Undead (9780545473460) (20 page)

“What of our moral obligation?” It's Grace.

“Don't make me laugh!” Michael laughs anyway. He's back at his post, right by the dumbwaiter hatch. “We didn't put the stuff out there! We created this, but we didn't put it on the street!”

“We gave it to them knowing full well what they might do,” Grace says from the other side of the kitchen. “And we have the power to undo the damage.”

“I'm more interested in staying alive,” growls Michael. “Don't talk to me about morals. We did this for the best reasons.”

“Yeah” — Shaq makes a choking sound — “and for a bucketful of money.”

OK, that's it. I'm out of here. I straighten up and feel for the nearest rung. I'm going to climb out of this shaft, and we're all getting out of the drug kitchen. Now.

“Just remember . . .” Grace's voice is loud and clear. She must have moved toward Michael because it's almost like she's whispering in my ear, she's so close. “Whenever you see one of those monsters, it's on you, Michael. On me, on Shaq, and on you. We created them. Regardless of what the company has done now. If we get into the tower, we get the antidote and the power is back in our hands. We disinfect this place from top to bottom, remove any evidence we were ever here, then we disappear. Nobody else dies, we get the rest of our money, and everything goes back to normal. But to make any of this work, we need that antidote.”

Antidote?

It feels like the floor has dropped away. I grip the wooden bars tightly, the walls closing in on me as my head spins.
Just get out . . . make sense of this later . . .

I take the first couple of steps up. One foot after the other, one hand and then the next . . .

I'm halfway up when the forgotten flashlight, top-heavy and balancing precariously in my elastic waistband, falls. It ricochets off the opposite wall and lands on the floor with a deafening
thud
.

“What the hell was that?” Michael shouts.

I climb like zombies are chasing me. Fast ones.

Oh, you bet I move fast.

If they're zombie-creating mad scientists, it won't take them too long to figure out that I'm hiding in the dumb dumbwaiter shaft.

As I reach the upstairs hatch, there's a noise from below. I glance down. No square of light, no shout. They haven't got the door open yet. But they will. I clamber out of the hatch and close it. As if that will make a difference. It's not like they're going to follow me up the shaft; they'll use their evil superbrains and come on up the staircase instead.

I run to the grand staircase, and I'm halfway down when a door slams. I duck. Somewhere downstairs there is movement.
Please don't come this way.
I pause, waiting for running feet, but none come. Got to keep going. If I don't move now, I'll miss my shot.

I scurry down the staircase and sprint toward the basement door. There's a wooden chair propped under the handle and I fling it aside, open the door, and take the steps two at a time.

“We have to go!”

Lily looks up at me. Cam is still in his box-nest.

“Where's everyone else?” I look frantically around the dimly lit basement.

Lily stands up. “You got out of the chute?”

“Yes,” I say impatiently. As if this wasn't completely obvious! “Where are the others? We have to go now!”

“Pete said something about a tunnel. Alice and Smitty are playing spin the bottle.”

I hear Alice's unmistakable fake giggle coming from behind the wall-curtain. Rage flushes through my body. Here am I, risking life and limb for them, and they're dicking around?

“Get Cam and anything you need,” I order Lily. “We leave, now!”

“Where are we going?” Lily calls after me, but I ignore her and head through the wall-curtain. It's an excellent question, but I am not going to waste time answering it now.

Alice and Smitty are sitting cross-legged on the floor. In between them is a bottle.

“Get up,” I spit. “Get Pete. We're leaving.”

Smitty scrambles to his feet. “What's going on? You heard them?”

I nod grimly. “I heard them all right. They made the zombies. In the tower. I don't know how or why, but they created a drug or something that made everyone turn. Somebody paid them to.”

“What?” Smitty is aghast.

“Are you off your rocker?” Alice giggles.

“If you don't believe me, fine. But now they know one of us was listening in, and we have to leave before the
real
bad guys get here, the ones they sold the drug to.” I turn and run back into the basement, not bothering to see if I've convinced them.

Lily is still bending over Cam.

“Something's wrong,” she mutters. “He won't wake up.”

“Carry him!” I shout.

Smitty, Alice, and Pete appear through the wall-curtain.

“What's this about zombie-making in the tower?” Pete says.

“That's what they're doing here?” Lily says.

“And all of this is a huge experiment?” Pete almost looks exhilarated.

“So it would seem. No time to make sense of it now,” I say. “There are two Ski-Doos and a sled in the stable through the courtyard. We make a run for it. I take the first Ski-Doo with Cam and Lily on the back.” I glare at Smitty and Alice. “Pete drives the other. You're free to fight over who gets to ride in the sled behind.”

I'm up the stairs before they can comment, and I'm relieved to find the door still open. Pausing for a second at the end of the corridor while the others line up behind me, I listen. A door slams, somewhere way off, upstairs maybe. Good. Now's our chance.

“This way!” I whisper, and head across the hall to the main door. It's bolted above and below, the way we originally left it. With a glance up at the staircase, I reach for the high bolt while Smitty scrabbles at my feet for the lower one. He's quicker than me, and first to grab the handle and turn.

The door does not open.

“Pull it!” Alice cries, elbowing Smitty out of the way and clasping the handle in her slim hands. It's useless, it's locked. By a key. Another key, a key we don't have.

“Check the basement!” There's a shout from somewhere above.
Michael.

“Back door,” Smitty says firmly.

Alice makes a dash for it and we all follow . . . except Lily and Cam, who are crouching on the floor.

“Come on!” I hiss at them.

“He's sick.” Lily looks up at me with big eyes. As if to prove her point, Cam retches, and there's a slosh on the polished floor.

“There's no time, we have to move!” I run toward her, the bitter smell of puke hitting me in the back of the throat.

“Bobby” — Lily's voice is almost begging — “I don't know if we can keep going. Maybe we should just give them what they want. Give them the key to the tower.”

“We're not giving them anything,” I say.

As I reach for her, I turn and see Shaq standing at the top of the staircase. He's heard everything. He stares down at us. I stare back, frozen, a look of desperate pleading on my face.

“Please,” I barely whisper.

He thinks about it.

Then he shouts, “They're here! They're here!”

Bastard. You didn't want to, but you screamed for the Nazis anyway because you need them to like you.

And we're running . Me with the sick Cam in my arms, and Lily all long legs and flailing arms behind me. We reach the kitchen and hear the shouting and the kicking from the mudroom. Smitty, Alice, and Pete are flinging themselves at the back door, which was so very unlocked when I came in through it, but which is now totally and utterly locked and impenetrable.

“There must be another way out!” Pete cries.

“There!” Lily points to the kitchen window, which is still open a crack.

“They're behind us . . .” I dump Cam on the floor beside Lily and rush to the door we just came through, grabbing a wooden chair as I go. I thrust it under the handle.
Oh, I'm a quick learner . . .
Smitty catches on and together we barricade all three doors.

“This won't open any farther!” Lily is up on a chair and trying to force the window. Smitty leaps up beside her and pushes with all his might.

“Break it!” shouts Alice, but it's hopeless. The small-paned, stone-framed, lead-glassed windows that seemed such a plus-point for their anti-zombie appeal are working against us, big-time. Unless Pete can fashion a demolition ball out of some duct tape and a piece of string, those windows are staying intact.

We are utterly trapped.

There's a scratching at one of the doors. Alice screams. The handle turns frantically, then there's thumping. Alice screams again, and I want to thump her. Way to tell them we're still in here.

Then the thumping stops.

“Guys . . .” A low, calm voice. “We're not going to hurt you.” It's Grace.

“Like hell you're not!” Alice shouts back. “You're going to turn us into zombies!”

I grab her arm. “Shut up!” I yelp.

“OK,” Grace continues from behind the door. “So you heard some stuff. But there're a lot of things you don't know, and the safest thing for you to do is trust us and let us in.”

“Did you really create the zombies?” Pete walks toward the door. He's not panicked, just interested, with maybe a touch of I-Was-Right-All-Along. “Was it a virus mutation? Biological warfare? Is this some kind of government experiment? Who are you working for?”

We all freeze.

From the other side of the door, Grace makes a noise, a kind of half sigh, half chuckle. Like she's very, very tired.

“Pete, yes?” she says. “You're the brains, aren't you?” Her voice is soft, seductive even. “Open this door and I'll tell you everything, I promise. You'll be fascinated, believe me.”

Pete walks toward the door, and I'm almost about to tackle him to the ground in case he goes for the chair, but then he speaks.

“That's very flattering, Grace,” he says. “I'm sure I would be fascinated. All we ever wanted was a few answers.”

“Screw answers, I want to go home!” wails Alice.

“I know, Alice, I know,” says Grace. “We all do. We want you to be safe, we want everyone to be safe, that was the intention all along.” Her voice is creamy, and I imagine her, like a Hollywood goddess, leaning against the door languorously — holding an ax behind her back. She speaks again.

“You should know . . . What's happening here . . . It's not the first time.”

OK, she's got our attention. And she knows it.

“People have been turning, all over the world — isolated cases. It's been going on for a while.”

“Really?” says Smitty. “Must have missed that on the news.”

“It's true.” Grace sounds convincing enough. “Naturally, it's been kept quiet by the authorities. Imagine the panic if this got out.”

“Imagine.” Smitty's voice is thick with sarcasm.

“What's causing it?” says Pete.

Grace clears her throat. “Nobody knows. Our group was tasked to find a solution, an antidote. But then the company that was funding us tricked us. All they really wanted was to discover whatever it was that was turning people so they could use it as a weapon — something they could sell. They fooled us. You know how adults can be.”

I roll my eyes. For a smart person, Grace is incredibly stupid if she thinks this Us 'n' Them crap is going to work.

“We created an antidote,” she continues. “And it's in the tower. We just need to get it, and we can make everything right.” She pauses, and I can almost hear her licking her lips, waiting to see if we'll bite. “Do you want to be the heroes? Help put everything right?”

“Yes,” says Lily weakly.

“Wait!” Smitty shouts. “You have an antidote? Then why the hell aren't you out there giving it to people, you cowards?”

“Smitty,” Grace's voice purrs, “it's not the final product, just a prototype we're developing. We believe it works, but we can't be sure. We know it doesn't work for people who have already turned, only on those who are in the very early stages of infection.”

“So what was the Veggie Juice all about?” Smitty retorts. “Getting some test subjects to lock up in your tower?”

“No! That wasn't our idea!” For a moment, I almost think Grace has lost it. But she quickly gets it back. “That was the company, not us. They started the outbreak as a test, to see how it would spread and how people would react — they even tried to infect us the same way, because we're witnesses. And now we need to get the antidote before they come and take it away for good.”

“And exactly what will you do with the antidote once you have it?” Pete asks. It's a good question.

I can hear the grim determination in Grace's voice. “There are people out there who will know what to do with it. For the right reasons.”

“And for the right price?” Pete laughs.

“It has never been about the money!” says Grace.

“Bollocks!” yells Smitty.

“But if you're interested . . . ,” she intones, “some of that money could be yours. All you have to do is give us the tower key.”

“I don't care about money!” screams Lily suddenly. “All I want is to get out of here, and for Cam to get better! We need to get him to a hospital!”

“He's poorly?” Grace says. “I've trained in children's medicine, Lily. I can help him. Open up, give us the key to the tower, and I'll make him all better.” Grace can't prevent her voice from trembling. She's not that good an actress. I was more convincing in the school Nativity play as a sheep.

“Sadly, we don't have the key,” said Pete. “If we did, we'd give it to you.”

“We do have the key.” Lily reaches into her pocket and holds it up. “They know we do.”

“You've had it all this time?” Alice shouts. She turns to me, like it's all my fault. “You knew about this?”

“Do the right thing, Lily,” urges Grace from behind the door.

“Okey-dokey.” Smitty walks toward the door. “We'll just do that, then, eh, Grace? And we'll be the heroes. And you'll heal Cam. And give us a big wad of cash.”

There's a scream from the window. It's Lily. At first I think she's freaked out under the pressure, but then I see there's a hand reaching through the window, a hand grabbing her hair, pulling her. A zom? No, Shaq. I see the top of a ladder and his dark head behind the glass. Then, in almost the same minute, there's a crash behind the door to the mudroom, a crash and a shout. Michael has come in the back door.

The classic diversion technique: Grace kept us talking; the men crept up from behind. We should have known better.

Chaos breaks out. Cam is screaming; Alice, too. I grab Lily's arm, trying to pull her away from Shaq. Smitty flings himself at the door with Michael on the other side. Grace keeps talking, low and persuasive, dripping poison into Pete's ears. I can hear the dog barking somewhere, then there's a cracking noise and the door splits in two. The door to the mudroom is still in place — barely — but I can see Michael through a gap, his face turnip-purple and full of rage, Smitty trying to hold the pieces of wood together. As I try to wrestle Lily free of Shaq's grasp, there's a silver flash and I see the key spring from her hand and fall to the kitchen floor.