At sixteen, Butterfly Adams knew she was the girl that everyone wanted to be, or date. Pretty, blonde, rich, smart, she was totally unprepared for survival. She was in P.E. when the first kid started spewing blood from his nose. Gross, but not the end of the world – she thought. By lunch, her friend Keisha skipped her salad, and tried to take a bite of Butterfly’s face instead. If it weren’t for super bad boy, Spike Hobbs, Butterfly knew she’d be just like the other nasties wandering around, oozing stuff.
“Thanks,” Butterfly said as Spike hauled her by the arm from the lunchroom, down the hall and through the front doors to the bright spring day outside. “This is so weird. What’s going on?” She tried to shake loose, but his grip tightened. “Uh, you can let go now. You’re hurting me.”
He lifted a dark, pierced brow. “You were about to get eaten.” Spike let go, and Butterfly stumbled back, clutching her Coach backpack to her chest. “You’ve seen too many zombie movies.”
“Yeah? How else do you explain that?” Spike pulled sunglasses from his back pocket and put them on, shielding his expressive deep blue eyes. Butterfly wished he’d kept them off, but since he was wearing his, she’d wear her Dolces. By the time she’d found them in her bag and perched them on the bridge of her nose, he was half way down the steps.
“Hey,” she called after him. Fear niggled at her temple. Zombie attacks only happened in Quentin Tarantino movies. But how else to explain the speedy degeneration of San Lucas High?