Undead (9780545473460) Read Online Free PDF Page B

“Go away!”
    â€œSir, we’re just kids!” I shout back. “And our bus driver needs a doctor. You’ve got to help us!”
    â€œIf you know what’s good for you, you’ll sod off now!” the man yells, and disappears behind the counter.
    â€œWe need a phone, you tosser!” Smitty kicks the door.
    I spot a sign, CUSTOMER TOILETS , with an arrow pointing around the corner. “Come on,” I call to Smitty. “Maybe there’s a way in at the back.”
    Sure enough, there is.
    â€œIn here.” Smitty runs ahead and pulls me through a door, like it was his idea. It’s dark inside. There’s a short corridor with two doors on either side. One is marked TOILET , the other PRIVATE . We try that one.
    It’s darker still inside. I reach for the switch. Yellow light blinks on. Thankfully, nobody’s home. It’s a janitor’s closet, with a second door at the other end.
    â€œThere’s our way in.” Smitty tries the handle. “Locked. Bet we can force it open with something in here.” He starts to search the shelves.
    I know the time has come. I’ve been putting this off for way too long.
    â€œI’ll check out the bathroom,” I tell Smitty. “I’ll be right back.” I leave the room and quietly open the door marked TOILET . Three stalls and a single basin. I duck into the first cubicle, silently lock the door, unzip my jeans, and sit down with a shudder. Life-endangering situations or not, when you gotta go, you gotta go.
    Afterward, everything seems better. I sit for a moment, take a deep breath. It will all be OK. We’ll get into the store, we’ll call the cops, and get out of this hellhole. I’ll be back home in a few hours, eating my mother’s microwaved food and dodging her annoying questions with a comforting and familiar irritability. I rub my face, shake my shoulders, and allow myself to let out a deep, heartfelt sigh.
    Something in the next stall answers me with a terrible, death-rattling moan.

For a second, I wonder if I imagined the moan. I only do this because I
want
to have imagined it. I want it so badly.
    I saw a bear once. I was peeing then, too. We were hiking in the mountains back home in the USA — one of the last trips Dad took me on before he got sick. Anyway, I snuck off to take a pee, because I was freaked beyond all perspective that my dad might see me squatting. Like he’d look. Like he’d care. So anyway, there I was, and as I was pulling up my pants, there was the bear, too. Perhaps ten feet away. Beautiful, glossy, and fat, looking at me with molasses eyes. I crouched low, back down into the grass that was wet with my pee, and looked around for a rock or a stick. Any kind of weapon, but there was nothing. When I glanced up again, the bear was gone. Later I convinced myself it had never been there. I hadn’t seen it. Who sees a bear?
    Likewise, just now, I imagined the moan. Clearly. Or it was a gurgling pipe, or Smitty. Yeah, that’s it — the toad has followed me in here and is trying to freak me out.
    The moan comes again.
    It’s not a pipe, it’s not Smitty, and it’s not a damn bear.
    I brace myself against the cubicle walls and slowly climb up onto the toilet bowl, ever-so-quietly pulling up my jeans and the zipper.
    Whatever is next door cries out again, the noise wobbling and building to a wail.
    Panic squeezes my throat. I glance at the door.
Locked.
Phew. Still, there’s a gap below big enough to crawl under. Not to mention that whatever is next door might simply vault the wall or bash the door down.
    Definitely not safe here. Definitely have to move. Before terror freezes me to the spot.
    It’s panting now: panting, wheezing, and moaning.
    How quick can it run? If it’s a thing like Mr. Taylor was a thing, then probably not very quickly. But there I go, gambling again. I shut my eyes tight and visualize unlocking the