Bad Taste in Boys (21 page)

I knew from experience that the woods were always wet, really borderline marshland. And on a gray day like today, they were also dark and spooky.

I walked out the back doors and nearly tripped over a Roman chariot made out of about a half ton of tissue paper. I’d forgotten that the homecoming court was planning to make a big entrance on one of the floats. Kiki leapt off the back of the chariot and ran
up to me. She held an umbrella over her head, but the bottom half of her dress was still spattered with rain. The rest of the court huddled under jackets and sheets of plastic. They looked miserable and bedraggled, but I couldn’t drum up too much sympathy. I’d told them the float was a stupid idea, but no one ever listens to me.

Kiki grabbed me by the shoulders, nearly whacking me in the face with the umbrella. “Kate! Thank god! Do you have any idea why most of the student body’s running around in the woods like idiots? And where’s Mike? He’s supposed to pull our chariot into the gym.”

In the distance, I heard a long and drawn-out scream.

“I don’t have time to explain. Take everyone inside. Rocky and Aaron will fill you in.” Kiki didn’t even pause; she started hustling the girls toward the doors.

“Wait a minute,” I called. “Take this. And if anyone wacks out or throws up on you, stab them and press the plunger.”

She took the syringe I handed her with the tips of two fingers, like she was afraid if she held it too tight it might explode.

“Kate? This is another needle.”

“And I hope you don’t have to use it,” I replied.

She looked down at it, and I could see the questions in her eyes.

“Please trust me,” I said. “I don’t want to have to worry about you. Rocky knows everything; she’ll explain it all.”

Kiki nodded. “Good luck,” she said. “Come back safe.”

I felt immensely cool as she herded the rest of the girls inside and closed the door behind her. The bolt latched into place with
a loud clunk. I had this intense urge to bang on the door and demand to be let inside, but I couldn’t do that.

It was game on, zombies. Game. On.

I tromped into those woods like I owned them, scanning for flashes of yellow and white. It was a good thing our team had nice bright uniforms; it made target practice a lot easier. Although that might have been one of the reasons we never won. Instead of cutesy bright uniforms, maybe we should have worn all black. And spikes.

Within the first three minutes, I ended up ankle-deep in mud in a huge hole. I was soaked from head to toe, and the constant drizzle made it tough to see. My smeary glasses turned everything into amorphous blobs. One of the blobs reached for me; I whacked it with my pseudosword and prepared to inject, but it turned out to be a branch blown by the wind.

I stumbled into a clearing. In the springtime, it was probably the kind of place you’d like to hang out with sparkly vampires. But it was slightly less attractive in the rain. The blurry zombies didn’t help much either.

There were probably about twenty of them, although I didn’t exactly have time to conduct a census. I wasn’t sure why they were all congregating here. Maybe it was instinct. Herd mentality. I was speculating on this when I realized that they were all clustered around something. It wore a red sweater. Or maybe the red was something else entirely.

I couldn’t help it. I made a sound, just a little one. It was too horrible to handle; I didn’t know how they were going to live with
what they’d done once I cured them. The noise might as well have been a firecracker; every head snapped around to look at me. So much for ninjalike stealth.

They started moving toward me. Some walked normally; others lurched on unsteady limbs. Two fell to the ground en route and started dragging themselves through the mud on their bellies. The odds were stacked against me. But if I left the zombies, they’d continue to feed on my classmates. Right now, I was the only one who could keep that from happening.

I backed away slowly, looking for the right place to make my stand. My hand fumbled for my cell. It was a good thing I had Rocky on speed dial. When she answered, I said, “You’d better send the EMTs into the woods out back. They’re about to have a lot of patients.”

“Kate, are you—”

“Love you, Rock.”

I hung up before I turned into a total sap and started crying on the phone. There was a good chance I’d never talk to her again, but I hoped she’d understand if that happened. I hoped they would all realize that I couldn’t run and live with myself later.

I looked to my right. Logan was closing in fast, his hands outstretched. One of his thumbs was broken off at the knuckle. His face didn’t even register surprise when I ran toward him instead of away from him.

I stabbed wildly with the syringe, missing the first time but connecting the second. Then the pack was on me. I pulled out
another dose and injected the first limb I could get my hands on. The needle scraped bone, setting my teeth on edge, but I was on to the next anyway.

There were so many of them. The constant press of their bodies knocked me to the sludgy ground. They tore into my arms and legs; I batted their searching teeth away from my face again and again. The pain registered dimly, as did the sickening rip as my flesh separated from my body. But it was like I was in a trance, a never-ending cycle of pop-the-cap-off, stab-the-needle-in, press-the-plunger, withdraw-and-toss-aside.

I didn’t know how long it lasted. Black flashes of nothingness at the edge of my vision threatened to shut me down. Blood loss, probably. An arm reached for me. I grabbed it, pulled it close, and fumbled for a syringe.

In the distance, I heard Aaron screaming my name. Or maybe I was hallucinating it. Wishful thinking.

The backpack was empty.

Merciful darkness claimed me and everything went black.

woke up in a dim room, covered with sheets that smelled funny. I knew I wasn’t in my room, but I couldn’t see anything without my glasses. I reached out, feeling the pull of adhesive bandages along the length of my arm. It was uncomfortable but not painful. I was either in the early throes of zombie infection or totally hopped up on pain meds.

“Here, let me help,” said a male voice.

The overhead lights popped on. I happened to be looking straight at them; my corneas felt like they were frying. I turned toward the blurry figure standing by the door.

“You call that help?” I croaked. “Would you like to stab me with an ice pick while you’re at it?”

“Sorry.”

I would have recognized that sheepish, apologetic tone anywhere.

“Jonah?” I needed my glasses. I flung my arm out wider, knocking something vaguely lamplike to the floor. “Is it really you?”

He giggled. Yep, it was really him. I didn’t know any other teenage male who would giggle in public. Or at all.

“Here they are,” he said, putting my glasses into my hand. I felt much better once I rammed them onto my face and could see him for real. He was a little pale, maybe, although it could have been from the fluorescents. Hospital-room lighting isn’t particularly flattering under any circumstances.

“Are you okay?” I held out my hand to him; he took it without a single smart comment. I decided I was probably dead. It was the only explanation for the hand-holding.

His sleeve pulled back, exposing a raw, red ring around his wrist. I gasped.

“I think I taped myself too well. But otherwise I’m fine.” He pushed his sleeve back down. “I got off pretty easy, thanks to you.”

“Yeah, well … do you know how I got here? How the guys are doing?”

“Aaron could probably tell you better; he’s the one who found you in the woods. He and Dad are both sleeping in the waiting room. They’ve been here all night.”

“All night? How long have I been out?”

“About a day. I finally talked Dad into getting some sleep; I should probably let him know you’re up.”

I hesitated. “Did—did the cure work?”

“Yep. I got checked out by the health department and everything. They’re dosing everyone in town just in case, and they’ve got all the guys from the woods under observation. You did good.”

I lay back, a smile on my lips.

My nurse came in about two minutes after Jonah left. It took a long time to change all the dressings. I polished off a plastic cup of Jell‑O while surveying my injuries. I had some potential damage to the tendons in my left ankle and some pretty serious tissue loss on my legs and arms. The nurse patted me on the forehead. “We’ll have the plastic surgeon in to see you this afternoon. Don’t worry. He’ll have you right in no time.”

There was no way I could take my chomped-upon limbs to homecoming. Aaron deserved a date who didn’t look like the Mummy Queen. I felt like crying.

My cell was on the nightstand. I knew using it was against the rules, but at this point, I didn’t really care. Once the nurse left, I picked it up and texted Aaron.
You okay?
I typed.
I’m sorry, but I can’t go to homecoming with you.

The moment I hit send, I instantly regretted it. He didn’t respond. Maybe he was relieved at being let off the hook, and he was asking some cheerleader right now. Probably.

But then my door opened and there he was, tired, stubbly, and adorable.

“What do you mean you can’t go to homecoming with me?”

“I …” I swallowed the lump in my throat and tried again. “Look at me. This is not something you want to be seen in public with, even if I’m allowed to go. I’ve lost a lot of tissue, and there’s a pretty strong chance of infection, and—”

He crossed the space between us with four long strides and kissed me. His arms slid around my shoulders; our lips melded together. My hands tangled in his hair. My heart thumped so loud and so fast I could hear it, which I found really embarrassing. But then I realized it wasn’t mine. It was his.

He pulled back all too soon, carefully settling his weight on the edge of the bed.

Then he said, “I’m taking you to homecoming. And if you don’t get out of the hospital in time, I’ll petition Principal Wasserman to let us use the cafeteria for a night, and we’ll put on a homecoming of our own. I said I’d take you, and I’m keeping that promise.”

“Yes, but that was before I looked like a chew toy.” My voice was wobbly again. When the doctor showed up, I was going to demand to be taken off these meds. They were turning me into a total wuss-girl, and I hated it. If I had a choice between pain and pitifulness, I’d take the pain.

“So?” He shrugged. “I’m attracted to you for your brains and your sense of humor, and … you’re not really going to make me go all Hallmark here, are you?”

I shook my head.

“Good.” He lifted my hand and brushed my knuckles with his lips. “That’s settled. Oh, and I’m supposed to tell you that CNN is here. They want to interview you.”

It all happened very quickly. My dad gave the okay, and I called Mom to make sure she was okay with it too. Rocky did my hair and makeup. The camera crew set up all kinds of imposing equipment. The reporter showed up at the last minute; I was convinced he was wearing a toupee.

“Rolling in five, four, three, two, one,” said the cameraman.

“I’m here with Kate Grable,” the reporter said, “high school senior and scientific genius. Thanks to this young lady, the virus that some people say should be named Grable’s disease has been stopped short of epidemic proportions, with only two casualties. Memorial services will be held tomorrow for the high school football coach, Hank Brecizizizack—”

“Brzeszczak,” I corrected him, hanging my head. Coach was dead. On one hand, he probably deserved it. But on the other? I felt this horrible weight in the pit of my stomach, like I could have saved him if I’d just tried a little harder.

The reporter went on without even pausing. “The other victim has not been identified pending family notification, but officials say she was not infected. Instead, she fell prey to infected and apparently delirious individuals who became exceedingly violent as the disease ran its course. Many people are currently hospitalized in this small Midwestern city, with varying degrees
of brain damage due to the disease’s devastating effects. Some have gone so far as to call this the zombie virus, because it appears to have spread mainly via bites and has resulted in severe tissue damage and missing digits for many infected. An estimated two hundred people are confirmed to have been incubating the virus, along with approximately forty who had already begun to exhibit symptoms. They owe their lives to this young woman next to me. Kate, how are you feeling today?”