Tonya came up behind a dark figure, leaning against the Ash, half hidden by the enormous trunk. Her flashlight revealed the arm and side of his rumpled suit. As she closed in, stench washed over her. Stepping around in front of him, Tonya noticed white roots trailing out of his eye sockets.

Tonya, don’t go. Stay with me.

Professor Rudolph used his calm, history lecture voice, which made everything worse. Tonya backpedaled until she was up against the fence. Outside, she could see happy students standing around the bonfire. She wanted to scream at them to evacuate the area, but it was hopeless with a malfunctioning loud hailer. She would be ignored or laughed at again.

Tonya knew she’d probably regret it but there was no choice. She pulled off her Hazmat hood in order to shout louder. As she did, a cluster of dark slashes in the fabric stood out in the moonlight. With her flashlight, she examined a series of razor cuts, deliberately punched into the back of the hood. So much for an infection barrier. She hadn’t noticed the sabotage when she got dressed, but it explained how she could smell Professor Rudolph’s corpse.

At the hospital, Tonya had told Donna her plan. She had needed help and didn’t know who to trust. It looked like she had made the wrong choice, but how was she to know? Marta’s mother had never treated her badly. In middle school, she reprimanded her daughter when Marta snubbed Tonya for being a Pure. Tonya shook her head. Donna’s treachery proved Donna knew there was something contagious in the cemetery, and she wanted Tonya to catch it.

Mom never would have suspected Donna’s politics. For hundreds of years, Trads and Mods had fought for control of Loon Lake, but Mom willfully ignored such struggles. Trads controlled City Council and they, like Mom, wanted to regulate magic use and hide it from the Mundanes.

As a child, Tonya thought Mom’s anti-magic stance unfair. Arguments usually ran like this:

“The other kids at school use magic, why can’t I?”

“Because you’re a Pure.”

“You’re a Pure. I can be whatever I like.”

“As long as you live under this roof, you won’t touch magic.”

Tonya obeyed until, as a teen, she learned by watching the other kids. They laughed at her but didn’t chase her away. Maybe they felt sorry for her. And why shouldn’t Tonya learn a little? It wasn’t illegal to use magic discreetly, among Trads.

One day, Mom caught Tonya with her hand on a tree, sensing life energy. She kept Tonya home from school and banished her to her room. At the end of the day, Mom brought dinner.

“Why can’t I use magic like Aunt Helen?” asked Tonya.

“It’s dangerous.”

“You want me to be just like you.”

“I want you to be happy.”

“So, let me learn magic.”

“Magic broke Helen’s heart.”

“That’s stupid.”

“It’s true.”

“Is that why she never married?”

“Ask her yourself.” Mom left abruptly, and refused to talk about it, ever.

#

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SIRENS WERE APPROACHING the cemetery. Time to get out of here.

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The police would probably enter through the eastern gate and drive through and out the Western Gate to reach the bonfire. To see the Ash Tree, they would have to walk along footpaths.

Tonya hurried west. She didn’t want to run into police. If she did, she’d be tempted to rush over and warn them of the epidemic. Drawing attention to herself would be a mistake. The cops would be looking for a perpetrator after she’d called in the anonymous bomb threat.

Tonya’s stomach growled. She wanted chocolate, and steak. Maybe together. Although she was prone to nibbling when anxious, Tonya wondered if her cravings proved she was infected.

A widespread shuffling blocked the road ahead of her. Out of the trees and descending the hill, frowning, foot-dragging beings shambled toward her en masse. Tonya paused, unsure whether it was safe to walk through this tide of . . . sleepwalkers? Zombies?

No. Judging by their swearing and muttering, and by a few wearing beer guzzler hats, these students were dragging their feet to delay leaving the woods, and to express their annoyance at the cops for breaking up the party. As the slow mob of pissed-off party-goers continued east toward campus, one pointed to Tonya.

“That’s her! The one in yellow. She wanted us out. She must have called the cops!”

“She was weird in high school,” said a girl.

“Get her!” called a guy wearing a funnel hat.

Tonya thought about standing her ground. She was acting to save them. She shouldn’t be afraid. This wasn’t high school anymore. She stepped forward to explain the danger . . .

A wave of shouting people charged.

Tonya ran off the path and up the hill. Branches caught at her Hazmat suit. She didn’t dare sneak a glance, but she could almost feel their beery breath on the back of her neck. Tonya tossed away her hood and raced up the hill, hoping they wouldn’t follow, but they did. Like a pack of wolves, the leader barked orders at them, describing how to outflank and capture Tonya.

Descending the other side, she continued north and ran through the bushes. The woods weren’t as thick here, but she tripped over headstones and roots in the dark. The sound of her pursuers was softer now, but she didn’t dare turn on her flashlight. She could hear them fanning out, looking to see where she went. As quietly as she could, Tonya slipped behind a large monument to think.

Tonya had to get to the chapel and find her bike.

Dashing from bush to tree to headstone for cover, she peered into the black. Was she still going the right way? She searched the sky ahead for the familiar chapel spire but couldn’t see it, like a black cat in a coal mine.

She angled her head this way and that, peering intently. Something glinted up ahead. Bingo! Moonlight on the chapel windows. She closed the distance quickly and groped the bushes until she found her bike. She swung a leg over and had just pushed off when the students swarmed her.

She rang the bell and ploughed into the crowd, which instinctively stepped back just long enough for her to get free. She circled around the chapel but there were teens clogging the main road between the Eastern and Western Gates. With no other choice, she headed north toward the big hill overlooking the lake.

The group stayed with her, no matter how hard she pedaled, so she cut sharply onto what looked like a deer path. It was a hard slog uphill, but she kept pumping her pedals. Thank goodness for all those summer workouts.

At the summit, she intended to hide out in the base of a hollow tree she remembered from childhood. Nobody would think to find her there. She smiled to herself despite the sweaty Hazmat suit. She had escaped the pack of beery nutcases, or at least she thought so, until she heard footfalls on the path behind her.

They had caught up and she couldn’t go any faster uphill. One guy was so close she heard his heavy breathing and thumping tread. He must be massive to make that much noise on soft ground, but Tonya didn’t risk turning her head to look. On a path this narrow, a moment of inattention could slam her into a tree. The only way was to outdistance him. Tonya pedaled until her thighs burned. She should be out of reach soon. The terrain leveled out and she was going faster.

What was with this guy? He didn’t seem to tire. He was gaining on her. There was a whoosh of air at her back, as if he had tried to grab her and missed. Pain forgotten, she pedaled faster than ever in her life.

“I got her!” he announced in a powerful bass voice.

Tonya snuck a glance back in time to see him lunge. She feinted to the left, but it would only be seconds before he caught up and pulled her off the bike.

With the puffy Hazmat suit encumbering her legs, she could feel herself losing speed when she needed it most. She would never get away without an incline. The only hope left was to somehow descend toward the water, but the top of the hill was studded with trees. She didn’t dare go off the path, so she circled around in a clearing, looking for a way down.

She spotted a faint track leading southwest. She could roll down it faster than anyone could run. She swerved and headed for the dip which twisted right, then left, before suddenly turning into a drop.

She hurtled down the hill on a tiny track, visible like a pencil line on charcoal. Keeping clear of the trees was hard as speed turned them to a midnight blur. The only sounds were the wind rushing past, riffling the plastic legs of her suit, and her gasping breaths. At this speed, it was hard to keep control. She could brake, a little, and steer even less, but she needed both hands on the handlebars. She would just have to—

Bang!