my relationship with a zombie ahead of my best friend..." is what I should have said.
Instead I said, "You're so selfish it's embarrassing. Here I am trying to do something nice for the community, and all you can think of is yourself." I knew I was lying. I knew I had shortchanged her. But my mouth was once again operating under its own power, and the words just flew from my lips.
"I'm selfish?" said Sybil.
"There, you admitted it!"
"You know good and well who the selfish one is here, Mar-got. You're just too stubborn to own up to it."
"Am not!" Childish, I know. But when you're caught in a lie your mind goes primal... at least mine does.
"Are too!" It appears Sybil's mind had gone primal as well.
"Am not!" I threw my song list and music sheets into the air and got in her face.
"Are too!" She didn't back down. We were nose-to-nose.
112
"Sybil Mulcahy, you take that back or you are off the caroling team."
"Ooh, an alto singing with a bass who screeches and groans. This is going to be the best caroling year ever. I can't wait to hear you guys caroling in front of my house."
"Forget you, Sybil."
"Too late. You're already forgotten."
Ouch.' "Oh, yeah?"
"Yeah!"
Without another word, I stormed from the room and raced down the corridor. Why couldn't I just admit I was wrong? Why couldn't I tell her I was sorry I hadn't been spending any time with her? With no other humans around I knew she had to be lonely. 1 certainly was.
Fueled by adrenaline, I raced through the school at top speed, not knowing where I was going, not caring, just needing to burn off my anger. Finally out of breath I stopped and doubled over in a coughing, wheezing jag, struggling to catch my breath.
"Mmmmmm."
The sound of a zombie. No, not one zombie, many zombies. Slowly, I lifted my head. I was standing at an intersection in the corridor--surrounded. I'd gotten so worked up I'd run from the room without my vial of fish oil or my rolled-up newspaper. I was stranded without any of my weapons against a zombie attack--totally exposed.
"Mmmmmm." Zombies came at me from all four directions. This was different from the time I'd taken on the zombies to cut Dirk from the herd. This time there was no escape route.
I took a step back. "Harumph!" The zombies behind me seemed to delight in the fact I was making it easy for them.
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They reached for me. I wheeled around, striking my fake karate pose. It had no effect. They continued to close in.
"Mmmmmuhh!" The zombies to my right were reaching for me as well, their arms outstretched, their lips parted in anticipation of the feast of flesh.
"Sybil!" I found myself calling. "Sybil, I'm surrounded by zombies. Help!"
Nothing. No sound of footsteps rushing to my aid, just the slow swish-swish of zombie feet dragging closer and closer.
"I deserve this," I said out loud. "If I hadn't dissed Sybil we wouldn't have gotten into the argument, and I wouldn't be here now."
I had precious little time to feel sorry for myself. A nerd zombie dug her hand into my shoulder. Instinctively I jerked away, only to find myself in the arms of a prep zombie. His lips parted.
"I'm sorry, Sybil," 1 whispered as I prepared to join the living dead. Tears streaked my cheeks as a horde of zombie hands clutched at my arms, tugging me in all directions. I tried pulling away, but I was no match for their number, their strength. I was a rag doll, slowly being ripped to shreds.
Suddenly, two sturdy zombie hands gripped me by the shoulders from behind and began pulling me backward. Something, a bag, went over my head.
"What the... HELP!"
Darkness.
"I've got her," a zombie voice said. "Let's get out of here."
I could feel myself flying backward, f aster ... faster... faster. ...
114
Chapter Eighteen
"Watch her head." "I got it." Thump. "Owl"
"I told you to watch her head."
'You're not the boss of me."
This back-and-forth went on for a full five minutes as the two zombies--or whatever they were--transported me away. By the time they set me down on a chair and removed the hood, I recognized one of the voices.
"Hello, beautiful," Baron Chomsky crooned as the hood came off. It was a poor attempt at sounding cool, but I didn't care how geeky he sounded. Baron Chomsky had saved my life.
"Baron!" I cried, looking around, trying to make sense of what was happening. "You're not a zombie."
"Nope," he