by Scott Craven
I hustled as fast as I could. Smoke obscured everything, but what worried me was the growing heat. Every now and then a glow of orange painted the smoke. It was beautiful in its way, but extremely unhealthy, even to those very experienced in death.
There, a lighter rectangle in the smoke. The door to freedom.
“There it is, Tread, let’s get to it.”
Tread stopped. His ears perked up, head turning to look behind us.
“C’mon, boy, we have to go, now.”
I pulled once. Twice.
Then I heard it too. A voice. Very small.
Back in the smoke and flames.
I let go of Tread’s collar, pushing him toward the door no more than ten feet away.
“Tread, go,” I commanded. I knelt down, peering behind me through the smoke.
“Hello, who’s there?” I said, hoping I’d hear no answer.
“Help! Please!”
It seemed to come from the front of the cafetorium. To the left.
Where the Tech Club’s display had been. Where all of this started.
“Keep talking, I’m coming.”
I scurried along the hot (and getting hotter) floor. The voice was getting closer as the smoke was getting worse. Soon my belly was flat on the linoleum as I skidded along its smooth surface.
There, maybe twenty feet ahead. Movement.
“I think I see you!” I said. “Keep yelling. Just a few more seconds.”
I put my palms flat on the floor and pulled, inching closer.
There was a crash, and yellow light erupted all around whoever was trapped back there.
“Please, hurry!” he screamed.
In a really high, girl-like voice.
“Ray? Ray is that you?”
“Yes, please, I can barely breathe, it’s so hot.”
“Can you move at all?”
“My legs. Trapped. Something … ”
“Ray? RAY!”
“Here.”
OK, I needed to get this done. I had to get closer. But the smoke was almost impossible to see through now, and the crackle of the flames was so close.
Something pushed my foot. Again. I felt a jerk, and my pants slid down an inch.
I knew what was happening. Tread bit into my pants cuff and was trying to drag me out of there.
That’s when it hit me.
“Tread, come.” I grasped my left wrist, twisted, and pulled, removing my arm at the elbow. Taking myself apart was becoming a refined talent.
“Look, boy, look. Want to play?” I waved my forearm back and forth, getting Tread’s attention.
Tread dropped my cuff and leapt to my shoulders to get a better look at his favorite toy.
“Ray,” I said, “can you hear me?”
“Yeah.”
“I am going to throw you something. Grab it and hold on for dear life.”
“Throw what?”
“A lifeline.”
“Like a rope?”
“Not really. A helping hand.” Literally. “You just need to hold on. We’ll drag you out of there.”
“OK.”
I had to make this the perfect throw. Taking one more look at Ray, noting where he was, I got to my knees.
“Ready, Tread? Ready?” I tapped his nose with the arm. “Fetch!”
I let loose, the arm disappearing into the smoke, Tread right behind.
Seconds later, a Ray-less Tread returned and dropped the arm in front of me.
“Ray, what happened? Did you not see it?”
“I saw something—”
Coughing, a deep-throated rasp that could have been the product of fifty years smoking. Come on, Ray, hang in there, I thought.
“—but it was a few feet ahead of me.”
“OK, I’m going to try again,” I said. “As soon as you have it, let me know.”
This was no time to wonder if you could teach an undead dog new tricks. Tread had to learn “Stay,” and he had to do it now.
“Tread, sit. Good boy. Now stay. Stay.” I tossed my arm just a few feet away, quickly showing Tread the palm of my hand. “Stay.”
Tread sat, his eyes boring a hole into the arm that was just out of reach.
“Fetch,” I said, sweeping my right arm forward. He took a few steps and snatched my arm, dropping it by my head.
Perfect.
“OK, Ray, here it comes.” I wanted to add, “If you miss it this time, we’re all going to find out if fire can kill zombies.”
I looked at Tread, put my palm out. “Stay.” Slowly I reached for the detached arm and flipped it into the smoke. Tread lifted his head and dropped it again, as if following the arc of the arm, though he could not possibly see it.
Could he?
“Got it!” Ray yelled. “Jesus, what the—”
“Fetch!”
Tread was gone.
I heard claws on linoleum. Then a rhythmic scratching, each accompanied by a grunt. I shut my eyes, envisioning what was happening.
Ray had hold of my hand, and Tread’s teeth were sunk deep into the elbow, fastened tightly to the bone (that was going to need more than duct tape to repair.) Tread yanked, again and again, doing the only thing he wanted to do.
Get my arm back to me.
Flames shot through the smoke inches from my head. A crash, as if cafetorium were coming down all around us.
And there was Tread’s butt, moving slowly toward me.
I wondered if Ray was on the other side. If he wasn’t, I wasn’t sure I was going to get out of here undead.
The smoke was so thick I couldn’t see two feet in front of me. Tread’s butt came closer, then his ribs (with the tire track), his shoulders, his head. Finally, there was my arm.
And Ray, gripping the fingers.
“Jed.”
“Ray.”
He was free, but we were still in trouble.
“This is what we’re going to do,” I said. “Take as big a breath as you can, and hold it. I’m going to carry you out of here. You OK with that?”
He nodded, trying not to breathe.
I stood and wrapped my good arm under his armpits and lifted, hoisting him onto my shoulder. Thank goodness he was a lightweight.
Pointing myself toward the exit, I took one lumbering step after another. Slow but unstoppable. True zombie form.
Tread at my side, guiding us with small nudges to keep us on track.
There again, a light rectangle glowing in the haze.
Almost.
One step.
Another.
I felt one set of hands on my right elbow, another arm wrapped around my waist. We burst into sunlight and fresh air.
Anna eased Ray off my shoulders, and Robbie lowered me to the ground.
Ah, crap. My arm.
But no, Tread dropped that beside me.
Tread. Good old Tread.
“Nice dog,” Ray said.
Well, that’s what it sounded like between coughing fits.
“Yeah, he’s really smart,” I said. “You know. Full of life.”
“That was a cool trick with the arm.”
“Came in handy.”
“That was a really bad pun.”
“Yeah. I’d give an arm and a leg for a better sense of humor.”
“OK, I give up,” Ray said, smiling.
“Really?”
Ray took a deep breath, then smoothed out his shirt.
He looked me in the eyes.
“Yeah,” he said. “I do.”
“Sounds good. But what will Principal Buckley say?”
“Nothing, if he wants Pine Hollow to win its first academic decathlon next year.”
Ray knew just enough about Principal Buckley to hit him where it hurt.
“Good to hear,” I said. “Thanks.”
Sirens roared in the distance, but based on the smoke billowing from the cafetorium, they were far too late. I w
as going to miss it, except for the Wheel of Meat.
A tap on my shoulder. “Dude, what’s that about,” Luke said.
“What’s what about?”
He put his hands on my cheeks and steered my head to the left. Anna was talking to Robbie. I thought she might be giving him a piece of her mind, but they looked far too calm. Robbie nodded and walked away.
Anna returned, a huge smile on her face.
“You scared me to undeath, you know,” she said.
“Just wanted you to know how it felt, that’s all.”
She punched my good shoulder. “Looks like we have some serious repairs to do,” she said, motioning toward my poor, chewed up lifeline of an arm.
“In time, all will be fine,” I said. “So what’s up with that whole Robbie conversation?”
“He just wanted to set a few things straight.”
“Like what?”
“He said he was never working for the NZN Network, that he preferred to deal with you one on one and didn’t need a bunch of ill-informed jerks preying on stereotypes.”
“You believed him?”
“Yeah. I did. He’s never needed help making you miserable.”
That was true. And Robbie had told me that weeks ago. But one thing still bothered me.
“What about when he was at school early, hanging outside the NZN meeting making sure no one interrupted them?”
“He said he wasn’t there to protect them, but to tell them to back off because it was giving you way too much attention. And you were tougher to pick on when in the spotlight. But you arrived before he found them, so he said he just took advantage of an opportunity.”
“Gee, so happy I could be there so he could get that pent-up bullying out of his system. Until the next time he catches me alone.”
“About that,” Anna said. “After what happened today, he’s decided to focus on the NZN. At least through the end of the school year, which is probably today, with the way everything went down.”
It turned out Anna was right. As news of the fire spread, and its cause, parents were extremely unhappy about open flames in the cafetorium (I knew it). Principal Buckley not only canceled the last week of school, but was called to appear in front of the school board to explain why a bunch of crazed, zombie-fearing kids were allowed to hook several Bunsen burners to a propane tank.
But at that point, as the cafetorium went on violating Pine Hollow’s no-smoking policy, all we cared about was that everyone escaped safely.
“You know what we should have now?” Luke said.
“Marshmallows and long sticks?” Anna said.
“Duuuudes,” I said, “you read my mind.”
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Dad, thanks so much for your encouragement and your constant interest in, as you like to say, “Our good friend Jed.” I know Jed consumed more of our annual visit than he should, and I appreciate your support, except for that one night. You know the one I’m talking about. Melissa, thank you for being there along the way and understanding the many weekends I devoted to Jed. Your encouragement meant everything. Except for that one day. You know the one I’m talking about. Thank you Barbara Vandenburgh for again devoting a large chunk of time checking and double-checking the text. You are the continuity goddess. If not for you, at least four minor characters would have had roughly seventeen names. A huge thank you to readers who enjoyed the first book, especially young Jack, who actually waited thirty minutes in line to say hello and get a signed copy. If only I had not run out at twenty-five minutes (Jack was cool, Jack was lenient, his book was mailed convenient). A huge thank you to George Romero for practically inventing zombies, though I am sure he never envisioned a member of the undead who just wanted to please. And to Bryson, my 19-year-old son who not only read the first book, but shared it with many of his friends, almost as if he were proud or something. This was the same kid who, at ten years old, bolted out of Target when I insisted on dancing to an Earth, Wind, and Fire song. He waited by the car for twenty minutes. True story.
SCOTT CRAVEN
Scott Craven is a proud graduate of Cal Poly, San Luis Obispo. He has a teenage son, and is a features writer for The Arizona Republic.
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Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Acknowledgements
About the Author
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