Never Slow Dance with a Zombie - By E. Van Lowe Page 0,33

said, grinning at me.

"You're not a zombie, either, and we want to know why," came the voice of the other boy in the room--Milton Sharp. The

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cartoon character on the T-shirt he wore today was a cricket, standing upright like a human, with a bad case of the shakes.

"We know why," said Baron, turning to Milton. "Leave her alone."

We were in a dusty old storage room in the basement that had been converted into a science lab.

" 'Leave her alone' said the big-shot know-it-all. Well, homie, you may have just signed our death warrant. I hope you're happy," called Milton. He paced quickly back and forth, eyeing me suspiciously.

"What's going on?" I asked.

Milton stopped pacing. "Why aren't you a zombie?" His eyes tore into me. "I'll tell you why, because you are the zombie master. And now you know where our hideout is, and you're going to bring your friends here to kill us." He wagged an accusing finger in my direction.

"Milton, that's ridiculous."

"It's the reason we threw the hood over your head," Baron said. He seemed embarrassed for his friend. "Sorry about that, but he wasn't sure about you, so he didn't want you to know where our hideout is."

I looked around at the room. "Hideout?"

"Big mistake removing that hood, homie,"Milton called.

"Ignore him. He's read one too many comic books."

"And it's a good thing I have, otherwise we wouldn't have found the cure." Milton started pacing again, eyeing me with contempt. "Didn't know we had an antidote, did ya?"

I shook my head, turned to Baron. "Can somebody please tell me what on Earth is going on here?"

"Why did she say 'Earth'?" Milton asked, his voice rising with suspicion. "Is the zombie master an alien?"

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"Idiot!" cried Baron. "If she had control over them would we have had to rescue her?"

Milton stopped, his face twisting into a pout as he thought about this for a moment. "Don't call me an idiot. I have a four-point-oh GPA."

"And you never let me forget it."

"You guys aren't zombies, either," I said.

"Not yet!" said Milton. "But now that you're here " he added, rolling his eyes.

"We believe the transformation happened at the carnival. And since we didn't go that night we were spared being infected," said Baron. "We've been roaming the school ever since, hiding and studying the zombies while we searched for a cure. This storage room is our base of operation."

"I didn't go to the carnival, either," I said. "Sybil and I went to the carnival grounds the night after to look for clues, but the carnival was gone."

"See?" Baron said. "She's on our side."

"You were at the location where Patient Zero got infected?" Milton asked, eyeing me skeptically.

"Patient Zero?"

"That's who he calls the first person to get infected."

"Oh." Baron was smiling at me. I smiled back. It felt good talking to a real person other than Sybil or Principal Taft for a change.

"I don't believe her," Milton said suddenly. "I've been watching you. You sure act like you're in charge of them, parading around school like ... like the zombie master. I think you're behind it."

A tiny bit of the anger from the choral room reared up. "Why do you keep saying I have something to do with the zombies?" I

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barked, advancing on him. He wasn't expecting my sudden aggression and shrank back.

"Because," he said, his voice turning whiny and defensive, "you're not one of them." He took a few more steps backward, making a cross of both his index fingers and thrusting them at me as if to hold me at bay.

"Neither are you!" I took a step toward him and his silly cross. "By the way, crosses are for vampires."

"Okay, stalemate," called Baron, jumping between us. "We believe somebody released a microbe into the air."

"Who would do such a thing?"

"Who indeed!" chimed Milton.

"Look, we're all here for the same reason, to find a way to make our classmates normal again. I'm glad you're not one of them," Baron said, his voice softening. I could feel myself beginning to blush--which didn't make any sense since the sweet sentiment was coming from a geek.

"So you have a cure?" I said, changing the subject.

"Yes!" exclaimed Milton.

"Not exactly," said Baron. "We're working on the antidote."

"Dude! Do not give military intelligence to the enemy," Milton whispered through his teeth.

I turned to Baron. "Your friend is a real pill."

"I know, and the worst kind of pill--a pill with a four-point -oh GPA."

I smiled at him. It was the first time I could ever remember me and Baron