Girls Save the World in This One - Ash Parsons Page 0,56

business suit. She has sleek black hair in a severe bob; the kind of hairstyle that looks both retro and French.

“Don’t handle me, Mia,” Annie hisses. “It isn’t your job right now.”

Mia lifts her hands and scowls in frustration. Her red-soled man-killer stilettos tap quietly as she stalks a few steps away from Annie.

Imani and I cross to the double doors.

“Locked,” Linus says, gesturing. “It wasn’t locked at first but—”

He pushes. The same rigid bar. The same slight knock as the door shifts in its cradle but otherwise doesn’t move.

I’m backstage with two actors from my favorite show: the veterinarian and the trucker’s daughter. And my best friend in the whole world. And Rosa, the ZombieCon! camerawoman. And Mia, whoever she is.

And there’s an actual zombie apocalypse going on.

It would feel completely surreal if it wasn’t for the mortal terror shooting through my veins.

As it is, it still feels surreal, but it’s almost in passing, like noticing a giant purple giraffe outside of a train window, and then it’s gone as the world whizzes by.

“Where is everyone else?” I ask. “Everyone from onstage? And the others who climbed up?”

“We were all back here. The door was open, just this one.” Linus touches one of the double doors. “We were the last to get here, to this side. We were all rushing out but the door fell closed after Sam.”

Sam. The older actor who plays the wise lawyer, Jamison, on the show.

“We got to it,” Linus continues. “But it wouldn’t open and they were already gone.”

Imani pushes the crash bar again.

“Dammit!” Imani hisses.

Okay, I don’t know what to do now.

What would I do if I was on the show? If I was on Human Wasteland?

I rush over to the catering table and unzip my mini backpack. I stuff in energy bars and several little bottled waters.

I slip the backpack back on and glance back at the others still standing at the locked doors.

Imani’s eyebrows couldn’t arch at me more.

“Just in case!” I say defensively.

“Uh-huh. Like we’re gonna be here long enough to get hungry.”

Linus puts his shoulder against the door again and pushes.

“Do you even watch the show, Imani?” I ask, frustration making my whisper snappish. But I’m not looking at her as I scan the table. Maybe there’s a knife or something. Maybe we could . . . I don’t know . . . wedge it in the door thingy and . . .

“We’re not on the show! This is real life!” Imani’s voice is compressed with effort. I look back. She’s pushing the door with Linus and Rosa.

Mia’s holding her phone up, trying to find a signal.

Annie’s hugging herself, looking like she’s about to cry, which makes tears want to jump into my own eyes.

“Feels a lot like the show,” I mutter.

Then I see it.

A shabby backpack with a large Mickey Mouse patch.

The guy who jumped onstage, the scientist’s bag.

I saw him, crouched at the end of Autograph Alley, messing with the door with some kind of screwdriver.

He put it in the bag.

I turn so fast I stumble on my own feet. I dig in the bag, a bunch of loose tools, bulky military rations, two water bottles, a bandana, electrical tape, duct tape, first aid kit—my hand closes around a screwdriver handle. I have it, it’s here.

A key.

Sort of like a key.

I sling the Mickey patch backpack on the front of me like a baby carrier, and rush over to the door.

“Stop pushing.” I pull them back off the door, and I hit my knees, okay, so that was a bit too hard, ow.

But I don’t stop. I’m looking for the screws or the holes or whatever he was messing with on the bottom of the crash bars.

The screwdriver isn’t really a screwdriver. It’s more like a hex