by Tom Leveen
The bit sings a soprano whine, then gurgles as it digs into her flesh and bone. Jaime screams madly while driving the bit deeper into her ribs. The girl gives an unearthly screech and tries to pull away from the screwgun. Jaime grabs her by the blouse and shoves her onto her back. Now he’s on top, shouting obscenities in her face while the drill bit digs deeper and deeper.
Distantly, I hear Laura screaming, “Oh my god! Oh my god!” over and over.
I fight the urge to turn to her as the jock leaps at me.
Don’t kill ’em.
Cursing, I drop low and swing hard for his legs. The sword cracks against the kid’s shin. He stumbles over the sword, but gets right back to his hands and knees, roaring. I lash out with one foot. Feel the sole of my shoe squish against his swollen lower lip. The blow sends him to his back.
Go for the cripple.
I jump toward him and chop down with the Starfire like an ax against his knees. There’s a brittle crack. As the kid lurches up to reach for me, I swing again, connecting with his other knee.
I skip backward. The kid flips over, dragging himself toward me on his hands, his legs motionless behind him. I fight the urge to clip him in the head. He’s slowed; it’ll do. Desperately, I swing my head in search of Kenzie and Laura. Kenzie’s still by the classroom door, and there’s Laura, beside her, holding the pole out in front of her like a spear. The other zombies don’t seem to notice them yet.
Travis appears beside the kid I just hit. He raises his sword and swings at the monster’s head. The resulting gash spills crimson blood against the dirty sidewalk, and the monster lies still.
Absurdly, Travis stares down at the monster and says, almost calmly, “I’m sorry, man.”
Chad races to Jaime and swings at the Latina girl like his bat was a golf club, smashing her cheekbone into a pulpy mass. Blood sprays across Jaime’s face. He shrieks and jumps off her lifeless body, wiping frantically at his skin and spitting.
I turn to Laura and hold out my hand. “Come on!”
Laura’s ponytail has come undone. Her hair spills around her face, and for one second, I’m reminded of how she looks after we’ve been making out for an hour. She is so beautiful.
Laura runs over to me but refuses my hand, still holding the pole. “Can we just—”
Another monster, a thin white kid wearing all black, runs around the corner of the building. I pull Laura close and force her to run alongside me, racing for the gymnasium.
“This way!” I call out to the guys.
They steer toward me. Jaime stops only long enough to pick up his Starfire. Chad screams in agony as he lurches toward the gymnasium.
“Hurry up, hurry up,” Jaime chants as the monster closes in.
I drop Laura’s arm and throw open both doors.
“Oh, my sweet chocolaty hell,” Travis whispers.
We’ve only seen maybe a hundred sick kids from the roof, total. There are probably more out on the fields, and maybe survivors trapped or hiding in classrooms.
But a lot of the school was in the gym for the pep rally, and they were there when we went on lockdown. Everyone who did what they were told, like nice little students, ended up here.
They’re still here.
What’s left of them.
CARNAGE.
I can’t see much of the polished hardwood floor. The bodies are too thick, too piled, too many. At my feet, I recognize two of the delta-bravo football players in matching jerseys we passed this morning when Frank the security guard hassled us. Not sick and dead. Just dead. Somehow they look younger now.
Wandering among the bodies are the walking dead, the monsters, at least thirty at a quick mental count. Maybe more. They crawl around on their knees and hands like the others, faces malformed and drooping, arms swollen and brittle.
The zombies, one at a time, turn their heads toward us. Their movements are slow, lethargic.
And on the opposite side of the gym, beyond the horde, resting against the wall, I see Laura’s bubble-gum pink backpack.
“Son of a bitch,” I whisper. “Son of a bitch.”
Jaime wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “You wanna …”
I look at Chad as the zombies stare us down. Chad’s eyes flicker between the bag and the creatures, calculating.
“Well, shit,” Chad says. “Maybe if—”
“Brian, down!” Kenzie screeches.
I drop to a crouch. A zombie flies over my head, arms outstretched.
The thin kid. I was so shocked by the sight in the gymnasium, I forgot he was still out there behind us, charging.
The zombie smashes into Jaime, taking them both down. This cues the others in the gym to start rampaging toward us.
Travis guts the zombie on top of Jaime with a fast stab of his sword. Jaime clambers up, breathing hard, and turns to me.
“Brian, I don’t … I don’t think …”
“I know,” I say.
And we turn to start running out of the gym, leaving behind our only hope for Chad.
Thirty, forty creatures stumble over the bodies of the dead to reach us. Students of every color, every grade, every clique are running at us. They roar collectively, and I swear I feel the ground shake beneath me.
From the sky, they’d look like swarming ants.
“Holy Mary,” Jaime whispers, “Mother of G—”
Travis shoves him, and then we’re through the doorway and back onto the main sidewalk. Jaime slams the doors shut behind us.
A tremendous crash rattles the gym doors. I wonder crazily why the hell they couldn’t figure out how to open the doors and let themselves out. Maybe we wasted time boarding up the drama department. Come to think of it, none had grabbed any doorknobs or handles, just crashed into the doors. It would be funny if it wasn’t so goddam stupid.
“Okay, let’s go, move it,” Chad urges as we sprint down the main sidewalk. His pace is slowing, though. He’s moving as best he can, but now it’s clear he doesn’t have much longer.
Chad. Hang in there, man.
As if he can hear my thoughts, Chad glances at me. I’ve slowed down just a bit, unconsciously, to stay at his side.
“Chad, what’s wrong?” Laura says as we move down the sidewalk. Her voice is high, tight, her eyes wide. But she’s under control.
“You get them outta here,” Chad says raggedly, ignoring Laura. “No matter what. You do whatever you gotta to get them out.”
I don’t say anything.
My breath scorches out of my lungs like fire. Chad bellows with every step, swearing painfully as the disease continues to overtake him.
A splintering crash echoes behind us, and we shudder to a stop. Whatever kept the monsters penned inside the gym, they’re out now. They’ve smashed the doors open, and they pour out in a flood of vicious hunger.
The stampede is bearing down right on us, maybe forty yards back.
Without a word, we pick up our pace. But Chad still lags behind, wincing and swearing with every step. He is almost entirely curled over now.
A crash and clang sound behind me. I glance back; Travis has tripped and is splayed across the concrete.
We all stumble to a halt.
“Travis!” Jaime shouts.
But the horde is closer now, rolling toward us in an inevitable wave. Eyes bulging, flesh hanging, jaws snapping. My American history teacher is one of them. The security guard who stopped us this morning is another. They weren’t in the gym—the noise of the horde must’ve attracted them from someplace else on campus as we ran. Swelling their ranks.
The sight of them closing in paralyzes us for one precious moment as Travis shoves himself to his feet.
Chad spins toward us. The skin under his eyes has begun to bag and slough. The first tints of yellow have appeared at the corners. His hands shake uncontrollably.
“Go!” Chad orders.
“We gotta get Travis!” I scream back.
“I got it,” Chad says. “Just go.” He snorts and grins.
“Few and the proud, right?”
His eyes dart to my sister. He actually manages to wink at her and smile. “Love ya, Kenzie,” he says.
Then he turns to face the onslaught.
I reach out to stop him. I can’t let my friend go out like this, not for that queer-ass Travis—he’s dead anyway.
For a split second, I lose my breath entirely. Jesus-I-really-just-thought-that-oh-god-what’s-happened-to-me-what’s—
“Chad!”
Too late. He whirls away and books toward Travis.
Travis retrieves his sword. Chad gets to him and shoves him back our way. Travis needs no more encouragement, and he races toward us.
One monster, faster than the others, reaches Chad first. He snarls and lands on top of Chad, sending Chad to the ground once more. The monster grips Chad’s good hand and buries his teeth into the scabby flesh.
With a barbaric howl, Chad kicks the zombie off of him. He reaches for his bat and drives it into the kid’s mouth. Cussing, Chad skitters backward and clambers to his feet as six more zombies race toward him on their toes and knuckles, dotting the sidewalk with slick saliva.
Then the horde slows. Just for a moment. Several of the monsters sniff at Chad’s leg—then refocus on us and give chase again.
Chad turns. His eyes are wide as he registers what this means. He drops the bat, digs into his jeans, and throws his car keys at me like a fastball. Stupidly, I try to grab at them with my sword still in hand, and they clatter to the sidewalk.
“Run!” Chad screams. His lower lip now juts out from his face, and I can see even from this distance that his eyes have gone yellow.
Then Laura is on the ground, swooping the keys into her hand. She faces me, terrified, but not panicked.
“Brian …?”
“Okay,” I whisper, and we turn and run for the parking lot.
“KAT!” JAIME SHOUTS INTO THE HEADSET, running awkwardly with his sword in one hand and the headset base in the other, his thumb down on the send button. “We need the ladder now.”
Over the sound of the monsters, I can’t tell if she replies or not. Then a heartbeat later, Jaime calls over his shoulder, “Box office!”
The ladder is a thirty-footer. It would be a mess to try to maneuver it around in the drama hallway. From the box office doors, it’ll be a straight shot across the parking lot.
If we make it that far.
The horde closes in. We run toward the parking lot, instinctively veering east, away from the scene shop. Our way is clear for the moment, but as soon as we hit the edge of the lot, we can see a few dozen monsters roaming among the cars. Bodies litter the blacktop, most with their throats and arms torn apart, rotting under the night sky.
I point to the gate. “The hoods. Of those two cars. Can use them to get a leg up over the fence if the ladder—”
“Right,” Jaime says. Into the headset, he barks, “Kat, head for the gate.”
He bends down and runs in a crouch toward the first car, and the rest of us follow. The zombies marauding in the parking lot haven’t seen us yet. There’s a chance we can sneak our way to the—
The horde behind us spills out into the lot, bellowing for our blood. Our bones.
Peeking around the closest car, I see the other zombies perk up and start moving toward their mutated brothers and sisters.
This is bad.
“I really do hate being manly,” Travis says with a wild look on his face. Before I can react, he bolts away from us, running upright, all six feet of him. At first I’m pissed, thinking he’s just looking out for himself. Then I realize the horde can see him more clearly than us, and half of them break into their apelike run after him.
He’s leading them away from us.
I reach for Jaime to point this out to him, but he’s already moving around the front of the car to dash to the next one for cover. I pull Laura and Kenzie around the rear of the vehicle.
I guessed better than Jaime.
One of the parking lot monsters is headed straight for him. Jaime stops, looks around for an escape.
It takes Jaime too long. That’s all the time the monster needs to jump and take Jaime to the ground. The screwgun flies out of his hand, just out of reach, and the monster sinks his teeth into Jaime’s throat.
With an earsplitting cry, Laura breaks free from me and charges full-bore toward the zombie on top of Jaime, her flagpole in both hands, the brass knob at the top pointed at the creature. She sticks the zombie square in the ribs, making him tumble off Jaime. Laura is screaming incoherently now—words, I think, but I can’t make them out. It’s as if she’s released all her years of fear onto this one creature.
The zombie regains his footing and turns to leap at her.
As he scrambles over Jaime, Jaime manages to grab the screwgun and jam it up into the zombie’s belly. The bit drills deep, hurling flesh from the spinning corkscrew. The zombie falls across him, creating an obscene cross of their two bodies.
Laura jabs the flagpole into the zombie’s head over and over. It’s not having much effect, but it’s keeping him busy. I rush over to her and shove the zombie off Jaime just as the drill bit pops through the creature’s skin near its spine. At last the monster stops moving.
Laura, breathing hard, drops the pole and covers her face with her hands. Kenzie joins us as I bend down to check Jaime’s wound. He’s still depressing the trigger on the screwgun; its keening wail burning my ears.
“Jaime,” I whisper urgently.
His eyes roll toward me. “Asa,” he wheezes, and a fresh glut of blood pours from the wound in his neck. “Madison …”
“We’ll try, man …”
A blood bubble forms and pops on Jaime’s lips, and his muscles go limp. All except for his right hand, which even now holds down the trigger on the screwgun. The bit catches on the blacktop and sends sparks into the air.
“I’m sorry,” I hear myself say.
“We gotta get out of here,” Kenzie urges.
Gritting my teeth, I pull Laura’s hands away from her face. “Come on,” I say, and pull her into a crouching run to the next vehicle. I think of Kat. She’ll never get that second kiss.
Kat …
I spin toward the school, searching. There! Kat and Dave are holding the ladder sideways, running as best they can toward the gate. The ladder bangs against their legs. Dave is scanning the lot fearfully, but Kat’s face is set in a determined scowl. The horde—most of them, anyway—haven’t noticed the two of them yet; they’re too focused on us or have chased after Travis. Another few seconds, though, and Kat and Dave will be in the zombies’ line of sight.
We move ahead to the next vehicle. Now we’re maybe ten, fifteen cars away from the gate. Bill the security guard is still splayed across the trunk of one car, motionless and pale, colossal gashes in his forearms encrusted with blood.
I jerk on Laura’s hand, urging her to follow quickly to the next car, a little two-door thing. I stop at the rear bumper.
Damon’s car. I recognize the white peace decal.
Damon’s car. Damon’s gun.
I scuttle around toward the driver’s side. It’s definitely Damon’s, because Damon is crouched beside the door, pawing uselessly at the handle with his enormous, crystallized club hands.
He turns. Our eyes meet. His lower lip distends past his smooth white chin, teeth jagged. A low growl rumbles deep in his chest.
I swing the Starfire low at the same time Damon lunges toward me.
The sword clips Damon’s shoulder, sending him facedown into the blacktop. I hear crystals snapping as his chest hits the ground. He stretches out his arms, trying to get back up.
I kneel and chop with the sword, aiming for his arm. The blade connects solidly with Damon’s wrist. There’s a snap, and his hand arches upward as the bones in his wrist give way. Damon doesn’t even notice, still trying to push himself up. I chop again, against his other hand.
It takes three whacks before his wrist breaks. Damon falls to t
he ground, too stupid-crazy to use his legs to get up.
Still alive. Good. Just like Chad said …
“They’re coming!” Kenzie shrieks.
I shove Damon away from the driver’s side door and open it, thanking god it’s not locked. I reach under the seat—and there it is, cold and heavy. A pistol.
I pull it out and yank off the nylon holster. A revolver. Six-shooter, I guess. I turn it over in my hands for a couple of seconds, assuming there’s a safety. I find a latch on one side, click it, and seem to know from years of Hollywood training that this is now a live gun. I accidentally hit a button with my thumb, and a dot of red light dances on the side of the car.
Six shots. If it’s loaded.
I turn back to the girls. “Run,” I say. “The gate—go, now.”
They don’t hesitate. Laura and Kenzie bolt for the gate as I stand up and survey our situation.
While most of the gym monsters have followed Travis around the west end of the performing arts department, there are still dozens of them in the parking lot. It only takes a second for one to spot me and start bolting in my direction, wailing for my flesh.
I break into a sprint, the gun in my right hand.
“Move!” I scream.
Kenzie and Laura reach the gate at the same time as Kat and Dave. With one mighty heave, Kat tosses the narrow end of the ladder onto the crossbeam of the fence. Dave drops his end to the ground. Now we have a stepped ramp to climb up. Dave gestures hurriedly to Kat, who starts scrambling up the ladder.
Kenzie lets out a wail as she brushes one of Bill’s dead arms.
“Brian, come on!” Laura cries.
Both girls are already standing on one of the hoods. Kenzie has the fence in both hands as she tries to pull herself up and over, too intent on getting to safety to think about going for the ladder. I get a quick image of her slipping, impaling herself on those goddam spikes, and this is enough to send me running again.
“The ladder, the ladder,” I say, panting.
Laura jumps toward the ladder and tries to hoist herself onto it rather than climb from the base. I swear and get beneath her, pushing one foot until she can get her legs onto it. My heart seizes as she balances for one precarious moment on top of the ladder. Then she skitters along the rungs to the top of the fence and leaps, landing on the other side.