Best New Zombie Tales Trilogy (52 page)

That’s when Treece picks up a plank of old wood she left by the door earlier and belts Ryan across the head with it. At the same time, I step out from the shadows with another plank and smack it down on Carrie’s head. Well, it was supposed to be her head, but she looks up and cops it in the face. She falls onto her back onto the floor, squealing, and the floorboards crack under her.

Treece and I figured it didn’t matter if Carrie and Ryan got banged up a bit now, given what we plan to do with them. I still feel bad at the sight of Carrie’s blood. She looks furious rather than scared, though. She tries to sit up, blood streaming from her nose and a cut above her eye.

But she looks past me and her face turns white. The scarlet of her blood is much brighter now in contrast and it reminds me of Dylan’s blood after he fell.

I don’t really want to watch Dylan eat Carrie’s face, so I tug on his shoulders to give her some space. Not much though. I let Dylan hover while I unloop the rope from my shoulder and use it to tie Carrie’s hands together.

Treece has already tied Ryan’s hands and dragged him over to sit against the wall alongside Carrie. Ryan is dazed and mumbling and sobbing. A line of blood has trickled through his hairline and in front of his ear, dripping onto his collar. After a moment I realize he’s saying, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He doesn’t stop saying it.

I feel a bit sick, but really, Ryan can be as sorry as he wants––Dylan’s still dead and that’s not fair. I know that two wrongs aren’t meant to add up to rightness, but what else am I supposed to do?

It was Treece’s idea to bring scarves to use as gags. I’m relieved that Treece doesn’t actually look like she’s enjoying this. She has a kind of grim determination in her expression.

When Carrie and Ryan are tied up, Treece and I stand in front of them. We have to hold Dylan by the shoulders because he keeps leaning towards them, sniffing and snapping. We should just let him go. That’s what we brought everyone here for, after all. To let Dylan eat Ryan and Carrie’s brains and be less dead. Even if it only works for a little while, it’ll be worth it. I think.

Only I feel sick, and I think maybe it’s not worth it. Ryan is blubbering and snotty, and Carrie is deathly white and staring, and I don’t want to watch my little brother eat their brains.

“Treece…” I start, but I hear a sound and stop. Treece has heard it too. A footstep. Another. Outside. We stare at each other, frightened and helpless.

“There you are! What have I told you about coming here, Amy Angelina Swindon?!”

My mother’s voice is sharp. I know I am in big trouble, like all kids do when they get called by all their names.

I stare mutely at my mother standing outside in the light and try not to look at Ryan and Carrie at all. Dylan has not taken his eyes off them. He nearly gets away, but Treece has a good grip on his shoulder.

Mum––her handbag slung over her shoulder––pushes into the old room and walks right up to me. Past me. I watch as she pats Treece’s hand and lays her own on Dylan’s shoulder to hold him still.

“So. Carrie Harper,” she says, glaring at our prisoners, “I should have known you would be mixed up in this. You’re just like your mother. And you should know better, Ryan. Your mother will be very disappointed.”

There are whimpering sounds through the gags, but Mum remains next to Dylan.

“Your mother should know better, too, Treece,” she says to my new friend.

“It’s not Mum’s fault,” Treece says bravely, “I’m the one who put the book in the garage sale. She doesn’t even know it’s gone. She’ll be furious when she finds out.”

“Well. Maybe. Perhaps she’s grown up a bit since university. Having kids of your own will do that for you. Some of the time.” This with a meaningful look at Carrie. “What happened, Amy?”

“The herbs don’t matter very much,” said Mum, like she knew all about it, “It’s only the blood that counts. Whose was used in the incantation?”

I do as I’m told and my mother steps towards the two kids tied and gagged against the wall. She bends down and stares into their frightened eyes.

“No, you shouldn’t,” she replies, “But he shouldn’t have run off after you. And these two shouldn’t have been messing about in here. And this young lady,” Mum nods sharply at Carrie, “Should not have been meddling with that book.”

How many stupid decisions have landed us here, I wonder. Do we lay any of it on Treece’s Mum for having the book in the first place? On the person who gave it to her? On the person who wrote it?

I dig it out of Carrie’s bag and hand it to her. Mum flicks through the pages rapidly, as though she’s familiar with the book. She stops at the pages that Carrie used, reads in silence, then nods. She digs into her handbag and takes out a pair of kitchen shears. The kind she uses for quartering roast chickens. She holds them in front of Ryan and bends to speak to him.

“Ryan, you’re quite lucky. It was an accident and you don’t have much of Dylan’s soul in you. What I want you to do is concentrate. I want you to feel Dylan’s soul inside you.”

“Be sure now, because if this doesn’t work we’ll have to do it again. Here.” She removes the gag so that Ryan can take a deep breath. “There you go. Can you feel Dylan’s soul?”

This time when Ryan nods, it’s more carefully, like he’s really trying.

“I need to think about Dylan’s soul, very hard, and to push it into one place. Can you push it down into your finger for me?” Mum unties his hands too, and holds very hard to it. If Ryan thinks he can run away, he’s mistaken. My mum has a grip like a bulldog. She singles out his left index finger. “Push Dylan into this finger, Ryan. As hard as you can.”

And quick as a flash, Mum runs the blade of the shears against the pad of Ryan’s finger, drawing blood as she calls out something that sounds like “solvo captivus animus!” Ryan gasps, then makes a strangled scream as Mum grabs Dylan and drags him forward.

Dylan snaps at Ryan’s bleeding finger, takes it in his mouth and chews. Mum smacks Dylan on the arm. “No biting, Dylan!”

Dylan growls at her.

“Dylan Tyler Swindon, you do not growl at your
mother
! And you do not
bite
. What Ryan did was stupid but it was an accident, and he’s very sorry. Aren’t you Ryan?”

All we hear for a few minutes is Dylan’s sloppy sucking and Ryan’s whimpers. Then Ryan says hoarsely, “It’s… it’s gone… Mrs. Swindon.”

“It’s a very different matter with you, young lady,” she says. Carrie, who has been looking hopeful that she too will get out of this with a cut and some chew marks, goes pale again.

“What you did was not an accident,” says Mum, “Turning Dylan into a zombie was very deliberate. As I recall when
we
very stupidly used that book, it requires you to mix your blood with the victim’s, and certain incantations. That does not happen by accident. Most of Dylan’s soul is in you, and he wants it back.”

Carrie squirms, trying to push her way back through the wall to freedom. It doesn’t work.

“Carrie, dear,” Mum tries to sound gentle, “I don’t want to let Dylan eat your brains if I can help it, but you’ll need to help me.”

Carrie whimpers.

“I know, dear, but you should have thought of that before you killed my son and then did zombie magic on him.” Carrie’s eyes squeeze shut and tears fall over the face, making tracks through the blood. “What I want you to do, Carrie,” continues Mum, “Is just what Ryan did. Feel Dylan’s soul inside you and push it to your finger. Your pinkie finger on your left hand. Can you do that?”

Carrie nods vigorously.

“Concentrate very hard,” says Mum. She takes out Carrie’s gag and loosens the ropes around her wrist without untying her completely. She grasps Carrie’s left pinkie in hers. “You are right handed aren’t you, Carrie?”

More nodding.

“Good. Focus. Tell me when you think all of Dylan’s soul is in your pinkie.”

With great concentration, Carrie scrunches up her face and we can see her willing so hard, making the part of Dylan that is trapped inside her move out of her brain and down her arm and into her little finger.

Carrie bursts with a short, sharp scream and then groans and cries. Mum shoves the finger into Dylan’s mouth. “Eat up, Dylan. There’s a good boy.”

Dylan scoffs it down like it’s a chewy bit of licorice.

While he eats the finger, Mum turns back to Carrie. Mum takes a facewasher from her bag and clamps it over the wound. “There, there, Carrie,” she says, “It’s all over now. As long as you were telling the truth.”

The terror in Carrie’s face is worrying. Dylan finishes eating her finger, but it doesn’t seem to have helped much. Mum regags Carrie and tightens the ropes around her again before inspecting Dylan’s eyes. She clicks her tongue and examines Carrie’s again.

“Oh dear,” says Mum, “That’s a pity.”

Carrie’s eyes widen until they are huge and round like a manga cartoon character.

Mum beckons Dylan over and stands back. “I’m so sorry, Carrie,” says Mum, “But you’ve still got a lot of Dylan in you, and frankly it’s you or my son. What am I supposed to do?”