The Dead Saga (Novella Part 2): Odium Origins (10 page)

“My car…”

I look at Helena, who is trembling from head to toe. Her hand is pointing toward the small car park across the road.

We all begin moving at a brisk pace, even as Constance asks her if she has the keys. Helena reaches into her pocket and holds them up with shaking hands. Constance reaches for them, only for Helena to snatch them away at the last second.

Constance scowls at her. “Give me the damn keys,” she yells, attracting more of those things to our location.

We continue to run, hopping over the small wooden fence that surrounds the parking lot. It’s only knee high, more for decoration than anything else, and so won’t hold off any of those things that have now started to follow us.

We stop by a small red sports car and Helena watches me over the roof of it. “I’m sorry, Max. I never much liked you, but I wouldn’t wish this upon anyone.” Her words come out shaky but determined. “But it is what it is, and this is my car, and hopefully you can keep them distracted so that I can get away safely. Again, I’m so sorry about this.”

“Are you serious?” Constance yells. “She just saved your life and now you’re going to just leave us here to die?”

Helena shrugs, a small smile crossing her face. “I’ll always be grateful for that.”

“If you unlock those doors, we’re getting in!” Constance yells again, desperation tingeing her words. “Do you hear me? Just try and stop us.”

I look around us and see bloodied people beginning to stumble toward us. I place a hand on her arm. “Just leave it—leave her. We’ll find another way home.” I step away from the car with a deep sigh.

“No, Max, she can’t do this to us.” Constance glares across at Helena, her eyes being drawn to the many people heading in our direction. “I will kill you,” she finally says and takes my hand. Together we step away from the car.

Helena smiles. “In another lifetime maybe.” She unlocks the car and climbs in, and moments later the car roars to life and wheel spins away. “Ciao, bitches,” she laughs out of her window.

“Shit,” Constance says, her eyes darting around us.

“Constance,” I grumble, feeling suddenly exhausted. “I hate it when you cuss.” My hand is still gripping the baseball bat, but from the amount of these people—things—coming toward us, it won’t do any good.

“We need to get a car,” she says and begins to drag me away from the mob that is getting perilously close. “Stay close, baby.”

We try door after door of various cars, but they’re all locked. It’s not until we come to the small deli around the corner where I used to buy my lunch that we see an escape from this hellhole. Unfortunately, it wasn’t an escape for the owner. The small deli delivery van is still parked outside, though the owner, Georgio Belatini—or what’s left of him—is in several pieces. Thankfully, none of the pieces are moving. We avoid eye contact with the dismembered head as we rummage through his body parts and root through his pockets for the keys to the van, eventually finding them in the gutter by the wheel.

Climbing inside and locking the doors, we both breathe a deep sigh of relief. We are far from safe, but starting the engine and leaving the horde of zombie people behind us definitely makes me feel a helluva lot better about our survival chances.

Heading out of the city and toward home to collect Chi-Chi, we see many car crashes, and it takes Constance’s awesome driving skills to get us out safely. All those times playing Grand Theft Auto with her brothers came in handy after all.

In my mirror I see the city burning, and finally feel a little safe—if only for the present. God knows what the future holds. On our way out of the city we pass a small red sports car that’s crashed into the railings at the side of the road. The driver’s side window is smashed in, and blood trails down the door, but I don’t see any bodies around. I can’t help but smile and think how much I love karma.

She’s a bitch, but only to those that deserve it.

Hey, maybe she’s blond.

“Okay, class, if you can open your books to page two-hundred and fourteen so that we can get started on today’s assignment, please. Anyone who didn’t do their homework is really going to struggle with this, because part of the work was covered with it.” Mr. Jeffreys says with a trace of a smug smile.

I grab my book and flip to the relevant page with a heavy sigh. I did do the homework, but that doesn’t mean any of it stuck in my head—because after completing it I had gone on to have another huge argument with Mom and Dad. It’s becoming a regular thing.

“Psst.”

I look across at Stephanie, my best friend. She smiles and gestures for me to hand her my homework. Unlike me, she has the perfect home life: loving parents, great big brother, and a huge trust fund waiting for her at the end of high school. She is also as dim as a box of broken bulbs, but by God she’s pretty. Graced with long blond locks, crystal blue eyes, and a figure to die for, she’s a living, breathing Barbie doll.

“What, Steph?” I grumble, knowing perfectly well what she wants.

She rolls her eyes. “Give it up,” she hisses with a pout.

I huff and begrudgingly hand her my homework:
The greatest works of Shakespeare
. I can only hope she doesn’t copy it word for word like last time and get us both into trouble, but there’s no point in telling her that since she never listens.

I look up as the classroom door opens and the school secretary Mrs. Marsh comes in looking pale and shaky, a light sheen of sweat across her forehead. She scurries over to Mr. Jeffreys, casting the class a concerned look. I watch them whispering frantically for a few minutes before Steph throws my book back on my desk and makes me jump.

I grab the book just before it slides off the edge of my desk, and I give her a dirty look. “There’s no way you can have read and written your own answers, Steph.”

She grins. “I totally don’t have time to do it all.” She wiggles her eyebrows, grins at me, and begins coughing. “Work with me, Anne,” she whispers and starts coughing some more. She gestures to me, pointing toward the whispering teachers while continuing to cough, and I groan under my breath.

Other students are beginning to look over at us—not that Steph cares, but I certainly do. I give Johnny, the guy I sometimes get teamed up with for calculus because he needs help constantly and the teacher is too lazy to spend the time showing him twenty times over how to do the sum, the middle finger and he chuckles and looks away.

I reluctantly raise my hand, attempting to interrupt Mr. Jeffreys, but he glances my way and chooses to ignore me. Looking back at Steph, though, she isn’t giving up on her crappy plan. “Excuse me, sir?” I say after clearing my throat. He glances over at me, his conversation with Mrs. Marsh stalling. “Umm, Steph isn’t feeling so good, can she go to the see the nurse?”

Mr. Jeffreys looks at Mrs. Marsh uncertainly before Steph pulls out all the punches and stands from her chair and coughs fitfully.

“Sir, I really don’t feel too good,” she whines pathetically.

Mrs. Marsh nods rapidly, going so far as to back up behind Mr. Jeffreys’s desk as he agrees to let her out of class and Steph passes them by. I scrunch up my nose at the ridiculousness of it all, but curiosity gets the better of me.

“Sir? I think I should go with her,” I say, standing up. I’m fifteen, and if I can get out of class, then I will.

“I think you should just sit down and get on with your work, young lady,” he says with a huff, and I sit back in my chair. Johnny snickers and I scowl at him before opening my book back up.

Mrs. Marsh crouches down to Mr. Jeffreys’s level and whispers something to him, their voices raising but not enough for me to make out what they’re saying. They continue to whisper back and forth while I pretend I’m not listening to them.

“Anne, go see that Stephanie is okay.”

I look up in confusion. Mr. Jeffreys is frowning so he’s clearly not happy about letting me go, but I don’t need to be told twice and I jump back up out of my seat, grab my bag, and dash out after Steph, making sure to shoot Johnny a wide grin as I go. Surprisingly he smiles back at me, and I can’t stop the blush that rises to my cheeks.

I head to the nurse’s station, following after Steph, even though I know she wouldn’t actually go there, but needing to confirm my suspicion nonetheless. Why would she? She’s not really sick and the nurse would see right through the façade. I walk past the door, looking in through the small crack, and as suspected, Steph isn’t there, but the small room is busy. Plenty of kids are obviously trying to get out of class today. I snigger to myself and continue down the hallway, heading toward the bathroom—the more likely place she’ll be.

I push the door open and see Steph talking to Amy Bell, a little bitchy girl that hangs around Steph like a fly on…well, she’s a hanger-oner. And if she’s hanging onto Steph, that means she’s hanging onto me, and I can’t stand her. She causes trouble wherever we go, and I don’t want any more hassle from my parents. I groan, frowning at her, ignoring the scowl on her face. We’ve come to a stalemate in our triangular friendship, silently agreeing to ignore each other as much as possible. Because as much as Steph pisses me off, I do care about her. We’ve been friends since we were little kids, and though life is trying to take us in different directions, I refuse to lose my childhood friend just yet.

“Hey.” I nod to them both and lean back against the sink, dropping my bag at my feet.

“What did Mr. Jeffreys say?” Steph grins.

I shrug. “Not much—he didn’t seem too bothered. Something’s going on though. Did you see the way Mrs. Marsh came in?” I bite the inside of my cheek, thinking about how panicked she had looked.

“She’s a stuck up bitch, maybe her cat died,” Amy says and they both laugh.

“No, it seems serious whatever it is. She was really panicked.” Now I sound like the whiny one, sticking up for the school secretary. I turn and look at my reflection in the mirror. I have blond hair like Steph, but where hers is bright with natural honey streaks running through it, mine is more of a dull, mousy blond. Where her eyes are crystal blue, mine are a pale blue—almost gray. She’s Barbie, and I’m Barbie’s dull-looking sister.

The fire alarm goes off, making us all jump and laugh simultaneously. “We better go.” I look back around at them, but Steph is shaking her head and I scowl at her. “You know the rules—we need to get to the tennis courts for the fire drill. We don’t have a choice about that, and no amount of coughing will get you out of it.” I sling my bag over my shoulder and push on the bathroom door. “You coming?”

“No way. It’s bullshit anyway,” she snipes, looking at Amy with a grin. “Just a stupid fire drill.”

“Fine, whatever.” I push my way out into the hallway, ignoring Amy calling me a goody two-shoes with a laugh. I roll my eyes and make my way to the tennis courts to line up with everyone else. It may be just a fire drill, but the school tends to take them pretty seriously.

It’s busy outside, every class getting into disorderly lines and being yelled at by panicked teachers, and I begin to worry that perhaps it’s not a drill. I stand behind Dean, one of the brainboxes from a higher class than me. We’re in the same year but his IQ is off the charts so we don’t have any classes together. Not that I’m not clever; just that compared to Dean, most people look dumb—including the teachers.

It’s hot and sticky standing around, but the fire alarm is still ringing; and as I look around seeing the panic on teachers’ faces and the worried expressions of my classmates. I realize we’re all beginning to think that maybe there is a real fire in the school. This wouldn’t be a problem for anyone, including me, but I keep thinking of Steph and Amy hiding out in the girls’ bathroom. I bite the inside of my cheek worrying about what to do, when Dean turns to me.

“There’s something going down,” he whispers.

“Yeah, I get that feeling too.” I glance at the other lines of students, looking for Steph just in case she changed her mind.

“I was in trig when Mr. Hartley got a call on his cell,” he says, watching me closely. I shrug and he continues. “He took that call, left the room, and didn’t come back.”

My pale blue eyes meet his dark brown ones. “He just…left?” I frown.

“Yup.” Dean folds his arms over his chest and nods, seeming pleased that he actually got my attention.

The guy has fancied the pants off me since first grade, always following me around and trying to talk to me. He seems like a nice enough guy, but he’s just not my type. Not that I have a type yet, but I know that whatever it is, it’s not him. He’s skinny and tall—lanky, almost—with hair that always looks scruffy and skin that always looks dirty. And he’s clever, like ridiculously clever, and makes me feel like a dumbass every time I’ve ever spoken to him. I don’t think he even knows he’s doing it—or maybe he does and he gets off on making girls feel stupid.

Four yellow school buses speed into the school grounds and pull up to the front of the tennis courts. Our head teacher claps her hands to get our attention and all eyes fall on her as she speaks.

“Okay, children, we need to get everyone to the town hall immediately. Your parents will be waiting for you there. Move in an orderly fashion, no silliness and no arguments about it, we need to do this quickly.” She turns tail and heads for the first bus without waiting to hear anyone out.

Slowly we begin to filter toward the buses, all mumbling and whispering our annoyance and confusion.

Dean looks over his shoulder at me. “I’m going to get my car. I’m not leaving it here, I saved up all summer for it. Do you want to ride with me? It’ll be quicker.” He smiles warmly.

“You won’t get anywhere near the parking lot.” I gesture around us at the teachers lining our way.

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head about that, just follow me.” He smirks.

I shake my head at him. “I’m not coming with you. Besides, you’re going to get in a ton of shit when they see you at the town hall.”

Dean frowns and then shrugs, looking both annoyed and disappointed that I’m not going to be riding in his car. “Suit yourself. You follow the lemmings, then.” He takes off quickly, pushing past two teachers and out of the tennis courts. One makes to follow after him but then changes her mind after a couple of steps, ushering us forward quicker without even a second look back at Dean.

I sit on the bus and watch Dean’s silver Prius peel out of the parking lot, and can’t stop my grin. None of the teachers seem too concerned. In fact, when I think about it, none of them have even bothered to take roll call to make sure that we’re all present. I frown and curse under my breath, realizing that Steph still isn’t here. I raise my hand to let our student counselor know when she climbs aboard and the doors to the bus shut. But she dismisses me with a wave of her hand and sits down next to the driver.

As the buses finally pull away from school, leaving Steph and Amy behind, I worry—but then the bitchy part of me decides that it’s their own damn fault for being such brats. Maybe it will teach Steph a lesson this time and she’ll finally stay away from Amy. At least then I’ll get my friend back all to myself. I glance back out the window, looking up at the windows on the school, and wonder if Steph and Amy are looking out and seeing us all leaving. I hope so; at least then they’ll have the good sense to get in their cars and follow us.