deep hiding. You know, until they could fix the formula. You know how secretive Milton can get." My mind raced, searching for a plausible reason as to why they weren't here.
She shook her head, "Looks like there was a struggle."
She was right. It appeared more than a hasty retreat. It appeared forced.
"Someone got to them," she repeated.
So much for plausibility. We were silent for what seemed like forever. I could hear the sound of our hearts beating, hers with a slow, rhythmic pulse, mine racing like the wind.
"You need to stay away from me. Who knows when the change will come? When it does, I may try to kill you."
"You wouldn't," I said, my voice cracking. "Even as a zombie, I know you wouldn't."
"Don't be so sure. Dirk tried to kill you."
"Dirk's not my best friend. He's practically a stranger."
"He's your boyfriend."
Some boyfriend, I thought. "Sybil, we need to look for Baron and Milton. I'm not going to leave you until we find a way to stop the change."
"And if we don't?"
"We will," I replied. "Now, let's get out of here."
We took the long walk back up to the first floor. I had no idea where to look for the boys. For all I knew it was too late. They could already be zombies.
When we arrived back in the main corridor we heard
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voices coming from down the hall. We exchanged a quick glance and headed in the direction of the voices.
I prayed it was Baron and Milton. Only they could end this nightmare and save my friend's life. As we got closer, we realized the voices were coming from Mrs. Mars' office.
A questioning look passed between us as we approached the office. The office door contained a huge pane of thick, opaque glass taking up most of the top half--impossible to see through.
Mrs. Mars was inside. She was arguing with someone.
"You failed!" she boomed in angry hoarse tones.
"Who's she talking to?" I whispered.
We crept up to the door, making sure we stooped below the glass pane so as not to be seen. We pressed our ears firmly against the wooden door. The sound of things crashing to the floor reverberated in the corridor as Mrs. Mars paced back and forth in silence.
"Is she arguing with herself?" I asked.
"Shh."
Suddenly she stopped, and I was certain she'd heard us. I held my breath, fully expecting the door to come flying open.
"Perhaps there's a way," she said. Her voice was much calmer now. Then she said something we couldn't make out, but the last part was crystal clear: "... and after that, Margot Jean Johnson, you are mine. Zombies rule!" she finished with a sinister, throaty chuckle.
Sybil and I looked at each other, astonished.
Mrs. Mars was the person who wanted us... er, me ... dead... er, undead.
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Chapter Twenty - eight
I took Sybil home with me. I bathed her wound in Betadine, then bandaged it in gauze. I fed her herbal tea--a chamomile, goldenseal, Red Zinger cocktail. I didn't know what else to do. But it seemed as though the change had slowed. Maybe I had caught it in time. Maybe she wasn't doomed. Maybe I wasn't fooling myself. Maybe.
As evening approached, with it came the fog of doubt.
Everything indicated Mrs. Mars was trying to turn us into zombies. I kept asking myself why. It didn't make sense. But I didn't need to know her reasons. If Mrs. Mars was the culprit, she held the key to the whereabouts of the antidote that could keep my friend from joining the living dead. I needed that key.
"We have to tell Principal Taft that Mrs. Mars got to Baron and Milton. And now she's trying to get us," Sybil said. She was lying on my bed, resting. The circles beneath her eyes had faded. They weren't as red as before.
"We need proof," I said.
"What kind of proof?"
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"I don't know. Something she can't deny."
We sat in silence, and I thought about how many times we'd sat here in my room, eating snickerdoodles and planning our fabulous futures. Not once had our plans included surviving a zombie attack.
"We're telling the truth, right?" I said all of a sudden.
"Of course." She sat up, staring at me with the kind of schoolgirl anticipation she'd had when I'd told her some of my best-kept secrets.
I took a deep breath. "Remember Percy Paulson?"
"Your first kiss," she replied in a playful singsong.
"He wasn't. We didn't kiss that day after the walkathon." A look of surprise came across her face.
"What happened?"
"You left us alone