Chris Grabenstein - The Smoky Corridor

“I am so sorry.” Eddie held out his hand and helped Madame Marie stand. “I felt certain I had made contact. I felt the tingling.…”

She glanced down at the sketch pad and saw the words she boldly scribbled.

“Gold?” she said. “Oh, my.”

Eddie didn’t need to call his boss.

He knew it was time for Madame Marie to have an accident.

38

The nextmorning, at school, when Zack opened his locker, Mr. Willoughby was already inside it waiting for him.

“Ah, good morning, Zachary. I trust you slept well last night?”

Not really .

Zack had fallen asleep worrying about how he was going to tell the gym teacher about Chuck Buckingham’s heart condition without sounding like a wacko.

“I heard a bit of troubling news this morning on the zombie front.”

Zack closed the locker door on himself as tight as he could without chopping off his own head. “Such as?”

“Apparently,” said Mr. Willoughby, “there’s a new one.”

“What?”

“A new zombie.”

“There’s two?”

“Precisely.”

“How?”

“We can’t say for certain. Suffice it to say, a young man wandered where he should not have …”

“And got bit by zombie number one.”

“Yes! How did you know that?”

“Davy told me: If you’re bitten by a zombie but somehow escape, you turn into a zombie, too. So what do we do?”

“No immediate action need be taken, but extra precautions will be put into place. You will undoubtedly notice increased guardianship activity.”

“More ghosts?”

Mr. Willoughby nodded grimly.

“Okay. I gotta head to homeroom. Thanks for watching out for me.”

Mr. Willoughby looked pleased when Zack said that. “Thank you , Zachary. Much to my surprise, doing good actually feels good!”

Zack grabbed his books.

Directly across the hall, a panicked fifth-grade girl was frantically opening and closing her locker.

“Where is it?” she muttered as she tore through her stuff. Out came books, a jacket, a bulky purple backpack. “I am so dead! If I don’t find it … I … am … dead!”

She was becoming hysterical—as in crazy, not funny.

“Poor girl,” sighed a soft voice beside Zack. “She can’t find her homework. Again.”

Zack turned. Another ghost. One he’d never met before. A sweet little lady with a hamburger bun of white hair on top of her head. She was wearing a Kiss the Cook apron.

“Alyssa is my granddaughter. I’m her guardian.”

Zack nodded. He was standing in the middle of a crowded corridor. If he started talking to the empty air, everybody in the place would think he either was mental or had a hands-free cell phone.

“Would you mind? The paper she’s looking for is in the side flap of her backpack. On the right, there.”

Zack walked across the hall and tapped the girl (who was now tugging at her hair with both hands and dangerously close to yanking it all out) on the shoulder.

“Hey, did you check the side flap of your backpack? The one on the right, there?”

First the girl stared at Zack like he was crazy.

Then she practically ripped the zipper out of its seams. She found a single sheet of paper and nearly burst into tears of joy.

“Yes! I am so not dead! Thank you!”

“No problem.”

Zack headed up the hall.

“How’d you know where to find it?” the girl called after him.

“Lucky guess,” Zack said with a shrug. He turned to give Alyssa’s grandmother a wink but the ghost was already gone.

39

On theway to homeroom, Zack saw Ms. DuBois and asked her what she’d do if she thought somebody might be too sick to take gym.

“Well, Zack, I believe I would air my suspicions to Ms. Rodgers, the school nurse.”

So between homeroom and math, Zack did.

“I think there might be something wrong with his heart.”

“And what makes you say that?” asked the nurse, who seemed genuinely concerned.

“I saw him running,” said Zack, spinning a quick fib. “He got winded really, really fast. Like in two seconds and he’s not overweight or anything, either.”

“I see,” said Ms. Rodgers, reaching for the stethoscope hanging on the coatrack. “Thank you, Mr. Jennings. I’ll look into it.”

“Maybe Chuck shouldn’t go to gym class today.…”

“I’ll look into it, Mr. Jennings.”

• • •

At lunchtime, Zack’s table in the cafeteria grew a little more crowded.

Ms. DuBois was there, eating carrots and hummus. So were Azalea, Malik, Benny, and Chuck. They were joined by newcomer Alyssa, who just had to eat lunch with Zack. “Because he so totally saved my life this morning!” she said.

“Wow, Zack,” said Malik, “perhaps we are becoming the cool kids!”

Azalea scoffed at that. “Dream on.”

“Have you met any new friends, Azalea?” asked Ms. DuBois.

“Why bother? My dad’s in the army. We’ll be moving at the end of the school year. Maybe sooner. We move all the time.”

“Uh-oh,” said Chuck, slumping down in his seat, apparently trying to disappear.

Two teachers approached the table. Zack recognized Ms. Rodgers, the nurse. She was walking with a guy wearing blue gym shorts and a gray Pettimore Yankees T-shirt. There was a whistle around his neck; Ms. Rodgers had the stethoscope around hers.

Gym Shorts stuck his hands on his hips. Melon-sized muscles bulged on his arms, his legs, even his neck.

“Which one is he?” he asked.

“That’s Charles Buckingham,” said the nurse. “Hello again, Chuck.”

“Uh, hi, Ms. Rodgers,” he said shyly.

“Your mother is calling your family physician,” Ms. Rodgers said in her most soothing nurse voice. “Everything’s going to be fine but we might want to send you home a little early today.”

“Okay.”

“And no gym class. Not for a while.”

Chuck smiled nervously. “Okay.”

“Where’s the other one?” barked the man in the gym shorts. His thighs were as wide as stuffed turkeys.

The nurse pointed at Zack.

“Zack Jennings?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m Coach Mike. Phys ed.” He checked his clipboard. “Looks like I’ve got you later this afternoon.”

Zack gulped. “Yes, sir. Seventh period.”

“Good. You need to put a little meat on those bones, son.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Is everything all right, Coach Mike?” asked Ms. DuBois.

“Everything’s fine now, thanks to young Mr. Jennings. The boy has a sixth sense like those dogs that can sniff out diseases. You catch that on the news last night?”

“Sorry, no,” said Ms. DuBois. “But whatever did Zack do?”

“I’ll tell you what he did.” Coach Mike hiked up his gym shorts for emphasis. “He alerted us to his buddy’s irregular heartbeat.”

“It may just be a murmur,” added the nurse. “But it might suggest something more serious. Either way, we should play it safe until we know for sure.”

“So you see, Zack?” said Coach Mike. “You might’ve saved your pal’s life today.”

“He saved mine, too!” said Alyssa. “First thing this morning!”

The gym teacher thrust out his hand. “I just wanted to say well done, Mr. Jennings. Keep up the good work. See you in seventh period. We’re gonna make you some muscles!”

“Thanks,” said Zack. Mr. Willoughby was definitely right: It felt good to do good.

And then, over the spiky top of the gym teacher’s buzz cut, Zack saw the ghost of Bartholomew Buckingham dip into a long, gracious bow.

He had dropped by to say thanks, too.

That made Zack feel even better.

40