Dead City

  I jumped up and then grabbed a large metal bowl Dr. H uses to hold human organs when he weighs them (I know, gross, but you get used to it), and I slammed it into the clean-shaven side of Big Red’s head. I was hoping this would finish him off.

  It didn’t.

  Instead, he stood up and swiped at the gurney with the back of his hand, sending it skittering off to the side. I could hear his neck bones crack into place as he cocked his head, side to side. Then he looked at me and my bowl and laughed.

  (Okay, if you’re ever looking for a scary Halloween costume, it turns out “giant laughing zombie with a half-shaved head in a hospital gown” is both inexpensive and effective.)

  I held up my bowl like a weapon and refused to back down. As silly as it sounds, I thought if I could get another whack at his head with it, I might at least be able to daze him.

  He charged at me again, and I instantly thought about fencing practice and the in quartata maneuver I had learned that day. This was the perfect situation: I’d turn out of his way, avoid him, and go from defense to offense with a lightning-quick blow to the back of his head.

  At least, that’s how I imagined it.

  Unfortunately, I still couldn’t get the footwork right, and I tripped over myself. Instead of the bowl against the back of his head, the only slamming was my nose and face against the concrete floor.

  Big Red flipped me over, grabbed me by the shoulders, and picked me up like a doll. He lifted me all the way up, so that my eyes were even with his. Then he grossed me out by doing that thing where he sniffed me like a dog.

  I cannot stress enough how much I hate that.

  I squirmed and struggled but could not break loose. I had no idea what to do. Then I heard Natalie call out.

  “What did I tell you about asking for help?” she said, frustrated.

  “I know, but you looked kind of busy,” I said, short of breath and struggling. “And I wanted to prove to you that I could take care of things myself.”

  “How’s that working out?”

  I squirmed some more, but still had no luck getting free. “Not so good.”

  “You might want to try a head butt,” she suggested.

  It wasn’t exactly Jeet Kune Do, but it sounded like a plan. I smiled and snapped my head forward, right into his face. Upside: It worked and he let go. Downside: It really hurt.

  I slammed against the floor (again), and this time I didn’t even bother getting up. I just used my small size to an advantage and started to scramble under the tables to get away from Big Red.

  From my vantage point I could see Natalie was still going at it with Glass Face. His right leg was now barely attached below the knee, and it flopped around as he moved. Despite this, she hadn’t been able to finish him. The broken glass was working like a booby trap in his face. As to fighting, he seemed more concerned with protecting the book than hurting her.

  Suddenly all the lights came on, and I looked over at the door where Zombie Number Three had just flipped the switch. He was not quite as big as the others but was still plenty horrifying. He had changed from his hospital gown into street clothes and was carrying clothes for them as well. If I had to put my money on it, I’d say he was the brains of the operation.

  He barked something at them, obviously upset they were wasting time fighting a couple of girls. Then he saw the book and smiled. He went straight for it.

  Everything was different with the lights on. Especially because now the zombies could see all the equipment. The needles, scalpels, and blades that were normally just the tools of a medical examiner suddenly looked more like weapons. Big Red flashed a hideous orange-yellow smile as he grabbed two large blades from a table.

  Zombie Number Three didn’t care about us. He was only interested in the book. He snatched it from Glass Face and smiled broadly as he looked at the cover to see that they had the right one. As he held it, I got a good look at his hand and noticed something interesting.

  He was missing his left ring finger.

  I’d like to introduce you to Mr. Cornelius Blackwell.

  He snapped at them again, and they turned their attention away from us and started to leave.

  “The book,” I pleaded with Natalie. “I don’t know what it is. But we can’t let them take it.”

  “You know some way to get them back?” she asked as she tried to catch her breath.

  I looked down at the table and saw the answer in a little plastic bag.

  “Hey, Corrrrneeeeliusss,” I sang out. “Did you happen to lose a finger? And a wedding ring?”

  He stopped and turned around. He looked right at me, and I dangled the bag in the air. I even gave it an extra shake.

  “We found this at the cemetery where you left it,” I said. “I hope that wedding ring doesn’t have any sentimental value for you. Especially with that sweet inscription from your wife and all. I can’t decide if I want to melt it down, give it away, or just throw it in the river.”

  He was furious, which is exactly what I was hoping for.

  “Or did you want it back?”

  He started coming right at me, and when he got close, I tossed the bag onto the far side of the table I was next to. When he reached for it with his right hand, I grabbed a metal handsaw that Dr. H uses for (actually, you don’t want to know what he uses it for, just know that he uses it) and with the best saber technique I knew, I chopped off his left hand at the wrist.

  The hand, and more important, the book, fell to the floor. I grabbed them both (the hand was still kind of clutching the book) and raced toward the rear exit, snatching my backpack on the way.

  As I ran, I pried the dead fingers off the book, which I then shoved into my bag. Natalie caught up with me at the door and we ran down the hallway. We made it around the corner and almost all the way to the stairs before we had to stop.

  Big Red and Glass Face had beaten us there and were blocking our escape.

  A few seconds later Cornelius Blackwell came out of the lab. He had the bag and the severed hand. And, understandably, he was in a pretty bad mood.

  I turned to Natalie and finally took her advice.

  “Help.”

  Big Zombies, Little Women

  We were trapped. Glass Face and Big Red blocked the stairs and elevator while Cornelius Blackwell stood between us and the lab. To say that they were angry would be an understatement. I’d bashed in the side of Big Red’s head, and thanks to Natalie, the lower half of Glass Face’s left leg was now barely attached at the knee.

  But the angriest was Blackwell.

  Not only had I chopped off his hand, but I had also stolen the one thing he’d come to get. He approached us slowly, careful not to make any sudden movements. And while it was a struggle for him to form the word, I knew exactly what he was trying to say.

  “Boooookkk.”

  “What book?” I answered, trying to play dumb. “I don’t have any book.”

  He snarled and motioned to the others to start closing in. As they did, Natalie turned so that we were back-to-back, our shoulder blades pressed against each other, ready to fight in any direction. We’d almost run out of time when she cocked her head to the side and whispered the one word capable of bringing a smile to my face.

  “Shortcut.”

  I knew exactly what she meant. The day he’d taken us to the Old Marble Cemetery, Dr. H had led us out of the morgue through a series of basement hallways. He’d called it his shortcut. Now it was our escape route.

  First, though, we needed to distract the undead.

  “Wait, wait,” I said, holding up my hands for them to stop. “I have the book, and I’ll give it to you. Just let me get it out.”

  They held their ground as I slipped the backpack off my shoulder and then unzipped it. I reached in and grabbed the biggest textbook I could find (Advanced Biology, hardcover edition), careful to make sure they couldn’t see it. Then I looked right into the cold dead eyes of Cornelius Blackwell.

  “Is this the one you mean?” br />
  In one fluid motion I pulled out the book and swung it as hard as I could. I caught him squarely under the chin with an uppercut. He staggered backward, and that was all the opening we needed. We turned down the hall and started to sprint at full speed.

  “Tell me you remember the way,” I pleaded breathlessly.

  “Just follow me,” Natalie answered as she took the lead, a wild smile on her face.

  Not once did I look back to see how close they were. All I did was run. We raced along the narrow hallways, through an old lab that reeked of formaldehyde, and up three mini-stairwells, fighting through the cobwebs, twisting and turning until we reached a door that opened onto First Avenue.

  My immediate reaction was to suck in a lungful of fresh air and let out a sigh of relief.

  “We’re not safe yet,” Natalie reminded me. “As soon as they get out of those hospital gowns and into street clothes, they’ll be able to follow us anywhere in Manhattan. They have your scent.

  “We need to get off the island,” she continued. “Now!”

  I looked for a cab but didn’t see one. It defies all logic, but whenever you actually need a cab, they’re nowhere to be found. If we didn’t need one, they’d be everywhere.

  Then I heard the sound of the zombies coming up from the basement, and my heart went into turbo drive.

  “I know where we can go!” I blurted excitedly. “Alpha Bakery.”

  The bakery was only two blocks away. I knew that if we could make it there, we’d get help.

  MIST doesn’t have a track team, but if it did, Natalie and I would have qualified based solely on our sprint down First Ave. I don’t think I’ve ever run that fast in my life.

  When we finally burst into the bakery, we actually knocked the bell from above the doorway and sent it clanging across the floor. Luckily, there were no customers in the store. Only the baker, who was not particularly happy to see me so soon after his warning.

  “What did I tell you about coming here without an imminent need?” he demanded, his big puffy cheeks red with frustration. But then he saw the panicked expressions on our faces and knew this was not another unnecessary visit.

  This was real.

  “This is an imminent need!” I declared. “We’re being chased by three massive zombies and need to get off the island right away.”

  Talk about sentences you never imagined yourself saying.

  “Quick!” he replied urgently as he lifted a panel in the counter. “Hide in the pantry.” We rushed through the opening and into the back of the store.

  “Go in there and lock the door,” he said, motioning to a small storage room. “Do not unlock it for anyone but me.”

  “How will we know it’s you?” I asked as I tried to catch my breath.

  “There’s a monitor in there for the security cameras,” he explained. “You’ll be able to see everything in the bakery. Remember, no one but me.”

  “Got it!” we said in unison.

  We rushed in and closed the door behind us. Natalie bolted the lock and then took a deep breath. She relaxed for a second (but only one) before she turned to me and angrily asked, “How come he recognized you? How come he’d talked to you before?”

  I didn’t have it in me to make up some elaborate excuse or explanation, so I went with the truth. “I broke the rules and came by the bakery. It was stupid, and I know that. But can you get mad at me after this is over and we know we’re still alive?”

  There would be explaining to do later; for now she let it go and turned her attention to the monitor.

  “Here they come,” she said, pointing at the screen, which had images from four different cameras. On one we were able to see the zombies walking up the sidewalk, and on another we saw them as they entered the bakery. They tried to act normal, which was a bit ridiculous considering their appearance. They were colorful . . . even on a black-and-white screen.

  Big Red had combed his hair across the bald half of his scalp. Or at least, he’d tried to. It kept flipping back over, so that now it looked like a giant C on the top of his head. Glass Face, meanwhile, had taken all the glass shards out of his cheek, so now he would be more accurately called Open Wound Face. He also tried not to limp too noticeably, but the lower part of his left leg kept dragging behind him at odd angles. Finally, Cornelius Blackwell did his best to mask his missing left hand by sticking his arm deep into his jacket pocket. It would have been funny if it weren’t for the fact that they were trying to kill us.

  And as if their bizarre appearance wasn’t already enough to attract attention, Big Red was sniffing the air like some sort of undead bloodhound hot on my scent. Despite all this, the baker acted like it was just a normal day and they were regular customers.

  “Welcome!” he greeted them warmly. He winked at Big Red and offered, “I bet that’s the vanilla you smell. Wonderful, isn’t it? There’s nothing more powerful to the nose than the smell of vanilla. Nothing in the world.”

  Natalie nodded, smiling. “Brilliant!”

  “What’s brilliant?” I asked.

  “He’s talking to us,” she said as she started to search the shelves of the pantry. “He wants us to find vanilla. There’s got to be some in here.”

  The pantry was filled with giant-sized containers of baking ingredients. Twenty-pound bags of sugar and flour were stacked up along one wall while shelves filled with cans of cinnamon, bags of chocolate chips, and boxes of sprinkles lined the others.

  “Check it out,” Natalie said as she crouched low. She’d found a row with gallon jugs of vanilla. “Triple-strength Madagascar pure vanilla concentrate.” She looked up at me with a grin. “This should hide your scent perfectly.”

  “Great idea,” I said with a shrug. “But how do you suppose we’ll squirt it up his nose?”

  She started to laugh. “That’s not what I meant. Close your eyes tight, this could burn.”

  It still took a moment for me to realize that her plan was to cover my scent by covering me . . . with the vanilla.

  “No way!” I objected. “You cannot be serious.”

  “Yes way! And I am.”

  “But I’ll smell for days!”

  “You don’t have much of a choice,” she said as she started to unscrew the cap. “Unless you’d rather smell like Dead City?”

  “Well, if you’re going to put it that way . . .”

  If you’ve never worked in a bakery before, let me tell you that triple-strength Madagascar pure vanilla concentrate is as much syrup as it is liquid. It made a gurgling noise as Natalie poured it on top of my head. It slowly oozed through my hair, down my face, and, well, you get the picture.

  It was pointless to fight, so I did my best to speed up the process by rubbing it in. My one lucky break was that I was still in the gym shorts and T-shirt I’d worn to fencing, so I wasn’t ruining any clothes I cared about.

  Natalie tried not to smile too much, but she failed miserably. I couldn’t really blame her. When I saw my reflection in the stainless-steel door of the pantry, it took everything I had to keep from busting out.

  “This is ridiculous,” I whispered, trying not to crack up and make any noise that might attract attention.

  Ridiculous . . . but also effective.

  It wasn’t long before the look on Big Red’s face became even more confused than usual. He had clearly lost my scent. A minute later he motioned to the others, and the three of them left the bakery.

  On the security monitor we saw them linger on the sidewalk, trying to catch a whiff of me. Once they were gone, the baker snuck us out in the back of his delivery truck. He drove to Queens, dropping us off right in front of my apartment building.

  Face-to-face on the sidewalk, no longer in danger, the three of us looked at one another and smiled.

  “It’s been a while since I’ve done anything like this,” he said, pleased to have a little taste of zombie action again. “I didn’t realize how much I missed it. So tell me, did you two inflict all that damage? The broke
n leg? The missing hand?”

  Natalie and I looked at each other and then at him. In unison we said, “Yeah.”

  “I love it,” he said with a hearty laugh.

  “Thanks for all the help,” Natalie said.

  “Omega today, Omega forever,” he replied. “Anything else you need?”

  “You got any tips on how to get rid of the smell of triple-strength Madagascar pure vanilla concentrate?” I asked hopefully.

  “Showers, plural,” he answered. “Lots and lots of showers.”

  He started toward his truck but stopped and turned back to us. He thought for a moment, trying to pick out the right words for what he wanted to say. “Molly . . . your mom . . . she was the best.”

  “Yeah,” I said with a nod. “They say she was quite the Zeke.”

  “Yes, but that’s not what I meant,” he said, shaking his head. “She wasn’t just the best zombie killer. She was the best . . . everything. The best person I ever knew. She’d be really proud of you.”

  A warm feeling came over me (although that could have been the vanilla settling into my pores) as I thought about her. Then I looked up at him. “Thanks.”

  Natalie and I hurried upstairs. My dad was hard at work in the kitchen. Luckily, the powerful aroma of his spaghetti sauce let me slip by unnoticed. Natalie hung out in my room while I took a quick shower.

  Okay, maybe “quick” is not the right word. Despite scrubbing so hard that my skin turned bright pink and washing my hair three times, I still smelled like an ice cream factory. But at least all the sticky goop was off me.

  When I walked into my room, I found Natalie sitting on the floor with the contents of my backpack spread out around her. She had a worried look on her face.

  “Something wrong?” I asked.

  “What happened to the book?” she replied, looking up at me.

  “What do you mean? It was in my bag.”

  “No, it wasn’t.” She motioned to the piles around her. “They’re all either textbooks or from the school library.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” I said, thoroughly confused. “I know I put it there, and they never got near my backpack. Besides, I don’t have any library books. My card was revoked until next semester due to excessive overdue fines.”