Undead (9780545473460) (17 page)

“Sounded like you already heard our story.” I nod to Alice. “We're not here to cause you any trouble — we just want to stay safe, like you.”

“You were hiding in the basement like Alice and Peter here?” Beardy strolls over to me and fixes me with his dark eyes. He raises the back of his hand and puts it up to my forehead, feeling my temperature. “How are you feeling, sweetheart? A little cold from being down there too long?” I shudder involuntarily. “You're not coming down with anything, are you?” Beardy studies my face and turns his hand around so his fingers trace my hairline from my forehead to my cheek. I want so badly to knock his hand away, but for some reason my arms stay stuck to my side.

“Get off her!” Smitty shouts, and launches himself off the sideboard with force, sending a drawer of cutlery spewing out onto the floor. He tackles Beardy to the floor, wrestling with him, trying to land a punch. I stagger back, too shocked to react. But Blondie is there in an instant.

“Get up and walk away, kid,” she says firmly to Smitty, but Smitty is not giving this one up, and neither is Beardy. “I mean it,” Blondie says.

The wrestling match is pretty evenly balanced, but finally Smitty frees a fist and goes for the right hook. There is a satisfying
crunch
and Beardy's head rolls to the side.

Blondie shouts, “Give it to me!” and Pete's evil twin throws her something long and thin. She holds it out in front of her and prods Smitty in the back, there's a sizzling sound, and he arches and cries out, springing back from Beardy. “Do not move or I'll shock you again,” Blondie says as Smitty lies there, dazed.

“Don't!” I shout, and reach for the stick.

She turns on me, stick held between us. “Back down,” she says quietly. “Or your boyfriend will suffer.”

I open my mouth to correct her obvious mistake, but it seems a little churlish.

Beardy stands up, his hand to his jaw and his eyes blazing.

“Lock them up!” he shouts, with difficulty. “Lock 'em back in the wretched basement!”

Four of us and only three of them, but Smitty is being dragged by Beardy, and Blondie has the stick and is not afraid to use it. Alice and Pete troop past me out the kitchen door, Alice giving me the death stare, Pete protesting loudly and coming up with every logical reason why they shouldn't put us in the basement, or at least why they shouldn't put
him
there. I can tell by Blondie's fixed mouth and Beardy's barely concealed fury that we won't get anywhere, but I join in the protests all the way to the basement door, if only so that Lily and Cam can hear us coming.

“Please don't put us in here!” I fling myself against the door like a retro Hollywood heroine, slapping it with my hands in a way I hope is not totally obviously a warning to those within. Smitty has come to a little, and is playing his part by slowing his progress by grabbing random pieces of furniture leg and carpet, but he's impeded by the dog, who has reappeared and is attacking him with licks and snuffles.

Blondie unpeels me from the door with an iron grip I could have predicted, opens it, and pushes me — not roughly, but firmly — into the dark stairway. Alice and Pete follow, then there is a rush of legs and arms as Beardy half throws Smitty after us.

“How long are you going to keep us down here?” cries Alice.

“For as long as you need to stay!” shouts Beardy, and slams the door.

In the darkness, my ears are filled with Smitty's indignant pants, Pete's wheezing, and Alice's forced sobs. But my only thought is that it could be a lot worse.

I'm just glad they didn't try to lock us up with the last person they argued with.

“Grace
killed
Smitty with the cow prod.” Alice, sitting on a plastic bin in the basement, has got her mojo back and is regaling Lily and Cam. They'd hidden in the coal chute, where I'd told them, and I felt a squeeze of pride when gutsy Cam emerged with a smudge on his nose and a big grin.

“She did not
kill
me, Malice,” says Smitty, who is propped up on the tarp-covered lawnmower. “And it was not a cow prod. It was some kind of specialist army Taser.”

“Bollocks,” says Alice. “Cow prod. And she
slayed
you.”

“Cow goes moo,” says Cam.

“Blondie's called Grace?” I turn to Alice. “Didn't realize you two were on a first-name basis.”

“We were doing just fine before
you
two came in and ruined everything.” Alice glares at me. “You couldn't trust us to sort it out, could you?”

Smitty snarls at her. “No, Malice. We couldn't trust you not to spill your beans to the first person who asks, that's what.”

“But I didn't, did I?” she spits back. And it's true, she didn't. I can't fault her on that. “Besides, Michael told us he wasn't going to hurt us. That's the very first thing he said.”

“Who, Pube-Face?” Smitty grunts. “
Michael
's psychotic. I'm sure he couldn't wait to get his hands on you, Malice.”

“There are three of them, aye?” Lily says.

“Yeah.” Alice wrinkles her nose. “There's this small, weedy-looking bloke, too. I can't remember his name . . . I want to say, Shag?”

Smitty snorts.

“Shaq,” Pete mutters. “Personally I think he's our best hope if we want to bond with them. He's the weak link, the vulnerable one.”

“I'll keep that in mind if they ever let us out of here,” I say.

“What will they do to us?” Lily says.

“Probably nothing,” says Pete. “Smitty just muddied our collective prospects by beating up Michael unnecessarily.”

“Unnecessarily?
Muddied?
” shouts Smitty. “What are you talking about, Pete? That psycho was trying to feel up Bobby. He's the one should be locked up.”

“What else did you find out about them?” I ask Pete, willing myself not to blush at Smitty, Defender of my Honor.

“Not much.” Pete chews the inside of one cheek. “I got the sense they've been here a while. But it's not like they own the place, either. Maybe they were on holiday here, or studying.”

“Maybe they're part of some exclusive rehab program.” Smitty forces a sardonic laugh. “Yeah, that's it. They were all detoxing in this castle, and there was some weird experimental cure with Veggie Juice, but it turns out that it turns people into zombies. As for those three, they were secretly working their way through the basement of booze and didn't take the cure. So they lived to tell the tale.”

It's a stupid idea, but stupider ideas have been right. They are a strange group. I can't imagine them being friends or choosing to spend time with each other. And yet, there did seem to be some kind of power structure there. Beardy Michael acted like he was in charge, but Blondie — I mean, Grace — kind of had the last word on things.

“It's obvious they haven't found help or they wouldn't have come back,” Pete continues. “But then again, they did seem really bothered about finding some key.” He rubs his scabbed head. “Shaq was literally on his hands and knees looking for it when we walked in. And I think the others were blaming him for losing it.”

Alice's face blanches, then she smiles. She's figured it out. “Oh my god. The
tower
key. That must be what they're looking for!” The smile drops from her face as suddenly as it came. “There must be something really important up there. Too bad we didn't find it first.”

I glance at Lily and notice Smitty sneak a look, too, but she's avoiding eye contact by busying herself with Cam, who has decided to make yet another nest, this time in a cardboard box.

“I wonder why it's so important for them to get in the tower,” Alice babbles on. “Do you think there's something in there that means we can get help?” Her mouth drops open. “Maybe they know they can get a mobile signal up there! That's what we thought when we first got to the castle!” She jumps to her feet. “We should offer to help them look. Imagine if a stupid key was the only thing standing between us and getting home safe!”

Lily looks up at her sharply.

Alice claps her hands. “With all of us looking, we're bound to find it! If they're alcoholics, they probably haven't got very good eyesight.”

Smitty groans. “They're not really alcoholics, Malice . . .”

But Lily stands up. “She might be right about the tower. We could call for help.”

“Then why didn't they try calling from the tower as soon as the trouble started?” I say.

Alice shrugs. “The key has been lost all this time? Or, no — they didn't have a phone between them — they probably weren't allowed to have them in
rehab
” — she looks amazed at her own powers of deduction — “and they went up to the Cheery Chomper to find one to use and now they can try!”

Fantastic. First we had Pete's government conspiracy theory, and now Alice is running with Smitty's stupid alco-zombies joke. There's a small chance she might be right about the tower, but that key's the only leverage we've got, and I don't want Lily to give it up before we know for sure. Plus, it begins to dawn on me that there must be a very good reason why that tower is locked in the first place. Either to keep people out . . . or to keep something in.

There's a noise from the steps. We all look up sharply. The little guy — Shaq — is standing there.

Damn.
Lily and Cam. It would have been better to have kept both of them hidden . . . for more than one reason I can think of right now.

“ 'Lo!” Cam waves cheerily up at Shaq, who stares at him, horrified.

Smitty scrambles to his feet.

“What do you want?” he shouts up at Shaq. “Is Pube-Face itching for another round?”

Shaq raises his hand. “No!” He tentatively climbs down the first couple of steps. “They don't know I've come down here. Don't shout, OK?”

Alice gets up and sighs. “Do you want some wine? We won't tell.”

Shaq continues down the stairs, face confused. “Er, no.” He looks around at us, his eyes stopping on Lily. “How many more of you are there?”

“Everyone's here.” I make sure I don't sound too convincing.

“Good, good . . .” His gaze flicks toward the curtain-wall. For all he knows, there might be an entire busload of teenagers behind it. He gestures to a wooden stool by the shelves. “Mind if I . . . sit down?”

“Sure, make yourself comfortable!” Smitty gestures extravagantly. “Might as well rest up before you decapitate another prisoner!”

Shaq sits cautiously, and pinches the skin between his eyes. “That was a . . . regrettable incident.”

“Shall we go and look at him now?” Smitty's on a roll. “You can formally introduce us. I felt quite rude when I met him. I mean, I had no
idea
of his name. Maybe you don't know it, either. Did you cut off his head without asking?”

“Smitty!” Pete, who has been silent up until now, leans forward on his chair toward Shaq. “Tell us about it. Who was he?”

Shaq clears his throat. “Yes, we did kill him. Well, Michael did. You're right about that.” He shifts in his seat and looks up at Smitty. “But you said you'd done it yourself. You know what it's like . . . when they
change
. He left us no choice.”

“Who was he?” I repeat Pete's question.

Shaq's cool caramel eyes meet mine. “He was our professor. He was . . . my mentor. I . . .” He seems to collapse from inside, and his head falls forward into his hands. For a moment he stays like that. And then a moment longer. I don't know if he's crying, but clearly, some kind of meltdown is taking place. Alice giggles, embarrassed. Shaq shakes himself, and sits up again. The moment has passed.

“I'm sorry. It's horrible remembering. He was our professor. We were working on a . . . university project . . . and we'd been staying here for a few weeks, a kind of working vacation. Two days ago, one of those things turned up here at the castle and bit him. He passed out, then came to, and . . . Well, you know the rest.” He shakes his head. “Michael did what he had to do . . .”

Smitty approaches Shaq and pats his shoulder, making him flinch. “I'm sorry, Shaq. That must be really tough.” He crouches beside him and smiles. “But do you mind telling us what the merry frig you're doing down here talking to us?”

Lily gasps, and Pete sighs and glares at Smitty. But Shaq doesn't react. He looks down at Smitty and smiles back.

“I understand you're suspicious. But I just came down to see if you're OK, and, well — if I'm honest, yes — I need your help.” He looks around at us to see if we're buying it. “Like I said, the others don't know I'm here. You see” — he wrings his hands — “I lost something. The key to the tower door in the kitchen. The others are really angry with me because all our stuff is in there. We need to get in. The others are paranoid that you've taken the key. That's why they've locked you down here.” He smiles meekly at us. “So have you got it? Because if you do, just give it to me, and then I'll get you out of here. Immediately.”

“Oh!” Alice flounces from her seat. “That key! We haven't got it, OK? If we did, we'd totally give it to you. Look” — she beams at him — “let us out anyway. We'll help you find it.”

“What's in the tower that's so important?” Lily says quietly.

I look at her and try to make her meet my eyes.

“Just our things,” Shaq says. “You know what it's like — you spend a little while without your stuff, you want it back.”

“Phones? Laptops?” Pete says.

“Well, yes,” Shaq answers. “Not that they work here. But there's an old transistor radio up there, and if I had someone to help me . . .” He pinches above his nose again. “I might be able to rig something to contact the outside world . . .”

“I could absolutely do that.” Pete puffs out his chest.

“Great!” Shaq nods. “But we need the key . . .”

Lily stands up — and as she does, Smitty blocks her way to Shaq.

“So yeah, we'll help you find the key if you let us out,” he says loudly. “By the way, Shaq, what kind of study group?”

Shaq smiles. “Sorry, what?”

Smitty grins back. “What are you studying? Over Christmas? That's what I call dedication. What's your subject?”

Shaq licks his lips. “Shakespeare. We're studying Shakespeare, and we thought it would be great to read
Macbeth
in a real Scottish castle.”

“Wow!” Smitty says. “Too right. We did
Macbeth
last year at school, didn't we, Alice? Great stuff.” He leans in and stage-whispers to Shaq confidentially, “She made a very convincing third witch. And between you and me, Petey here was natural casting for Banquo's ghost. What a coincidence!” He beams around at us all.

“Yeah!” Shaq says.

“Kind of appropriate,
Macbeth
, isn't it?” Smitty says. “Spooky. And appropriate.” He paces away from us, turns on his heel, opens his arms wide, and bellows, “‘And graves have yawned, and yielded up their dead!'”

We all look at him as if he's lost his marbles.

Smitty winks at Shaq. “Macbeth was on the money with that one, wasn't he?”

Shaq nods. “Precisely! I couldn't have put it better myself.”

“‘Cry, “Havoc!” and let slip the dogs of war!'” Smitty the Thespian dances around the cellar. “Isn't that what he said?”

Shaq laughs. “That's right!”

Smitty laughs, too, dangerously friendly. He flings out a finger and points at Shaq. “My arse!” he spits. “Macbeth said no such thing! You need to sort out your Scottish kings from your Roman emperors!” He leaps onto Shaq and they crash to the ground, Shaq's stool spinning across the floor and narrowly missing Cam's box-nest. Cam screams and starts to cry, and Lily swears and scoops him up.

“Get the key out of his pocket!” Smitty yells from somewhere underneath Shaq.

“The key?” I say dumbly.

“To this basement!” Smitty rolls over and pins Shaq's arms behind him on the floor. “So we can get the hell out of here!”

Shaq twists on the floor, but Smitty has got him tight. I try to feel inside his pockets without actually
feeling
inside his pockets.

“You won't find it!” Shaq squeals at me. “I haven't got it on me. They locked me down here with you until I could get the tower key from you!”

“Right!” Smitty drags him to his feet. “So we'll lock you up with your ‘Shakespearian mentor' down there and see if they'll let you out!” He turns to Pete. “Give me a hand!” The two of them drag Shaq through the wall-curtain.