Zom-B (13 page)
He shoots me a dirty look. “They’ve got knives in the kitchen. We can tool up.”
I frown. That’s not a bad idea. “What about it?” I ask the group.
“Won’t the cafeteria be full?” Suze asks. “It’s lunch, so it will be like the gym. If the zombies have struck there, it’ll be bedlam.”
“But we’ll have a much better chance if we have weapons,” Ballydefeck says.
“It’s worth a look,” Elephant agrees.
“All right.” I nod at Tyler. “Lead the way.”
“Me?” he squeaks.
I grin sharkishly. “It was your idea. Only fair that if we get attacked, you should be first on their menu.”
It’s hard to believe that I can make a joke at a time like this. But as awful as this is, as shocking as it’s been, I can’t shut down. At the moment I’m alive. Those of us in this group have a chance to get out and fight another day. We have to cling to life as tightly as we can, put the atrocities from our thoughts, deal with this as if it were a surprise exam. What I’ve learned today is that when the shit hits the fan, you can sit around and get splattered, or you can take it in your stride and do what you must to get away clean. I’ll have nightmares about this later, maybe a full-on nervous breakdown, but only if I keep my cool and escape alive.
We follow Tyler along the corridors. We’re the only ones on the move up here, none of the chaos of downstairs. I have visions of walking into the cafeteria, everyone eating, unaware of what’s happening below. Maybe they’ll think we’re winding them up. They might ignore our warnings and carry on with their lunch, oblivious until the zombies come crashing in on them.
But when we get there, I immediately see that reality has struck just as hard in the cafeteria as it has downstairs. In fact, it’s struck even harder.
Students, along with some teachers and kitchen staff, are backed up against one of the walls. They’re moaning and sobbing, but hardly any of them are fighting or trying to break free. They seem to have abandoned hope completely.
They’re surrounded by scores of zombies, maybe a hundred or more. They’re picking off the living one by one, biting some to convert them, tearing into the brains of others. It’s a carefully organized operation. And pulling the strings, directing the movements of the undead, is a small group of men and women in hoodies.
My breath catches in my throat. We’re watching from outside the cafeteria, through two round windows in the doors, taking turns to observe the horror show. But when my turn comes and I spot the people in the hoodies, I freeze and can’t be torn away.
There are several of them. Each has a whistle, which they blow every now and then to command attention. They have rotten skin, pockmarked with pustulant sores, purple in places, patches of flesh peeling away. All have gray, lifeless hair and pale yellow eyes. I can’t see inside their mouths, but I’m pretty sure that if I examined them close up, I’d find shriveled, scabby tongues.
They’re the same type of creeps as the two guys at the Imperial War Museum, the mutants who tried to kidnap the baby. And they’re clearly in control, dominating the zombies, using them to process the survivors neatly and efficiently.
Seez was right. This isn’t bad luck or a freak attack. We’ve been set up. And even though I wouldn’t have believed it was possible a minute ago, I feel even more fear now than I did when the zombies first burst into the gym.
We head for the exit, numb, and dumb with shock. I don’t think anyone now expects it to be open. But we act as if we hadn’t seen the slaughter in the cafeteria, as if we don’t know what it means.
We’re at the door a minute later. We stare at the bar. If it works, and the door opens, we’re just seconds away from freedom.
Nobody reaches for the bar. Everyone’s afraid of being the one to fail, to dash the hope that we all long for but don’t dare believe in. Finally I sigh and step up to the challenge. I push the bar down. It clicks. I pause a second, then push.
Nothing happens.
I close my eyes and lean my head against the door. Then I curse and push again, straining, putting everything into it. But I’m wasting my time. It doesn’t budge.
“B,” Trev says.
I fire one of my vilest curses his way.
“B,” he says calmly. “Look.”
I turn and spot something on the floor to our left. I saw it before but thought it was just a corpse. Now I see that there are actually two bodies. And one of them’s moving, chewing on the head of the other, slurping down brains.
As we stare with disgust, the zombie pushes its victim away and stands. We all gasp at the same time.
“Mrs. Reed!” I shout.
The zombie that was once our principal sways from side to side, staring at us blankly, chin drenched with blood and flecked with bits of brain. I get a fix on the body beneath her and cringe. It’s Jonesenzio. He won’t be boring anyone with dry history lectures again. Poor old sod.
Mrs. Reed shuffles towards us. Nobody moves. She doesn’t seem to pose an immediate threat. She’s smiling stupidly, eyes unfocused, rubbing her stomach. She burps and giggles softly.
“This is unreal,” the Indian kid sighs.
Mrs. Reed’s eyes settle on him and she frowns. She raises a finger and shakes it slowly. Then she spots me. Her smile spreads again.
“
Beeeeeeee
,” she wheezes.
“Bloody hell!” Elephant yelps. “How’s she talking? Zombies can’t talk! Can they?”
Mrs. Reed comes closer. She’s within touching distance of me now but I can’t move. I’m rooted. The others back up but nobody runs or screams or tries to pull me away from her. They’re mesmerized, held captive by the spectacle like I am.
Mrs. Reed strokes my cheek with a finger–there’s no bone sticking out of it–and leaves a trail of blood across my flesh. But she doesn’t scratch me and claim me for one of her own. Her eyes are locked on mine. She looks demented but strangely peaceful at the same time.
“
Fullll
,” she whispers, still rubbing her stomach with her other hand.
“What’s happening?” Seez asks, distracting her. “Where did the zombies come from? Who are the freaks in the hoodies? Who locked the doors?”
Mrs. Reed snarls at him. Then she smiles at me again and taps the side of my head.
“Stayyy. Hungry again… sooooon.”
“Sorry,” I croak, stepping away from her. “I don’t fancy being eaten.”
Mrs. Reed looks disappointed, but she shrugs and sits down. Dabs at the bits of brain stuck to her chin and sucks them from her finger.
I’m backing away from the zombie principal when I stop. This isn’t right. She’s not like any of the others we’ve encountered. And
it’s not just the fact that she can talk and doesn’t have bones sticking out of her fingers. There are no bite marks or scratches. I can’t see where she was wounded.
I want to study her properly–this seems important–but Trev interrupts.
“We have to get out of here.”
“But this is weird,” I argue. “She’s different. I want to know why.”
Trev shrugs. “Then stay and have a chat with her. Me, I’m heading for the front of the building, to get the hell out. They might have barred the doors but they can’t have blocked all the windows. There wasn’t enough time.”
“He’s right,” Seez says. “The windows are our best hope.”
“You don’t have any hope,” someone snickers behind us.
I whirl and spot three people in hoodies. They’re spread across the corridor, grinning viciously. I’m almost certain that the one in the middle is the louse who tried to steal the baby in the museum. Then he points at me and says, “You should have let me take the boy,” and my suspicions are confirmed.
“Who are you?” I yell. “Why are you doing this?”
“Don’t worry,” the mutant chuckles, his voice gravelly and gurgly, nothing like a normal person’s. “You’re in good company. This is happening all over London. This will be a city of zombies by the time the sun sets. And it won’t be the only one. From tomorrow, this world is ours.”
As we stare at the mutant with the crazy skin and yellow eyes,
horrified by his prediction, he puts his whistle to his lips and blows. The others blow their whistles too. Three long, sharp toots. They’re so piercing, I have to cover my ears with my hands. Then the mutants drop the whistles and smirk. Lowering my hands, I fix on the sound of a flurry of feet stomping down the corridor, dozens of zombies responding to the call of the mutants, closing in on
us
.
No time to think. We run from the mob of zombies, tear along the corridor, knowing we don’t have much time.
As we pass an open door to a classroom, Linzer ducks inside. “I’m hiding!” she screams, slamming the door shut on the rest of us.
Meths starts to slow but Stagger Lee bellows at him, “Leave her!”
We press on. My heart’s hammering. I’m finding it hard to breathe. I was never the fittest—too many helpings of fries and not enough exercise. I start to drift towards the rear of the group. We turn a corner, then another. I’ve lost track of where we are. The zombies are drawing closer. The mutants in hoodies must be with them because I hear an occasional whistle.
I’m rushing past a window when I catch a glimpse of open space. I stop and yell to the others, “We’re next to a courtyard. I’m jumping.”
“We don’t know what’s down there,” Trev roars. “It could be full of zombies.”
I grin ghoulishly. “Only one way to find out.” I back up from the window, then hurl myself at the glass, covering my face with my arms. There’s a good chance I’ll slice open a vein or artery, but I’d rather bleed to death than be devoured by the living dead.
I smash through the window and whoop insanely, half-terrified, half-buzzing. My arms snap open and flap wildly. A brief glimpse of the ground coming fast towards me. Then I land in an untidy heap and roll awkwardly. The air’s knocked out of me. Shards of glass nick my hands and knees. But I’m alive. I’m not badly injured. And the courtyard’s empty.
“Come on!” I shout at the others.
Seez follows first, bursting through another pane of glass. There’s a wide hole now and the rest can jump cleanly. They pile after us, landing hard, picking themselves up, a few cuts and bruises but no broken ankles or severed arteries.
Suze and Ballydefeck are last. Suze stares at the drop with terror. She’s crying.
“Hurry up,” Ballydefeck says, grabbing her.
She shakes him off. “I can’t. I’m afraid of heights.”
“It’s not that bloody high!”
“I–”
A scream from a window on the other side of the courtyard stops her. We all look. Linzer is pressed against the glass, her face contorted. Zombies are bunched around her. They yank her out of sight. Looks like Cass might have been right about them having a keen nose for the living.
“Get down and drop, then,” Ballydefeck barks, getting to his knees and backing out, holding on to the sill.
“All right,” Suze moans, shutting her eyes. “But I can’t look. You tell me where I have to–”
There’s a blur of motion. A zombie tackles Suze and she’s gone before she can scream. Ballydefeck yelps and lets go. But hands snake out and grab his arms. He’s hauled back into the room, roaring and cursing.
Several zombies lean out through the shattered windows, and I’m sure they’re going to jump in and finish us off. But the sunlight unnerves them. They wince, cover their eyes and back away into the gloom. Before hungrier or braver zombies can take their place, we find the nearest door and race back inside, stumbling slightly, feet stinging from the jump, but delighted to be alive, all too aware that we could have very easily gone the same way as Linzer, Suze and Ballydefeck.
