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  They played three games before the bell rang, then Mr. Benson escorted them up to their room. The blonde woman Ani had seen the week before stood off to the side, but she wasn’t introduced. Mike said “Hi,” and she gave him a nod but said nothing. After about an hour of social studies, “independent reading and writing,” she walked out.

  “Who was that?” Kyle asked without raising his hand.

  Mr. Foster giggled. “That was Doctor Freeman, from Geneseo. She was here observing me.”

  “What for?”

  “I’m getting my Master’s Degree. She’s observing my teaching to see how I’m doing.”

  Sam leaned over and whispered, “Bullshit. That lady was an ice queen.”

  Miss Pulver admonished Sam with a look but was too far away to hear her. Devon raised an eyebrow. Sam looked at Ani for support. Ani shrugged.

  “Look,” Sam said. “She wasn’t nervous. No sweating. No fidgeting. Have you met anyone who’s stuck in a room with us the first time and isn’t freaking out?”

  “Ani’s mom,” Devon said. “Doctor Banerjee.”

  Sam shook her head. “They don’t count. After prom, they’d been dealing with us for weeks, months even, before we came back to sanity. We just don’t remember.”

  Devon grunted. They both looked at Ani.

  “I’ll ask Mom.”

  They distracted Miss Pulver so Ani could use her phone. Her mom couldn’t provide any insight but took the time to chide Ani for texting during class.

  Chapter

  7

  When Ani got out of the bath at 3:30 am, her mom was up and sporting a gray wool pantsuit, a dirty-blonde wig that screamed “Hillary Clinton,” and low heels. Her makeup was a little on the heavy side, but it had been getting heavier for months so Ani decided not to comment.

  No reason to rub it in.

  Ani showered the chemicals from her body and put on her predetermined outfit, a cautious navy skirt and jacket with a cream blouse underneath. Her mom’s brown flats weren’t flattering but at least she could walk in them. Ani didn’t bother with a wig or earrings—the bright orange helmet would destroy any attempts in that direction—but she gave her face as much of a natural color as she could without looking slutty. It’s so nice to wear pink lipstick for a change. Coordinating it with pink nail polish had been her idea.

  Finally satisfied, she closed her makeup case and put it in her purse. She strapped on the helmet, turned around, and smiled. “How do I look?”

  Her mom’s brown eyes scanned every inch of her outfit and makeup, twice. “Sweetie, you look like a teenage girl trying out for the Bengals. It’s good.” She spritzed a little vanilla perfume. “But try not to smile too much. Your gums are grayer than they should be, and there’s nothing we can do about it.”

  The butterflies in her stomach were wrestling. “I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.”

  “Good.” Her mom gave her a curt nod, then smiled and hugged her. Pushing her back to look in her eyes, Sarah let her smile fade. “Because we can’t screw this up.”

  You mean I can’t screw this up.

  “Are you ready to go, sweetie?”

  “Yup.”

  Five minutes later they left the laboratory compound in the back of a military prison transport painted in green camouflage. Mr. Clark sat on the hard wooden bench across from them, his open visor revealing glassy, bloodshot eyes over deep purple bags. Mr. Benson sat shotgun, and two guards manned the back door. Ani’s grumbling hadn’t stopped anyone from affixing the chains to her leg irons.

  Dr. Banerjee met them as they disembarked in front of the U.S. Courthouse in Buffalo, a white lab coat over his charcoal-gray suit. He helped Dr. Romero off the truck but didn’t extend the same courtesy to Ani or to anyone else. The guards lifted Ani and set her down, then gave her a moment to untangle her feet from the chain before letting go.

  The early morning sun glared off the courthouse windows. The huge building was a full city block of almost unadorned sandstone built in the style of New Deal federal buildings everywhere. Ani noted with pleasure that there were no steps to speak of, so she wouldn’t have to lurch her manacled way up a staircase in front of all the reporters.

  Huh.

  “Mom, where are all the reporters?” She’d been expecting a mob-scene of flashbulbs and yowling microphone-holders.

  Dr. Banerjee’s brown, dispassionate eyes held not the slightest trace of humor. “According to the press release, you arrive at ten. They’ll be rolling in at nine or so.” He nodded at Mr. Benson who, without another word, escorted them through a side door into the building.

  The inside was as sparse as the outside, with marble floors trimmed in green and muted scrollwork and walls clad in beige stone tile. The few people they passed stared with naked fear or revulsion as Mr. Benson ushered her into a small elevator and up to the seventh floor.

  Dr. Banerjee directed them into a wood-paneled courtroom accented with green marble. Ani’s eyes were drawn to the elaborate plaster ceiling and the bronze light fixtures, then dropped to the severe, church-like pews. Comfy. The soldiers had already fanned out to the doors and stood at ease.

  Ani sat between her mom and Dr. Banerjee in the front row behind the plaintiff’s table. They waited. Dr. Banerjee hammered away at a laptop; her mom worked on her iPad. With nothing else to do, Ani put in her iPod ear buds and closed her eyes. Used to sleepless eight-hour baths every night, waiting a few hours was nothing.

  Her mother tapped her arm, interrupting The Black Eyed Peas. Ani opened her eyes to find people trickling in—a few reporters and court functionaries were the only allowed spectators. She wrapped her headphones around her iPod and put it in her purse. Her mom moved up next to their lawyer at the defendant’s table, and Superintendent Salter and Mr. Kickbush—Sam’s dad—sat with the school lawyer at the opposite table. A few minutes later the bailiff bade them all rise, and the Honorable Justice Constance Jones took the bench.

  A wizened black woman with gray hair and soft brown eyes, Justice Jones nonetheless had a regal air. She banged the gavel and announced that the Romero versus Ohneka Falls appeal was in session. The opening arguments were long, technical, and boring, and Ani’s mind wandered despite the gravity of the situation.

  If we lose, I burn.

  The judge called witnesses, and the lawyers made their cases. It wasn’t like on TV, because Judge Jones asked most of the questions, with the lawyers doing follow-up. The morning was a parade of monotonous, repetitive arguments she’d heard before: They’re monsters. No, they’re sick children. They’re too dangerous. Not when properly medicated. It’s too expensive. The school is being reimbursed.

  After lunch came Ani’s turn.

  “Ani Romero, do you promise to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”

  “I do,” Ani said. The Bible didn’t burn her cold hand in rebuke for the lie.

  She sat in the chair, all eyes on her as Mr. Benson shackled her into place. The blonde woman from class, Dr. Freeman, sat in the back next to the reporters but wasn’t taking notes. Ani stared at her a moment, and she stared back.

  Who are you?

  “How old are you, child?” Judge Jones asked, drawing her attention. She had something in her teeth. Spinach?

  “Eighteen.”

  “And how long have you been dead?”

  Four years.

  “I’m not dead. I’ve been sick for a year and a half.”

  Please ignore the lack of vitals.

  “And how did you contract the zombie virus?” The silence in the courtroom was unnerving.

  My real mother was infected on purpose by Dr. Banerjee’s research team while she was pregnant with me, to see if ZV was passed on through neonatal contact. Instead of killing me as she was ordered to, Mom took me home and raised me as her own.

  “I’m not sure. I think I was bitten at prom.”

  “Bitten by whom?”

  Ani shook her head. “I don�
��t know.”

  Judge Jones’ nostrils flared. Ani hoped it wasn’t doubt.

  “And given what happened at prom, do you feel that it’s safe to be back at school?”

  Ani knocked on her helmet and gave one of her mother’s lines. “Statistically, zombies are safer than disgruntled kids with guns.”

  Now Judge Jones smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “You didn’t answer the question.”

  Ani sighed. “Whatever happened at prom came from outside the school. It could have happened anywhere. The school’s more secure now than it’s ever been. We’re not even contagious.” Ani heard a sharp intake of breath, and looked at her mom, whose eyes were boring into her skull.

  It wasn’t a bad comment.

  “So you think it’s safe?”

  “Yeah, it’s safe.” She tapped the bite guard.

  A squeak caught her attention. She turned to see a bailiff wheeling over a cart. A bucket sat on top, filled with a grayish mass. “We’re just kids. We’re not danger—” Then the smell hit her, wet and succulent. Nothing had smell anymore, nothing but....

  Oh, God.

  Nausea twisted her gut. Her head throbbed as she tried in vain to tear her eyes from the bucket. Brains. The glistening, gelatinous mass filled her vision and strangled her other thoughts.

  “Dangerous,” she said. Please, no. Not this. Hunger tore through her. “We’re not dangerous.” A trail of slimy drool pattered onto her blouse. I can’t...I want... “...Not...” need....

  A moan escaped her lips.

  “Miss Romero,” the Judge said. “Can you look at me, please?”

  Her eyes stayed on the bucket, on the quivering organs. She tried to say something, but she couldn’t remember what it was, and it came out a wheezing grunt.

  “That’s enough!” her mom yelled. Then something else. It was so hard to think.

  She managed to close her eyes and stop breathing. Better. Not good, but better. She reached a shaking hand up through the face mask, clutched her nose, and squeezed her nostrils shut. She stayed that way for a moment. Then another.

  The world faded back in. She heard the banging gavel and her mom yelling something about junkies and needles and shame. She dragged her head up and forced it to turn toward the judge. She willed her eyes straight. Not left. Don’t look left. She opened them.

  Judge Jones frowned at her, the gavel hovering in the air.

  Ani swallowed enough drool to speak. “I’m not a monster. I’m a sick girl. I need—”Brains!“—treatment.” She swallowed again. “Please. Please take that bucket away, and,” give it to me, please, oh, pleaseplease, “let my mom give me a shot.”

  The judge stared at her, lips in a tight line. She gave a curt nod to the policeman. “Bailiff.”

  Ani’s eyes followed the bucket until her head was forced down by a hand on her helmet. The familiar prick as the needle entered the base of her skull was comforting, and the urge crept back into hiding.

  “We’ll take a ten minute recess,” Judge Jones said. “Doctor Romero, take your daughter home.”

  They unlocked her from the witness stand and escorted her to the same small door through which they’d entered. Before they walked out, her mom buttoned up Ani’s suit jacket to hide the drool stain on her blouse. “Keep your head up, but don’t say anything. Smile and wave if you want to—closed lips. Try not to shuffle, and don’t scowl.”

  Ani did her best as reporters mobbed them from the door to the truck. Back inside, it was just Ani, her mom, and Mr. Clark.

  Mr. Clark raised his visor and smiled without showing his teeth. “You did good in there, kid. That was a mean trick they pulled.”

  Her mom grunted. “Yeah. Mean.”

  “Did I do okay?” Ani tried not to sound sheepish.

  Her mom patted her knee and put her head on Ani’s shoulder. “You did fine. Better than I would have under the circumstances.”

  Chapter

  8

  The next day Mr. Foster was out sick, and instead of calling a sub the principal turned the class over to Miss Pulver. They spent the morning playing Jenga. Mike laughed as the pile crashed down, Kyle’s hand still holding his piece. Of all the kids, Ani had the best remaining dexterity, with Mike a close second. Lydia had been a bit twitchy even when she was alive.

  As they walked down the deserted hall toward PE, Teah kept bumping into Ani’s back. The third time Teah stepped on her heel, Ani whirled around. “What is your problem?” She enunciated each word through the bite guard. It wasn’t Teah’s fault she was in such a bad mood, but she made a convenient target.

  Teah bounced on her heels. “I just have to see him, you know? It’s been two days.”

  Behind Teah, Devon rolled her eyes. “Wow, you made it a whole weekend.”

  “Keep walking,” Mr. Benson said.

  They passed the art room. Six out of seventeen kids wore black and bowed their heads as they clanked past. Mr. Frazer put an easel in front of the door, blocking the view.

  Once outside under the black clouds, Teah shuffled to the fence to see Bill, while the rest of them hung near the door. Devon unfolded the chess board and challenged Sam, while Mike and Kyle squared off against Joe and Ani in euchre. Lydia stood next to Sam, humming and rocking on her heels.

  After a few minutes, Bill’s voice drew their attention. “Hey, asshole, you dropped your rock!” Ani looked up in time to see Bill throw a pebble at the small group of protesters. A volley of pebbles responded, most of them directed at Teah. Pastor John hefted a marble-sized rock and whipped it overhand. Teah cried out, her hand going to her face.

  Kyle leapt to his feet, scraping up a handful of gravel as he did so. He took three running steps and threw. The rocks pinged off the chain-link fence. Kyle threw another pebble while Joe and Ani ran toward Teah. Bill retreated to his car under a hail of stones. Kyle grabbed another handful.

  Devon screamed at Kyle while Joe sheltered Teah with his body. Together with Ani they retreated toward the school building. Devon slapped the pebbles out of Kyle’s hand just as he went to throw again, and it spun him off balance. He stumbled. His shoulder erupted in a spray of bloodless meat, and then they heard the gunshot.

  Devon put her hands on top of her helmet and dropped to her knees. Sam copied her, then so did everyone else. Everyone but Kyle. Kyle writhed on the ground, his mouth opening and closing, his dead eyes rolling in their sockets. Silence reigned.

  The door flew open and four soldiers piled into the yard. Led by Mr. Benson, they half-circled the group, assault rifles raised.

  Mr. Benson cleared his throat, then spoke in a flat voice devoid of his normal drill-sergeant bravado. “Violence against the living will not be tolerated. Offenders will be incinerated, as per policy.” He stepped back and called out. “Mr. Clark.”

  Behind him, Mr. Clark’s stepped out of the doorway, the pilot light on his flamethrower stoked to an angry blue. Ani saw her own terrified face reflected in his mirrored visor. Gravel crunched under his boots.

  “No!” Lydia cried. She dove on Kyle and wrapped him in a hug. Defiant, she snarled at Mr. Benson. “If you burn him, you have to burn me, too.”

  Nobody moved. Mr. Benson’s eyes moved back and forth between Kyle and Lydia. He nodded. “Mr. Clark, proceed.”

  “Me, too,” Joe said, though he didn’t move. “If you try it...I’ll stop you. I’ll try. All he did was throw a rock. They threw first.”

  Mr. Clark hesitated.

  Devon weighed their expressions, lingering on Ani and Sam, then spoke for the group. “Me three. I think you’ll have to kill us all.”

  Ani looked up at the soldiers, young men barely older than she was, their faces tight with anticipation, their knuckles white. She clenched her fists and prepared to leap. Holy crap, I’m about to die. A dim part of her mind felt it odd that she had no racing heartbeat, no hyperventilating lungs, no adrenal response. A less dim part wondered if she’d be able to eat before they took her down.

  Mr. Benson licke
d his lips. “Fire at—”

  “Belay that,” came a voice from the door. Dr. Banerjee stepped forward and put his hand on Mr. Clark’s shoulder. “Gentlemen, fall back to the main hallway and await orders.”

  The soldiers snapped to attention, saluted, and backed their way through the door, weapons still raised.

  “Colonel, I don’t think—” Mr. Benson began.

  “I know,” Dr. Banerjee said. “Go with them, please.” He nodded at Mr. Clark. “You, too, Ed.”

  “But,” Mr. Benson said. “You’ll be alone with—”

  “Children, covered by snipers. Now go inside.”

  “Yes, sir,” Mr. Benson said with a salute. Mr. Clark just nodded. They left.

  “You can put your hands down,” Dr. Banerjee said. “I need you to hold down Kyle so I can inspect his shoulder.” They did, and he probed the wound with latex-covered hands. He frowned. “Ani, call your mother. We have a shattered clavicle that needs to be replaced. The rest should heal up in the bath.” He patted Kyle on the helmet. “You’re lucky to have a head. Any more funny business and you won’t.”

  “They started it,” Teah said.

  “Irrelevant,” he replied, his eyes pinning her in place. “They have rights that you do not. We need due process before prosecuting them for assault. You can, and will, be shot or burned without a trial.” He looked at each of them in turn, then back to Teah. “Now, let me see your face.” He turned her head back and forth. A shallow gouge marred the flesh covering her cheekbone. It reminded Ani of her own injury from Halloween two years past. “You’ll be fine.”

  “What, sweetie?” came the voice on the phone. Ani passed it to Dr. Banerjee. He took it and walked away.

  He spoke for a few minutes out of earshot, then stepped back to the group. “You will be returning to the lab. No school for the rest of the day.”