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  “What about them?” Devon pointed outside the fence.

  Dr. Banerjee turned his cool brown eyes toward the protestors, chanting and cheering at the spectacle of a fifteen-year-old shot in the schoolyard. “I’ll deal with them.”

  * * *

  Back at the lab, Kyle shuffled his sullen way to the operation suite while the rest of them were locked in the rec room under the loving care of Mr. Benson. Ani wrote her essay for English under the blaring TV while Lydia paced, stepping over her with every lap of the room, burning off nervous energy that Ani couldn’t bring herself to feel.

  Her phone buzzed. A text from Tiffany. “u hear about bill?”

  Ani looked up at Teah, watching TV and paddling her stomach like a tom-tom. She replied, “No. What about Bill?”

  She was halfway through the next paragraph when it buzzed again. “arrested AWOL lol”

  Shocker. She texted back, “Thanks. Not telling Teah yet. Make sure Kyle’s ok first.”

  “I herd about that sounds scary lol”

  “Gotta go,” Ani replied. She didn’t, but she didn’t want to talk about it, either.

  “Kkkkkkk,” Tiff replied.

  She put away her phone and waited for the wrath of God—or Mom—to descend.

  Three hours later, her mom came in with Kyle. Nobody had to explain what had happened. The security cameras had captured everything, and the offending party would be prosecuted for assault if Teah’s parents would press charges. The town judge had agreed to push the picket line back.

  They had to listen to an hour-long litany of why they “had to be more careful and just how dangerous it was for them because even the tiniest mistake would be met with deadly force and Mr. Benson is there to protect them but is more there to protect the world from them and Mr. Clark seems nice and all but would have pulled that trigger and Kyle was lucky Devon had hit him and blah blah blah” before they were allowed to go back to their normal boring routine.

  Chapter

  9

  Two days later, the picket line had been pushed back another two hundred feet. The inane chants were difficult to decipher over the wind. The trees shed leaves with every gust, coating the ground and causing the occasional small fire at the base of the fence. Since the concrete wouldn’t burn, the guards ignored the flames.

  “I hope there are a few leaves left for the festival this weekend,” Devon said. Ani had lost track of the date. Making funnel cakes and fried dough with her mom was ancient history.

  Kyle turned in circles, frowning at the ground. “No sticks? What the hell?”

  He was right. There wasn’t a stick or pebble to be found. Inside the yard there barely any leaves.

  Joe smiled at him, lips pulling back from the bright orange rubber hiding his teeth. “You want some chalk, Kyle?”

  “For what?”

  Joe patted the sidewalk next to where he was sitting. “Come here. I’ll teach you how to draw something.”

  “Teach him how to write,” Sam mumbled. Ani elbowed her, though it didn’t look like Kyle had heard.

  “It’s not his fault he’s dumb,” Ani said.

  Devon snorted.

  Sam shook her head. “No, maybe his brain isn’t his fault. But years of choosing to screw off instead of work? His fault. You don’t get better if you don’t practice.”

  With that in mind, Ani closed her eyes and leaned back out of the wan September sun. In her head she replayed Mark G. Carroll’s “Why Mine’s Not the Same as Yours”, a poppy number for cello and piano. Something about it really appealed to her, even though or perhaps because the individual parts didn’t quite marry well. There was an either-or-ness to it that she liked but couldn’t quite wrap her brain around, and—

  Sam shook her shoulder. She cracked an eyelid. “What?”

  “You’ve got a visitor.”

  She sat up and tried to rub her eyes, her fists deflecting off the face guard. Squinting against the bright sky, she saw a dark figure standing near the fence. The snipers, warier now, were half-trained on Tiffany.

  Ani brushed herself off and approached the fence. “Hey, Tiff.”

  “‘Sup?”

  Ani gestured at the fence. “Still dead. How about with you?” Tiffany’s puffy face was tinged a little green. “You feeling okay?”

  Tiff scowled. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

  Ani suppressed an eye roll. “Just making small talk.” She checked over her shoulder. Teah stood over Joe and Kyle, but she lowered her voice anyway. “Tell me about Bill.”

  Tiff’s smile held no compassion. “His uncle posted bail, but he’s got an ankle monitor. He’s not allowed to leave the county until his trial.”

  “They’re going to put him in jail,” Ani said.

  Tiff ran her tongue over her front teeth. “Not jail, prison. Six months, probably.” Ani didn’t know what the difference was, but it didn’t sound good. “Not for nothing, but he’s been talking shit about busting Teah out.” Her eyes drifted to the guard towers. “Like that’s going to happen.”

  “Tiff, he can’t talk like that.” Her mind flashed back to Judge Jones. Do you feel that it’s safe to be back at school? “Even the threat...shit.”

  “He’s got freedom of speech,” Tiff said. “He can say what he wants.”

  “He could get us all killed.”

  Tiff dismissed the thought with a wave. “He’s just talking.” She perked up. “Hey, Chuck got the job.”

  The thought of Chuck Roberts holding a job was almost too much to handle. Ani forced a smile; drool dripped down her chin. Well, that’s a charming side-effect. “I’ll bet he’s quite dashing in that red apron.”

  Tiff glared. “You know what? Fuck you.” She spun toward her car.

  “Tiff, wait. I didn’t mean—”

  Tiff got in the car and looked back, tears in her eyes. “You don’t know how strong he is.” She slammed the door.

  Ani sighed as Tiff peeled out, exhaust screaming over the old muffler. She walked back to the group, trying to wipe her mouth through the guard. “Anyone else got a drool problem?”

  “Yup,” Teah said. “All the new serum does is make saliva.”

  “Awesome.” Ani spared a glance at the chalk art. Joe was half done with a cybernetic unicorn with black fur and malevolent red eyes. Kyle’s crude sketch was a naked woman, boobs bigger than her head.

  * * *

  Back in the classroom, Miss Pulver gave them options: Jenga, Scrabble, or free reading. Devon opened her calculus book; she and Sam had spent days trying to figure out what “f apostrophe” meant, and seemed no closer to a solution. Teah and Lydia talked and giggled in the corner, interrupted every few minutes by Miss Pulver telling them to get to work. For her part, Ani spent the afternoon reading for AP History and looking out the window, happy that the class’s set of e-readers had broadened their ability to read what they wanted or needed to.

  In the distance, tents and pop-up pavilions emerged in front of the town hall. Her brain extrapolated what her nose couldn’t smell: kettle corn and cinnamon-roasted almonds, fried dough and knackwurst and brains.

  The craving twisted her gut, so she closed her eyes and put her head on the desk.

  Don’t think about crowds.

  “Ani, no sleeping,” Miss Pulver said.

  Devon growled. “We can’t sleep.”

  “I’m thinking,” Ani mumbled through a mouthful of drool. I’ll ask Mom for an injection when I get home.

  “Well, do it with your head up.”

  Ani lifted her head and forced her eyes to her Kindle.

  * * *

  Over Sunday dinner she asked her mom how the festival had gone.

  “It was fine,” Sarah replied through bites of tuna sandwich. “I mean, attendance is down, but the military presence helped. Ohneka Falls is becoming a base town.”

  “Down how much?” Ani asked. The festival could account for ten percent or more of some of the more artsy businesses’ annual sales. A quarter-million leafe
rs could do wonders for a small town economy.

  “Rotary estimates maybe ninety thousand attendees.”

  Ouch.

  “That sucks.”

  “Mmmm,” Sarah replied. “At least it didn’t rain.”

  Ani brooded a moment. “I feel bad.”

  Her mom sighed. “Why? It’s not your fault.”

  No, ultimately it’s yours, Mom. But I still feel bad about it.

  “I know. But if we weren’t here....”

  Her mom patted her hand. “Then we’d be ruining some other small town. Don’t sweat it, sweetie.” She froze, in that way that always meant she had something else to say but didn’t know how to say it. “Besides, Rotary’s got something else going.”

  Ani raised an eyebrow.

  “Halloween. Zombie festival.”

  Ani’s eyes widened. “No way.”

  “The idea went viral on Reddit, and people are coming from all over the country. It’s going to be a mad house.”

  “Banerjee can’t let—”

  Her mom threw up her hands. “Freedom of assembly. We can’t shut down the whole town, and it will be good for the economy.”

  “That doesn’t even make sense. You can’t dress as zombies in public.”

  “What are they going to do, arrest a hundred thousand people?”

  “That many?”

  Her mom nodded.

  Ani pondered the implications and didn’t like what she found.

  “We’re circus freaks.”

  “Yup.”

  Chapter

  10

  Joe sat next to Ani and knocked his helmet against hers. “What’s that?”

  She showed him the screen. “Epidemiology and the Collapse of Empires.”

  “Sounds exciting. Who’s it by?”

  “Me. It’s my term paper for AP.”

  Joe cast a glance at Mr. Foster, busy across the room with Lydia and Mike. “I haven’t started mine. I was thinking of doing a case study of disparate personalities forced to spend all their time together under constant, benign, but incompetent supervision.”

  Devon and Sam stood at the smart board, dissecting “The Lady of Shalott” line by line. Kyle made obscene gestures behind their backs, and Teah moped at the window.

  “Familiarity breeds contempt?” Ani asked.

  “I was thinking an analytical comparison to Big Brother.”

  Ani chuckled. “I don’t think it would be tolerated if we acted with that little maturity.”

  His good eye, bright and green, locked on hers. “I’m serious, you can look it up. It’s why everyone either hates or becomes BFFs with their first roommates.” He put his hand on hers and squeezed.

  The world stopped. “Joe...I....” She had no idea what to think or feel but knew a bad idea when it grabbed her hand.

  He pulled his hand back but didn’t release her from his stare. “You’re a painter. Do you know Waterhouse?”

  She shook her head, a bare shudder. “No.”

  He jerked his head toward the board without looking away from her. “He did a painting based on that poem. It’s beautiful and sad, and she looks kind of like you.” He blinked and looked away. “You’d know it if you saw it.”

  “I’m sure I would,” she said. “I—” Her phone buzzed.

  She pulled it out under her desk as Joe turned on his Kindle. She didn’t recognize the number but opened the text anyway.

  “Ths Bill can u tlk?”

  She showed the screen to Joe, who shrugged.

  She typed a reply. “No. What do you want?”

  Joe interjected. “Does he know your mom gets all of our texts?”

  Ani shook her head. “I doubt it. I don’t even know how he got my number.”

  Her phone buzzed. “Want 2 c Teah. Can u get me in?” It buzzed again. “Just a while. Want 2 hold her hand. Plzzzzz.”

  Another buzz, this time it was her mother. “Is that boy as dumb as he seems?”

  She texted Bill, “Can’t happen.” And then to her mom, “Yes.”

  Two minutes later Sarah had pulled Ani out of class. She had on too much makeup, and her wig looked like a rat’s nest. “How did Bill Watson get your phone number?”

  “I have no idea. Maybe Tiff gave it to him.”

  Her mom clucked her tongue. “That girl.”

  Ani didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing.

  “Well, tell him you spoke to me and the answer is not ‘no’ but ‘hell, no.’ The school is closed to visitors without explicit business, and any business that boy comes up with will be rejected. The last thing we need is a hormone slurry causing another Prompocalypse. He can speak to her at a safe distance through the fence.”

  Ani suppressed a groan. Why am I suddenly in the middle of this? “Can’t you tell him?”

  Her mom’s flat stare held no compromise. “Tell him that if I have to speak to him, it will be to remand him into custody for violation of the terms of his bail. And tell Teah to grow some smarts.”

  She stalked off down the hallway, and Mr. Benson nodded his head toward the door. Ani walked back in and Mr. Foster smiled at her. “Ani, could you help Mike with his spelling?”

  * * *

  That Thursday, the protesters thronged in full force, screaming and chanting from behind the picket line as the bus drove past.

  “Holy crap, there must be a thousand of them,” Joe said.

  “More,” Sam said. “Three thousand, maybe four.” She looked at Ani as if expecting an explanation.

  Ani texted her mom. “What’s with the crowd?”

  The reply was immediate. “You’ll see. :)”

  Ani frowned at the phone, then at Sam. “It’s not like her to play coy.” She scanned the crowd. “I don’t recognize half those people.”

  Devon scowled. “I used to like surprises.”

  School was half-deserted as usual, the teachers and students shut away behind closed doors as the Special Dead shambled through the halls to their room. As they reached the end of the stairwell, Ani noticed that one door was open. A man’s voice called out from within. “Hey, kids.” A wet gurgle followed the greeting.

  Mr. Benson stopped as Ani’s mom stepped out of the doorway. “Come in and say hello,” she said. They exchanged glances, then shuffled to the door.

  Ani’s mouth dropped in shock. Mr. Cummings sat behind his desk, holding a copy of American Spectator. His helmet and bite guard matched theirs, though his leg irons were chained to a steel ring sunk into the floor in the corner of the room. His missing left cheek exposed grey gums and white bone beneath, and a puckered bite-mark marred his neck with pink scar tissue.

  Sam was the first to speak. “Good morning, Mr. Cummings.”

  “Good morning, Sammy.” The gurgling wheeze sounded again; his lungs were obviously damaged under his clothes. “How’s your year going so far?”

  Sam startled everyone by dragging the whole chain gang forward so she could wrap him in a hug. “It’s hellish. Are you back for good?”

  Mr. Cummings disentangled himself with a smile and laced his fingers behind his helmet. “I think so. Never had much use for unions or left-wingers before this, but for now the good guys won.”

  “So how is this going to work?” Devon asked, naked hope in her voice. “Are you teaching government and economics?”

  “Well, Mrs. Weller and I are back full time. We come in early and leave late, have our own guards,” he nodded to the pair of silver-visored figures in the back of the room, “and not a whole lot of mobility. Pending approval to bring you out, we’ll go to your room and teach you in there.” He gave Ani’s mother a sly look, then used a stage whisper. “They won’t let me use a pen or pencil, not even to grade. Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

  She returned his gaze with no sign of affront. “Rules are rules, Mr. Cummings.”

  “Indeed they are, Doctor Romero,” he said.

  “So are you glad to be back?” Lydia asked.

  He looked out the window. “Well, I�
�m glad to be out of my cell, but all in all I’d rather be fishing.”

  * * *

  Mrs. Weller scowled at them as they walked through her door, then directed her attention toward Dr. Romero. “What?” Aside from heavy makeup, the helmet, and shackles, there was no sign that she was a zombie.

  “The children wanted to welcome you back.”

  She grunted by way of reply, then turned back to her computer.

  Lydia took a cautious step forward. “How are you doing, Mrs. Weller?”

  She spun in her chair, the chain rattling against her ankle. Her hand jerked out, finger pointed at Mike. “He mauled me, and now I’m dead, chained to my damned desk. How do you think I’m doing?”

  “Welcome to our world,” Kyle chimed.

  She put her head in her hands.

  “Just go away.”

  They shuffled out the door, and Devon said, “Wow.”

  “It’s been a hard transition,” Dr. Romero said. “She needs time to adjust.”

  Lydia looked at the nameplate outside the door. “Is she still teaching eighth-grade English?”

  Ani’s mom nodded. “And eleventh. She has seniority, so by union rules she gets to choose her schedule. She’ll also be tutoring you guys every other day.”

  Joe knocked on his helmet. “So that’s what the protests were about...parents don’t want their kids taught by zombies?”

  Her mom sighed. “We only lost a couple kids this time. Most of the crowd outside don’t even have kids in the district.”

  “That’s racist,” Kyle said. “Zombie teachers can teach as good as alive teachers.”

  “Gooder!” Joe said with a smirk.

  Teah punched him in the arm. “Kyle’s right. They should totally sue.”

  Ani and her mother exchanged looks.

  Without a word, they were led down the hall to their classroom.

  * * *

  The next day Ani looked up as the door clanged open. A guard stood behind Mr. Cummings, holding a long pole clipped to the ring on the back of his helmet. He steered the teacher with the pole, using the leverage to force him into the room.