The other refugees crush against each other as they press toward the rear of the truck. Some of them look prepared to jump out of the moving vehicle.
A soldier with greasy pimples aims his rifle at me, gripping it like he’s about to make his first, horrifying kill.
I totally underestimated the level of primal fear swirling around us. They’ve lost everything: their families, their security, their God.
And now, a reanimated corpse is reaching for them.
“I am okay,” I say slowly with as much clarity as I can. I hold the soldier’s gaze, intent on convincing him there’s nothing supernatural going on. “I’m alive.”
There’s a moment when I’m not sure if they’ll relax or toss me out of the truck with a blaze of gunfire. I still have Raffe’s sword strapped to my back, mostly hidden under my jacket. That gives me some comfort, even though it obviously can’t stop bullets.
“Come on.” I keep my voice gentle and my movements very slow. “I was just knocked out. That’s all.”
“You were dead,” says the pale soldier, who doesn’t look a day older than me.
Someone bangs on the truck’s roof.
We all jump, and I’m lucky the soldier doesn’t accidentally pull his trigger.
The rear window slides open and Dee’s head sticks through. He’d look stern except that it’s hard to take him too seriously with his red hair and little-boy freckles. “Hey! Back off from the dead girl. She’s Resistance property.”
“Yeah,” says his twin brother Dum from inside the cab. “We need her for autopsies and stuff. You think girls killed by demon princes are easy to find?” As usual, I can’t tell the twins apart, so I randomly assign Dee for one and Dum for the other.
“No killing the dead girl,” says Dee. “I’m talking to you, Soldier.” He points to the guy with the rifle and glares at him. You’d think that looking like a set of strung-out Ronald McDonalds with nicknames like Tweedledee and Tweedledum would strip them of all authority. But somehow, these guys seem to have a talent for going from joking to deadly in a heartbeat.
At least, I hope they’re joking about the autopsy.
The truck stops in a parking lot. That takes the attention off me as we all look around.
The adobe-style building in front of us is familiar. It’s not my school but it is a school that I’ve seen lots of times. It’s Palo Alto’s high school, affectionately known as Paly High.
Half a dozen trucks and SUVs stop in the parking lot. The soldier still keeps an eye on me, but he lowers his rifle to a 45-degree angle.
A lot of people stare at us as the rest of the small caravan stops in the parking lot. They all saw me in the arms of the demon-winged creature that was actually Raffe, and they all thought I was dead. I feel self-conscious so I sit down on the bench beside my sister.
One of the men reaches to touch my arm. Maybe he wants to see if I’m warm like the living or cold like the dead.
My sister’s face changes instantly from a blank slate to a growling animal as she snaps at the man. Her razor-grafted teeth flash as she moves, emphasizing the threat.
As soon as the man backs off, she goes back to her blank expression and doll-like stance.
The man stares, looking back and forth between us for clues to questions I can’t answer. Everyone in the parking lot saw what just happened, and they all stare at us too.
Welcome to the freak show.
PAIGE AND I are used to being stared at. I would just ignore it while Paige always smiled at the gawkers from her wheelchair. They almost always smiled back. Paige’s charm was hard to resist.
Once upon a time.
Our mother starts speaking in tongues again. This time she’s looking at me while she chants, as if she’s praying to me. The guttural almost-words coming from her throat dominate the hushed noises of the crowd. Leave it to Mom to add a serious dose of creepiness even in the smoky light of day.
“All right, let’s move out,” says Obi in a strong voice. He’s at least six feet tall, with broad shoulders and a muscular body, but it’s his commanding presence and confidence that set him apart as the leader of the Resistance. Everyone watches and listens as he walks by the various trucks and SUVs, looking like a real military commander in a war zone. “Clear the trucks and head into the building. Stay out of the open sky as much as possible.”
That breaks the mood and people start hopping off the trucks. The people in our truck push and shove each other in their rush to get away from us.
“Drivers,” calls Obi. “When the trucks are cleared, spread out your vehicles and park them within easy reach. Hide them among the dead traffic or somewhere that’s hard to see from above.” He walks through the river of refugees and soldiers, giving purpose and direction to people who would otherwise be lost.
“I don’t want any signs that this area is occupied. Nothing is to be cleared or dumped within a one-mile radius.” Obi pauses when he sees Dee and Dum standing side by side, staring at us.
“Gentlemen,” says Obi. Dee and Dum break out of their trance and look over at Obi. “Please show the new recruits where to go and what to do.”
“Right,” says Dee, giving Obi a little-boy salute with a little-boy smile.
“Newbies!” calls Dum. “Anyone who doesn’t know what they’re supposed to do, follow us.”
“Step right up, folks,” says Dee.
I guess that’s us. I get up stiffly and reach automatically for my sister, but I stop before I touch her as if a part of me believes she’s a dangerous animal. “Come on, Paige.”
I’m not sure what I’ll do if she doesn’t move. But she gets up and follows me. I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to seeing her stand on her own legs.
Mom follows too. She doesn’t stop chanting, though. If anything, it’s louder and more fervent than before.
We all step into the flow of newcomers following the twins.
Dum walks backwards, talking to us. “We’re going back to high school where our survival instincts are at their finest.”
“If you get the urge to graffiti the walls or beat up your old math teacher,” says Dee, “do it where the birds can’t see you.”
We walk by the main adobe building. From the street, the school looks deceptively small. Behind the main building, though, there’s a whole campus of modern buildings connected by covered walkways.
“If any of you are injured, take a seat in this fine classroom.” Dee opens up the nearest door and peeks in. It’s a classroom with a life-sized skeleton hanging on a stand. “Bones will keep you company while you wait for the doctor.”
“And if any of you are doctors,” says Dum, “your patients are waiting for you.”
“Is this all of us?” I ask. “We’re the only survivors?”
Dee looks over at Dum. “Are zombie girls allowed to talk?”
“If they’re cute and willing to do zombie-girl mud fights.”
“Duuude. Right on.”
“That’s a disgusting image.” I give them a sideways look but I’m secretly glad they’re not freaked out about me coming back from the dead.
“It’s not like we’d pick the decayed ones, Penryn. Just ones like you, fresh from the dead.”
“Only, with ripped clothes and stuff.”
“And hungry for breeeeasts.”