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latch, sprinting to the bathroom door, flinging it open, then slamming it behind me — maybe finding a way to jam it shut — and shouting for Smitty, who has hopefully found a way into the store by now.
    Probably, maybe, hopefully.
Not good words.
    Silence. I open my eyes and ready myself to move, glancing down at my feet bridging the toilet bowl. It’s a tad gross that I haven’t been able to flush, but if it’s yellow, let it mellow . . . and run like hell-o. I have to make a move for the door, and fast.
    As I prepare to leap, there is a new noise.
    A familiar, rasping noise.
    Last time I checked, the Undead have no use for an inhaler.
    Leaning against the wall, I straighten up until I can almost see into the next-door cubicle.
Think brave.
S
tanding on my tiptoes, I force myself to peek.
    A boy, crouching on the toilet, his hands covering his face. The white wispy hair is unmistakable. It’s Pete Moore. He of the see-through skin and bus trip stink bomb. Seems he likes to check out the bathrooms anywhere he can. My heart beats a little slower.
    I whisper, “Hey!”
    â€œWhaa — !” Pete unfurls like a falling kitten, legs and arms spread, butt sinking into the toilet bowl.
    â€œIt’s OK, it’s just me!” I hiss.
    Pete looks up at me with wild eyes.
    â€œI’m in your class, remember?” I try to sound reassuring. “Are we alone in here?”
    â€œPah!” Pete scuttles into the corner of his stall. “I don’t know . . . Why are you asking me? Where did you come from anyway?” He’s babbling. “Were you in the café? Because if you were, then you should stay away from me. Go back there and don’t come anywhere near me . . .”
    â€œYou were there? Did you see what happened?”
    â€œOf course I saw it!” he snarls. “I saw the death come!” Then he starts to wail.
    â€œShh!” I urge him desperately. “Unlock the door and let me in, OK?”
    â€œLet me in, she says!” Pete laughs hysterically. “Let me in so I can
chew on your arm
! Would you like fries with that?” He cackles to himself, wicked crazy. “I don’t think so.”
    Trying not to examine the grimy floor, I jump down, drop to all fours, and shimmy under the partition. As I arrive on Pete’s side of the wall, his manic laughter turns to shrieking, and he kicks out at me. He’s slow and I dodge the first strike, but the second lands on the top of my arm, deadening it.
    â€œI’m trying to help you, you nut job!”
    No choice but to crawl on top of his legs to try and subdue him, but he’s still screeching, and wriggling like a worm in a puddle.
    â€œBe quiet already! If there are any more of those things around, you’ll bring them right to us!”
    By some miracle, Pete falls quiet, his arms across his face. He stares at me, head twisted, one pale green eye unblinking and bloodshot. He nods.
    â€œGood.” I allow myself a tiny dot of relief. “That’s good. Just stay calm. It’s all gonna be OK.”
    There’s a bang and the door flies open. Pete and I nearly shed our skins.
    â€œFound a boyfriend?”
    Smitty is standing in the doorway, a screwdriver in one hand. “Got the shop door open, if you’re interested. Or you can stay here on the floor with Albino Boy.”
    I pick myself up, and Pete instantly retracts his legs into himself like a hermit crab.
    â€œHe was hiding in here,” I say. “He was in the café and knows something, but he’s not making any sense.”
    â€œHa!” Smitty laughs. “No change there.” He leans down to grab Pete’s arm and hoists him up in a single movement. Pete springs back against the wall of the bathroom stall, trembling violently. “I’m not the enemy, numbnuts,” Smitty sighs. “Let’s motor.”
    We head out of the bathroom and through the janitor’s closet