The hard cover breaks open on the last solid knock, but only a little bit. A triumphant fist erupts through the gap and starts to feel around, searching for fresh flesh to dig its infected nails into.
“Hey, you know what I’m grateful for right now?” Kaboom says. “I’m grateful there wasn’t much left in those cans of liquid nitrogen.”
“Told you,” Doom says smugly.
“Do any of these kits have a knife or an axe?” Mom asks. I try to imagine what will happen to the hand if we cut it off—will it run around the roof on its fingers like “Thing” from the Addams Family?
“Wait.” Mr. Cromwell stands up and pulls an axe from his kit with the flourish of a magician pulling a rabbit out of his hat. I have a fleeting thought about him looking like Paul Bunyan as I concentrate my flashlight on the still-grasping hand. I can hear more determined fists knocking away at the wood, but to no avail. “We’ll need to plug up the hole once we chop it off.”
“This board is huge,” says Houston. He sounds like he’s just woken up from a quick power-nap. “Can’t we just push the part with the hole over to the side of the trapdoor? We’d only have to move it about three feet. There’s plenty of board left to keep them down below.”
“Good idea” replies Mom. She’s sounding a lot more confident now. “But let’s not cut off the arm. It’ll just leave its infected liquids behind. Besides, the whole board may not be broken, but it could be weak enough for the axe to make a bigger hole.” She looks at each one of us to make sure we’re paying attention. “We’re going to have to time this just right. When I say ‘now’ I want you all to move to the ends of the board. I want the guys on my side and the girls on the other. Mind the hand. Okay. Now!”
We quickly scramble in the darkness to our places at the opposite ends of the board. I’m relieved my mother has a plan. “Good. Okay, girls, I need you to keep your flashlights on that hand. Mr. Cromwell, when I say ‘Go’ I need you to walk up to it and stomp it through the hole. Just the hand, try not to stomp on the board itself. If you can’t get it back through the hole with your boot, use the axe.”
“Why does he get to stomp on the hand?” Kaboom whines. I think he wants a chance to be the hero, especially in front of Nadia.
My mother sighs in exasperation. “Because he has the biggest boot! Now the second that hand goes through the hole, Mr. Cromwell and the girls will jump off and away from the pool cover, and you guys will push the cover with all your might till I say stop. I’m sure Mr. Cromwell will join you in your efforts once he’s off the board.” She takes a deep breath. She doesn’t order us to take a deep breath too, but we collectively take one with her. It sounds like an asthmatic jet trying to take off.
“Go!”
There was a drum roll which was probably just the fists below knocking faster and faster while the hand above frantically searched for us. All it found was Cromwell’s boot. There was a sickening crack of bone and the hand disappeared. Mr. Cromwell jumped off, and the moment he jumped off we jumped off. Jesse dropped her flashlight and Sarah yelped at the sound, but the rest of us managed to keep our light on the hole.
We must have surprised the Infected because nothing had a chance to pop up through the opening before we covered it with the intact side of the board. I’m kind of disappointed I missed my chance to see a severed hand crawl about the roof Thing-style, but I’m still glad to see it gone. The boys seem to be propelled by panic-power because they pushed that board over much faster than they did the first time and within seconds my mom shouts, “Stop!”
We clamber back onto the new middle of the board and wait. There are a few weak thuds and a fair amount of scratching, but that’s all that’s left of their efforts until they give up and silence takes over. In a way I wish it wasn’t so quiet—it’s like when Jesse and her old friends were silent, if they’re quiet it means they’re up to something.
Mom’s not going to let us rest yet. She starts to give out instructions before the boys can get their breath back. “Mr. Cromwell, could you please go over to the ladder from the custodian’s office and remove it from the roof? Take Dorothy with you, she can shine her light on it while you work. Oh, and take care you don’t fall into the swimming pool. It’s a bit of a hazard now that we’ve taken its cover away.” I can guess why Mom asked Dorothy to go—all the other girls are too scared to move. “Okay, boys, good work on moving the board. Now I need you to keep your weight on it. You too, Sarah and Jesse. The rest of us will fetch the tent and move it over here to cover this spot.”
“What?” squeals Nadia. “Why do we have to move the tent over here? Why can’t we just go stay in it over there? I don’t want to sleep on something that’s only a few inches between me and a zombie!”
“Because they’re probably counting on us to move off of this board when the rain returns, and then they might be able to push it up enough to squeeze through. If we can set up a permanent camp on it, the weight of our bags and bodies might be enough to keep them at bay.”
“Fine. You do whatever you need to do. I’m done here.” She plops down next to Kaboom, leans her head on his shoulder, and closes her eyes. Kaboom looks up at us apologetically. I’m cool with this. If she goes with us, she’ll just get in the way. I can’t imagine her being much help anyway.
Mouse isn’t as resigned as the rest of us about this. “Wouldn’t want to bruise Kaboom’s precious little flower,” she mumbles as we walk away. We blindly follow my mother as close as we can and as we walk I have a vague notion that I am following in Ghost’s last steps. Even in this moment of fear and exhaustion I feel a twinge of renewed grief.
Mom starts to give instructions again. “Keep your lights up and your eyes sharp. This roof isn’t even. It moves up a number of levels, so you don’t want to bark your shin on an edge when it steps up a few inches or more. The tent is on the highest point.” She shines her light ahead. “See, right there.”
We have to scramble up a two-foot ledge to the next level, but soon we’re face to face with a small green army tent. I shine my light around its base and discover it’s been staked down by bulldog clips. The clips are connected to eyehole hooks that have been screwed into the roof. It’s got a nice lightweight but solid pipe frame inside, a bit like the castle tent we used to set up inside the house for playdates and sleepovers. Mom must be seeing the same thing because she orders us to unclip the tent from its moorings and to each grab a corner—one hand on the base and one hand on the side—and carry it whole back to the board. I take one corner, my mom takes another, Mouse takes the third and Nemesis takes the fourth. It’s a real bear getting it back though. It’s not as heavy, but it’s awkward to handle, especially as we maneuver it down the two-foot drop and on to our section of the roof. In the distance, I can hear a “Clang! Clang! Clang!” that I hope is the sound of Mr. Cromwell taking out the ladder to the roof before the Infected start to use it.
We’re sweating and quivering with the effort of keeping the tent steady when we get back to the boys. Sarah and Jesse have fallen asleep against Houston. Mom takes a chance on the weight ratio and lets us stay while she sends the boys back to fetch a part of the tent too valuable to leave behind—the wooden pallets that will allow us to stay dry when the rain returns. Damn, I wish she had let us carry the pallets and the boys carry the tent!
The first fingers of dawn appear over the horizon and I feel a measure of relief. It’s nice to know we survived the night. We’re so tired from everything we’ve been through that it’s hard to think, but Mom won’t let us rest until we’ve set the tent up properly. “There will be nobody left awake to be a lookout if we keep this up,” I think to myself, but I know this is the right thing to do because there’ll be no one left alive if we don’t. All this escaping and surviving will be for nothing if the rains take us out. She lets us pause long enough to pull our raingear on and then makes sure the tent goes down, the guide lines tucked under the pallets, the split kits filling out the edges of the tent. The sun has completely broken through by the time we’re finished. It’s not a big job and I’m surprised it’s taken so long, but we are moving awfully slow. There’s just not enough fuel in our tanks to keep us going—one can only run on panic power for so long.
Mr. Cromwell and Dorothy have returned from what looks like a very strenuous workout. No one bothers to ask if they managed to detach the ladder or not. At this point, we’re happy to assume they did. Mr. Cromwell offers to do guard duty so we give him a weak, grateful smile and then crawl like wounded animals inside the tent. It’s a tight fit, but we don’t care; even Hou seems to have gotten over his personal space issues. The pallets are cold and hard and it doesn’t matter; at this point I could sleep on a clothesline. I lie down next to my mother after she positions herself at the front of the tent. She starts to zip up the entrance, shutting us off from the light of day, but not before I get a glimpse of what’s beyond the edges of the roof; a view that is sure to fuel my nightmares for the next few hours.
Zombies. Death as far as the eye can see. Waves and waves of the Infected. Bodies pushing up against each other in their desperation to reach us. All of them sharing a united thought, a single purpose: “Get. Them.” I close my eyes to it all and try to dream of escape.