Never Slow Dance with a Zombie

by E. Van Lowe

  Definitely not good. The sudden stillness told me they were slowly refocusing their attention in our direction.

  "Mmmmm." Swish-swish. Their labored movement shifted in the darkness. They were coming for us.

  "Sybil Joyce Mulcahy, I need that flashlight," I said, channeling her mother. "And I need it now!"

  That jarred her out of her fugue. I could hear her fumbling in her purse. "Here it is." Her voice was even weaker than before.

  I reached out and found her hand. "Sybil, I need you to pay attention and do exactly as I say. Okay?"

  "Ouch!" she cried. "What was that?"

  "Sybil Joyce Mulcahy!" I screamed again. "You need to pay

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  attention! When I say 'now,' shine the flashlight on me, casting my shadow on the wall Got it?"

  "Got it," she said. But I could tell she'd lost all hope of getting out alive.

  Quickly, I pulled my hair back into a tight bun, cinching it with a scrunchie.

  Swish-swish. The zombies were on top of us. 1 could feel them reaching for us, bony fingers finding my arms in the darkness.

  "Now! "

  Click. The tiny light beam hit me from the side, casting my huge, distorted profile onto the wall.

  "Margot Jean Johnson," I said in a throaty voice I prayed would sound like Mrs. Mars. "I want you and all of your friends out of this gym. And if you're not out of here when the lights come back on, you will all be in my class next semester. Same bat time, same bat channel." I ended with a throaty chuckle and held my breath. Sybil clicked the penlight off on cue as if we'd planned it, again bathing the gym in darkness.

  We waited in silence for a moment that stood still, and then... swish-swish, swish-swish. Zombie footsteps began moving quickly away from us toward the locker room door. Swishswish, swish-swish. Swish-swish, swish-swish. The zombies continued their retreat. In a few minutes we were alone in the darkness, surrounded by welcome silence.

  The lights came back on.

  The empty gym was eerily silent. A bloody wet spot on the floor marked where the slab of meat had landed. The meat was gone. All I could think was, That could have been us.

  "Someone is trying to kill us." Sybil's distant voice broke the silence.

  I looked at her, my mind racing in a million different directions.

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  All I could say was, "Yes. I wonder who." The words trembled from my lips.

  We decided to ditch seventh period and hung out in the "up" stairwell between the second and third floors. We sat silently on the stairs, listening to each other breathe. The sound of our breathing calmed us--in and out, slow and steady. It was life-affirming.

  "I'm sorry I accused you of nailing shut the pit door. I knew you couldn't have done it. It's just that--"

  I held up my hand and stopped her. I had been guilty of so much, I understood why.

  "I think it's Principal Taft," she said after a while. "He knew we were going to be in the gym."

  It was then I noticed tributaries of bright red snaking through the whites of her eyes. Her pupils were dilated.

  "You don't look too good."

  "I know. I'm not feeling too good. I think it's all the excitement." She put her hand to her forehead. "I think I'm getting a fever."

  I gasped.

  On the back of Sybil's hand, between her thumb and forefinger, there was a half-moon bite mark, and a tiny trace of blood.

  "Oh my God," I said, the fear rising in me like a tidal wave. "Sybil what's that?"

  Sybil looked at her hand. It was a childlike examination, filled with wonder. She turned it over several times, examining it from every angle. "Oh? That's what I felt in the darkness." She looked at me, and spoke calmly. "I guess when we were in the gym, one of the zombies bit me."

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  'Chapter

  Twenty-seven

  The world I had created was crumbling all around me. I didn't have far to look to know whose fault it was. Sybil was becoming a zombie. Dark circles had formed under her eyes--eyes that were slowly becoming a sea of red.

  "I think it's Principal Taft," she said again. "Or maybe it's Mrs. Mars. You're the only person in class she can't control. Turning you into a zombie would put you under her thumb like the others."

  "Sybil, we've got to do something about that bite!" I couldn't think about who might have caused the attack, not with her life slipping slowly away. "We may not have much time. Remember what Principal Taft said about the carnival? They started changing right away."

  'I know," she said softly. She sat there calmly, but I could smell the fear on her, like the stink of cheesy tennis shoes stinging in my nose ... or perhaps it was my own fear I smelled.

  Cough.

  "What was that?" Sybil whispered, looking around.

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  My breath caught in my throat as I recognized the odor stinging my nose. I'd smelled it before.

  I put a finger to my lips, signaling for silence, and then pointed to the landing below us. "Someone's listening, "I whispered.

  There was a slight rustling of clothing from the landing below.

  "Whoever it is has all the answers." I grabbed Sybil's hand.

  "What are you doing?"

  I didn't respond. Silently, I pulled her downstairs. As quiet as we were, with every step we could hear the person retreating.

  "He's on to us," I said. "Let's go!"

  We bolted down the stairs two at a time, but the person we were chasing was doing the same. The culprit hit the first-floor landing and shot through the swinging door-- swoosh. We arrived seconds later and barreled through into the first-floor corridor. Silence. Empty. We looked up and down the corridor. Nothing.

  "He got away," Sybil said, catching her breath.

  "Or maybe it was she who got away."

  Sybil slid to the floor. "I'm so tired."

  "Rest," I said. She looked horrible. It was as if she'd aged ten years right before my eyes. But at least she wasn't a zombie ... yet.

  That's when I saw it. In their retreat, the person's clothing had caught on a tiny nail sticking out of the door. A small piece of fabric now clung to the nail. "Look," I called.

  I removed the tiny swatch from the nail. We examined it closely under the light. I rubbed the silky blue swatch between my thumb and forefinger, getting a feel for the soft material. I'd seen the fabric somewhere before. But where? I couldn't

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  remember, but I knew I had to. My best friend's survival might well depend on deciphering the tiny clue.

  I turned to Sybil, slumped on the floor. Her complexion had turned ghastly pale. "Let me see the bite."

  "Margot, it's nothing. It doesn't even hurt."

  "I need to see how bad it is." I grabbed her hand and examined it. There were two tiny puncture wounds. "The thing's teeth didn't break much flesh. Maybe only a tiny bit of the virus got in. Maybe this is the worst of it."

  She nodded. "I am feeling a bit better."

  "Maybe I should try sucking it out."

  She drew back her hand. "You mean like snake venom?"

  "Yes. We might be able to limit the damage if I suck it out."

  She smiled.

  "What?"

  "I knew the real Margot was in there somewhere." Her smile broadened. I looked away. The smile was as bad as her accusing stare. Same effect--heavy guilt.

  "Give me your hand, Syb," I said, avoiding her eyes.

  She shook her head. "You know I can't let you suck on my wound. It's too dangerous. Someone has to be around to end this thing."

  Just my luck that someone would be me, the person who'd caused all this misery in the first place. "The boys," I said all of a sudden. "Maybe they have some of the antidote left." My voice rose with hope.

  "They finished the antidote?" *

  "Urn ... Yes. Baron didn't tell you?"

  "No."

  I couldn't tell if not knowing had hurt her. She was so out of it.

  "Umm... He probably didn't tell you because he g
ave me

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  some to give to Dirk and it didn't work," I said, trying to justify Baron's silence.

  "0h," she said softly. "But if it didn't work, what good would it do now?"

  "Well... Maybe it just didn't work on Dirk. Maybe it'll work on you."

  "No offense, Margot, but I wouldn't put much faith in a failed antidote." She was smiling again. "Although I appreciate your optimism."

  "We have to try something!" My words reeked of desperation.

  She nodded and heaved a deep sigh. "I guess we do." She shrugged. "Okay. Let's go."

  School was out by the time we reached the basement. The zombie students had all vacated the premises. Walking the halls with Sybil made the dimly lit basement seem even creepier. Her breath came in short, ragged bursts, punctuating the silence around us. She's beginning to sound like one of them, I thought. I quickened my pace.

  Up ahead we saw the handwritten cardboard sign declaring THE FORTRESS OF SOLITUDE hanging on the door. I was flooded with relief.

  We entered. The room was empty ... abandoned was more like it. Baron and Milton's hideout, which had once contained lab equipment and youthful optimism, now appeared to have been ransacked. A prickly feeling spread over my entire body, as if someone were sticking me with hundreds of tiny needles.

  "They're not here." My eyes darted around the room. "This cannot be happening." Hurriedly, I began rummagmg through the dusty bins and cubbies, hoping to find the antidote. Nothing.

  Sybil seated herself on a lab stool, watching me go through

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  my search. I glanced over at her a few times. She appeared to be resigned to her fate.

  "Someone got to them," she said. These were words I didn't want to hear, couldn't accept.

  "I bet they went into deep hiding. You know, until they could fix the formula. You know how secretive Milton can get." My mind raced, searching for a plausible reason as to why they weren't here.

  She shook her head, "Looks like there was a struggle."

  She was right. It appeared more than a hasty retreat. It appeared forced.

  "Someone got to them," she repeated.

  So much for plausibility. We were silent for what seemed like forever. I could hear the sound of our hearts beating, hers with a slow, rhythmic pulse, mine racing like the wind.

  "You need to stay away from me. Who knows when the change will come? When it does, I may try to kill you."

  "You wouldn't," I said, my voice cracking. "Even as a zombie, I know you wouldn't."

  "Don't be so sure. Dirk tried to kill you."

  "Dirk's not my best friend. He's practically a stranger."

  "He's your boyfriend."

  Some boyfriend, I thought. "Sybil, we need to look for Baron and Milton. I'm not going to leave you until we find a way to stop the change."

  "And if we don't?"

  "We will," I replied. "Now, let's get out of here."

  We took the long walk back up to the first floor. I had no idea where to look for the boys. For all I knew it was too late. They could already be zombies.

  When we arrived back in the main corridor we heard

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  voices coming from down the hall. We exchanged a quick glance and headed in the direction of the voices.

  I prayed it was Baron and Milton. Only they could end this nightmare and save my friend's life. As we got closer, we realized the voices were coming from Mrs. Mars' office.

  A questioning look passed between us as we approached the office. The office door contained a huge pane of thick, opaque glass taking up most of the top half--impossible to see through.

  Mrs. Mars was inside. She was arguing with someone.

  "You failed!" she boomed in angry hoarse tones.

  "Who's she talking to?" I whispered.

  We crept up to the door, making sure we stooped below the glass pane so as not to be seen. We pressed our ears firmly against the wooden door. The sound of things crashing to the floor reverberated in the corridor as Mrs. Mars paced back and forth in silence.

  "Is she arguing with herself?" I asked.

  "Shh."

  Suddenly she stopped, and I was certain she'd heard us. I held my breath, fully expecting the door to come flying open.

  "Perhaps there's a way," she said. Her voice was much calmer now. Then she said something we couldn't make out, but the last part was crystal clear: "... and after that, Margot Jean Johnson, you are mine. Zombies rule!" she finished with a sinister, throaty chuckle.

  Sybil and I looked at each other, astonished.

  Mrs. Mars was the person who wanted us... er, me ... dead... er, undead.

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  Chapter Twenty - eight

  I took Sybil home with me. I bathed her wound in Betadine, then bandaged it in gauze. I fed her herbal tea--a chamomile, goldenseal, Red Zinger cocktail. I didn't know what else to do. But it seemed as though the change had slowed. Maybe I had caught it in time. Maybe she wasn't doomed. Maybe I wasn't fooling myself. Maybe.

  As evening approached, with it came the fog of doubt.

  Everything indicated Mrs. Mars was trying to turn us into zombies. I kept asking myself why. It didn't make sense. But I didn't need to know her reasons. If Mrs. Mars was the culprit, she held the key to the whereabouts of the antidote that could keep my friend from joining the living dead. I needed that key.

  "We have to tell Principal Taft that Mrs. Mars got to Baron and Milton. And now she's trying to get us," Sybil said. She was lying on my bed, resting. The circles beneath her eyes had faded. They weren't as red as before.

  "We need proof," I said.

  "What kind of proof?"

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  "I don't know. Something she can't deny."

  We sat in silence, and I thought about how many times we'd sat here in my room, eating snickerdoodles and planning our fabulous futures. Not once had our plans included surviving a zombie attack.

  "We're telling the truth, right?" I said all of a sudden.

  "Of course." She sat up, staring at me with the kind of schoolgirl anticipation she'd had when I'd told her some of my best-kept secrets.

  I took a deep breath. "Remember Percy Paulson?"

  "Your first kiss," she replied in a playful singsong.

  "He wasn't. We didn't kiss that day after the walkathon." A look of surprise came across her face.

  "What happened?"

  "You left us alone to exchange phone numbers."

  "1 remember what I did, Margot."

  "Right. Well... we didn't kiss."

  "I thought he liked you?"

  "He did ... until I threw up."

  Sybil shifted to the edge of the bed and stared at me. "What?"

  "He leaned in to kiss me, and my stomach got all fluttery. And-blah!"

  "How horrible!" She practically gasped.

  "I didn't do it on him. No, no. Just a tiny bit on the ground. But I guess it was enough to make him not like me so much after that."

  Sybil started to laugh, her laughter building like a musical crescendo, and then suddenly stopped.

  "I wish you'd told me."

  "I wanted to. But if I'd told you, I would have had to tell you why my stomach got all fluttery." I swallowed hard. "I was scared of being kissed."

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  She didn't laugh, or gasp, or look at me like I was from another planet. She eyed me thoughtfully.

  "And all this time I thought he just didn't call."

  "He didn't Well, maybe he did. I gave him a fake phone

  number." Sybil's eyes narrowed. "I was too embarrassed!"

  "Why are you telling me this now?" she suddenly said. "You think I'm going to die, don't you?"

  "No."

  A beatific smile spread across her face. "Margot, I've never told you this before, but you're a lousy liar."

  I laughed. It was the most genuine laugh I'd had in a long time.

  "We're still telling the truth, right?" Sybil asked.

  "Why stop now?"

/>   She took a deep breath. "I only pretended to like Baron Chomsky to make you jealous."

  "I know. It was pretty obvious. But you got him anyway. You got him without even trying," I said with a sigh.

  "Sometimes you are so dumb. Baron isn't interested in me. He was doing the same thing I was doing, trying to get your attention."

  Should I tell her how well it worked?

  "That's why I didn't know about the antidote," she continued. "I wasn't hanging with Baron and Milton every night. I was only pretending to."

  I was speechless, adjusting to the thought that perhaps Baron still liked me. For an instant my heart fluttered.

  "I know you like him," Sybil said after a while. "You just don't want to date a geek. I can understand that. It's not in the manifesto."

  I was red with embarrassment over all the bad things I had

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  thought about Baron and Sybil Then suddenly I asked, "Do you think I'm fat?"

  "Do you think I'm skinny?"

  "No fair. You're answering a question with a question."

  "I know, but since I'm the one who got bit, my rules."

  "Okay." Then, "Yes."

  She yelped. "I knew it!"

  "But in a good way. If I had your legs I could wear thigh-high leather boots."

  "If I had your chest I could wear revealing tops. And what a pleasure it would be to have hips to hold my pants up."

  All of a sudden we were best friends again, trading body parts like we'd done back in middle school.

  And now a brief note about body image: Isn't it amazing how we can't see the best in our own bodies? We are so envious of our friends and enemies. Imagine if we could learn to love ourselves just the way we are. It would put an end to zombie infestations around the world.Okay, maybe it wouldn't

  do that, but it would be a good thing.

  "Margot, I'm scared."

  I guess it really was time to tell the truth.

  "I'm scared, too."

  "We've got to go back up to the school."