by Ash Parsons
There’s a bang as one of the unsecured doors flies open and bashes into the wall, and zombies push out, maimed and groaning, jerking along on the tugging strings of their unnatural hunger.
The one in front is the stuntman from the cheerleader squad, the last one who made it into the balcony by climbing up the thick orange extension cord. Now his eyes are cloudy and crisscrossed with burst capillaries. His skin has the writhing ripple of twitching muscles, and the mottled, necrotic coloring all the infected have.
Other zombies pour out the door behind him, the rest of his cheer squad and the others they rescued from the ballroom floor. They’re all zombies now, some with horrific, gaping, torn, and bloody injuries, and all of them with jerky, flailing movements, as if they’re being yanked toward our movement and our noise.
Annie lets out a shriek and everything starts happening very, very fast.
I leap to my feet and run around the edge of the barricade toward Imani, Siggy, Blair, and the rest of the group.
Simon sprints down the hallway toward us, vanity stool raised. Cuellar spins on his heel and runs away to the stairwell door.
The stuntman zombie in the front of the pack lunges at Rosa.
Linus jumps in front of her, swinging his fire extinguisher up in a short arc.
“Run!” he yells, then gives Rosa a shove toward me. “Hey! Come at me!” he calls to the zombies.
He moves back, away from us, toward the bar, yelling, whooping, thrusting his fire extinguisher up and out.
Most of the zombies follow the noise and the movement. No, all of them. They all follow Linus.
“Move it!” I hiss to Imani, Siggy, and Annie. “Stairwell!” I point down the hall.
I rush to the bathroom alcove and wait for the rest of the group to get past me, standing like a guard with my mic arm cocked like a bat.
Simon takes up a similar pose with his vanity stool, facing me from the curving wall across from the bathroom like a matching bookend.
Or a gate.
Annie, Imani, and Siggy rush past us to the door at the end of the hall.
Blair and Mia run past. Mia is taking the lightest, shortest, fastest steps I’ve ever seen, keeping her stilettos from clacking on the floor.
Rosa and Janet are last. Janet is pulling Rosa, tears and horror plain on the camerawoman’s face.
At the bar, Linus is surrounded.
Simon grabs my shoulder, pulling.
I can’t watch.
I spin on my heel and sprint down the hall with Simon.
Behind us, a piercing scream, and then other noises I don’t want to hear.
21
We crash through the door and turn.
I drop the mic arm and grab the hex key from the backpack.
“Hold the door!” I urge Simon, and I start twisting the hex key in the crash-bar holes.
“No time!” Simon urges.
“Just do it or they could follow us into the stairwell!” Janet orders.
I glance up the hall, and sure enough a single cheerleader zombie has stumbled into the top of the hallway.
She turns her face toward us.
Twist, twist, twist.
The cheerleader sprints—she’s one of the fast ones, a zoombie; she rockets down the hall.
I get one side locked down as she reaches the door, grasping for me, where I’m still kneeling on the floor.
Simon shoves her back with the legs of the stool, shoves and keeps shoving. Janet props the door for me, holding her vanity drawer front by the pull handle, holding it over me like a shield.
Another cheerleader zombie surges forward behind the fast one.
Suddenly Imani is there, pushing out at the second zombie with her microphone stand, yelling with the effort.
“Fall back! Fall back!” I yell, feeling the crash bar lock.
Simon and Imani jump through the door and together with Janet help me shove it almost closed as more zombies arrive and stack up, trying to push through the narrow gap to get at us.
Blair rushes to us, shoving at the door as we all grunt with the effort to force it closed.
With a perfect, efficient pivot that would make most people dizzy, Imani spins to the side and jabs her microphone stand into the gap, shoving.
It’s the shove, not the stab, that clears the door. Imani pops the mic stand back and the door closes with the double thunk of the long bars locking into place.
“Way to go,” I pant. “Imani.”
Imani sags against the door next to me.
“Thanks,” she pants back, holding up a hand.
I slap it lightly, weak with relief.
I land on my haunches, only meaning to go down after it’s already started. The post–adrenaline dump makes my hands shake.
“Dammit, Linus!” Simon curses, hitting the door. “Aghhh!!” he screams at the faces of the zombies pressing against the narrow window.
I glance down the first flight of stairs to the landing in between floors.
Annie looks like she’s trying not to cry, as she hugs her defibrillator case against her chest. Mia’s there, with Siggy next to her, unarmed with a shell-shocked expression.
“He saved us,” Annie says.
“He was bitten,” Mia murmurs, rubbing Annie’s back lightly. “He knew he was infected already.”
We’re going to have to find Siggy a weapon. Blair, too.
My voice is croaky when I speak. If I wasn’t so scared and tired, I might be thirsty.
“We have to get ready—there’s a zombie in the stairwell.”
Something about the phrase makes me want to laugh. It’s another title. A fancy BBC TV show. It makes me want to pretend to be British, announcing the zombie in the stairwell like I’m a butler.
Oh.
It’s Linus’s voice I’m imagining.
Tears prickle in my eyes.
“Already took care of it,” Cuellar announces, climbing back into sight from the stairwell below us.
“Okay,” I say. “Thanks.”
“Oh God, poor Linus.” Mia swipes at her eyes, and then smooths her bangs, an unconscious habit.
“He saved us,” Rosa says.
“Now what? It can’t be for nothing,” Janet says.
“I don’t know,” I say. “But I think—”
“I’m done waiting around like some sitting duck,” Cuellar interrupts, his tone accusing, as if he wasn’t just standing around when we found him.
“Right,” I say. “I agree.”
“So where do we go?” Annie asks.
“Here’s what I know,” I say. “That scientist who got on the stage said—”
“That guy!” Cuellar scoffs. “Yeah, sure, let’s base our plan off him.”
“Let her talk!” Blair snaps. Her dislike of Cuellar is palpable.
“Go on, June,” Imani says, giving me a nod.
Cuellar lets out a curse, but he props himself against the wall and crosses his arms.
“What do you think, June?” Siggy encourages me.
I take a deep breath, and try to ignore the way that Cuellar’s lip curls as he listens.
“Here’s what I know,” I start again. “We made it up here, we found our friends and tried for a signal. We don’t have one, and we can’t see anything from those windows. As for the roof access, we can’t locate it unless we want to fight a bunch of zombies while we look.”
Siggy shakes her head, a gesture echoed by Mia and Annie.
“Right,” I continue. “But we’re in the stairwell now. We can make it all the way down to the first floor in safety. If the exhibit hall is locked like the scientist said, we can maybe make it to the atrium and the front doors.”
Cuellar’s lip has stopped curling. His eyes are sharp, calculating.
“I know Cu
ellar saw zombies when he looked down the escalator, but that was right after it all started. Maybe they were drawn up to the second floor. If any are left, maybe we could fight our way out past them. Or sneak past them! I think we should head down to the ground floor, and try to get out the front doors.”
“But what if they’re locked, like the scientist said?” Mia asks.
“Maybe they are,” I concede. “But maybe not. I think there’s a team of people trying to contain this infection.”
I turn to Siggy.
“Remember those people in hazmat suits?” I ask her.
“Those were cosplayers, weren’t they?” Siggy asks, turning her luminous eyes from me to Imani to Blair. “Weren’t they?”
“No way to tell, I guess,” I say. “But I don’t think so. Not with all this.”
My hand swirls around—an all-encompassing gesture that takes in the whole mess we’re in.
“If there is a government agency here trying to contain the infection, they’ll have a triage area set up. Like in the show. Remember? There’ll be hazmat gear, scanning sections, probably secure trucks or whatnot—but they will have a plan that could be in action right now! They’re probably out there as we speak!”
My heart suddenly thunders in my chest at the thought of it: freedom, safety, and my mom coming to get me.
My mom? Oof. I better not think of her, or my dad. Or even Summer, far away at college. Is she safe? She has to be.
If I keep thinking of her and my parents, I’ll start to bawl, and Cuellar will stop listening to me.
Ugh.
“Maybe it is as simple as the chosen exit point is the front door. Maybe we’ll get there, and the doors will be unlocked, will be the exit point, and we can get out.”
“Or maybe not,” Blair says, but her voice is not needling. It’s just firm.
“Or maybe not,” I agree. “In which case we break out.”
I point at Imani’s disc-weighted microphone base.
“We take out the glass. We can grab another fire extinguisher. We bash the hell out of the glass.”
“What if it’s shatterproof?” Janet asks.
“All glass is breakable,” Imani says. “Shatterproof just means it won’t pulverize or break jaggedly.”
“Oh yeah?” Cuellar pops off the wall. “What about bulletproof glass?”
“There’s no such thing as bulletproof glass,” Imani explains. “The correct term is bullet resistant, but all glass breaks. Besides which it’s mostly used for armored vehicles. The glass in the building is probably just extra thick and shatterproof.”
We stare at her, my gorgeous, brilliant friend. I feel like our collective demeanor is either impressed, confused, or fondly amused by her.
Imani waves her coral-tipped fingers in a let-me-get-through-this-quickly twirl.
“I know because I like studying the—” she begins to explain.
“It’s okay, don’t hurt yourself,” Mia interrupts, cocking a hip out. “You’ve got my vote.”
“So, we break the glass,” Rosa says. “But then the zombies can get out, too.”
“The army has to have set up a perimeter by now,” Simon says. “Locking us in was to buy time to set it up.”
“So, they’ll be ready to take out any zombies that get out?” Siggy asks.
“I would think so,” Simon answers.
I take another deep breath, and the words are there, spooling in my head.
“I don’t know what those zombies are, or how they happened exactly, but I know that I’m going to try to get out of here. And we will do better together. There’s no guarantee of safety. There’s no guarantee that I’m right about the atrium or ground floor being mostly empty. There’s just no guarantee for any of it. But all we can do is try, and I’m asking you to try with me. We fight together or we end alone. I’m asking you all to fight with me.”
There’s a heavy moment of silence, when I look at each of them, reading their faces. Janet smiles slightly, and I can hear her voice in my head, saying to trust myself. Imani, a fierce determination in her eyes, then Siggy, scared but sure. Annie, more determined than I expected, honestly. Simon, resigned but ready.
Mia nods. Rosa, standing beside her, frightened, but she nods, too.
Blair, as fired up as me. I can see it in her eyes. She’s ready to fight.
Good old Blair.
The spell of silence is broken by a rough guffaw.
Cuellar is bent over at his waist, hands on his knees, laughing. He screams ha ha ha at the ground.
Before I can begin to process it, or feel truly angry, or hurt, he holds up a hand, trying to signal through his laughter wait.
“Oh lordy,” he laughs. But he stands up, flipping the bloody bottle around to a ready position. “You’re a trip, kid. For a second there I thought this was one of those prank videos. Honestly.”
He swipes at his eyes.
“Here’s what I know,” he says, mocking me. “You’re not my leader. So, no. I ain’t with you. I ain’t with anyone. I’m out for me. But sure. Let’s go down to the atrium. Try those doors or bust ’em out. But this isn’t a team.”
Annie starts to protest, but Cuellar keeps talking over her half-formed words.
“Don’t get me wrong, girls. Or you, Wong. If I can help you get out I will, but this ain’t some kind of hero TV show. I’m for me, no one else. And I’m going first.”
“Just like you led the way back there.” Janet repositions her drawer plank, tucking it under her arm. “Turning tail and running. June and Simon had more courage than you. And Linus. He saved us.”
“Bra-freaking-vo,” Cuellar mocks. “Where did it get him?”
Linus. It lances through me, a guilt that cuts directly into my heart. Linus’s courage, his sweet demeanor, his humor. I barely knew him, but he was a whole person, a good person, no, a great person, and now he’s dead.
It was my idea, leaving the hallway and going to the third floor.
Cuellar keeps talking.
“Don’t for one minute think that I’m gonna be pulling a hero move. It’s survival, not social niceties. Got it?”
He flips the bottle around, whirling it forward, then backward. He stabs at the air, his opposite arm coming up to drive extra force behind the jagged glass.
“Any of you killed one yet?” he asks. “I’ve got three.”
He points the bottle at me, then drags it across, pointing at the others, a sweep like the slice of a knife.
“We leave together. We end alone. Everyone dies alone, no matter where they are or who they’re with.”
Simon Wong shakes his head.
But no one speaks.
Embarrassment floods my face that I said anything to start with. That I thought I knew what to do. And even though a part of me is screaming at myself to say something, to deny the harshness of his words, I also can’t help but recognize the truth.
Linus is dead and I was the one who said . . . I was the one who said we should keep moving, we should go up. It’s my fault, it’s my fault he got bitten, it’s my fault he died. It’s all my fault.
A tightness grips my shoulders and a wash of nausea sloshes in my stomach. I’m ashamed, suddenly.
“All right.” Cuellar flexes his shoulders and rolls his neck. “Just so we’re all on the same page.”
22
We take the steps down, stopping at the second-floor landing. I lean over the railing and look down. The woman zombie that Cuellar killed is one level down, lying crumpled against the wall.
I stand back up and cross to the second-floor stairwell door. I finally can see what is blocking it, what I couldn’t see when we couldn’t open this door from the other side.
A thin rubber doorstop has been wedged into the base of the door.
I glance through the window, looking into
the long white hallway behind the ballroom.
It’s still clear. No zombies have managed to get through. Yet.
I hang back and gesture for Siggy to wait. Imani stops and so does Blair.
“We need to get you both weapons,” I tell Siggy and Blair. “There’s an open dressing room on this hall. We can grab something.”
Janet and the others have stopped only a few steps down the next staircase. Janet climbs back up.
“Good idea,” she says.
“I should grab something, too,” Mia says, following Janet.
I guess after Linus, being armed only with mace and confidence doesn’t feel like enough anymore.
Cuellar plants a hand on the wall and flips his broken bottle around. “Wouldn’t mind getting something a bit more substantial myself.”
Great.
“The rest of you can all wait here,” I tell them. “Rest. Besides, the fewer of us who go, the quicker, and probably quieter, we’ll be,” I say.
Mia sits on another step and pops her feet out of her stilettos. She flexes them, rotating the ankles and putting her feet flat on the landing.
“I don’t suppose you’d grab something for me? Anything would be fine.”
“Sure, Mia,” I reply.
Janet sits on another step. “You think it’s safe for us to wait here?”
“As safe as anything else. There’re no zombies in the hallway yet. If we’re quiet we can come back lickety-split.”
Simon sinks down to the step next to Janet.
“Annie, do you want a new weapon?” Imani asks.
Annie shakes her head, hugging her defibrillator case tighter.
“Maybe this one is good luck,” she says.
“Okay, here, share these.” I pull two water bottles out of my backpack. I reposition the two backpacks on me so their weight is evenly distributed again.
I hand the water to Rosa.
“Be careful,” she tells me.
I bend and wiggle the rubber doorstop out of the narrow gap.
Imani puts a hand on the stairwell door handle and pushes it slowly, silently, down. She pulls the door inward.