Bad Taste in Boys (20 page)

Mike had pinned Swannie’s arms to her sides with a bear hug, and he started gnawing on her shoulder. She screamed, but the noise was lost in the uproar.

“Aaron, grab Swannie!” I ordered.

Mike didn’t even see us coming, but Swannie did. The panic in her eyes turned to a wild, elated hope as we crossed the last few feet. Aaron wrenched her out of Mike’s arms; her flesh came free with a rip loud enough for me to hear. And considering how loud it was in the gym, that was saying a lot. She clapped her hand over the spurting bite mark on her shoulder. The banner-holding cheerleaders couldn’t handle it; one fainted dead away. The other puked.

I lunged at Mike with the needle held high. The ideal place to administer the injection was in the thigh or the butt, but there was no way I was going to pull his pants down. Frankly, the idea gave me nightmares. So instead, I went for the easy stick, right on the outside of the arm.

He didn’t even seem to feel it when I pushed the needle through his jersey and into his skin. I pressed the plunger. He turned to look at me with an expression of puzzled incomprehension. Over his shoulder, I saw Aaron release Swannie; he didn’t know this whole thing was her fault. I put my hands on either side of Mike’s head, being careful not to touch the loose flap of scalp, and turned him in Swannie’s direction before she could get away.

He puked right in her face. And then she puked on him. Aaron started making his prepuke sound, which I recognized from Coach’s office. I had to distract him before this whole situation disintegrated into a total pukearama.

“Get her!” I said, pointing to Swannie. “She’s the one who turned him into a zombie.”

He did. Then someone tapped my shoulder; I spun around fully expecting to see Principal Wasserman or someone else official, but it was Jonah’s friend Drew.

“Dude, do you need some help?” he asked. “I’ve got a shotgun at home.”

“What?”

“A shotgun,” Drew repeated patiently. “You’ve got to destroy the brains if you want to take down a zombie.”

“Yeah,” said an equally pimply flunky at his side. “A sledgehammer would do if you don’t know how to shoot.”

“These are your classmates, you idiots.” I wanted to shake them.

Then someone else tugged on my sleeve. It was Principal Wasserman. He looked so scared I thought he might pee. “You probably want an explanation for all this, don’t you?” I said.

“No.” He shook his head, pointing down at my feet. “But if you don’t do something, I think he’s going to die.”

I looked down. It was Mike. He looked dead again.

But this time it might have been for real.

felt an intense wave of déjà vu as I knelt by Mike’s prone body with Aaron by my side. Principal Wasserman was holding Swannie firmly by the arm; he nodded at me as if to say it was all taken care of. I could concentrate on Mike.

Mike’s systems had started functioning normally again, and that included his circulatory system. He had taken a lot of damage while he was infected, and now his wounds were gushing. Making up for lost time, maybe.

I flipped his scalp closed and looked around for something to wrap it with. Aaron whipped his shirt over his head and held it out to me. I ripped the fabric into long pieces, wrapping them around Mike’s skull and tying them in place. In my peripheral vision, I could see some of my classmates ease progressively closer
as curiosity won out over fear. Now that Mike was cured, they were relatively calm. I couldn’t wait to tell them he wasn’t the only one infected.

I needed a little nursing backup.

“Where’s Mrs. Rooney?” I asked.

“She already left for the day,” said Principal Wasserman. He inched forward to get a closer look.

“Stay out of my light!” I snapped, wrapping the final bandage and tying it with a neat knot. “And I need another shirt.”

The air filled with flying clothing. One shirt smacked against the side of my head, the sleeve wrapping around my neck. I heard a “Sorry!” from somewhere in the crowd but didn’t bother to acknowledge it. The blood from Mike’s wounds was soaking through; I couldn’t keep up.

“You rip.” I thrust a handful of shirts at Aaron and he tore into them, piling up a small mountain of bandages before I even managed to tie another one in place. I worked frantically, my neck dripping with sweat. Wisps of hair escaped from my braid; one plastered itself to the corner of my mouth, but I didn’t dare pause long enough to wipe it away.

“Tell me how to take care of the finger,” said Aaron. “I can handle it if you’ll tell me what to do.”

I spared a moment to glance at him, because this was his best friend, after all. I knew I’d freak if Rocky was bleeding out on the floor. He looked pale but focused. I figured if he was willing to put his trust in me, he deserved the same courtesy in return.

“All right.” I nodded, grabbing a strip of fabric and beginning to wrap it around Mike’s scalp. “First, examine the finger. Is there enough of a nub? Enough to wrap?”

A pause. “No. No nub.”

“Okay. Then you’re going to wrap in a figure eight. Around the wrist, cross over the missing digit, and back around the wrist again in the opposite direction. You’re going to need a lot of layers, and they need to be as tight as you can make them. Tie them off with square knots, nothing fancy. Can you do that?”

“Yeah. Probably not as pretty as you can, but I’ll manage.”

“Thanks.” I attempted to brush the hair out of my eyes with an elbow, even though I knew it was a physical impossibility. I was so tired. “Has anyone called nine-one-one?”

“They’re on their way,” Principal Wasserman said. “Just a few minutes more, Kate.”

By this time, Mike’s head was swathed in a huge multicolored turban. I paused and eyed it critically, but nothing was seeping out. I checked his pulse; it was weak but steady, and his respiration was good. I was afraid to say so out loud, but I thought he was going to be okay. Aaron carefully wound another strip over the severed finger. I could only see a small spot of blood there, so that was good. I didn’t know what shape Mike would be in when he woke up, but he seemed stable for the moment.

“Keep an eye on him, will you, Aaron?” I asked.

“I’m on it.”

I stood up and had a moment of peace before the questions
started flying. My classmates were scared and on the verge of revolt. They surged forward. I couldn’t even figure out who was talking; my eyes darted from side to side and saw nothing but panicked expressions and barely restrained hysteria.

“Where did the zombies come from?” asked someone on my left.

“Are there more of them?” said another.

“Are these Romero slow zombies, or
28 Days Later
fast zombies?”

“They were totally slow, dude. Are you blind?”

“Who are you calling blind?”

“Stop!” I shouted, and the silence was instantaneous. I’d never had this kind of power over a crowd, except maybe when I was in grade school and the teacher used to leave me in charge of the class when she had to go to the bathroom.

“Okay. There’s no reason to panic.” I used my most businesslike voice, speaking loudly to carry to the back of the crowd. “It’s true that there’s a virus on the loose, but I’ve got a cure. Everything is under control.”

“Is it contagious?” Rocky asked, pushing her way to the front of the crowd.

“Yes.”

“How do you know if someone’s infected?”

“Well, there are a lot of signs, but the biggest thing to look for is black vomit.”

“Oh my god,” said a guy from the back of the crowd. “I puked this morning.”

“So did I,” said someone else.

The crowd scattered, fleeing for the doors again. Even Principal Wasserman disappeared this time. I could only hope he had Swannie with him.

A small group of people was moving against the stream of traffic in my direction—five or six guys, including Jonah’s friend Drew.

I heard Drew say, “That one’s limping. He must be one of them. Get him!”

Five pieces of plastic pipe rose over the crowd in unison. I recognized them immediately, as only the older sister of an übernerd can. Pseudoswords. I would have been impressed at the guys’ synchronicity if I wasn’t so annoyed.

“Stop!” I shouted, jogging over. My shoulder slammed into Drew’s ribs; I heard the rush of air as his lungs emptied. He toppled into the rest of the vigilante squad. We fell into a tangled heap of limbs on the floor.

I was lying on top of Drew, which was not a position I wanted to be in. He looked up at me and said, “Hey!” All indignant too, as if I was the one not following orders instead of the other way around.

I snatched his pseudosword and hit him with it. Not hard or anything, and not in the face. More like the kind of smack I gave Armstrong when he chewed on the furniture. Drew looked at me with the same expression as Army, the reproachful but contrite one. It worked better on the dog.

“Are you deaf or just stupid?” I said, pushing myself to my feet.

“What do you mean?” Drew seemed honestly confused, so I guessed the answer was stupid.

“I said I could cure the infected. I cannot, however, cure someone after you’ve bashed their head in. Got it?”

“Oh.” His face fell. “I didn’t hear that part. We ran to my locker to get the swords.”

“Idiot.” I looked down at my leg. A fresh red stain was spreading down the leg of my jeans. It didn’t hurt much; I couldn’t decide if that was good or bad.

A squad of EMTs rushed into the room, led by Principal Wasserman. He was dragging Swannie by the wrist. She was pale but standing tall. Good. It was nice not to have to worry about them on top of everything else.

“Get out of here,” I told Drew. “And don’t go hitting anybody. If you see someone you think is infected, call me.” I gave him my cell number.

“Okay.” He hung his head as he started to trudge away.

“Hey, wait a minute,” I said, and he stopped hopefully. “Can I have your sword? I’ll get it back to you later.”

He looked like he couldn’t decide whether to be excited or disappointed, but he handed it over. I shouldered it and started for the doors. “Rocky, keep an eye on the vigilantes here, will you?”

And then my vigilante self walked out into the battle.

huge stretch of woods ran along the back of our school. My house was actually on the other side; during my ninth-grade environmentalism kick, I refused to go anywhere in a car and actually walked to school through the woods. It was about a mile and a half if you went by street but only ten minutes if you didn’t mind slogging through the mud.