School of the Dead (22 page)

It sounded like Uncle Charlie's voice. I looked to the Penda Boy. He too appeared to be listening. All he said was, “Are you ready?”

“For what?”

“To save your friend.”

“Where are we?” I asked.

“Not far from Mrs. Penda's room.”

“Under Ms. Foxton's office?”

He nodded. “Your suggestion. Near that meeting room.”

I started to move. He held up a hand. “Someone's close.” He made a motion with his head, which I understood to mean
down the hallway
.

“Is it Lilly?”

“Hopefully.” He looked at me. “You have to deal with it.”

“Me?”

“She won't be able to see me. If I changed that, I don't how she would react. Better for me to stay behind as much as possible—for now.”

I sat there.

“If you wish to save her, you must hurry,” he pressed.

I stood and stared down the hallway. It was dark save for some indistinct fluttering light some way along. I was not sure what it was or where it came from. As far as I could see,
the hallway was deserted.

“Go,” he pressed.

I went forward a few steps, paused, and looked back. The Penda Boy—his body glowing faintly—was standing where I had left him, watching me. He waved me forward. I went on. The more I moved down the hall, the harder it was to see him, and the more I felt alone.

A sudden jolt—as if a sledgehammer had struck—made the whole area shudder. Debris rained from the ceiling. The hall, already murky, became even more obscured as filth clogged the air. It was so thick I had to cover my nose and mouth with a hand. As it was, I was coated with plaster dust.
Earthquake
, I decided, aware that this one had had even more strength than previous ones.

The air around me, saturated with so much junk, was hard to see through. I wiped my face and cleared my eyes. I had to put a hand to a wall to guide myself. The other hand I kept over my nose and mouth.

I glanced back again and saw the Penda Boy, or just his form. He had become coated with dust. But, feeling great urgency, I continued on.

As I advanced, I realized that the fluttering light I'd noticed was seeping into the hallway from the left. I tried to think
why it wasn't steady. Then I remembered that on the meeting room table there had been a candle. If it was lit, that might explain the light's irregularity.

I crept forward, reached out, and felt a corner. With as much caution as I could muster, I peeked around. I had guessed right. It was the small alcove near Jessica's room, the one that led to that meeting room. The door was closed, but that trembling light leaked around it, making it appear as if the door was framed with fire.

I looked back down along the hallway. The Penda Boy was no more than a shadow. Even so, I was certain he was still waving me on. The whole area lurched. More fragments cascaded down.

I waited until the air settled before stepping into the alcove. As I did, I heard from behind me an eruption of loud noises: thumps and thuds, followed by an unspeakable scream of pain. Then came an unearthly shriek, long and high-pitched, full of the most dreadful agony. Afterward came absolute silence, as awful as anything I had just heard.

Knowing only that something ghastly had occurred—but having no idea what—I came out of the alcove and looked back along the hallway from which I had come. Wanting reassurance, I hoped to see the Penda Boy. All I saw were shifting shadows, like fluttering black flames.

I don't know how long I stood there, staring, trying to grasp what had happened—I kept hoping it was only the thick air that obscured my view, that the Penda Boy was all right, that he hadn't abandoned me or been attacked. I could not tell.

I waited for the air to settle. It did, some, but I was still unable to see the boy. Undecided if I should go back, if he needed me, if I could help, I strained to hear. There was nothing but silence.

Telling myself I must go forward—believing the boy could take care of himself—I went into the alcove. Using both hands, I grabbed the door handle and gave it a jerk. The door popped open.

On the table, as I had guessed, was a burning candle; the flame's light was streaming like a painted star in the dust-laden air. Standing by the table was a short, ugly green creature. Instantly, I was sure it was Barney. Even as I decided it was him, I saw, sitting in a corner chair, hands behind her back, a cloth tied over her mouth, Mrs. Penda.

Bewildered, I just stood there, staring at her. That's when Barney lurched toward me, club in hand, held up as if to strike. It was enough to bring me back to life. I sprang forward, pinned his arms, and ripped the stick away. With a horrible snarl, he broke free and came at me again.

Wanting only to defend myself, I lashed out at him with the stick. Between his forward movement and my swing, the stick struck his face with great force, shattering it like a pot of clay.

Bits of his face fell to the floor. It was as if I had smashed his mask apart. Underneath, a different face was revealed. It wasn't Barney's face or, for that matter, anyone, or any
thing
, I knew. It was the face of an old, decaying man, shriveled and wrinkled, with red, runny eyes and a collapsed, toothless mouth. A few strands of moist, lank hair hung from his bald, blue-veined head, from which blood and pus oozed.

Though shocked by what I saw, I held the club aloft, ready to hit out again. In that instant, Barney dashed past me and fled from the room. I heard a bell ringing—I assumed it was Barney sounding an alarm. That was followed by the sound of many bells from many places, some close, some far.

I turned back to Mrs. Penda. Holding up the candle, I drew closer. Only then did I realize that she was Lilly, in costume.

I yanked the cloth from her mouth.

She coughed and managed to gasp, “Tony, oh my God.” Then, confused: “Please, help me. I want to go home.”

“Don't talk,” I said, not wanting anyone to hear us.

I twisted around the chair she was sitting on and worked frantically to pry apart the knots by which she was bound.
When I had them loosened, she grabbed me with two hands and stood up, or at least tried.

“We've got to hurry!” I cried.

Leading her by one hand, the lit candle in my other, I guided us out of the room. Once in the hallway—the sound of bells ringing all around us—I turned to the left, which I knew would lead us to Jessica's room. That was the only way out I knew—
if
we could get up the steps and out of the chest.

When I reached the door, I kicked at it as hard as I could, not knowing who or what would be on the other side. The door fell in. Candlelight showed me no one was there.

“Come on,” I called, and went to the foot of those old, narrow steps.

No sooner did we reach them than the whole room gave another violent shake. With a crash, the freestanding closet toppled over, breaking into pieces.

“What's happening?” gasped Lilly.

I said what I had begun to think: “The school is collapsing.”

I held up the candle. The steps were still intact. Even better, the chest door above appeared to be open, which meant we could get into Ms. Foxton's office.

“This way.” I hurried up. Lilly came after me. Near the
top, I peered out of the false chest into the office. Two of the chairs were overturned, and Ms. Foxton's desk was covered with hunks of plaster. The fireplace had buckled. The photograph behind the desk of joyful kids had fallen. A few cabinet doors had slid open. File folders had spewed onto the floor. But no one was there.

I helped Lilly out of the chest. “This way,” I said, and guided her to the outer office. The painting of Mrs. Penda had fallen off the wall, its frame broken, the canvas curled and twisted on the couch. The Penda Boy painting was still up, but was hanging crookedly.

I pushed the office door open. As I did, the room quaked. The painting of the Penda Boy crashed to the floor, facedown.

We stepped into the reception hall. No one was there. The fake cemetery was a shambles. The chandelier was swinging wildly. Though mostly still lit, little lights were falling like the final bits of a Fourth of July rocket. The area was darkening rapidly.

Just able to see the front doors, I shouted, “Come on!”

I reached the doors, shoved one open, and handed Lilly the candle. “Go!” She offered a grateful look and ran through. I was about to follow, when I heard a shout.

“Tony! Wait. You need to see this.” It was my uncle Charlie's voice.

Force of habit—how else can I explain my idiotic response?—made me stop and turn about.

Uncle Charlie, along with Mrs. Penda, came out of the school office. Between them, they were holding up the Penda Boy. Or what had been the Penda Boy. He dangled from their hands like an old and dusty rag, like some little kid's toy animal, its stuffing gone, limp and lifeless. He had been seen, caught, destroyed.

I took a few steps toward them, away from the school's front door. “What did you do?” I cried.

“No more than he deserved,” said Mrs. Penda. “He won't interfere anymore.”

As she spoke, the reception hall gave a ferocious quake. With a roar, the stairway on the right collapsed. Wood, plaster, and brick tumbled. The hall filled with a billowing cloud of thick dust and debris. Simultaneously, great chunks of chandelier dropped and shattered, leaving only a few blinking lights, like the dying embers of a fire. Behind me, rubble cascaded from the ceiling.

I spun about and found the front doors blocked by a high mound of splintered beams and brick. I looked to where Mrs. Penda and Uncle Charlie had been standing. When the steps collapsed, they had retreated some paces into the school
office. I turned toward the remaining stairway. It was still intact.

There being no other way, I shot forward and tore up the steps.

By the time I reached the second floor, Mrs. Penda and Uncle Charlie were following.

Not knowing where else to go, I ran down the hallway until I reached the end, Batalie's room. It was in complete disorder: desks and chairs overturned, books and papers scattered, computers tumbled. The SMART Board had shattered.

I peered down the hallway. Mrs. Penda and Uncle Charlie were coming fast, Mrs. Penda limping more than usual. I bolted into the classroom, but having nowhere else to go, I went to the small door that Jessica had already opened. I darted through and plunged into the hallway, only to realize it was now too dark to see. The best I could do was make my way by touch and memory. I had no real idea where I was going but knew that Mrs. Penda and my uncle Charlie were coming after me—wanting to kill me.

After no more than thirty steps, I became so confused I forced myself to stand still. Even as I did, the building shook with greater ferocity than before. Thrown against
a wall, I fell to my knees. A complete section of the wall dropped away. I heard it crash, somewhere. Then, after a blast of cool air, I realized I was looking out at city lights and the moon. It was an outer wall that had given way. Below, I could see flashing red lights and screaming sirens. The school was collapsing.

As the whole school structure began to pry apart, sounds of creaking, breaking, and snapping surrounded me. Now the floor dropped at a sharp angle. I was afraid to move, terrified that more of the building would give way and take me with it.

I saw and felt the entire structure writhe, shift, and twist. Some walls heaved up. Others collapsed. With the floor so tilted, it was impossible to stand.

Somehow I managed to pull myself up. Moonlight provided some illumination. That allowed me to realize that I was high in the building somewhere. Half walking, half crawling, I moved toward a still-standing wall. Once there, I edged along its base, until I found myself in a partially enclosed area. Though it was darker, I kept going.

I found steps, which I managed to get on, and then worked my way down through a jumble of jagged, broken walls. I went across, up, then down again, but, having no idea where I was heading, I simply moved in hopes I'd stumble to safety.

At some point, at some place, I stumbled upon—and
stumbled
is the true word—that spiral staircase. I knew it because of the way it felt: cold, rough, metal steps and a banister, the steps twisting around, a mammoth corkscrew, still intact, probably because it was metal.

I put one foot on a riser. It held. Grasping the banister, I began to move down, only to hear voices coming from below. I halted and listened.

“I think he's up there” came Uncle Charlie's voice.

“You lead.” That was Mrs. Penda's voice.

I peered below, hoping to see them, anything to tell me how far below they were.

“Don't worry,” I heard Uncle Charlie say. “I've always been able to get him to do what I ask.”

I reversed my direction and started going up, moving in tight circles through the murk. Now and again I reached out, hoping I'd come to a landing. I didn't find one, or if I did, I never realized it.

I halted and worked to find my breath, only to hear Uncle Charlie say, “He's above us.”

Mrs. Penda: “Keep going.”

I climbed faster and began to see light. Holding on to the metal banister, I continued upward. Gradually, I realized
there was a hole above me. Only then did I grasp that I had reached the high tower, the very same place where I'd come upon the Penda Boy when I first spoke to him. It was precisely where he had told me
not
to go, because once there, I'd be trapped.

Though my ankle ached, and my heart pounded painfully, I continued to climb, trying to find some way to get away from my pursuers. That's when I heard Uncle Charlie's voice: “He's probably reached the tower room.”

Mrs. Penda said, “Then we have him.”

Having no choice, I moved higher, and was reaching up through the hole when the building gave another violent heave. The spiral steps, shrieking with the sound of twisting, breaking metal, fell out from under me. I began to drop. Using all my strength—the strength of desperation—I hauled myself up into the tower room. On hands and knees, I looked around. The floor was so steeply slanted I couldn't stand.