Unfed by Kirsty McKay Read Free Book Online Page A

road.”
    “And Pete has filled you in on our story so far.”
    He nods again. “The Cheery Chomper café. The apocalypse happened on your lunch break. Some evil corporation called Xanthro created a zombie virus. Intense. Sounds like you guys were pretty amazing, outwitting the students in the castle and escaping.”
    “Yep. We were.” I wonder how Pete has pitched it to him. Probably heavy on the Pete-as-leader side of things. I smile when I think how Icould correct that, if I was feeling nasty. Pete reads my mind and shoots me an anxious look.
    “We had rooms on this ward, too.” Pete takes over the story rapidly, before I get a chance to burst the bubble. “They let us socialize in a communal room during the day. We exchanged information, which was negligible. I think they may have been listening in on our chatter.”
    “And Martha ‘counseled’ you?” I replace all the files and move on to the second drawer.
    “Basic post-traumatic stress therapy,” Pete says. “Probably designed to find out how much we knew.”
    “So what’s your story?” I look at Russ.
    “Not much to tell.” Russ shakes his head. “A little while before our bus picked you people up, we stopped at a garage and there was this bloke with free cartons of juice. The teacher took it, started to hand it out just before we ran into you. Then you know the rest. We crashed.”
    I’m still leafing through papers when suddenly something jumps out at me from a sheet in a file marked STRICTLY CONFIDENTIAL . My name. And Alice’s.
    I stare at the words, but nothing makes sense. I need to read this, and read it in private. I fold the paper, shove it surreptitiously into my fleece pocket, and jump right back into the conversation before anyone can realize what’s happened.
    “I’m sorry,” I say to Russ. “Your buddies. Do you know what happened to any of them? Were their … bodies … brought here?”
    He shrugs. “Martha wouldn’t tell me any specifics. I’m guessing they died. But who knows.” He shivers. “I just hope I don’t bump into any of them out there.”
    “Yeah. That does suck,” says Alice. “Especially when they try to biteyou and you have to cut their heads off. Or run over them. Or burn them to a crisp.”
    “Thank you for reminding us, Miss Sensitive,” Pete mutters. He scratches the side of his Mohawk with his stubby fingers. “Martha wasn’t exactly forthcoming with very much information to either of us. She told me there were only four survivors, and that everybody had to be given time to recuperate quietly.” He looks at me. “I guessed that you were one of them. I watched her face especially carefully when I said your name. It’s all about the microexpressions, you see.”
    “That right?” I say.
    “And Alice,” Pete says. “I saw her file on the desk in here one time. I knew she’d made it. I guessed she was in isolation because her wounds were too extreme.”
    If I had hairs on the back of my neck, they would be standing up about now .
    “Wounds?” Alice says. “I don’t have any wounds!”
    “What did the file say?” I ask Pete.
    “What do you care?” Alice glares at me.
    “I couldn’t see anything,” Pete says sadly.
    “Ha!” Alice points at me.
    “Could be they kept her locked up because they couldn’t risk the social unrest,” I mutter. I wave my hands in mock panic. “‘Do not unleash the Alice!’”
    “At least I’m fully dressed.” She glares at me.
    “And how!” I flash her a grim grin.
    “Yeah, well — I’m not ill. You were in a coma. There’s clearly something wrong with you.”
    The folded-up paper is burning a hole in my pocket . . .
    “The only thing that is wrong with me is that I’m with you, Malice .”
    She jabs a finger at me. “Do not start calling me that again!”
    “Hey, that reminds me. Smitty,” Pete interjects, throwing me.
    “What about him?” I snap.
    “Is he here, have you seen him?” he says. “And” — his face brightens —