Bad Taste in Boys

by Carrie Harris

  Mike’s systems had started functioning normally again, and that included his circulatory system. He had taken a lot of damage while he was infected, and now his wounds were gushing. Making up for lost time, maybe.

  I flipped his scalp closed and looked around for something to wrap it with. Aaron whipped his shirt over his head and held it out to me. I ripped the fabric into long pieces, wrapping them around Mike’s skull and tying them in place. In my peripheral vision, I could see some of my classmates ease progressively closer as curiosity won out over fear. Now that Mike was cured, they were relatively calm. I couldn’t wait to tell them he wasn’t the only one infected.

  I needed a little nursing backup.

  “Where’s Mrs. Rooney?” I asked.

  “She already left for the day,” said Principal Wasserman. He inched forward to get a closer look.

  “Stay out of my light!” I snapped, wrapping the final bandage and tying it with a neat knot. “And I need another shirt.”

  The air filled with flying clothing. One shirt smacked against the side of my head, the sleeve wrapping around my neck. I heard a “Sorry!” from somewhere in the crowd but didn’t bother to acknowledge it. The blood from Mike’s wounds was soaking through; I couldn’t keep up.

  “You rip.” I thrust a handful of shirts at Aaron and he tore into them, piling up a small mountain of bandages before I even managed to tie another one in place. I worked frantically, my neck dripping with sweat. Wisps of hair escaped from my braid; one plastered itself to the corner of my mouth, but I didn’t dare pause long enough to wipe it away.

  “Tell me how to take care of the finger,” said Aaron. “I can handle it if you’ll tell me what to do.”

  I spared a moment to glance at him, because this was his best friend, after all. I knew I’d freak if Rocky was bleeding out on the floor. He looked pale but focused. I figured if he was willing to put his trust in me, he deserved the same courtesy in return.

  “All right.” I nodded, grabbing a strip of fabric and beginning to wrap it around Mike’s scalp. “First, examine the finger. Is there enough of a nub? Enough to wrap?”

  A pause. “No. No nub.”

  “Okay. Then you’re going to wrap in a figure eight. Around the wrist, cross over the missing digit, and back around the wrist again in the opposite direction. You’re going to need a lot of layers, and they need to be as tight as you can make them. Tie them off with square knots, nothing fancy. Can you do that?”

  “Yeah. Probably not as pretty as you can, but I’ll manage.”

  “Thanks.” I attempted to brush the hair out of my eyes with an elbow, even though I knew it was a physical impossibility. I was so tired. “Has anyone called nine-one-one?”

  “They’re on their way,” Principal Wasserman said. “Just a few minutes more, Kate.”

  By this time, Mike’s head was swathed in a huge multicolored turban. I paused and eyed it critically, but nothing was seeping out. I checked his pulse; it was weak but steady, and his respiration was good. I was afraid to say so out loud, but I thought he was going to be okay. Aaron carefully wound another strip over the severed finger. I could only see a small spot of blood there, so that was good. I didn’t know what shape Mike would be in when he woke up, but he seemed stable for the moment.

  “Keep an eye on him, will you, Aaron?” I asked.

  “I’m on it.”

  I stood up and had a moment of peace before the questions started flying. My classmates were scared and on the verge of revolt. They surged forward. I couldn’t even figure out who was talking; my eyes darted from side to side and saw nothing but panicked expressions and barely restrained hysteria.

  “Where did the zombies come from?” asked someone on my left.

  “Are there more of them?” said another.

  “Are these Romero slow zombies, or 28 Days Later fast zombies?”

  “They were totally slow, dude. Are you blind?”

  “Who are you calling blind?”

  “Stop!” I shouted, and the silence was instantaneous. I’d never had this kind of power over a crowd, except maybe when I was in grade school and the teacher used to leave me in charge of the class when she had to go to the bathroom.

  “Okay. There’s no reason to panic.” I used my most businesslike voice, speaking loudly to carry to the back of the crowd. “It’s true that there’s a virus on the loose, but I’ve got a cure. Everything is under control.”

  “Is it contagious?” Rocky asked, pushing her way to the front of the crowd.

  “Yes.”

  “How do you know if someone’s infected?”

  “Well, there are a lot of signs, but the biggest thing to look for is black vomit.”

  “Oh my god,” said a guy from the back of the crowd. “I puked this morning.”

  “So did I,” said someone else.

  The crowd scattered, fleeing for the doors again. Even Principal Wasserman disappeared this time. I could only hope he had Swannie with him.

  A small group of people was moving against the stream of traffic in my direction—five or six guys, including Jonah’s friend Drew.

  I heard Drew say, “That one’s limping. He must be one of them. Get him!”

  Five pieces of plastic pipe rose over the crowd in unison. I recognized them immediately, as only the older sister of an übernerd can. Pseudoswords. I would have been impressed at the guys’ synchronicity if I wasn’t so annoyed.

  “Stop!” I shouted, jogging over. My shoulder slammed into Drew’s ribs; I heard the rush of air as his lungs emptied. He toppled into the rest of the vigilante squad. We fell into a tangled heap of limbs on the floor.

  I was lying on top of Drew, which was not a position I wanted to be in. He looked up at me and said, “Hey!” All indignant too, as if I was the one not following orders instead of the other way around.

  I snatched his pseudosword and hit him with it. Not hard or anything, and not in the face. More like the kind of smack I gave Armstrong when he chewed on the furniture. Drew looked at me with the same expression as Army, the reproachful but contrite one. It worked better on the dog.

  “Are you deaf or just stupid?” I said, pushing myself to my feet.

  “What do you mean?” Drew seemed honestly confused, so I guessed the answer was stupid.

  “I said I could cure the infected. I cannot, however, cure someone after you’ve bashed their head in. Got it?”

  “Oh.” His face fell. “I didn’t hear that part. We ran to my locker to get the swords.”

  “Idiot.” I looked down at my leg. A fresh red stain was spreading down the leg of my jeans. It didn’t hurt much; I couldn’t decide if that was good or bad.

  A squad of EMTs rushed into the room, led by Principal Wasserman. He was dragging Swannie by the wrist. She was pale but standing tall. Good. It was nice not to have to worry about them on top of everything else.

  “Get out of here,” I told Drew. “And don’t go hitting anybody. If you see someone you think is infected, call me.” I gave him my cell number.

  “Okay.” He hung his head as he started to trudge away.

  “Hey, wait a minute,” I said, and he stopped hopefully. “Can I have your sword? I’ll get it back to you later.”

  He looked like he couldn’t decide whether to be excited or disappointed, but he handed it over. I shouldered it and started for the doors. “Rocky, keep an eye on the vigilantes here, will you?”

  And then my vigilante self walked out into the battle.

  huge stretch of woods ran along the back of our school. My house was actually on the other side; during my ninth-grade environmentalism kick, I refused to go anywhere in a car and actually walked to school through the woods. It was about a mile and a half if you went by street but only ten minutes if you didn’t mind slogging through the mud.

  I knew from experience that the woods were always wet, really borderline marshland. And on a gray day like today, they were also dark and spooky.

  I walked out the ba
ck doors and nearly tripped over a Roman chariot made out of about a half ton of tissue paper. I’d forgotten that the homecoming court was planning to make a big entrance on one of the floats. Kiki leapt off the back of the chariot and ran up to me. She held an umbrella over her head, but the bottom half of her dress was still spattered with rain. The rest of the court huddled under jackets and sheets of plastic. They looked miserable and bedraggled, but I couldn’t drum up too much sympathy. I’d told them the float was a stupid idea, but no one ever listens to me.

  Kiki grabbed me by the shoulders, nearly whacking me in the face with the umbrella. “Kate! Thank god! Do you have any idea why most of the student body’s running around in the woods like idiots? And where’s Mike? He’s supposed to pull our chariot into the gym.”

  In the distance, I heard a long and drawn-out scream.

  “I don’t have time to explain. Take everyone inside. Rocky and Aaron will fill you in.” Kiki didn’t even pause; she started hustling the girls toward the doors.

  “Wait a minute,” I called. “Take this. And if anyone wacks out or throws up on you, stab them and press the plunger.”

  She took the syringe I handed her with the tips of two fingers, like she was afraid if she held it too tight it might explode.

  “Kate? This is another needle.”

  “And I hope you don’t have to use it,” I replied.

  She looked down at it, and I could see the questions in her eyes.

  “Please trust me,” I said. “I don’t want to have to worry about you. Rocky knows everything; she’ll explain it all.”

  Kiki nodded. “Good luck,” she said. “Come back safe.”

  I felt immensely cool as she herded the rest of the girls inside and closed the door behind her. The bolt latched into place with a loud clunk. I had this intense urge to bang on the door and demand to be let inside, but I couldn’t do that.

  It was game on, zombies. Game. On.

  I tromped into those woods like I owned them, scanning for flashes of yellow and white. It was a good thing our team had nice bright uniforms; it made target practice a lot easier. Although that might have been one of the reasons we never won. Instead of cutesy bright uniforms, maybe we should have worn all black. And spikes.

  Within the first three minutes, I ended up ankle-deep in mud in a huge hole. I was soaked from head to toe, and the constant drizzle made it tough to see. My smeary glasses turned everything into amorphous blobs. One of the blobs reached for me; I whacked it with my pseudosword and prepared to inject, but it turned out to be a branch blown by the wind.

  I stumbled into a clearing. In the springtime, it was probably the kind of place you’d like to hang out with sparkly vampires. But it was slightly less attractive in the rain. The blurry zombies didn’t help much either.

  There were probably about twenty of them, although I didn’t exactly have time to conduct a census. I wasn’t sure why they were all congregating here. Maybe it was instinct. Herd mentality. I was speculating on this when I realized that they were all clustered around something. It wore a red sweater. Or maybe the red was something else entirely.

  I couldn’t help it. I made a sound, just a little one. It was too horrible to handle; I didn’t know how they were going to live with what they’d done once I cured them. The noise might as well have been a firecracker; every head snapped around to look at me. So much for ninjalike stealth.

  They started moving toward me. Some walked normally; others lurched on unsteady limbs. Two fell to the ground en route and started dragging themselves through the mud on their bellies. The odds were stacked against me. But if I left the zombies, they’d continue to feed on my classmates. Right now, I was the only one who could keep that from happening.

  I backed away slowly, looking for the right place to make my stand. My hand fumbled for my cell. It was a good thing I had Rocky on speed dial. When she answered, I said, “You’d better send the EMTs into the woods out back. They’re about to have a lot of patients.”

  “Kate, are you—”

  “Love you, Rock.”

  I hung up before I turned into a total sap and started crying on the phone. There was a good chance I’d never talk to her again, but I hoped she’d understand if that happened. I hoped they would all realize that I couldn’t run and live with myself later.

  I looked to my right. Logan was closing in fast, his hands outstretched. One of his thumbs was broken off at the knuckle. His face didn’t even register surprise when I ran toward him instead of away from him.

  I stabbed wildly with the syringe, missing the first time but connecting the second. Then the pack was on me. I pulled out another dose and injected the first limb I could get my hands on. The needle scraped bone, setting my teeth on edge, but I was on to the next anyway.

  There were so many of them. The constant press of their bodies knocked me to the sludgy ground. They tore into my arms and legs; I batted their searching teeth away from my face again and again. The pain registered dimly, as did the sickening rip as my flesh separated from my body. But it was like I was in a trance, a never-ending cycle of pop-the-cap-off, stab-the-needle-in, press-the-plunger, withdraw-and-toss-aside.

  I didn’t know how long it lasted. Black flashes of nothingness at the edge of my vision threatened to shut me down. Blood loss, probably. An arm reached for me. I grabbed it, pulled it close, and fumbled for a syringe.

  In the distance, I heard Aaron screaming my name. Or maybe I was hallucinating it. Wishful thinking.

  The backpack was empty.

  Merciful darkness claimed me and everything went black.

  woke up in a dim room, covered with sheets that smelled funny. I knew I wasn’t in my room, but I couldn’t see anything without my glasses. I reached out, feeling the pull of adhesive bandages along the length of my arm. It was uncomfortable but not painful. I was either in the early throes of zombie infection or totally hopped up on pain meds.

  “Here, let me help,” said a male voice.

  The overhead lights popped on. I happened to be looking straight at them; my corneas felt like they were frying. I turned toward the blurry figure standing by the door.

  “You call that help?” I croaked. “Would you like to stab me with an ice pick while you’re at it?”

  “Sorry.”

  I would have recognized that sheepish, apologetic tone anywhere.

  “Jonah?” I needed my glasses. I flung my arm out wider, knocking something vaguely lamplike to the floor. “Is it really you?”

  He giggled. Yep, it was really him. I didn’t know any other teenage male who would giggle in public. Or at all.

  “Here they are,” he said, putting my glasses into my hand. I felt much better once I rammed them onto my face and could see him for real. He was a little pale, maybe, although it could have been from the fluorescents. Hospital-room lighting isn’t particularly flattering under any circumstances.

  “Are you okay?” I held out my hand to him; he took it without a single smart comment. I decided I was probably dead. It was the only explanation for the hand-holding.

  His sleeve pulled back, exposing a raw, red ring around his wrist. I gasped.

  “I think I taped myself too well. But otherwise I’m fine.” He pushed his sleeve back down. “I got off pretty easy, thanks to you.”

  “Yeah, well … do you know how I got here? How the guys are doing?”

  “Aaron could probably tell you better; he’s the one who found you in the woods. He and Dad are both sleeping in the waiting room. They’ve been here all night.”

  “All night? How long have I been out?”

  “About a day. I finally talked Dad into getting some sleep; I should probably let him know you’re up.”

  I hesitated. “Did—did the cure work?”

  “Yep. I got checked out by the health department and everything. They’re dosing everyone in town just in case, and they’ve got all the guys from the woods under observation. You did good.”

  I lay back, a s
mile on my lips.

  My nurse came in about two minutes after Jonah left. It took a long time to change all the dressings. I polished off a plastic cup of Jell‑O while surveying my injuries. I had some potential damage to the tendons in my left ankle and some pretty serious tissue loss on my legs and arms. The nurse patted me on the forehead. “We’ll have the plastic surgeon in to see you this afternoon. Don’t worry. He’ll have you right in no time.”

  There was no way I could take my chomped-upon limbs to homecoming. Aaron deserved a date who didn’t look like the Mummy Queen. I felt like crying.

  My cell was on the nightstand. I knew using it was against the rules, but at this point, I didn’t really care. Once the nurse left, I picked it up and texted Aaron. You okay? I typed. I’m sorry, but I can’t go to homecoming with you.

  The moment I hit send, I instantly regretted it. He didn’t respond. Maybe he was relieved at being let off the hook, and he was asking some cheerleader right now. Probably.

  But then my door opened and there he was, tired, stubbly, and adorable.

  “What do you mean you can’t go to homecoming with me?”

  “I …” I swallowed the lump in my throat and tried again. “Look at me. This is not something you want to be seen in public with, even if I’m allowed to go. I’ve lost a lot of tissue, and there’s a pretty strong chance of infection, and—”

  He crossed the space between us with four long strides and kissed me. His arms slid around my shoulders; our lips melded together. My hands tangled in his hair. My heart thumped so loud and so fast I could hear it, which I found really embarrassing. But then I realized it wasn’t mine. It was his.

  He pulled back all too soon, carefully settling his weight on the edge of the bed.

  Then he said, “I’m taking you to homecoming. And if you don’t get out of the hospital in time, I’ll petition Principal Wasserman to let us use the cafeteria for a night, and we’ll put on a homecoming of our own. I said I’d take you, and I’m keeping that promise.”