Undead (9780545473460) Read Online Free Page B

to the rail above. Like a nervous crab, I tentatively crawl sideways out of my space and crouch by the driver. He’s still breathing.
    â€œEveryone all right?” I call out.
    â€œBeen better.” Smitty is curled below me in the stairwell, rubbing his head.
    â€œWhere did Mr. Taylor go?” I peek through the windshield. Carefully. This is when they come back. In the movies, this is when they jump out at you and smash through the window. It always happens. If you look though a keyhole, you get your eye poked out; if you look in a mirror, the killer’s behind you. It’s like the law or something.
    â€œDid you see how I hit him?” Alice skips up behind me, oblivious to all laws and full of glee. Her blond hair sticks out at a weird angle.
Ha! So she’s not
always
perfect
.
    I pick another window and peer out again. “Oh. I think I see legs. Sticking out from under the bus.”
    â€œWhat’s he doing there?” Smitty shoves in beside me at the window. I can feel the heat radiating off his body. It’s oddly comforting. Then he’s off again, climbing over the seats.
    â€œIs he moving?” Alice says.
    â€œI’ll just open the doors and peek out . . . ,” Smitty says.
    â€œNo!” we both cry.
    â€œ
Very
joking.” Smitty clambers up through the hatch. I listen as he walks carefully across the roof of the bus, pauses, then returns to the hatch and lowers himself down again. “Think we just ran over our teacher.” He grins. “Do you think that’ll get us expelled?”
    I gasp. “You’re kidding me?”
    â€œYeah, I am,” Smitty says. “Under the circumstances, I think they’d only suspend us.”
    â€œYou know what I’m talking about.”
    He gives me his most sincere smile. “Mr. T is pavement pizza.”
    â€œOh, gross!” Alice curls her lip in disgust. “Still, he totally had it coming.”

    I’m taking a moment. I’m trying to look busy, tending to the driver, but really, I’m taking a moment. We all are. Smitty’s back up pacing on the roof, Alice seems to be looting the overhead compartments — but actually, we just need a few seconds to calm the hell down.
    We’ve left the driver where he fell. It’s not very dignified — or even practical, as he’s blocking the aisle — but it’ll have to do for now. I check his pulse on his good wrist, like my dad taught me. It’s weak, but regular. I adjust his bandage and make sure he’s breathing OK, and I even place a sweater under his head to cushion it. There’s a bulge in his jacket pocket; I only hesitate a moment before I fish for whatever lies within. A phone. The screen is blank: no reception.
    â€œSee if you can get this to work.” I throw the phone to Alice, who catches it deftly.
    Hopping over the driver’s body, I shimmy under the steering wheel into the driver’s seat.
    I turn the ignition one notch and gingerly press the radio’s ON button. Static blasts out of the speakers, making me jump.
    Following my lead, Smitty switches the TV on. White fuzz fills the screen.
    Snow on the outside, snow on the inside. So much for technology.
    â€œWhat about the CB radio?” Smitty points to a small black box, partially hidden under the armrest. “My uncle had one in his basement. It’s how they used to hook up with total strangers before the Internet.” He winks. “Hand me the mouthpiece.”
    I’m guessing he means the black round thing attached to the small box by a long curly wire. I oblige.
    â€œNow flick that switch to turn it on.”
    A small button on the side. I do so. A static sound hisses out of the box and the number 14 appears in red on a little display.
    Smitty presses something on the side of the mouthpiece, and there’s silence. “Hello?” he says into it. “Is there anyone on this channel? Breaker-break,