Those were his last words.
“Of course it is—it’s in a bottle!”
Those were Nadia’s last words.
Everything that happened afterwards was like a choreographed dance with something dreadful happening on each beat. But instead of kick-ball-change-kick-ball-shuffle it went like this:
Kaboom reached out to Nadia, supposedly to take the bottle away from her.
Nadia took a swig from the bottle.
Nadia’s eyes died.
Nadia turned to Kaboom and bit him on his outstretched arm.
Kaboom’s eyes died.
Nemesis and KC rushed forward.
Nemesis pushed Kaboom off the roof.
KC pushed Nadia off the roof.
And all that was left in the silence was the shocked and the dead.
JESSE
Things have been so strange since Nadia drank that infected water. I mean, wow! And KC thinks I’m stupid! I am having trouble thinking of those dead things as stupid. Zombies in the movies don’t have minds of their own—isn’t that why they want more brains? They’re not supposed to be smart, they’re not supposed to think; they’re supposed to be like dumb animals with only their need to eat pushing them forward. They’re not supposed to outsmart the living, they’re not supposed to figure out that hunger and thirst can make us forget to see danger, and they’re not supposed to be able to plant infected food and water into a kit for us to find.
I told this to Sarah and she said that she and Tom (it’s still weird for me to think of him as anything but Mr. Cromwell) stopped calling them zombies a while ago. “Then what do you call them?” I asked.
“We call them IZs”
“Why eye-zeeezs?”
“It stands for ‘Intelligent Zombies.’”
“Oh.” I don’t think it’ll ever catch on.
That was one of the last conversations I remember having because things got real cold again after that. It was so icy that Mom ordered everyone back in the tent, with no one left outside to stand watch. “The cold is more dangerous than anything else out there at the moment,” she said. I’m relieved no one’s going out again. I don’t want to lose anyone else. At first I noticed that things were different in a seemingly good way than before because we had a little more room and a little more food, but then I remembered that it was because Dorothy, Kaboom, and Nadia were gone and I felt guilty and horrible. Besides, I swear it feels even colder now that they’re no longer here.
I don’t know what day it is or what time it is anymore. We don’t play card games because we can’t risk exposing our fingers and losing them to frostbite. We just huddle tightly together to keep warm and for once I’m glad I’m just a kid, because Sarah and I get to be at the warmest place in the middle.
If it was just warmth we needed we would almost be fine, but we need more food and water than we’re getting and we have no energy to do anything because our bodies are running out of energy. Mr. Cromwell tried to joke about being on the “Apocalypse Diet” and that he now has “Abs where I had flabs!” but we’re too cold and worn-out to laugh anymore. It hurts to do anything, and it especially hurts to be hungry. I feel like there’s an animal in my tummy that’s slowly eating me up from the inside. Soon they’ll be nothing left of me.
I’ve been slipping into deep sleeps that usually have lots of nightmares, the kind that feel like they’re real. Houston said they might not be nightmares, that cold and starvation can make you have “hallucinations.” I pretended to know what he was talking about and tried to go back to sleep. One of the scariest nightmares I had (at least I hope it was a nightmare) was where I heard Mom whisper to Mr. Cromwell that we only have three days of food and water left, four tops. I fell back asleep after that, hoping that Naked was doing better than us out there, but not before I heard Doom say, “Frankly, I can’t believe we’re still alive.”
GHOST
I can’t believe I’m alive.
I’m still kicking myself for being so stupid. I bet Buck could not believe his luck when I raced up to that roof without stopping to think. All my training blown away by my feelings for a girl! I could hear Eric’s angry voice in my head: “Was she worth it? Was she worth dying for?” I wish there was some way I could talk to KC right now and let her know I’m fine. I wish I could know for sure if my newfound family was still alive. I wish this helicopter could go faster. Most of all, I wish I knew if KC missed me.
I still remember how easily I fell into Buck’s trap. I did my best to stay invisible, but as soon as I showed that I liked KC I exposed my blind spot. All Buck had to do was say “KC’s up on the roof and it looks like it’s going to rain!” and I was hooked.
“Why would she be up there?” My eyes scanned his face to see if he was lying. Buck gave me a sinister but sincere smile.
“Because I told her you were up there.”
I ran, but not up to the roof, I had to run to my room first. “You can hear her from the custodian’s office if you don’t believe me!” Buck called out. “She keeps shouting your name!”
My head pounded with adrenaline and I was finding it hard to think straight. All I knew in that moment was that I had to do two things before I headed up to the roof. I was far enough ahead of Buck to grab what I needed from my bedside locker and shove it in my pockets. I then grabbed the one possession I kept secret from KC and quickly pushed it into her pillowcase. By the time I stood up, Buck was in the doorway, leering.
“Of course, if you don’t get up there in time, you’ll make the soldiers happy. They’ve been needing some target practice.”
I ran at Buck full tilt and knocked him off his feet. I think we were both surprised at how strong I’d suddenly become. He hit the ground with a satisfying “Thud,” but was back on his feet and tailing me by the time I reached the custodian’s door to the ladder that went up to the roof.
I stopped and put my ear to the door. First I listened for the sound of raindrops. I couldn’t hear rain, but I could hear KC faintly calling out in the distance “Ghost! Where are you Ghost?” I swung open the door, and scrambled up the ladder onto the roof. By the time I reached the top I could hear the door below me slam, followed by the dull click of a combo lock. That’s when I realized we had both walked into a trap.
Once I was on the roof all I could see was blackness. It was as if all the outside lights had been extinguished. I saw a pinprick of brightness from one of the watchtowers at the gate and was instantly grateful for the dark. If it were any lighter the guards would be shooting at us for sure.
“Ghost!” KC’s voice was urgent, pleading. I felt a measure of relief—if she’s still talking she’s still alive. “Go back! Whatever you’re thinking, it’s not worth it! We need you alive!”
I took a few broad steps in the direction of her voice, and as I walked I reached into my pockets and pulled out the bin bags and a couple of cheap 7-11 ponchos. “Stay where you are, I’m coming!” I called out as I slid the poncho over my head. I ran toward the sound of her desperate voice, pulling the bags over my feet as I went. I stopped for a second to secure them with rubber bands and strained to see against the darkness. I had really hoped my eyes would have adjusted to the light by then.
Suddenly I heard KC bark, “Get off me! Get away from me or so help me I’ll punch you in the face!”
“She’ll do it! She’s knock you out and then I’ll throw you off this roof!” I shouted back, but at the same time I was thinking, “Who else is on this roof”? Her voice seemed to be coming from the front of the school, so that’s the direction I ran. I tripped over something small and black and that’s when I found it. Not KC, but the radio that relayed her voice.
I grabbed it and pushed the button shouting “KC? KC! Can you hear me?” but it offered nothing but static, then silence. And that’s when it started to rain. It wasn’t a full-on rain, just a blanketing mist, but it was dangerous all the same. I looked at the dead radio in my poncho-covered hand and thought, “I’ll be next if I don’t fi
gure something out.”
I took a quick look around me. I was certain I was alone on the roof. A half-crazy idea formed in my mind. “Eric would be so proud of me,” I thought sarcastically as I started to tie knots in the bags and the poncho that was meant for KC. I tied all three together and looked for the shortest drop off. My new plastic rope wasn’t long enough to get me to the ground, but hopefully it would get me close enough to jump without breaking my ankle.
The nearest pipe was on the other side of the school, away from the guard towers. I looked down below and decided not to risk it. The bushes below could break my fall, but they’d also tear at my poncho and let the rain in. I had to look for another pipe.
I walked around to the side of the school and saw it—a small ventilation shaft. I could drop to the ground safely, but I’d be in full view of anyone in the main hall. This could totally ruin the element of surprise—there was no way anybody could miss someone running around outside in a bright yellow poncho wearing bags for shoes, and plastic isn’t exactly quiet either. I had to find another way down. I traced the perimeter of the roof as I walked, but I couldn’t find anything else to tie the poncho-rope to, so I tied it to the first pipe I found and let it dangle down to the bushes. Then I turned and walked to the opposite side.
I lowered myself over the edge of the roof, holding on to it the best I could through plastic-covered hands. I hung there for a while, afraid to let go, but then I thought of what would eventually happen to me if I hung there for too long and let myself drop to the ground as silently as possible.
I landed well with soft knees and in the best crouch position I could, but I still felt my ankle pop in pain. I had to pause and cover my mouth to choke back an audible grunt. I let the pain wash over me a few times, feeling ever sorrier for myself each time it did. I started to hobble towards my target as soon as I was done with the urge to cry.
I stuck as close to the wall as I could and took my time. The guard was paying attention to the rooftop where the white plastic rope danced about in the wind. He probably heard me scrambling around up there and was looking for something to shoot at. I waited below his station, temporarily sheltered from the rain.
He started to pace. I used his footfalls to mask the sound of climbing. Each time his foot hit the floor, I’d go up a rung, and as I went I wondered—“How am I going to take on this guy? I’m not armed.” And more importantly, I’m not a killer.
I was armed with the element of surprise. I reached the top and held still, taking stock of my situation. The guard stopped pacing long enough to look out in the direction of the roof. I could see what he was focused on—there in the distance was my poncho-bag-rope blowing in the breeze like a beckoning specter.
I took stock of the weapons he had on him while his back was turned. I inched towards him on my hands and feet and pickpocketed my weapon of choice. He felt me slip the Taser out of his back pocket, but by the time he turned around, I’d zapped him.
I couldn’t tell if his frozen shocked expression was from seeing me or from being tased, but I wasted no time carrying out the rest of my desperate plan. I stripped right down to my underwear, grateful for the shelter from the rain, and stripped him down too. I was frustrated by how slow and difficult it was to get clothes off a paralyzed man. I found it was even harder to get my clothes back on him (that must be why they never show that part in the movies). After what felt like an eternity, plus another zap to keep the guard down, we had successfully exchanged clothes. Call it deus ex machina, but I was beyond lucky to have found the one guard with hair and build similar to mine. He was about an inch taller than me in his boots, but he wouldn’t be wearing those boots anymore—I was wearing them. I gave him a good once-over to make sure he was looking like me and he did, right down to the poncho with the superficial tears I had just put in it. He was ready.
But was I ready? Could I condemn this man to die? I had to decide quickly; the Taser effect was wearing off. He started to take a clumsy swipe at me and in that moment I decided that yes, I could kill him. I could do it because it was either him or me. I dodged his grasping hand, took a deep breath, and roundhouse-kicked him right off the tower.
He landed with a squishy “whump!” on the now muddy—and infected—ground. That got the attention of the guard from tower number one. The radio in my tower came to life. “Two-forty-one, what’s going on up there?”
I was too engrossed in what was going on below to know what to say back, but I was thinking, “Seriously? You guys don’t even have names for each other?” I held my tongue and I held my breath, waiting for something, anything to happen. But the guard from my tower lay still in a growing puddle of ooze. I had expected him to cry out in pain, I had expected him to get up and try to climb the stairs back up to the tower, but instead he just lay there. I forced myself to exhale slowly to keep from getting lightheaded.
And then he moved. Slowly at first, like he was trying to figure out how to coordinate his limbs. He turned his face up to the rain and stared at me with dead eyes. Two-forty-one was no more.
I took a shot at him and was pleased to see the survival instinct kick in right away—the thing formerly known as 241 lopped away from my tower. I announced, “The kid’s infected!” into the radio, hoping that shouting would obscure my real voice. It worked. The other guard started to fire panicked shots as the staggering shadow tried to figure out how to run. “This guy’s a lousy shot,” I thought. “Maybe he tested well on the shooting range but he can’t handle the real thing. Why would the General put such a loser on watch?” The guards patrolling the wall joined in on the shooting party, but they were not much better.
Some of the guards managed to hit a limb now and then, but all that did was slow the thing’s progress towards the school. Why was it going for the school? Did it think it would find refuge there? Didn’t it realize there was probably a line of soldiers waiting for it?
I lifted the unfamiliar weight of 241’s gun and lined up the money shot, the one that would take off this thing’s face and make it unrecognizable. I never got the chance to test out my skills because a shot came from the front doors of the school and erased 241’s identity for me.
It was time for me to go. I was better protected against the rain now that I was wearing a soldier’s kit, though the boots were a bit too big for me. I turned the volume down on the radio and pocketed it, along with the Taser. I pulled the hood over my face to cover the glow from my sun-starved skin, shouldered the weighty gun, and climbed down the ladder, careful not to slip and make my ankle worse. I then hobble-skipped over to the wall behind the tower and checked for guards. They were still there, but they were distracted by the unexpected breach of security in the form of a dead student within the walls. I quickly climbed the rungs to the top of the wall, and looked for a break in the corpses. Of course there was none. They had lined themselves up like a battalion of the dead.
I did the most unexpected thing to them—I jumped right in their midst, using their soft bodies to break my fall. They were knocked down in what I hoped was surprise and were slow to react to a fresh uninfected body among their kind. Before they could try to bite through reinforced raingear I was off, tasing a path through the dead that I could limp through, hoping I could find help in time to save the others.
KC
Ghost’s book can’t help us anymore. It doesn’t say anything about conjuring up food and uninfected water out of thin air. I heard Mom say to Mr. Cromwell that we only have three or four days of food and water left and then she wouldn’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do. Sometimes I wonder which is worse: the pain of hunger or the pain of extreme cold? And why is it so icy anyways? We’re in Northern Virginia, not Canada!
I’ve heard that in the final stages of hypothermia you feel warm and then you go to sleep and never wake up. That sounds fine to me. If Dorothy meant to kill herself by standing guard without her blanket and all her layers of clothing, I can understand why.
We talk little and m
ove less to conserve the few calories we’ve got, but the uncontrolled shivering doesn’t help us at all. We had a brief moment of frantic movement when Jesse screamed one morning, “The zombies have got me! The zombies have got me! OwOwOwOwOw. They’re pulling my hair!” I think our body heat must have warmed up the ice under the pallets to a point that it melted and then refroze in the night, because it wasn’t a zombie that had Jesse by the hair, it was the roof—her hair had frozen into the roof.
We chopped her beautiful long hair off with the axe. It broke my heart to do it. Jesse cried the whole time, but without tears. That’s got to be a bad sign—how dehydrated must she be if her body doesn’t even have enough moisture to spare for tears?
One of the last conversations we had strength for left us on a bad note because it was Doom who headed it up. If we had the energy we would have told him to shut up, but we don’t. He told us that in two-thousand Sir Ranulph Fiennes tried to walk to the North Pole, solo and unsupported but his sleds fell thru the ice and he had to pull them back up by hand. This gave him severe frostbite on the tips of all the fingers of his left hand. The surgeons wanted him to keep the dead fingertips on for a few more months, they were hoping there’d be a regrowth of the remaining healthy tissue, but he couldn’t stand the pain those dying fingertips caused and he cut them off with a small saw, right above the blood and soreness. Doom also said something about the fluid in Ranulph’s blisters freezing into crystals and sounding like castanets whenever he would shake his hand, but that’s the last thing I heard because I just had to cover my ears.
I think this makes Doom more morbid than me. At least I talk about what happens to the body once it’s nothing but a shell and past feeling. It gives me the shivers thinking about blood and pain and saws being used on a living person. At this moment it feels like that could happen to us if we leave this tent and go out in those high winds and below-freezing temperatures.
Notes from a Necrophobe Page 33