211

You search your desk for the number to the Milford's. One summer before you started high school, you made fifty bucks by helping to clean up the grounds after a huge storm. Mr. Milford gave you the house number, and you kept it in the desk. Sure enough, under a pile of old receipts and a paper you wrote on Thomas Jefferson's presidency lies the number.

The phone rings fifteen times before someone answers.

"Hello. HELLO!" Brody says in a fast, out-of-breath voice. You hear another voice in the background, but can't make out who's speaking.

"Hey, it's Victor Zombie .. I just saw you earlier at your pool party. Are you okay?"

"Victor Zombie, I know who you are. Glad to hear you're alive. Kids are dying. This is nuts."

"Is Madison safe?"

"I boarded me and Maddy up in our attic. There are those zombie things everywhere. They can't get us, but I don't know how long we can last. I grabbed some food and sodas as we ran up here, but that'll only last a day." He covers the phone, but you hear the muffled conversation.

"Who is it?" the other voice says. It sounds like Madison.

"It's Victor Zombie from school. He was in my—"

"I know who he is, moron. Can he get us out of here?"

"There's no way—"

"Just ask."

Brody uncovers the phone. "Is there any way you can help us…"

The line goes dead. You hang up and redial, but all you hear is a busy signal. You keep trying, but the call never connects. At least Madison is safe.

You consider your next option.