Never Slow Dance with a Zombie

chapter Twenty - three

Sybil's screams propelled me down to the basement and up to the door leading to the pit. When I entered, Sybil was sitting across the cramped room on an old wooden stool. She was alternately sobbing and screaming. Baron was crouched by her side, attempting to console her.

Milton was by the door looking on. "She seemed okay at first, and then all of a sudden she started freaking out."

"I... could ... have ... Ahhhhh!" Sybil wailed. Baron patted her hand, and spoke to her in a soothing tone.

"I guess when it sank in that she was this close to becoming one of them..." Milton's words trailed off. "My diagnosis is it's a mild case of hysteria. She'll be okay." He moved away.

"It's all right, Sybil. We're fine now," said Baron. There was concern in his voice. "I wouldn't have let anything happen to you." She sniffled and nodded. She was calming now. Baron continued to pat her hand.

At that moment a rush of jealousy surged through me like a shot of adrenaline. This was a side of Baron I hadn't seen before--or hadn't taken the time to notice. Baron had been

calm and resourceful in saving their lives, and now he was comforting Sybil. It was the kind of gallant thing I would have expected from ... Dirk.

I should have rushed to my friend's side and thrown my arms around her. But seeing her being comforted by Baron, I couldn't I just couldn't.

"Well, it looks like everything's okay here. I think I should go check on Dirk. Great job, guys."

It was only then that Sybil realized I was in the room. She looked up at me, still sniffling, her eyes narrowed. "Where did you say you were going?"

"Dirk. I just want to check on him. I'll be back."

Her red-rimmed eyes seared into me.

"Dirk!" she cried, her voice crackling. "We could have died at the hands of zombies and you want to go check on one of them?"

"Technically, they're not zombies," Milton called. "They're victims of a viral infection that seems to affect the entire frontal lobe-"

"Not now, Milton," said Baron.

"I'm just saying, zombies want to eat your brains out. All these guys want to do is kill you."

Sybil's eyes were still on me.

"Well... you didn't die," I said in a dismissive tone. "Baron saved you."

"We saved each other." His voice was soft and soothing as he massaged Sybil's shoulder.

She stared at me in silence. The look in her eyes was unnerving. I'd never seen anything like it from her before. It was a look of... disgust.

"See here," called Milton. He was holding two plywood slats with nails sticking out of them. "Someone nailed it shut."

He pointed with one of the slats, and we looked up to the ceiling, where the remaining plywood slats that had kept the pit door from opening now hung ready to collapse.

"Well, would you look at that," I said, my voice sounding unnatural.

"My diagnosis, someone did this on purpose." Milton turned to Baron. " told you, homie. We are not alone."

"Let's not jump to any conclusions. It could have been nailed shut from before," I said weakly. "Who knows? Maybe it's been nailed shut since last year."

"You didn't test it?" Sybil's eyes raged at me. Her stare was like a blowtorch against my flesh. 1 had to get away.

"No," I said. "I... didn't. I'm sorry."

"She didn't do it on purpose," Baron said, coming to my defense. "She's had a lot on her mind with the pageant and everything." He looked at me. "I knew you'd pull it off." There was empathy in his soft, hazel eyes. I looked at Sybil. Hers were filled with fury.

"We must be getting close," Milton said. "Someone is really trying to stop us."

"I need to find Dirk. If what you say is true he may be in danger." It was a weak excuse, but I had to say something, anything, to get away from Sybil's accusing gaze. I turned to go.

"Trust no one," Milton called as I exited.

"Yes," I heard Sybil say as the door closed behind me. "Trust no one."

My mind was a jumble of emotion as I headed away from the pit room. I did not try to clear it. As long as my thoughts were jammed together into a ball of emotional Silly Putty, I didn't have to think. Thinking meant facing myself, and that, I was sure, was an ugly proposition. So I cruised down the corridor, my mind a total blur.

The basement corridor was dimly lit. It had been an eerie place even before the zombies arrived. Since their arrival it was like something straight out of a horror flick. Suddenly I stopped, my heart pounding. Four zombie girls were standing in the shadows at the end of the corridor.

They were at least a hundred feet away. If I had to, I knew I could escape by going back in the direction I'd come. No problem.

I calmed myself.

"Mmmmuh." Upon seeing me, a soft moan escaped one of the girls. She stepped toward me, emerging from the shadows. It was Amanda. Her yellow sundress was even more rumpled and frayed than before. This creature was a far cry from the fastidious Amanda we'd all come to know and hate.

The four it-girl zombies smoothed their rumpled clothes, their dark eyes never leaving me.

Are they going to attack?

I took a halting step backward, peering into the Amanda thing's eyes. They seemed awash with indifference.

Then she began to move--not toward me, but away from me.

The Zombiettes instinctively shambled after her.

"Where are you going?" I heard myself call. The emotion I'd been keeping bottled up inside cascaded out of me. "You're never going to get to be anything around here ever again unless you bite me!"

The zombies disappeared around the bend in the corner.

I rushed to the corner and stepped around. The four zombie girls were shuffling away. "You hear me, Amanda? I'm the popular one now. Your reign is over unless you bite me!" Propelled by emotion, I took a few steps after them. "What are you so afraid of? Bite me!" I screamed. They didn't stop or look

back. They continued moving away, and in a few moments they were gone.

Alone in the corridor, I crumpled to the floor, tears streaming down my cheeks. The snub from Amanda had caught me off guard. But one thing became clear--I was still a zero in her zombie eyes, just as I'd been since the eighth grade. "Bite me," I rasped.