A Living Dead Love Story Series (25 page)

It goes halfway in, and she screams, whimpering, “But I'm your friend, Maddy! I'm your friend.”

“She was my friend,” I say, jerking my head toward a fallen Chloe before I shove the stake the rest of the way in, copper end first.
“You
were just my …neighbor.”

Suddenly, as if they've been waiting for our little dance of death to be over, someone is pounding frantically on the bathroom door. I rush to open it and see that Dahlia locked it from the inside. I turn the lock and throw it open, and Dane is there, still pounding thin air as the door opens.

When he sees me, he grabs me, clings to me, squeezes me tight. Then he pulls away and asks, immediately, “Chloe?”

I try to shove him out of the doorway before he can see her lifeless body on the bathroom floor, but he is far too strong. He brushes past me and kneels next to Chloe, his lips moving silently, like mine next to Scurvy's grave earlier that afternoon.

He stands and says grimly, “I should have known they'd be expecting us. I should have planned this more carefully.”

He looks around, spots Hazel's body still buzzing with the copper stick wedged in her chest, and says, “Hazel?”

“I had to do it.” I sigh.

“So the copper works then, huh?”

I nod, my lips curling into a sad, scary smile. Then I see Chloe's still army boots and frown all over again.

“What happened?” I ask, turning to the dance floor. Last time I saw it, the place was hopping with kids, swirling lights, blaring music, life, and laughter. Now it's deserted, emergency lights illuminating an empty dance floor, plastic punch cups turned over and lying on the floor, streamers and glittery stars hanging haphazardly over rows and rows of empty tables. Without the music blasting, it's like watching TV with the sound off.

“When the power cut out,” Dane explains, “everybody scrammed.”

I gently guide him away from the bathroom toward the dance floor and ask, “What now?”

Just then the back doors of the gym open and three figures plow through; two willingly, one being dragged along reluctantly like a man doomed to the gallows.

“Now,” says Dane, turning to meet them with clenched fists, “we find out how this story ends.”

B
ONES HAS TURNED
his track suit into a tuxedo. How, I have no idea, but there it is just the same: shiny and white, with a crisp white fedora on top of his skeletal head instead of his trademark skullcap. The topper? A cheesy red carnation sticking out of his shiny white lapel.

He looks like a pimp called Death, and if things weren't currently going to hell in a handbasket, I would laugh out loud in his face. Preferably while shoving said face into a big, fat mirror so he could see how ridiculous he looks. (Not that he would. I mean, you leave the house in a track suit tuxedo thinking it's stylish and you've obviously got a fashion blind spot; am I right?)

In contrast, Ms. Haskins is wearing a sleek black number, not so shiny, much more sophisticated, stunningly at odds with her pale white skin, harsh red lipstick, and cold, dead eyes. Beneath her black fishnet stockings, her legs are marble white and it makes me wonder how long it took her from being confused in Home Ec to warming up to the idea of spending the Afterlife hot for teacher.

Between them, Stamp trembles in a simple black tux, cheap and ill-fitting, like maybe they grabbed the last one in the store and shoved him, kicking and screaming, inside of it. His lips are pressed tightly together, silent and grim, but the look in his eyes squeals,
Help me!

He doesn't look too bad, for now, but the Zerkers' unspoken message is clear:
try anything, and Stamp gets it
.

Dane steps in front of me, protectively, but I shove him aside until we stand shoulder-to-shoulder. (Hey, I've earned it!)

Bones is smiling, so happy and self-satisfied is he with his well-orchestrated plan. He looks over our heads to the darkened bathroom door. “Am I to understand Chloe and Dahlia won't be joining us this evening?”

Ms. Haskins follows his glance and, with a sultry pout, asks, “And what about Hazel, Maddy?”

I shake my head. “What do you care, Ms. Haskins?”

“I don't, actually.” She sighs, checking her nails as she raises her hand in front of her face. “This may come as a surprise to you, Maddy, but I never liked Hazel all that much. I know it sounds horrible for a teacher to confess something like that, but, well, the cat's out of the bag.”

“I don't think they'll fire you for it. I mean, becoming a Zerker, dating one of your students, crashing the Fall Formal with your new boy toy here, any of those might be a firing offense, but when we get through with you, losing your job will be the least of your worries.”

She stares daggers. “Such big talk from such a
little
girl. And I'd always had such high hopes for you, Maddy. Oh well.”

Bones laughs. “You've got it all wrong anyway, Maddy. We don't want to kill you; we just want to …
turn
…you. Now that Dahlia and Hazel are gone, well, we've got a few openings on Team Zerker.”

“Never gonna happen,” Dane says decisively.

“Don't be so sure, hero,” Bones says. “After tonight, you won't be around to protect your little girlfriend here anymore.”

I go to defend myself, but Dane beats me to it, saying, “Who says she needs protection? From the looks of it, she's racking up a higher body count than you are.”

“For now.” He looks bored. “Now, onto business. The way I see it, you have two choices: join us right now …or die where you're standing.”

“Before you decide,” Ms. Haskins says, “just think about the future. You stick with us and, by the end of the night, we'll
own
this school. A teacher and a couple of her former students? This place will be crawling with Zerkers by morning. No more passing among the Normals, no more playing with your little Goth makeup. With a school full of Zerkers, there will
be
no Normals; we'll all look alike.”

Dane whistles. “That's some plan. I can't wait to hear what the Elders have to say about it.”

“You act like you're
already
an Elder, Dane.” Bones scoffs. “The Afterlife is for the Afterliving, my friend. If you can't enjoy it now, quit taking up space and getting in the way so the rest of us can have our fun.”

“That's just it, Bones,” I say, walking slowly forward. Dane matches me, step for step. “Even the Afterlife is about more than just having fun. Otherwise, it's just …anarchy.”

Bones leers at Ms. Haskins. “Who says there's anything wrong with that?”

“What are you going to do a week from now, Bones,” I say, “when the whole school is full of Zerkers—every jock, every skank, every brain, every nerd—and they're all as strong as you, all as smart as you? You've been top dog for some time now, Bones. You really want to fight to stay on top of the hill every week, every day, every minute?”

Bones doesn't like that. He inches forward and snarls. “I think you overestimate the qualities of the student body here at Barracuda Bay High, Maddy.”

“Let's just do this, all right?” Dane says between clenched teeth. “Enough of the playful banter; enough of the one-upmanship. Let's end this thing.”

“Oh, we'll end it all right.” Bones laughs before turning to Ms. Haskins. “Dear, why don't you invite our friends in to join the …party?”

“Gladly.” She eyes me wickedly, destroying whatever image I've ever had of her as a teacher, as a mentor, as an adult, as a …friend. She opens the double doors they've just walked through, moonlight flooding in on a wave of pitch darkness. The motion is so dramatic, the setting so serene, the actress playing her part with such flair, I half expect a waft of B-movie fog to roll in across the floor and tickle our feet while she's waiting.

Then she whistles with two fingers between her lips (sex-ay) and, beyond the doors, the singularly recognizable noise of mass …
shuffling
…begins. It's a most unsettling sound—it's not only shoes against the parking lot gravel or clothes against dead skin, but the growling, the mewling, and shouting of Zerkers gone wild. I have no idea what to expect and, unlike zombies or the older Zerkers, these new ones are frickin' slow.

Step by step, they begin inching into view, but the emergency lights and Bones' white fedora and the crisp moonlight and the late-night dark all camouflage most of what I'm seeing until it's far, far too late.

Dane looks at me with the closest I've ever seen to fear in his eyes and says, “Whatever happens, Maddy, just …stay close.”

As the shuffling continues, I steal a glance at Stamp. He must know what's coming through those doors because he's violently yanking his arm away from Bones, trying to get free at any cost. Bones yanks him back, roughly, whispers something in his ear, and Stamp gently calms down.

While I'm wondering what Bones just said, both boys look at me: Stamp with an apologetic smile, Bones with menacing glee.

I close my eyes for a second and try to swallow. When I open them again, the doorway is filled with …teachers.
Our
teachers. (Or, what's left of them anyway.) Seven or eight of them, pale as the moonlight above, dead as the fall leaves under their feet, slow as molasses but strong as oxen.

Their eyes are wide and vacant, their mouths moving, some making sounds, some merely clattering jaws, shadowy eyes buried in dark circles hidden in doughy white faces, licking their lips. Our teachers are Zerkers. So Bones and Ms. Haskins were right about one thing: after tonight, there really is no going back.

“Say hello to the new and improved staff of Barracuda Bay High School,” Ms. Haskins says grandly, as one by one the Gym teacher, the high school counselor, the assistant principal, and finally even Mrs. Witherspoon herself shuffle in, Zerker style.

God, will this ever end?

I think of Scurvy's head at my feet, of Hazel's jolting body at the end of my stake, and now of all these teachers and what will become of them. How is one supposed to dezombiefy her Gym teacher?

Her assistant principal?

Her favorite Art teacher?

“And thanks to Stamp here,” says Bones, finally shoving the poor kid forward and onto the ground, Stamp's bare hands making awkward squeaking sounds on the harsh gym floor as he slides forward on all fours, “we were able to invite the football team as well.”

From behind the teachers a swarm of thick-necked, muscle-bound Zerker jocks stumble in. Even as they shuffle toward us in their huge, shiny dress shoes and size XXXL tuxedoes, I ignore them.

“Stamp,” I shout, and he wastes no time scrambling toward me, looking puny and helpless as he crawls on all fours.

“I'm sorry,” he says.

Dane shoves him behind us protectively, making the motion look easy as we inch closer together to form a kind of zombie seal in front of what might be the last human in the room.

Stamp looks remorseful. “They made me do it, Maddy. I had no choice.”

“Did he bite you?” Dane asks impatiently as the crowd around the gym doors swells to one or two dozen angry, hungry, thick-necked Zerkers. He checks under Stamps' collar, turning his face toward him roughly to inspect for teeth marks on his ruddy neck. “Did
any
of them bite you?”

Stamp shakes his head, looking at me innocently. With all that's gone on, after Scurvy and Hazel and now Ms. Haskins turning, I don't trust him. God forgive me, but I don't trust anybody.

Anybody, that is, but Dane.

“Did Hazel bite you, Stamp?” I ask bluntly, pushing up his sleeves, yanking up his pants cuffs, inspecting every inch of his body (okay, not
every
inch) for any signs of Zerker bite marks. My hands are rough, and his skin is soft. It doesn't seem like he's turning, but what the hell do I know? It didn't seem like Scurvy was turning either, at least not until his teeth were two inches from my skull.

“Honest, Maddy,” he says, his voice pleading and frantic, “she didn't bite me, I swear. They said they were just using me—as bait. Hazel tricked me into coming with her on a double date with Bones and Dahlia. I was mad at you for dissing me at the party. I was …confused. I figured, ‘What the hell? I'll make her jealous.' The minute they picked me up, they had me call all the football players and made them meet me in the locker room. They told me if I didn't, they'd …hurt …you.”

I take his hand, and it's trembling. I touch his cheek, and it's wet with tears. I tell him, “It's not your fault, Stamp.”

“Maybe not,” Dane says, turning his attention to the grumbling linebackers, the eager running backs, the brain-hungry wide receivers, “but thanks to your boyfriend here we're knee-deep in 300-pound jocks. As if Bones and Ms. Haskins and 10 of her favorite teachers weren't enough.”

“Didn't you hear?” Stamp snaps back. “We're not an item anymore.”

“Seriously, you two,” I say. “We've got bigger fish to fry right now than my dating status.”

They both give me, then each other, dirty looks; then back to me again for another trip to the dirty looks buffet. Meanwhile the horde is approaching across the gym floor, the space between us and certain death (again) dwindling.

Spotting the threat, preparing for it, Dane hands Stamp a Taser. “Listen, let's split up. Stamp, you take the jocks. Jab them in the neck with that, and they should go down hard and stay down. Maddy, you take the teachers. Use my copper stake.” He hands it to me. “They're still so new they shouldn't put up much of a fight. Me, I'll grab Bones—”

Before he can finish with his best laid plans, Bones barks some kind of a command and the Zerkers begin to advance in earnest. I inch to the left, toward the buffet table and the long line of slender, high tables that I imagine might be some good obstacles against the approaching teacher onslaught.