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PROLOGUE


My Thursday afternoon rapidly turned to crap when a zombie ripped Sister Mary’s face off right in front of me.

“Move! Get to the cafeteria and lock the doors! Move it, Maddie!” Sister Ann yelled in my ear as another zombie ran at us, ignoring the fallen Sister Mary. Twisting desperately to avoid contact, it somehow missed me as I gracelessly landed on my butt. Instead of turning around, the zombie continued to charge at Sister Ann. I somehow managed to hook it with my field hockey stick and trip the zombie.

That maneuver would have been worthy of a yellow card.

As I’d been doing for the past ten minutes, I ignored Sister Ann and focused on bashing in the zombie’s head. With Sister Mary down and having dispatched Sister Margaret earlier, Sister Ann was the last nun alive that I knew of. There was no way I was going to leave her outside, alone, in the middle of the zombie apocalypse.

A so-called juvenile delinquent? Yeah, that was me, before my days at St. Dominic’s. But someone who bailed on a freaking nun? No way. Not even I would stoop that low.

Pivoting, I brought the full weight of the heavy stick across my former classmate’s face. It impacted with a very meaty thwack! The thing that had once been Chelsea stumbled to the side, blood trickling from where I’d tried to brain her. Careful to make certain none of her blood got on myself or Sister Ann, I smacked her with my hockey stock again. The nun was unarmed. I, at least, had a weapon of sorts. One I was pretty good with. The number of yellow and red cards I’d earned the previous field hockey season would confirm this. Howling with rage, zombie Chelsea turned and tried again.

This time I was a little more prepared. I jabbed the toe of the hockey stick into her larynx, hard. Completely illegal if I’d done it in a game. Fortunately, God seemed to be refereeing this little soiree and didn’t blow the whistle. Chelsea’s howling abruptly ceased as she clawed at her ruined throat. I had a window of opportunity and needed to take it. Rearing back, I let loose a powerful swing.

Crack!

Chelsea dropped to the ground. Snarling as best she could through her ruined larynx, the zombie tried to push herself back up off the ground to attack. Blood was pounding in my ears but my adrenaline was spiking high. I heard rustling from somewhere behind me. A quick check over my shoulder told me it was Lucia guiding the last surviving elementary school girls into the cafeteria, with Sister Ann pushing another zombie away with a two-by-four. The weak gurgle of a snarl brought my attention back to the writhing zombie. Chelsea was still trying to crawl toward me. With tears in my eyes, I bid my classmate a silent farewell.

Crack! Crack! Crack!

The final blow split her skull open and she slumped back to the ground, dead. Or well on her way to it. I couldn’t tell through my blurred vision. I felt Sister Ann gently touch my shoulder and say something to me. I think it was supposed to be comforting. There was no way to be sure, but it would have been totally in character of her. Nodding, I let her pull me toward the cafeteria and inside. The girls huddled inside were staring at me with wide-eyed horror. Or past me. I couldn’t tell. I glanced back outside and instantly regretted it.

Chaos reigned. Far in the distance, the school director lay next to the front door of the admin building, dead. Two zombies were gnawing on his legs. Nearby, I spotted one of the admin workers get chased down by a naked man—Mr. Gonzalez, from the looks of it. Her screams rose in higher pitch as another zombie jumped on her. The screams abruptly cut off as more of the zombies dogpiled her. I looked away as fresh tears filled my eyes. The place that had become my reluctant home was being overrun.

Sister Ann pulled me inside, closed the metal door, and quickly tied the chain off. The heavy door was as secure as we could make it, thanks to some modifications done in the prior weeks. In the darkness, it was hard to make out faces. Preparedness had allowed the staff to board up the cafeteria, covering the windows on both the inside and out with plywood, in case the news reports of the so-called zombie apocalypse were actually real. A good idea, in hindsight. But at the moment I couldn’t see anything at all.

Some of the girls were panicking. I could hear their short breaths over the sounds of someone sobbing. The interior of the cafeteria was stuffy and hot. A quick sniff of the air told me a few of the younger girls had wet their pants. Maybe even the older ones. I didn’t blame any of them. If I’d had a chance to be afraid I probably would have, too. More than half sounded like they were hyperventilating. All of us were crying. It was impossible to see who was where, or even who was still with us. Outside we could hear more howls as zombies searched for a way in. There was none. The only danger now would come from within. Eventually, there might be starvation.

Maybe. That would be later. I needed to focus on the now. Which meant listening to Sister Ann.

“Attention.” Sister Ann’s calm voice cut through the noise. She clapped her hands once. All the girls quit talking immediately. Sister Ann just had that ability to get them to listen. None of the other sisters at St. Dominic’s could do that as quickly as she could. Her demeanor was calm as always. “Thank you. No arguing, no discussion. I want everyone to the bunker, now.”

We practiced this twice a year in case violent weather hit the mountaintop. Today was different, though. We had lost power and this was no drill. There was an emergency light near the stairwell leading down to the bunker, but it was on the other side of the door. Better than nothing, I guess. The girls hurried toward the light, more than a few sniffling and whimpering the entire way. I couldn’t blame them. I’d just brained one of my roommates to death, and this was after I’d had to shoot a few nuns and my best friend, Wren, with the shotgun I’d . . . lost? Somewhere along the way I’d dropped it. Stupid of me. Real stupid. Sister Ann was not going to be happy with . . . murder? Or would she kill me for losing the shotgun?

I hoped not. Maybe I could track it down later and she wouldn’t be disappointed with me losing it?

Yeah, right.

I was the last one through the doorway. Reaching up with my hockey stick, I smashed at the light until it broke and plunged us into full darkness once more. Everything we’d seen and heard before the television went off the air said the zombies liked loud noises and light. There was no reason to give any of the zombies outside incentive to try and find a way in. I secured the bunker door and dogged the lever hatch. It was supposed to be able to withstand a bomb, but I’d settle for holding up against an angry horde of zombies.

Zombies . . . What the heck? Not how I thought my senior year was going to go down.

Descending the stairs, I found Sister Ann in the main area of the bunker tying each girl’s hands in front of them. Three candles were lit, which gave her enough light to tie the knots. Though I was pretty sure she could do it in the darkness. The light was to calm the other girls down, I guessed.

“Maddie? You remember how to tie a bowline knot? The rescue knot?” Sister Ann asked me. I nodded, remembering our multiple camping trips. She’d been pretty insistent I learn how to tie proper knots. I’d made some inappropriate jokes at the time, but now I was glad I’d paid attention anyway. “Good. I need you to cut enough rope to make lines to tie the girls apart, just out of range of each other, and help secure them. Then yourself.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I replied tonelessly. My emotions were a jumbled mess but when Sister Ann gave a command, you listened and obeyed.

“Maddie? You can cry. It’s always okay to cry for ourselves.”

“I know.”

“And we never apologize for our tears,” she added. I nodded numbly. The skull I’d just caved in upstairs had been a friend . . . well, as close to a friend as I could have. Making friends was not my strong suit. Or keeping them, it seemed.

I found the rope in question—nylon rope, which would flex some but was very hard to actually break—and started tying off the bowlines as instructed. More than a few of the younger girls shied away but I didn’t care. Once they were secured, I moved on. One after another all the girls were tied and secured. It’s easy, really. Tie their wrists together behind their ankles, then to their shoelaces. We knew what turned the others into zombies had been the flu that had torn through campus two weeks before, but now it was a waiting game. The CDC had said the flu was lessening right before the lights went out. But the zombie bites turned the survivors as well. So did their blood. We had to be careful.

Were we careful enough, though? I had no idea.

A sharp scream, followed by a cry of alarm, told me we hadn’t been careful enough.

“It itches! Oh my God, it itches!” It was Becca, our valedictorian. The blonde was frantically trying to tear her clothes off. She had a crazed look on her face. I’d seen it before—when Sister Margaret had turned into a zombie and attacked half her cottage. “Get them off! Get them arrrrrrfff!

Her scream turned into a low, guttural howl and she lunged at Sister Ann. The nun stumbled back as Becca’s rope caught on the catch. The newly turned zombie was snarling and howling, tearing at her clothing and failing to get her shirt off. It was almost impossible with her hands tied. Sister Ann crossed herself and began to pray out loud as Becca continued howling and pulling the rope binding her wrists.

Fortunately, Sister Ann had tied a good knot. It held. Becca was going nowhere in a hurry.

All the younger girls were screaming, trying to get away. Their own knots held them in place. Becca couldn’t reach any of them, thankfully. I could faintly hear responding howls from the outside. The bunker was secure, but would Becca bring more of them? I didn’t know. We couldn’t afford this, not if we wanted to survive. Someone had to do something.

I had the field hockey stick. I’d already used it a few times to deal with a zombie.

What was one more?

I hefted the stick on my shoulder and shut my brain off. That dark part of my soul, the angry girl who had thrived before coming to St. Dominic’s, reared her ugly head. Zombie Becca snarled and lunged again, but made no headway. The knots held.

Taking careful aim, I lined my swing up. The gore-covered stick whistled through the air as I swung as hard as I could, making sure to try and keep her blood from splattering about. It took me four swings to her head and neck before she finally quit moving. I checked myself over, just to be sure. None of her blood had gotten on me, or anyone else for that matter. We’d have to carefully get rid of the body. There were some heavy-duty oversized trash bags in the bunker. They were supposed to be used for construction work, but they’d do for what we’d need later. Probably.

I looked around. None of the others would even look at me. The younger girls were still crying, dazed. One or two were staring off into the distance, not even aware of what was going on. A few of the juniors and seniors were trying to comfort the others, but failing. They couldn’t reach one another. Everyone was crying. Except for Sister Ann. Her face was twisted in grief, but there was a stoicism about her that gave me courage. Slowly, I walked toward Sister Ann as she finished tying up the last girl. I didn’t want her to think I’d turned by rushing. At the same time, I needed . . . something. What, though, I didn’t know.

“So, now what?” I asked, since nobody else seemed willing to speak coherently. Or maybe they were unable. Who knows? Sister Ann brushed a few stray strands of hair out of my face and tried to smile. I set the field hockey stick aside as she held up more rope. I felt the old familiar friend buried in my heart recede. That angry little girl was no longer the dominating part of who I was. St. Dominic’s had made certain of that.

“We survive,” she replied and knotted my hands. Once I was secured and in place, she passed around two bottles of water for all the girls. Then she tied herself up as well. “After that, we rebuild.”

I wasn’t sure we could. Rebuild, I mean. There were fewer than thirty of us left. The school had five hundred students and staff before this. There was no way we could do any type of rebuilding. How could we? We were just a bunch of preteen and teenage girls, all alone in the Blue Ridge Mountains with a single nun.

Sister Ann, however, was determined.

Fortunately, nobody else turned that day. Or the next.

Maybe we had a chance after all?


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Framed