Donna of the Dead
Page 25
Around us, zombies melt away, staggering back to the shadows. Somehow, against all odds, Liam has pried me from the hungry mob.
The blackness of the virus presses in again. Close. Familiar. Forcing my eyes shut.
“Donna, listen. Damn, I don’t even know if you can hear me. My phone is in your pocket. Call my mom. She needs you. Your blood.” His voice is anguished. “I’m sorry. For everything.”
He thrusts me roughly into another set of arms. My shoulder screams in pain.
Someone yells, “Get her out of here!”
I wrench my eyes open. The world is fuzzy. Dim. I see Liam, silhouetted against the sunrise, and then he disappears as I’m shoved again, twisted and mangled, slapping against a hard surface.
The pain keeps me from succumbing to the blackness. I struggle to focus. I’m on the floor of the bookmobile. Deke bends over me. Smiling. And unharmed. With my good arm, I reach for him. My friends’ concerned faces lean in as the bookmobile accelerates, speeding away from Saul and the monsters and the entire nightmare of the last five days.
“Oh crap,” I say weakly. “You guys had to rescue me again?”
Deke shakes his head. “You’ve got it backward. This time, you rescued us.”
I smile and go catatonic. Beneath my fingertips, Deke’s back is warm and solid.
Chapter Thirty-one
I lean against the metal railing of the Nassau Belle, craning my neck to watch the motorboat speed away from our ship toward the mainland.
“Well,” my dad says, “that visit wasn’t exactly what I expected.”
“Me, either,” Deke says, shooting me a relieved smile.
Three days ago, my dad won his battle with the CDC.
“No, thank you,” he’d screamed in the phone. “We don’t need any more adventures. We’ve had a devil of a time getting everyone aboard this ship. Either you travel to us, or you can forget those blood samples!”
So the mighty CDC came to the Nassau Belle. Because the ports are still overrun with infected, we dropped anchor off the coast of Virginia, near the Back Bay Wildlife Refuge, and waited.
We expected the government to send helicopters, Navy SEALS, maybe an entire SWAT team. Instead, two scientists in a blow-up Zodiac motored to our ship, climbed the rope ladder, and collected blood samples right here on deck. The whole episode took less than thirty minutes.
Once we realized the CDC reps didn’t have the strength or inclination to bully us, we bombarded them with questions: Was the mainland still overrun with zombies? (Yes.) Was the CDC any closer to a cure? (No.) Did the scientists happen to have any soldering irons in their possession? (Veronica’s question—of course—and no, they were traveling light.)
Because the two scientists work on the front lines of the virus battle, I figured they’d brag or show some end-of-the-world bravado. But they both seemed skittish and fearful, anxious to get back to their armored car before nightfall.
Now, as we watch them speed off, my heart feels permanently lodged in my mouth.
“They look so…small,” Deke says, watching the Zodiac fade from sight. “So insignificant.”
“I know what you mean.” Dad’s face clouds with worry. “Those samples might never make it to the CDC.”
“You guys are such pessimists,” I say, watching the tiny dot and the blue surf beyond. “Those scientist dudes will be fine. In the last few weeks, I’ve developed complete faith in the strength and resourcefulness of science nerds.”
Deke laughs. “It’s about time you came around.”
Dad takes a step away from the railing. “Guess I’d better get this ship underway if we’re going to make any progress before nightfall.”
I’m glad to be taking the next step of our journey. Now that we’ve finished this last chore, the Nassau Belle will head toward the open waters east of the Caribbean. We’ll drop anchor and wait this out in safety. Ahhh, blue waters, warm breezes, and not a single fricking zombie in sight. Pure heaven.
I scan the decks, watching my friends stash the weapons they’d pulled out for the CDC visit. An hour ago, when we worried the government might try to strong-arm us into leaving the ship, the mood had been tense. Now, the kids are relaxing again, returning to the serious business of recuperating from the ordeal at school.
“Okay, Donna,” my dad says in his bossy-captain voice. “It’s time for you to get back to your cabin to rest.”
“C’mon, Dad,” I plead. “How much rest do I need? I’ve been cooped up in that dumb room for six days. I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s a great room, but still, I haven’t talked to anyone but you or Muriel in almost a week.”
“You’ve been through some rough times. Let your body heal,” Dad says.
“I’m not tired! I feel fine. Watch, I can even move my arm a little.” I shift my sling back and forth a few inches.
Dad appears unconvinced.
“I’ll sit with her,” Deke says. “Some sunshine might do her good. Make her less cranky.”
My dad sighs. “Okay, but just an hour. Then promise me you’ll go back to your cabin. I know how you are around Deke—the two of you start teasing each other and you get all worked up—that’s not resting.”
“One hour—I promise.”
Dad takes off, leaving me alone with Deke for the first time since the library. Neither one of us speaks. How can I feel so shy around someone I know so well? I follow him to the pool where we sit on the concrete border, letting our feet dangle into the water.
He studies me with concern. “Are you seriously feeling better?”
“Yeah, for the most part. My shoulder still twinges.” I rotate it a bit.
“That’s to be expected. Not much you can do for a broken collarbone except rest. And the bites?”
“Not pretty, but they’re healing. And things weren’t as fuzzy this time.”
My body had an easier time fighting off the virus the second go-round. Don’t get me wrong, I was still totally out of it. But I did have a few flashes of clarity—boarding the ship, my dad’s face the first time he saw me, the nasal honk of Muriel’s voice as she kindly cleaned my bite wounds.
But mostly what I remember is Deke. As I hovered between consciousness and darkness, he stayed nearby. Every time I surfaced, I searched for his face—an anchor in all the confusion.
“So what’ve you been doing these past six days?” I ask.
“Sorting food, mostly. Like we thought, there’s a ton of it. The fresh stuff—fruits, veggies—we couldn’t salvage much. But there’s nonperishables. Enough to keep us fed for a year, if we’re careful. What about you?”
“Sleeping. Eating. Thinking. Staring out the window.”
He nods. “I like seeing miles of empty ocean in every direction.”
“Me, too. You know the best thing about being on this ship? Well, aside from the massive supply of Cokes. No voices. They haven’t spoken once since we’ve been aboard.”
“No zombies,” Deke says simply.
“No triggers,” I tell him.
He gives me a blank look. “Triggers?”
I hesitate for a beat, wondering how much I should tell him. “Remember when you said my voices act as a built-in defense mechanism? That they might be genetic?”
Deke’s smile encourages me to continue.
“Well, I decided to conduct a…a very logical and scientific analysis.”
“There’s a first,” he teases.
“If my arm wasn’t in a sling, I’d hit you.”
“Wow,” he laughs. “It’s so good to have you back. But seriously,” he says, acting intrigued, “go on…about the triggers.”
“Well, this might sound random and idiotic, but my mind kept circling back to Amy Baker. Her car crash. Every time I think about it—and trust me, I’ve replayed the scene a million times, I remember a smell. A weird smell. Something similar to the Molotov cocktails.”
Realization crosses Deke’s face. “Alcohol? You smelled alcohol in Amy Baker’s car?”
“I understand now,” Deke says. “Something tangible triggers the voices, and your subconscious provides the warning.”
“Yes.” I pause again, trying to gauge his reaction.
Deke lets out a low whistle. “Amazing.”
Encouraged, I continue. “On the ship, the first night we met zombies, I heard voices in my sleep. But I heard something else, too. The engines were working overtime, and we were moving fast. I knew that meant trouble. My subconscious wanted me to wake up and find out what was happening.”
“I get it,” he says, enthralled. “Keep going.”
“Same deal with the “desks, desks, desks” at the school—I’d been asleep, but there was all that commotion in the hall. I worried we were being attacked—and some dark fold of my brain knew we needed to barricade the door.”
The words are tumbling out of my mouth now—almost as though I’m becoming more convinced of my own theory as I explain it to Deke.
“But what about the fountain?” he asks. “The zombies were so quiet—there’s no way you could’ve heard them that time.”
“I didn’t. But I did notice something move in the trees. And Liam was acting weird, checking his watch every two seconds.”
“Your subconscious knew something was up. And when Annunziato hopped through the window? Maybe you were the only one who noticed the mesh was missing? Simple observation that time?”
“I guess.” I hang my head slightly, embarrassed by the admission I’m about to make. “Over time, I realized the voices were all about self-preservation. About saving my own skin. I used to obey them—follow their instructions to the letter. But that last day at the school—well, I had to ignore them. The voices didn’t want me to jump out of the van and help everyone.”
I wait for Deke to say something about me being selfish, but he surprises me. “That must have been hard for you. To fight against it.” When I face him, his eyes are full of genuine understanding.
I let out a long breath. “As you can imagine, it was a huge relief to unravel all these mysteries and realize I’m not crazy or psychic or channeling aliens or anything like that. I’m just…” I search for the word.
“Smart,” Deke says. “Super smart.”
I don’t know whether to smile or burst into tears.
Fortunately, I don’t have to make that decision because Quentin chooses this moment to turn on the sound system.
“Q-dog on the mic here. Now that our little parlay with the CDC is over, Captain Pierce be setting sail for warmer seas. And we gonna party.” Music blares through the speakers—some newish dance remix of the BeeGees’ “Stayin’ Alive.”
I laugh. Everyone sings along, and my dad leads Muriel onto the dance floor where they start some ancient disco moves.
“I’m stayin’ ali-iiiive,” Bo sings, louder than anyone.
Deke and I sit side-by-side on the deck, quiet for a few minutes, just listening to the music and looking like a couple of tourists, sun-drying after a swim. There’s only four feet of water in the pool, and it’s slightly green, but other than that, the scene is almost normal. The sun is shining. The wind is flying past. The song ends and my dad returns to the bridge, ready to chart our new course. Bo has figured out the electronic bingo machine, and now he’s yelling “B-17!” to a tableful of rowdy teenagers. Marcella and Muriel sip frozen daiquiris and lounge on nearby deck chairs.
“So,” Deke says, “in a couple of months, when this mess blows over, I’ve figured out a way to make a million dollars.”
I arch my eyebrows. “A million bucks? How do you plan to do that?”
“I’m going to write a book,” he says, hopping to his feet. “I’m going to call it The Zombie Workout: How to Get Fit in Fifteen Days.” He turns sideways, sucking in his breath and flexing his arms, showing off the bands of muscle rippling across his biceps.
Whoa. He’s gotten even more buff in the last two weeks.
“Guess you’re not the wimpy kid anymore,” I joke, hoping I’m not drooling.
“Every cloud…” He drops back to the deck and dangles his feet over the edge of the pool.
“Do you believe that, Deke?”
“That I’ll write a book?”
“No, that this’ll stop in a few months?”
He pauses before he answers, lifting his eyes to scan the horizon. “I do. Plagues are nothing new. They’ve been around since the beginning of time. They always end. There’s always a cure.” He turns to jab his finger in my good shoulder. “And your blood might be part of that cure.” His eyes take on a faraway look. “We’re lucky to have a safe place to wait it out.”
I know he’s remembering our friends—the ones that weren’t so lucky—Phoebe, Stanley, Lara, and Gretchen. For them, it’s too late. There’s no telling how many people are stuck in permanent twilight, walking the Earth as zombies. And there’s no telling how many became half-deads, like Saul and Liam.
For a moment, Liam’s face clouds my memory. I’ll never understand why he rescued me from Saul. Maybe he wanted to make amends for biting me? Or for stealing Bo?
When Dad first used Liam’s phone to call the CDC, his mom was unaware of her son’s half-dead status. She had lost touch with him and was almost frantic for news. Veronica spoke with her for at least two hours, trying to explain everything that happened at the school. Apparently my name came up a time or two in conversation.
I wonder if Liam is still at the Arts Complex or if he left Fort Lauderdale to make his way toward his mom. In spite of everything that’s happened, I hope he managed to leave school before Saul regained consciousness. I hope Saul didn’t punish him for helping us escape. I hope Liam is still alive. Or half-alive. Or whatever the heck he is.
“You’re thinking about him, aren’t you? About Liam?”
No sense in fooling Deke. I nod. “Yeah, I guess.”
His mouth twitches into a frown.
“Oh, no, Deke. Seriously.” My heart spasms with guilt. “I wasn’t thinking about him that way. I was just wondering if he’s okay and if he—”
“It’s cool,” Deke interrupts. “I understand. And I think Marcella was right—he probably didn’t want to hurt you—I mean, we never would have made it here without his help.” He shrugs, trying to act nonchalant.
“Deke, you’ve got to understand something. The dude bit an enormous chunk out of my shoulder. Trust me, he’s completely off my radar.”
Deke stares down at his feet, absentmindedly kicking his heels against the side of the pool. Over the past two weeks, his hair has grown longer than he usually wears it. I have a crazy urge to reach over and brush it out of his eyes…run my fingertips along his cheek…tell him what I’ve been thinking for the last six days while I sat alone in my cabin, staring at the ocean.
Sure, I’d thought a lot about the voices. About the cure. And even about Liam. But mostly, I thought about Deke.
I made a huge mistake in the library—before Deke kissed me. When I said we didn’t have a special bond. That was such a load of crap. For years, I was so blinded by my stupid crush on Liam that I never realized how much I take Deke for granted. His loyalty. His bravery. His stupid sense of humor that completely matches mine. None of this seemed important before we got trapped at school. Now I want to smack myself in the head for being such an idiot.
I’m in love with Deke. I guess I always have been. And I need to tell him. Soon. Maybe even (gulp) now. I promised myself I’d do it the first time we were alone. If I can face a street full of rabid zombies, I can tell a boy I like him. Right?
“Deke, I wanted to um…” I pause for a shaky breath. He peeks up expectantly. Those dark eyes, jeez. Concentrate, Donna. Finish this.
“Um. I’ve been really stupid about some stuff, and um, actually a lot of stuff, and well, that’s over now. I need t
o tell you that I—”
“Donnnn-naaaa!” a high voice screeches from the other side of the deck.
Crap. I am so going to kill whoever—
Tara.
“You’re finally outside!” she says, grinning and running up to me. I almost don’t recognize her. It’s the first time I’ve seen her wear something besides her cheer uniform. She’s dressed in one of those God-awful cruise uniforms—polyester white pants and a loud Hawaiian shirt. She also needs her eyebrows waxed. But her smile is open and friendly.
“You won’t believe this,” she says grabbing my hands like we’re long-lost best friends, “but I found the key to unlock the salon! Now we can fix our hair and do our nails.”
I almost say, “and wax our eyebrows!” but I find myself pausing and reining in my snark. Tara must be missing her best friend, just like I miss Phoebe. “Actually Tara, that sounds totally awesome. I could use a makeover.” I give her hand a quick squeeze. “Lara would have liked that, wouldn’t she?”
She smiles a little sadly, then returns the squeeze. “I’m gonna go through all the beauty supplies in the cabinets. Come down later, if they’ll let you. The spa’s on Riviera Deck. Aft.”
Tara leaves as quickly as she appeared, but she seems to take all my bravado with her. My declaration of love for Deke is turning into a disaster. As usual, I’m screwing up my relationship with the opposite sex. Some things never change.
Nervously, I raise my head to study Deke. Maybe he understood what I was getting at? Maybe he’ll pick up where I left off?
“Making friends with the cheerleader?” he asks.
Or maybe he’ll change the subject completely.
I sigh and stare at Tara’s retreating figure. “I dunno. She seems all right. Much nicer than she used to be.”
“Maybe that’s because you saved her life?”
“Psshht,” I push away the compliment. “You give me too much credit.”
Deke’s face is earnest. “No, I don’t. That was an insanely gutsy thing you did at the school, running out there like that, distracting the zombies, then beating the hell out Saul.”