Never Slow Dance with a Zombie - By E. Van Lowe Page 0,66

the virus. I used it to my advantage, to throw you girls off the scent... so to speak."

I stared at him, shaking my head, as the reality of his clever trap washed over me. "Stinky tennis shoes covered with cheese and then left out in the rain," I said softly.

"Excuse me?"

"You have to have a kid brother to understand."

"I'm sure you see that somebody had to fix things before they got too far out of hand." When I didn't respond, he sighed and shook his head, as if I weren't bright enough to understand. "Principals across the nation are at their wits' end the way you modern kids act out. And your parents aren't doing anything to help. When I become district supervisor, I'm going to see to it that every student in the district is a zombie. This thing is going to get popular."

"You're wrong about one thing, Principal Tart," I said.

"What's that?"

"You are crazy."

"Well... you're entitled to an opinion. At least you are for now."

"How did you do it? I know it had something to do with the carnival."

He smiled. "Believe it or not, the whole thing started in an Internet chat room. Administrators around the country were grousing about the sad state of students these days. Then someone chimed in and said they had a solution. A virus, of sorts, that makes people conform."

"So, it is a virus?" It was good to know that Baron and Milton had diagnosed correctly.

"Yes. I didn't know what I was getting myself into when I

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purchased it. But I needed to do something if I wanted that promotion." He looked at me, as if for confirmation, before going on.

"The instructions said it had to be ingested. And if more than fifty percent of the student population took it, they would see to it that the rest conformed. So I paid a vendor at the carnival to add it to all the soft drinks. It was that simple."

He chuckled, pleased with himself. "The person who sold me the virus didn't say anything about zombies. I was so nervous those first few days of the outbreak. I honestly couldn't have gotten this far without you, Margot. But now look. That virus is the best thing that's ever happened to this school."

I'd heard enough of his lunatic rantings. "I need the antidote," I demanded. "Where is it?"

"There is no antidote." There was a finality to his words that blanketed me in a wave of despair. Game, set, and match. "I think it's appropriate you and your friend become zombies at the same time. I tried that once before in the gym, but you outsmarted me."

"Where is she? If you've harmed her--"

"Of course I didn't harm her." He sounded almost hurt by the accusation. "What kind of principal do you think I am? Mar-got, I'm not a bad man. I'm a concerned administrator."

"Then where is she?"

"She's where you guys meet up all the time. Sitting in front of her locker waiting for you... Duh!"

I left Principal Tart and went in search of Sybil. I had to rescue Sybil and the geek boys before the zombies in the gym came looking for us. 'I Want Candy" was playing as I headed up the corridor.

Just as Taft had said, she was seated in front of her locker.

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What he had neglected to say is that she was tied to a student desk. She was coiled in thick rope. Her hands and feet were bound. Her head was down, listing to the side as if she'd been drugged.

"Sybil! It's me!" I called.

I started running. I was going to rescue her. Knowing this made me oblivious to the danger around me. I was doing something for somebody else. Pride surged through me.

She lifted her head as I got closer, and I realized it wasn't Sybil tied to the chair. It was Mrs. Mars.

When she saw me, an odd smile appeared on her lips. I gazed into her eyes. They were deep red, her skin green and flaky. A low rumbling commenced deep in her chest.

I reached her and began to untie the rope.

"Stop him!" Her voice was sandpaper over rough wood.

I realized there was something else in her eyes, a warning.

She was looking above her head. My eyes followed and I saw it. It was an old trick, one I'd seen in movies, heard stories of kids pulling since grade school. In its original form someone balances a bucket of water above a partially opened door. When the victim enters and