Free Undead (9780545473460) by Kirsty McKay Page A

that?”
    Pete rolls his eyes. “Must you scream at everything? Keep your knickers on. Something’s just fallen off a seat.”
    â€œAre you mental?” Alice shouts. “I didn’t scream!” She turns to me. “Did I scream?”
    I shake my head automatically.
    From below us, the noise comes again.
    Pete drops to his knees. “The bus driver, then.”
    â€œHe came around before, didn’t he?” says Alice. “He does that, that’s his thing. Wakes up, passes out, wakes up, passes out.”
    I crawl to the hatch.
    â€œSlowly,” Pete cautions.
    I lift the hatch just a crack. We peep inside. From where I’m lying I can only see the front of the bus, and there’s no one there. Or they’re hiding behind a seat. I bob up and look toward the road. Smitty has climbed back up now. He’s at the entrance to the parking lot. Soon he’ll be at the bus door.
    â€œI’m going to lift the hatch all the way open,” I whisper to Pete and Alice. “We need to look in the back.”
    Alice clutches the neck of her jacket. Pete nods.
    I carefully swing the lid of the hatch all the way over until it rests on the roof of the bus. We all shift around, three polar bears fishing in an ice hole, and peep in the other direction.
    There is less light in the back of the bus — the improvised barricade on the back window blocks out the sun — and it takes a few seconds for my eyes to adjust, but I can see something near the backseat. A figure, facing away from us, bent over as if fastening shoelaces. Slowly, it straightens up, vertebra by vertebra. I recognize the regulation blue coat, the pale blue shirt collar, and thinning gray hair.
    â€œIt
is
the driver!” Alice shouts, her voice light with relief. “Thank god.”
    The driver’s head turns around to face the direction of the noise. Turns around completely. Without the rest of his body following.
    Then
Alice really does scream.
    The driver’s visage rushes into view as if through a zoom lens. A face of purple and brown, like a bashed-up fruit. His jaw hangs slack, his head lolls, and there is some kind of green discharge oozing from his mouth. His eyes are milky, unfocused for a second, then his neck snaps up straight and his body turns to face the same direction. An arm is flung out toward us, and my mother’s best cashmere scarf trails through the air in a bloody arc.
    Alice screams again. I grab the hatch lid, shut it tight, and sit on it.
    â€œOi!”
    There’s a shout from the front of the bus. Smitty.
    â€œWhat’s going on? Let me in, will ya?”
    I leap up. “Sit on that!” I command Pete and Alice, and skitter over to the end of the bus. Smitty is standing by the doors, hands on hips. “It’s the driver!” I call down to him. “He’s woken up and he’s one of them!”
    Smitty stares up at me as if I am speaking another language. A crash makes him look farther down the bus, and the expression on his face turns to sickening comprehension. No further explanation needed.
    â€œWe’re stuck up here.”
    â€œHow fast is he moving?”
    â€œI don’t know!” I shrug uselessly.
    â€œLet’s see.”
    Smitty runs along the side of the coach, slaps the window.
    â€œOi! Mister! Hell-o!”
    â€œWhat are you doing?”
    Smitty tracks back and slaps the next window down.
    â€œThat’s right, this way!” he shouts. He moves to the next window and thumps again. “I’m here!”
    â€œStop it!” Alice slithers to the edge of the bus roof on her belly like a candy-colored salamander. “Don’t make him angry!”
    â€œI can outrun him, easy!” Smitty shouts. “I’ll get him out and double back.”
    â€œYes!” Alice cries. “Quickly!”
    Smitty reaches the final window, then hits the button on the door. I realize what won’t happen a