Special Dead (4 page)

Lydia finished with a bow, and Ani stood,
clapping. Everyone joined her in the standing ovation, but behind her she heard
Kyle mutter to Teah, “What the hell was that?” She couldn’t hear Teah’s
response over the applause.

As they changed places, Ani gave Lydia a hug.

Lydia squeezed hard, and whispered in her ear, “Thanks.”

“It was all you,” Ani said, letting go.

For this month’s recital, Ani had stolen melodies
from Vi Hart, increased the tempo, and woven a whimsical ditty allegretto
around them. The result was a neoclassical pop mishmash that Ani wasn’t quite
sure she liked. The newest generation of regeneratives were amazing, but as her
hands moved over the keys they were still slowed by the dullness that
threatened to overtake her dead body.

Dullness.
That’s what Devon called it.
Devon, who was the most athletic of them before their deaths, who hated Ani
with all her heart while she was alive, jealous of the attentions given by her
boyfriend.

Mike. Poor, stupid, mentally challenged Mike.
I
made him a retard. An honest-to-goodness retard.
Their kiss at prom had
overwhelmed her, and she’d lost control. She still remembered the hot blood
gushing down her throat, the sickening crunch as she’d punched through his
skull, the pathetic mewling wail that—applause startled her.

She stood, took a curt pianist’s bow, and returned
to her seat between Lydia and Devon.

Devon.
Devon had more reason to hate
Ani now than ever before. Ani had stolen her boyfriend, eaten half his brain,
killed her, killed some of her friends, and condemned the undead survivors to a
purgatory of medical experiments and public humiliation.

“That was cool,” Devon said. “Not really my thing,
but still....”

“Thanks,” Ani said.
It’s cool that we’re cool
now, but if she ever found out....

Chapter

4

 “No,”
Sam said, banging her hand on the desk. “It’s easy. Just use the double-angle
formula and solve for theta.” Her raised voice was mushy through the bite
guard.

Devon snorted.

The sea of indecipherable gibberish on the page
taunted Ani. She’d always been pretty good at math, but precalc was a
game-changer. Ani wasn’t used to feeling dumb.

“You can always ask Mr. Foster,” Devon said,
grinning. The leather strap covering her teeth was moist with saliva.
Saliva.
Mom’s right. The new regeneratives are working.

Ani glared at her. “How’s that calculus coming,
Devon?”

Devon’s blue crayon snapped in half.

Sam replied for her. “Oh, fantastic. We have a
teacher who can barely do algebra, a book written by a guy whose first language
is math—”

“—and we can’t even use a fucking pencil,” Devon
finished.

Miss Pulver gasped. “Devon!”

“What?”

She answered Devon’s murderous glare with a condescending
smile. For the moment she seemed to forget she was talking to the dead.

“You know what. Rules are—”

“Stupid,” Devon said. “I’m an adult. I should be
in college, not wasting my time in a room full of morons.”

Careful, Devon. You have to
live with these morons.

Kyle gave her the finger from across the room.
Mike noticed them looking and waved, smiling. Lydia scowled at her desk and
leaned over to murmur to Teah.

“Miss Holcomb,” Mr. Foster said. “We’re working on
the math situation.” He leaned over her desk, his eyes wandering across the
page with no sign of comprehension. “You have to be patient.”

Devon rolled her eyes.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me, young lady.”

Devon rolled her eyes and her whole head, the
helmet making a slow orbit around her neck before her glare snapped back to him.
“Or what, seriously? Mr. Clark’s going to cook me? For saying ‘fuck’ in class?”
She blew a kiss at Mr. Clark, the gesture made even more absurd by the helmet
and mouth guard. “Fuckety fuck fuckfuck that.”

Mr. Clark didn’t move a muscle, and the mirrored
visor hid his reaction. His job was containment, not discipline.

Mr. Foster crossed his arms and tried to look
stern. A nervous giggle escaped his lips. “Devon, this behavior is
unacceptable. You need to make better choices.”

Devon grabbed the facemask of her helmet with both
hands and planted her elbows on the desk. Her mumble was almost inaudible. “Right
now I’m going to choose to pretend I didn’t hear that.”

“Devon?” Mr. Foster reached out to put his hand on
her shoulder, then jerked it back with a nervous giggle. He knelt instead,
bringing his eyes down to her level. “I know you’re frustrated, and I
understand. I do. But we can’t have this kind of behavior in class.”

Devon responded without looking up, her voice
muffled by her hands. “So ground me. Take away my car. Don’t let me go to the
mall. Give me out-of-school suspension. Kill me.”

Mr. Foster yelped in fright as Mike pushed past
him. As the teacher scrambled out of the way, Mike wrapped his arms around
Devon and squeezed.

“I love you, Devon.”

A sob wracked her, but no tears fell. Behind them,
the pilot light on Mr. Clark’s flamethrower flickered a pale blue.

*  
*   *

A ladleful of a grayish-brown meat-like substance
slopped onto the hamburger bun on Ani’s plate, the greasy juice spilling over
to entwine around pallid, boiled broccoli. Mrs. Stevens’s hands trembled, her
brow creased in concentration. Even through an inch of bulletproof glass, the
cafeteria worker’s wide eyes glistened with fear. She pushed the tray through
the access slot and jerked her hands back. “There you go, hon,” she said in a
mousy voice.

Ani carried the tray out of the line and dumped
the food into the garbage, banging the plate against the side of the can to
shake it all off. She put the tray onto the return conveyor and sat down next
to Teah.

“This is really stupid,” Teah said. “I wouldn’t
eat that if it had brains in it.”

Ani’s stomach lurched.

Yes, you would. And so would I.

She suppressed the tiny, nagging ‘
brains
brainsbrains’
and shifted her tongue under her bite guard. “Mom says it’s
state law. Now that we’re back in school, they have to give us a hot lunch.”

Sam nodded in agreement. “That’s what my dad said.
Even if we’re not going to eat it, they have to provide it. As long as it’s
under eight-hundred fifty calories.”

So much for thinking green.

“I used to like ‘Sloppy Me’s,’” Joe said.

Teah rubbed her stomach. “Maybe if it were Sloppy Brains—”

“Stop,” Ani said. “Don’t talk about brains.”

Brains.

The urge was constant but not a big deal if you
didn’t think about it. Her mom said it was a craving for specific chemicals
found in the limbic system and neocortex. It didn’t feel like a craving; it
felt like a
need
. Ani craved brains the way lungs craved oxygen. Need,
craving, whatever it was, it was always there, lurking in her subconscious,
kept in check by her mother’s drug cocktails.

“Yeah, Teah,” Devon said. “Don’t talk about
brains.”

Brains.

“Don’t even mention tasty brains,” she added.

Brains.

Joe grinned. “Anyone with half a brain would
figure out this is a waste of money.”

Kyle sat next to Joe and jerked his thumb at Mike,
still in the line, staring at the ice cream as if it were an option. “No, he
wouldn’t.”

“Watch it,” Devon said.

“Or you’ll brain me?”

Devon flipped the table with one hand and lunged,
lifting Kyle by the throat. Kyle wheezed out a laugh. Leaning against the far
wall, Mr. Clark lowered his visor.

“Stop!” Ani snapped. Devon set Kyle down but didn’t
let go. “Stop saying...that word. Just stop.”

Kyle laughed. “Looks like someone needs her shots.”

Chapter

5

Ani
didn’t bother to breathe the chilly September air. She watched the sun clear
the trees above East Hill. The leaves were just turning, splashes of yellow and
red mingling with the sea of green. An early flock of geese flew by, their
asymmetric ‘V’ pointed south.

Ah, the joys of PE, week two.

She sat a cautious ten feet from the electrified
fence. Tiffany Daniels walked up on the other side, her shy smile as out of
place as her normal appearance. A sentry watched from the guard tower, his
sniper rifle aimed in their general direction, but the barrel pointed toward
the sky.

Tiffany had changed her image since graduation—her
hair had reverted from black to its natural brown, her understated makeup complimented
the single stud in her nose, and she no longer went by “Fey.” She wore the
black pants and white shirt of retail peons everywhere. For her part, Ani had
gotten rid of all of her facial piercings, wore a teal sweater and jeans, and heavy
makeup that masked the facial scars never quite fixed by Dr. Banerjee’s
ministrations.

Tiffany followed her gaze to the geese. “Hey, Ani,
you know why one side of the ‘V’ is longer than the other?”

Ani didn’t. “No. Why?”

“More geese on that side.”

Ani looked at her. The corners of Tiff’s mouth
betrayed the traces of an impish grin. “Hilarious. You should do stand-up.”

Tiff picked at the grass. “Nah. The Dollar Mart
has me doing too many important things to make time for performing. I’d have to
go on the road, and then I’d miss work and stuff.”

Please, not another pity-party.

“How’s Chuck?” Tiffany had met her boyfriend when exchanging
“favors” for drugs, just like half the girls in the town.

At least you keep him away from
the high school.

Tiff nodded. “Good, he’s good. Has an interview at
Ace on Friday.”

“Rocking the helpful place, is he?”
I’ll
believe he’s going straight when I see it.
Ani heard a commotion and looked
as an unmarked black sedan pulled through the front gate. The line of
protestors screamed and shook signs from the legally-determined fifty feet
away.

“Yup,” Tiff said. “He’s been clean for two months.
We even quit smoking.”

Soldiers closed the gate as the car pulled up to
the main entrance. Two men in black suits got out; one opened the passenger door.
A blonde woman, pretty but in a skirt a bit too short for her age, clopped up
the sidewalk and met Dr. Banerjee and Superintendent Salter at the front door.
They went inside, leaving the car to idle. With nothing else to see, Ani turned
her attention back to Tiffany.

She raised her eyebrow and realized that Tiff
probably couldn’t see it under the helmet. “Everything?”

“Yeah, everything.” She twirled a blade of grass
between her fingers and blushed. “Mostly.”

“It’s a start—”

“We’re getting an apartment,” Tiff blurted.

Ani sat back.
Oh, you stupid girl.
“Really?
Where?”

“Water Street. Near where the Lair used to be.”
After Dylan had burned the Dragon’s Lair to the ground, Ani’s old boss Travis
had relocated it from the outskirts closer to what passed for downtown in
Ohneka Falls.

“Not a bad area.”
If you like ancient houses
split into six or eight apartments.

Tiffany shrugged. “It’s cheap. We can save for
school.” Tiff talked about going back to college a lot, but never mentioned a
major or a career plan.

A rock bounced across the grass between Tiff and
the fence. Over with the protesters, Jeremy Washburn sat on his haunches,
picking up larger pieces of gravel from next to the sidewalk. A regular at the
Lair, Ani had spent hours listening to him complain about bad dice rolls when
she’d worked there, pretending to commiserate without ever caring about his
little toy soldiers. Now his face was twisted in pure hate.

Tiff snatched up the rock and returned his glare
with rolled eyes. “Think I can hit him in the forehead from here?”

“Don’t even think about it,” Ani said. “We don’t
need a confrontation.”

Tiff tossed the rock in the air, caught it, then
dropped it and pulled out her cell phone. “I got to go anyway. I got work at
ten thirty.”

Jeremy didn’t approach but didn’t throw another
rock either.

“Yeah,” Ani said. “Gym class is almost over. Time
to get out of the sunlight.”

Tiff pulled in a breath, stopping Ani in mid-turn.
“They’ll find a cure, Ani. Between your mom and Banerjee, this’ll all be over
soon.”

Ani gave her a sad smile. “I know.”

Just like last year. And the
two years before.

Tears welled in Tiffany’s eyes.

It felt weird to envy them.

*  
*   *

Sarah Romero sighed and leaned against the piano. “Look,
sweetie, I don’t think there’s anything Mr. Bariteau can teach you anymore
anyway. You’re not exactly at the high school band level anymore.”

Ani pounded the ivory keys with her fists. The
dissonant noise reverberated through their apartment. She knew she was sulking
and hated it. “Don’t sell him short, Mom. He’s really, really good. Like,
concert pianist good.”

Sarah gave her the ‘someday you’ll be as old and
as wise as me’ look. “If he’s that good, why is he teaching high school?”

Ani bit her lip. “Maybe he likes it.”

Her mom’s blank stare carried through “uncomfortably
long” and straight into “creepy.”

“Sure, sweetie. I’m sure that’s the reason.”

Ani crossed her arms and didn’t bother trying not
to pout.

Her mom threw up her hands. “It doesn’t matter
anyway. We don’t have the personnel for pull-outs—it’s hard enough trying to
figure out a way to get you girls mainstreamed into some curricular classes.”

“Music is a curricular class, Mom.” She jammed out
the first ten bars of Rachmaninov’s Concerto No. 3, too loud and too fast. She
held the pedal and spoke over the dying final chord. “It’s as important as
anything else.”

Her mom frowned. “It’s not math. It’s not science.”

“Maybe that’s why it’s so important.”

Come on, Mom. Just this once,
consider the remote possibility that you might be wrong.

Her mom sighed. “I’ll look into it.” Ani grinned
but didn’t dare hope. Her mom held up a finger. “No promises.”

“Thanks, Mom!”

*  
*   *

Joe rolled his good eye toward Ani, then out
across what the other kids were calling the Zombie Yard. “I’m bored.” He looked
at Kyle. “Are you bored?”

“Nah,” Kyle said, scratching his name in the dirt.
He’d been using the same stick for a week, and the ground was littered with ruts.
“I’d rather be out here than in there.”

You need an imagination to be bored.
Ani looked up
at the clouds, gray and ominous and fast-moving. “That might not last.”

Kyle’s gaze followed hers, then dropped earthward.
He lifted his chin toward the fence. “Hey. What’s up with that?”

Teah stood near the fence, almost too close,
talking to a guy on the other side in dark glasses and a black-and-yellow Pittsburgh
Steelers hat and jacket. A quick glance told Ani what she already knew: the
proximity had drawn the attention of two snipers, one from each of the corner
towers. Lydia stood nearby, but far enough to give them some privacy, huddled
in a wool sweater that couldn’t provide more than psychological warmth.

“Bill,” Sam said, voicing Ani’s thought.

“No,” Joe said. “He wouldn’t be dumb enough to
come here—”

“There aren’t brain cells in what he’s thinking
with,” Devon said.

“Don’t be gross,” Sam said.

Devon’s eyes flickered to Mike, then to Ani, and
then locked on the grass. She scowled. “Don’t be naive.”

Kyle flipped to his stupid voice. “Don’t be hatin’!”
He grinned. They ignored him, so he went back to scratching at the ground.

“That says, ‘Kyle,’” Mike said.

Kyle aped him and laughed. Mike laughed with him,
not knowing he was the joke. Devon’s fist hit the concrete step hard enough to break
off a chunk. White powder sprayed into the air.

“Jesus,” Sam said. “Are you okay?”

Fists still clenched, Devon ground her teeth on
her bite guard. She kept her voice almost too low to hear. “It was the sidewalk
or Kyle’s face. He’s really starting to piss me off.” She turned her hand over
and inspected her fingers. The bones on three fingers were exposed; at least
one was cracked. The knuckle on her middle finger looked shifted somehow,
off-center. There was no blood. “Ow.”

“Miss Romero’s going to be pissed,” Sam said.

“It’ll heal.” Devon flexed her fingers, teeth
still grinding.

“The bones won’t,” Ani said. “You’ll need surgery.
Pins.”

Devon shrugged. “I’ll just tell her I could have hit
something softer.” She looked at Kyle, then back at her hand. He didn’t seem to
have noticed, or to care if he had. “It’s better—”

“Hey, Teah!” Joe yelled. They looked up. “Don’t
touch the fence!”

Teah stood inches from the inner fence, her outstretched
hand trembling. Bill stood at the outer fence in the same position, staring
under the brim of his hat. A guard on the inside jogged toward them.

“Is that a suicide pact, or are they just stupid?”
Devon asked.

Sam covered her face with her hands. “Why not
both?”

The guard called out. “Sir, step away from the
fence.”

“I’m on public property,” Bill snapped.

The guard grabbed his arm. He jerked it away. He
spun as if to take a swing, but the soldier had choked up the assault rifle and
aimed it at his head. “I’m going to have to insist, sir.”

Bill’s face paled and he took a step back. With a
frustrated growl he got in his car and peeled out, the back end fishtailing
down the asphalt in a plume of burnt rubber. Teah sulked back to them, a sad
smile on her face, as the guard returned to his post. Sam hugged her, and Devon
stalked to the other end of the yard as Teah broke down. Ani followed, leaving
behind the sound of Teah’s blubbering and Sam’s comforting murmur.

Devon stood near the inner fence, her arms crossed,
glaring at the picketers. Ani put a hand on her shoulder. She didn’t respond.

“Are you okay?” Ani asked.

Devon shrugged without looking at her.

“Is there anything I can do?”

Devon breathed in, then sighed. “No.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

They stood there in uncomfortable silence, Devon
staring at the ground, Ani trying to ignore the newest witticism from the anti-zombie
picketers. “Hey hey! Ho ho! Zombie kids have got to go!” They’d been chanting
it since the beginning of PE.

Still, it beats dodgeball.

Mr. Benson’s whistle sounded behind them. They
headed inside, back to the realm of Mr. Giggles.