Never Slow Dance with a Zombie - By E. Van Lowe Page 0,73

think this is the basement. We have to go up one more floor."

Shimmying upward in a duct is no easy task. You have to push up against the sides with your feet, using your arms to brace yourself. It's easy to lose traction, and you can slip backward several feet and have to start all over again. It took us nearly half an hour to reach the first floor.

As I shimmied I thought of Mrs. Mars. I'd had no idea there was a practical use for all that upper-body training she was always trying to get us to do. I guess she realized girls needed to be prepared for whatever unexpected dilemma life threw at us.

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Why didn't she just say that?

I was breathing hard, sweat pouring down my arms and legs, "The rest should be easy," I said. "No more climbing."

The duct wrapped around the entire first floor. Several smaller ducts led off the main duct into the classrooms.

"Is this our first date?" Baron suddenly called from behind.

I smiled. "You're not getting off that easy. We're going out in public."

"You won't be embarrassed to be seen with a geek?" he asked.

Seven weeks ago the answer would have been yes.

"You're not a geek," I replied. Then I said, "You won't be embarrassed to be seen with a nobody?"

"You're not a nobody."

I immediately thought of Sybil's attempts to do away with the cliques and their labels. Lunchroom monitor wasn't a ridiculous idea after all.

"Could you guys please shut up!" Milton called from the rear. "This is like watching a love story. And I hate love stories ... unless somebody dies."

We continued on in silence. I stopped at one point and looked through the grate, just to make sure we were headed in the right direction. I peered into the corridor. Zombies were everywhere.

"Achoo!" Milton sneezed.

"Dude!" Baron smacked him on the shoulder.

The zombies all snapped out of their fugue, looking hungrily upward. But their virus-fogged brains couldn't figure out where the sneeze had come from, and eventually they went back to shuffling along the corridor.

We arrived at a duct veering off to our left.

"This should be the main office," I said.

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We crawled into the duct. When we arrived at the next grate, I again peered through. We were indeed above the main office.

The six uberzombies were in the office.

"Those are the uberzombies," I whispered. "This is probably where Taft stages them." The zombies stood almost motionless. Their eyelids were near shut, as if they were sleeping, but I knew better. These were the most deadly zombies in the school.

Baron inched up alongside me and looked through the vent. His hand brushed my arm--again my skin turned to goose-flesh. "Tyler Moss," he whispered.

"I tutored him in algebra," said Milton from the rear. "He got a B plus, thanks to me."

"I don't think you're going to get any points for that today," I said.

We continued into the duct leading into Taft's office. The door to Taft's office was always closed. Hopefully we'd find the office empty.

I looked through the grate. The office was empty.

"We're in luck," I called. I shifted my body around so that my feet were in front of the grate. I gave three hard kicks, and the grate popped out, crashing to the floor.

That would attract some zombie attention.

I looked down into Taft's office, listening intently.

"I don't think they heard it."

"Be careful," called Baron

He squeezed my hand; then I jumped down, landing hard on the floor. Pain fired through my ankle. "Aiiil" I cried.

My eyes moved to the door. We held our collective breaths, waiting for zombies to come barreling into the room.

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"We're good," I called, releasing my breath.

Baron jumped down after me, and then Milton.

"1 need one of you to hook Sybil's iPod up to the intercom system," I said.

"Piece of cake," said Milton. Having something to do would keep his mind occupied, and his fear at bay. I pulled Sybil's iPod from my pocket and handed it to him. He went right to work.

Just then the doorknob turned.

"Hurry!" I called. "Uberzombies know how to open doors."

Baron rushed to the door, but it was too late. It was already swinging open.

"Mmmmm," was all we heard from the other side. The uberzombies had come to life.

Baron braced himself against the door. "Little help," he called.

"Hurry!" I called to Milton again.

In seconds the iPod was plugged into the system. I cued up Tom Jones' "She's a Lady," and hit the play button. Then, Milton and I joined Baron at the door. We leaned