and begin our school’s fight cheer.

  Fabio drops to one knee, and Tara uses it as a springboard, cartwheeling and kicking the closest infected dude in the head. As if on cue, Quentin drops a plastic pipe on the ground in front of Fabio, who is still kneeling. He flicks a lighter in front of a can of hairspray, and whoosh, sharpened pencils fly out of the potato gun.

  “AAAAGGGHH!” Lara’s hair stylist roars with rage and clutches her face. Pencils dangle from her now-loose eyeball.

  A few yards away, Quentin pulls a copper pipe out of his belt loop, and whacks the heck out of his orthodontist. The tall, balding zombie crumples in a heap near the stairs.

  Marcella defends the door to the bookmobile, shouting encouragement and using the last of her crossbow bolts. When the zombified football coach takes a swipe at Fabio, she leaves the safety of the vehicle long enough to pepper spray the man’s face, yelling all the while that he’s a disgrace to the educational system. A surge of hope shoots through me—the coach was the last zombie between the school and the bookmobile.

  There’s a path now. A clear route to the bookmobile.

  Until Saul steps into it. “Don’t even think about it,” he tells the group of students on the walkway.

  The first Molotov cocktail lights up the darkness. Fabio’s aim isn’t perfect. But it’s damned close. Saul is knocked sideways, into the hedges. Deke flies up the path to jab Saul with his bat. No movement.

  “Go!” Veronica screams. “Before he wakes up!”

  Tara scoots down the sidewalk, past Saul’s immobile body, and dives for the bookmobile.

  At the sight of fresh food, the stunned zombies forget their fears and surge closer.

  Deke is everywhere at once. Pummeling the zombies who move too close, shepherding Fabio and Veronica as they dash for the safety of the bookmobile. After an eternity of fighting, he and Quentin are the only ones who haven’t made it to the vehicle. But they are greatly outnumbered.

  My friends fill the rear doors of the bookmobile and launch a counterattack. Some shoot the zombies with pepper spray. Bo and Tara throw books. More Molotov cocktails streak through the sky, exploding in the midst of the zombie crowd. The ground is covered with blood and bodies.

  Quentin gets caught behind the row of zombified cheerleaders.

  “Hep me! Hep me!” he yelps, trying to scramble toward the safety of the vehicle, the head cheerleader swiping at his clothes.

  “Get away from him, Carra!” Tara stands at the back of the bookmobile, framed by the silhouette of the door. “You’re always trying to steal my boyfriends. Well, not this time!” Tara pitches a massive Stephen King hardcover, cold-cocking Quentin’s attacker. Quentin high-jumps the “Sacagawea High School” sign and sprints for the safety of the vehicle. Tara catches him in an enormous hug.

  Deke is ten feet from the bookmobile, wailing on the crazies with his bat. He’s provided cover for everyone trying to reach safety, but now there’s no one left to return the favor. The zombies swarm, forming a circle around Deke.

  “We gotta help him!” Quentin yells. More books sail out of the back doors of the vehicle.

  “Big ones,” someone says. “Grab the big ones!”

  “Throw Moby Dick. I hated that one.”

  “Where’s Twilight?”

  “No,” Tara squeals. “Don’t throw Twilight!”

  The zombies scatter away from Deke as hardcovers rain down. Deke wriggles out of a janitor’s grip, dodges a football player zombie, trips one of the infected
cheerleaders, dashes across the few remaining feet of lawn, glances my way one last time, and hurls himself into the back of the bookmobile. The doors slam shut just as the horde reaches the vehicle.

  I shout in triumph. They’ve done it. We’ve done it. My friends have made it to the library on wheels. Everyone is safe. I swell with pride, victory coursing through my veins. I wasn’t a wimp. I helped rescue my friends.

  And then Saul is beside me, his dead white fingers locking on my wrist.

  Chapter Thirty

  RUN! RUN! RUN! RUN!

  Sorry, voices. It’s too late. I’ve missed my chance to escape.

  God, I’m so stupid. Why didn’t I realize the Molotov cocktail only knocked out Saul temporarily? Why did I let myself get distracted watching the bookmobile?

  Saul twists my arm, and the pepper spray canister falls from my fingers. He forces me to the ground, his ice-cold grip cementing me in place.

  “Get. Off. Me!” I spit, kicking and trying to squirm free.

  He laughs. Above me, the remaining legion of corpses closes in. I hear the bookmobile gunning in my direction, but I can’t even see it. Too many zombies are jostling against me.

  Saul leers closer, the metal wires of his braces inches from my face. His eyes are sinister and dark.

  “Stay still, Donna. You’re mine now.” His voice is thick with hatred.

  RUN! RUN! RUN!

  My hands comb frantically through the grass. Searching for the pepper spray—or a rock, a stick—anything I can use as a weapon.

  “Quit that.” He snares my other wrist. “Or you will get hurt. Look at them.” He jerks his head toward the creatures. “Their food has run out. They’re hungry. Ravenous. One word from me and they will tear the flesh from your bones.”

  His breath stinks like rotten hamburger.

  “Surround her!” he hisses to the horde. “Keep the others away. You! Over here!” Zombie-Gretchen shambles forward. “Come. Bite her—bite your friend. Bite only! No eating.” He sounds like he’s talking to a preschooler. “I want her knocked out again. She’ll be easier to transport.”

  Transport? My pulse pounds. Where is Saul taking me?

  Gretchen creeps closer, barking with each step.

  My voices have changed cadence, screeching in hysteria, but I can’t hear the cacophony of their words over the zombies moaning and rawr-ing at me. My feet scrape along the grass, unable to find purchase. I run in place, my body twisting in panic.

  “Let go of her, you stupid meatmouths!”

  Saul turns. The sea of zombies parts, and Liam is standing there.

  Liam is standing there?

  The throng of goons freezes, bolted in place by Liam’s words. Why are they listening to Liam? Why have they stopped coming for me? Just because he told them to?

  And then it dawns on me. This is exactly like the video games I used to play with Deke in his garage. We’d struggle for hours, battling a bunch of bad guys until we finally reached the boss. And we’d have to defeat him to advance to the next level. Obviously, Saul is a zombie-boss, or a Bokur, or whatever Deke called him. But at this moment, I realize Liam is one, too. Liam appears to figure it out in the same instant I do.

  For a split second, Saul’s face goes blank, and he doesn’t move at all. Then, he tightens his death grip on my forearm.

  “Ignore the boy,” he orders in a bored tone, flicking a brief glance at Liam. But Liam is not easily dissuaded.

  “L-leave her alone, I said!” Liam’s voice shudders and almost breaks, but he stands tall.

  The zombies look confused. Well, zombies always look confused, but that’s not the point. They aren’t sure if they should obey Saul or Liam. And Liam seems totally surprised the goons are still listening to him. Gretchen halts, only a few yards away from me, and stares transfixed at Liam.

  “You will do as I say,” Saul grinds out. “Back off, Liam. You are under my control.”

  “Not anymore,” Liam tells him.

  “Fine,” Saul glares at Zombie-Gretchen. “If none of you cretins can do it, I will.”

  He twists my arms, pinning them behind my back. The pain is excruciating. He bends closer, his mouth closing in on my throat, the points of his braces grazing my skin. A drop of blood tickles my neck. My voices have given up on words—they are all simply screaming in one endless wave of terror. I grit my teeth, steeling myself for the bite.

  “I said to get off of her, you damned beast!” Liam’s voice is distorted with rage.

  He takes a running leap, crashing into Saul. Liam’s strength must rival Saul’s—instantly, my body is free. My head spins as I scramble to my feet, clutching the flagpole for support.

  RUN-RUN. RUN-RUN.

  I want to bolt, but zombies block me in every direction.

  Liam and Saul tangle together, fighting on the ground, punching and wrestling. If I didn’t know the circumstances, I’d think they were teenage punks, having a schoolyard brawl. Except no administrator comes to break up the scuffle.

  They struggle in the space near me, the three of us encircled by a ring of undead. Just as Liam regains his footing, Saul takes a swing.

  Crack! The sharp sound splits the air, and blood spurts from Liam’s nose. He sways in place, woozy and disoriented. Seeing his advantage, Saul locks his hands around Liam’s throat. Liam staggers, then drops to his knees.

  He’s lost.

  That’s when I hear it. A sound louder than the zombies. Louder than my voices. A metallic thunk. The kind that accompanies a perfectly hit baseball sailing out of the park. Deke appears, where he hadn’t been a second before, plowing through the crowd with his bat, cold-cocking zombies, one after another. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Clearing a path to me.

  “Quit that!” Saul roars, his face red with rage.

  “Make me,” Deke taunts.

  Saul throws his head back and laughs, long and deep. “Mr. Zombie Slayer, you seem to have forgotten the sun hasn’t risen yet.”

  And with lightning speed, Saul leaps at Deke, fluidly toppling him in one quick motion.

  Deke crashes to the ground, flat on his back. The bat goes rolling.

  Directly to me.

  RUN-RUN. RUN-RUN.

  Saul bends over Deke. His mouth opens, baring the points of his braces.

  “No!”

  For one long free-floating moment, the world shifts into fluid motion. I pick up the bat and careen toward Saul. I am not afraid of him. I am not afraid of his zombies. I am only afraid of losing Deke forever. Raw emotion surges up from my chest, funneling every ounce of my body’s strength into one hit. Every bit of anger for Phoebe and Stanley and Gretchen and all the other people who’ve been taken too soon.

  No one needs to remind me to hit first and hit hard. I crack Saul’s head like I’m hammering the winning home run in the World Series.

  He lurches sideways into the flagpole.

  “That’s for Phoebe!” I scream, and hit him again.

  “And that’s for Stanley!” Saul falls to his knees.

  “And that’s for Lara and Gretchen and that mailman and his wife and all the other people you’ve hurt!” I wallop him with each and every word.

  He kneels on the ground now, crouched in a fetal position.

  “I may not have your super strength, you ass, but I’m sick and tired of you hurting my friends.”

  One last hit finishes the job.

  He crashes to the ground, facedown, completely still.

  From the bookmobile, my friends cheer.

  For a moment, I’m triumphant. I open my mouth, but no sound comes out. Hands reach from behind to catch hold of my skull. Fingers press my cheeks, my jaw—curling into my throat. Long, festering fingers—the nails dark with black polish.

  RUN-RUN. RUN-RUN.

  “Help!” I yell, but the word dies on my lips, replaced by soft gurgling noises. The bat falls useless to the ground.

  My head is shoved downward. All I can see are fluorescent purple boots.

  Stanley squee
zes harder, making spots dance before my eyes. My windpipe threatens to collapse.

  While Liam and Saul fought, they’d neglected the zombies. Lost control. And now the monsters have me.

  Saul was right—they are hungry.

  I’m jerked backward and Stanley’s pierced, sunken face leers over me. He releases my throat, but those powerful fingers claw my shoulder as he drags me sideways, across the ground, deeper into the zombie horde.

  I gasp, trying to catch my breath. Heavy, meaty bodies crash into me from every side. I’m knocked to the ground. Buried beneath a squirming pile of corpses, their skin slimy and ice cold. A hundred of them, all trying to bite me at once.

  This is it, I realize, as the first set of teeth puncture my skin. This is the end. Please let me pass out. Please let it be quick.

  Liam’s voice rises above the fray, “Get away from her! Stop!”

  But it doesn’t work this time—his commands go unheeded. The zombies are like sharks in a feeding frenzy. They paw at me with shrunken hands. A set of teeth sinks into my flesh, piercing like a thousand needles. I can’t hear myself scream over the clamor of hungry moans.

  From far away, sounding like he’s underwater, I can hear Liam warbling, “No, Deke, they’ll bite you. You’ll get infected!”

  Oh no, Deke is trying to reach me. Oh no, oh no, oh no. They’ll bite him. Infect him.

  Hysteria bubbles in my chest.

  Liam’s words grow distant, punctuated only by the thunk of the bat, over and over again. He shouts for control of the zombies. Everything fades into the background as the virus overwhelms me. There are only gaping mouths and frosted, sightless eyes. Another set of sharp teeth punctures my skin. Darkness takes hold, blurring the edges of my vision. One of my bones cracks—my collarbone? I don’t even care. I can only think of Deke.

  “Deke! Deke! Deke!” I scream his name, but my voice is lost in the roar. I want him to leave. To get away. To realize I’m not worth getting infected over.

  “Deke…” I moan one last time.

  “No, it’s not Deke. But I’m trying to get you to him.” I’m jarred back to consciousness by a voice and sudden rough movement. Liam has me, my broken body cradled in his arms. Behind his head, the sky grows light. The sun is rising.