7.55am!
Mum forgot to wake me. I was running late for school. I got dressed, unplugged my tablet, and hurried downstairs.
Mum wasn’t in the kitchen. Nor was Jason, but then he never got up until the last minute. Nearly sixteen, Mum says my brother’s made procrastination an art form.
“No point in getting there early,” Jason always says. “What if the Earth was invaded by aliens overnight? I’d have wasted a sleep-in.”
Ava and Dad were at the breakfast table, though. Wearing their pyjamas, Ava was in her high chair, licking the Marmite off her toast, while Dad was watching television on his tablet. Cody sat at their feet, his tongue out and his big tail whumping on the floor.
Ava squealed when she saw me. “Seb.” She waved her toast at me. “Open wiiide,” she said, mouthing an ‘O’ herself.
I stopped to take a bite. The toast was soggy and a bit squished, but I was late and it was easier than arguing.
I bent and gave Cody a quick pat. “Hey, boy,” I said, my mouth still full of toast.
He followed me to the fridge.
“Where’s Mum? Did she leave early?” I asked Dad as I shifted a jar of gherkins, looking for my lunch.
“Mum’s in bed,” Dad said. “She was up all night at her computer.”
Wow. Mum often worked at night—her company had a lot of international clients—but she never let that stop her getting up at a sparrow’s fart. She never let me say fart either.
No sign of my sandwich. I poked my head around the door. “Dad? Where’s my lunch?”
Ava must have had nightmares again because Dad looked dreadful, even worse than usual. His skin was grey, like crumpled newsprint, and his eyes were puffy. He waved a hand in the air. “Sorry, haven’t had time,” he said, his eyes not budging from the breakfast news. Another first—Dad not making my lunch. He must be tired. Either that or he’d meant it last night when he said everyone takes him for granted.
Shrugging, I grabbed a packet of chips and a muesli bar from the pantry, stuffing them in my lunchbox just as Ava flung her toast. It sailed over the table and landed face down on the floor. Cody bounded over and scoffed it in a gulp, mopping up the floor with his tongue. That’s weird. Cody doesn’t like Marmite.
I checked his bowl. Empty. “Dad? Has Cody been fed?”
“Huh?” Dad said.
“I said, has Cody been fed?”
Dad brought the heels of his hands to his forehead. “Cody, Cody…”
He really was spaced out. Normally he feeds the dog and takes him out for his morning walk.
“That’s okay. I’ll feed him,” I said, glancing at the clock. Ten past eight. I was going to have to burn rubber. Quickly, I shoved a cup into the bin of dog food and poured it into Cody’s bowl, topping his water up while I was at it. Cody wolfed down his breakfast.
I put my lunchbox in my bag, snatched a banana from the fruit-bowl and grabbed my bike helmet.
“Bye!” I called.
“Bye, bye, Seb,” Ava said.
Dad waved vaguely as I let myself out.
The first bell sounded. I locked my bike, tossed my banana peel in the bin, and raced to class, sliding into my seat beside Darren as the second bell rang. Mrs Pike wasn’t there yet.
“Quick! Lend me your maths book, will you?” I said to Darren.
Talia Wilson, in the row in front of us, turned and threw me a look I’ve gotten used to over the years.
Darren sighed, but he got his book out, opening it to yesterday’s homework. “You do know that you’re supposed to do these equations yourself,” he said.
I laid the book flat and started copying his answers. “Yeah, I know. I was going to do them, but I got busy. Keep a look-out for Mrs Pike for me, okay?”
Talia turned her back to me, and sniffed.
“You got busy. Doing what?” Darren said.
“New Chaos game,” I said. “Dawn of the Zombie Apocalypse.”
Darren’s eyes widened. “Chaos. Nice. How did you convince your parents to get you that?”
“Easy. All I had to do was complete my homework for a week.”
“What?” Darren folded his arms across his chest. “You’re kidding, right? You never do your homework.”
I grinned and passed him back his book. “Yeah, just kidding. I downloaded it last night for free.”
He frowned.
“It was fine,” I said. “Nothing crashed or anything. You should’ve seen the preview. It’s awesome: explosions, 3D effects, a killer soundtrack, even a subliminal quotient.”
“Subliminal quotient? What’s that?”
“I’ve no idea, but whatever it is, it’s amazing. I could show you on my tablet…”
Darren shook his head. “Not worth the risk. Mrs Pike’ll be here any minute. If she catches you, she’ll confiscate your computer and put you on litter duty.”
“My place after school, then?”
Darren pulled a face, the light brown freckles over his nose squishing together. “Can’t,” he said, picking at the desktop with his fingernail. “I’ve got footy practice.”
“After, then.”
Darren beamed. “Okay.”
It was nine fifteen. Mrs Pike still hadn’t arrived. I could’ve copied ten equations by now. It was boring waiting. Some of the kids started throwing spit balls.
“I bet she’s setting us a test,” Darren moaned. He sighed. Sometimes my best mate could be a bit of a drama queen.
Talia stood up. “Someone should go to the school office and let the principal know that Mrs Pike hasn’t turned up,” she said.
Darren rolled his eyes. Talia had gone to the same primary school as us, and every other week our teacher would award her with a certificate for Politeness, or Diligence, or Being Responsible, or having the Best Science Project. If there’d been a certificate for Withering Looks That Made You Feel like a Worm, then she would’ve won that one, too.
And the one for Prettiest Girl in School.
“Well?” Talia said. “Anyone?” She scanned the class. No one met her eye. She sighed heavily and stalked into the corridor, her ponytail sweeping out behind her. Everyone went back to launching spit balls. Talia returned a few minutes later, looking puzzled. “There’s no one in the school office,” she announced.
“No teachers? That’s strange. Maybe there’s a staff meeting?” said Talia’s friend, Penny.
Talia shook her head. “I looked in the staff room. There was no one in there either.”
“Maybe there was a fire drill and we didn’t hear the siren,” said Darren. We hurried to the window to check, but there were no classes lined up at the assembly area.
“Doesn’t look like it,” said Andrew.
“Could it be a Teacher-Only day?” Penny said.
“If it was, the school would’ve sent a notice home,” Talia replied. “And Teacher-Only day means the day the teachers come. And the students don’t.”
“Hang on,” said Darren. He slipped into the corridor. Less than a minute later, he was back. “Mr Huffington isn’t in Room 12 either.”
“That’s really weird. No teachers. There must be some kind of emergency going on. An earthquake or flooding or something?” Talia said.
“Oh no!” Penny brought her hands to her face.
“Emergency updates are listed on the school portal. I’ll check,” I said, pulling my tablet from my bag.
“You’re not supposed to log on to your computer unless it’s for a lesson,” Talia said, her lips pursed.
“I’m checking to see if there is a lesson,” I said, tapping. But there was nothing on the school portal. As far as the school was concerned, it was a normal day.
Only, there were no teachers.
“Cool.” Andrew twirled his basketball on his finger. “No teacher. I’m going to shoot some baskets in the quad.”
Most of the class followed him out, Talia watching with her hands on her hips. Afterwards, she sat down and got out her maths book. Seems she was looking to get the certificate for Doing Unnecessary Math Equations, too.
Penny looked at the door, then back at Talia. Sighing, she sat down.
I was gathering up my stuff to join the others outside, when Darren nudged me. “Zombie Apocalypse,” he said. “Maybe we could have a quick look?”
It took me less than a second to decide. Mrs Pike was three quarters of an hour late. She could hardly give us litter duty. Pulling my tablet out, I logged on, and showed Darren the preview: the revolting hand exploding from the screen, zombies shuffling and lurching through the streets, and Bastion Axestone winking at us both.
“Awesome,” Darren breathed, clearly as impressed as I’d been.
I felt a bit stink. The game had been free yesterday. I should’ve called Darren and told him about it when I had the chance. Now I had the game and my best friend didn’t. I couldn’t make him a copy either. Chaos software came with copy protection.
That’s when an icon popped up in the top right corner of my screen, so tiny I almost missed it—an upward arrow with lettering underneath. I squinted at the screen. Upload.
The icon flickered and an idea hit me. I logged off and logged on again, this time using my school username. Then, I uploaded Dawn of the Zombie Apocalypse to the school portal. I grabbed Darren’s laptop.
“What are you doing?” Darren said, reaching for it, but I twisted away from him, the laptop on my knees.
“Nothing. Just trying something,” I said. “Is your password still DeBaron12?” I didn’t wait for his answer. Apart from his age, which he tacked on the end, his password hadn’t changed since primary school. “The school portal is designed to share information with students, right?”
“Yes…”
“I might not be able copy the game for you, but maybe I can share with you.”
“But Seb…” Darren said warily, “are you sure we should be doing that?”
“No one will know,” I said.
“You’d better hope they don’t find out,” came Talia’s voice. I’d forgotten she was there.
“It’s okay, I’ll delete it in a sec,” I replied, handing Darren back his laptop. “Just as soon as Darren has a copy.”
“Hang on,” Darren said, his face puzzled. “I’ve just got a message box. It says the file The Dawn of the Zombie Apocalypse already exists. Do you want to replace? You must have invited me to the game last night, Seb. I don’t need to download it, after all.”
That’s odd. I didn’t remember specifically inviting Darren, but I couldn’t tell him that.
“High five, man,” Darren said, beaming. We bumped palms.
Talia, however, was not beaming. Her stare drilled through my eyeballs and into my brain. “If I were you, I’d delete that game from the school system, right now, Sebastion Mackay,” she said. “If the principal finds out, you’ll be expelled.” Beside her, Penny nodded vigorously.
“Okay, okay, I’m deleting it now.”
I picked up my tablet and pressed delete to erase the game from the school site. Nothing happened. I mustn’t have clicked properly. I touched the delete key, harder this time. Still nothing. Something was wrong. I couldn’t delete the game. The system wasn’t letting me.
“Seb,” Talia warned.
“It’s gone. I’ve done it,” I lied, logging off and deliberately slipping my tablet back in its neoprene sheath. I’d have to delete the game from the school site later, when Talia wasn’t breathing down my neck.
Darren’s eyes were fixed on his laptop. I gave him a quick shove. “Let’s get out of here,” I said.
“But Seb, the game—”
I cut him off before he could say any more. “The basketball game, yeah. Don’t want to be a couple of benchwarmers, do we?”
He was still fumbling with his laptop as I hustled him outside.
The teachers were still missing in action, and three hours is enough basketball for anyone, so after lunch everyone went home.
Cody bounded over to greet me when I opened the door. I kneeled, expecting him to turn over for a belly rub, but instead he rushed past me and out into the yard.
Dad was busy watching something on his tablet. Ava, though, was pleased to see me. In her highchair, she raised her chubby arms in the air—a Mexican wave of one. Her face, smeared with butter and Marmite, was streaked with tears.
“Up, up. Ava get down,” she pleaded.
I lifted her out of the highchair. It took some doing and some grizzling from Ava because her legs had stuck to the chair’s plastic covering, but eventually I managed to prise her out. Ava threw her arms around my neck. I gave her a bit of a cuddle. Euw, she ponged! Her Pull-Up was like an over-inflated water bomb. It was so full it could blow at any second.
Had she been in her highchair all morning?
With Ava wrapped around me like a baby spider monkey, I turned to Dad. He was watching television on his tablet, his morning coffee stone cold beside him. Since I’d arrived home, he hadn’t moved and he hadn’t said anything either. Not even, “How was your day, Seb?” or “Don’t dump your bag on the floor. Put it where I can’t trip over it.” His face was covered in stubble and, like Ava, he was still in his pyjamas. Come to think of it, he was exactly like he was when I’d left this morning.
“Dad? Are you okay?”
He didn’t reply, entranced by whatever was on his screen.
Maybe an unthinkable world catastrophe was unfolding somewhere, like the earthquake in Nepal. Still holding Ava, I checked his screen. It was just the regular news, an article about the cricket test.
“Dad?”
Dad didn’t look up. I waved a hand in front of his face. “Seb? You’d better hurry, or you’ll be late for school,” he said.
Late for school? It was after lunch.
Ava shook her head. She pointed her index finger at Dad. “Daddy’s sleeping,” she said.