In my defense, Ditzy started it. If I'm going crazy, at least she had a hand in the process.

We're all hanging out in the safe house at some hour of the evening when she gets that funny kind of look in her eye. You know the kind where someone's just gotten an idea and they're not sure yet if it's genius or lunacy? Yeah. That. It's the kind of look we all think we've gotten used to from Ditzy, until she gets it again.

Patrick sees it. He shoots her a wary look from across the room, where he's pillaging the fridge for some kind of milk product that hasn't gone sour. He found cereal in the cupboards when we moved into this place, and hell would probably freeze over before he let that pass without a shot at the real deal. Anyway. He spots Ditzy's look. And he gets this pained twist to his face, like I've won the bet I made when I told him whatever milk-like thing he found would have gone sour and he wouldn't know until he'd eaten it. We lost all electrical reliability five weeks ago.

"No cat litter this time," he says. "Please?"

Ditzy gives him an offended look, then prims up and tucks a strand of her long blonde hair behind her ear as she turns to me. She tilts her head just a little, and I swear she knows how well it works at disabling my arguments, because my brain turns to scrambled eggs when she looks at me like that. All doe-brown eyes and long lashes, and her perfect little mouth crimped up at the corners. She has her thinking look on.

"Meg," she says, "I just got an idea."

"You know saying it like that only makes it sound more dangerous," says Patrick.

"I'm not talking to you. Meg's in charge anyway."

That isn't true. I wish she would stop saying it, because everyone here knows she and Calico J are the real leaders of this group. I'm just good at identifying safe houses. And I'm only good at that because I grew up camping and therefore understand that human beings need water and a safe place to take a dump if they're staying anywhere for longer than half a day.

Even if I'm not our leader, though, I still feel a survival obligation to at least listen to whatever Ditzy has to say. Even if it turns out to be crazy. And even if I only do it because I want to see the little smile she only gets when the i-word strikes her.

Patrick's words, not mine.

"I'm listening," I say.

"Morse code."

Calico J takes that moment to give a long snore from the opposite couch, making us all jump. Patrick looks nervously out the window. It's dark outside. Even if the Redding is out there, he won't see it anyway.

"Explain?" I say, and my face goes hot the moment it leaves my mouth. I've never been the eloquent one here, but I still feel like a dunce any time I hit Ditzy with a one-word answer. Like I expect myself to spout poetry instead.

"We're not allowed to say our names, right?" says Ditzy. "But writing's safe, so what if it actually has to be spoken? If we all learned Morse code, we could talk to one another without worrying about saying a name by accident, and it'd work around the Sleepers, too. No more risk of waking one."

"None of us even know each other's real names," says Patrick. "So what good is it then?"

"That still leaves the Sleepers."

"Stop it, both of you," I say, as Patrick opens his mouth for another retort. "Let me hear myself think."

Ditzy talks fast, and my brain processes it with a lag time that only gets worse when there's ambient noise around me. Especially people talking. The room falls silent, and my thoughts miraculously reorganize themselves into something resembling coherence.

Ditzy has a point. Morse code won't stop one of us from blurting a Sleeper's name out loud if we're startled to find someone we recognize lying in a grocery aisle. But there are scenarios when it could be useful—I've been in some too recently to forget—and I don't see the harm in trying. At very least, it will give Ditzy something to keep her occupied.

I give the idea the green flag. Ditzy talks Patrick into it, and then we run it past Calico J when he wakes up. He just shrugs as he ties his locs back out of his face.

"We can learn enough to test it, at least," he says. "Find a Sleeper we know and try tapping their name. If it works, it could be a good backup communication option for us."

Ditzy bounces on the couch like an excited kid at a birthday party. She's always so happy about her little ideas. Even the slightly deranged ones. "There's a girl down the road from the school that I recognize," she says. "Out on her lawn, facedown. We'll have plenty of room to run if we wake her."

"Running's not the problem," Patrick begins to say, but Ditzy just talks over him.

"I can even be the test subject. I know her name, so I can learn those letters. Or maybe enough for a simple phrase. Then we could grab a tin can or something, from an old recycling bin, to make it louder? And walk right up, tap the name. You guys could even hide. I can take a Sleeper, and she was always the weak one on the baseball team."

Yeah. That's Ditzy for you.

"So long as you don't let her see us," says Patrick.

"That doesn't matter," says Calico J. "If she wakes it, it's only coming after her anyway. If you don't want to be there, you don't have to come."

Patrick grumbles, but I already know he'd rather eat baked rat than be left alone without the rest of us, even in a safe house. He'll complain, but if we try this, he'll come.

Ditzy's still bouncing. Her hands pop up and begin drumming on her knees instead, all delicate white fingers and painted nails. I've never understood why she still bothers to do her nails when we're in the middle of the apocalypse. "Standards are important, Meg," she scolded me last time I brought it up. "If we let that slide, soon we'll be no better than animals."

This coming from the girl I've seen bash a sleeper's head in with a baseball bat, but she even went so far as to clean the Redding off after. Redding, or blood. She didn't bat an eye either way. This is also the girl who's told me she was a straight-A student in senior year, a baseball star in her school league, and got named valedictorian before the Redding sent the whole world down the toilet. Ditzy is many things, and terrifying is one of them.

"Next question," says Calico J, probably the most on-track of all of us. Ironically. "Where are you actually going to learn Morse code? The internet's been down for five weeks, and something makes me doubt it's the kind of thing you find a booklet about just lying around."

"Oh, my brother was interested," says Ditzy breezily. In the kitchen, Patrick winces. "I can just make a run back to my house tomorrow and go through his room. He's Sleeping anyway."

"If you go, you're not going alone," says Calico J. "I'm coming with you."

I'm not about to argue with that. I'm a liability when it comes to Ditzy, and Patrick isn't a fighter. Besides, Calico J is the only person on the team that Ditzy can't manipulate. Even if she only does it subconsciously. Patrick tries to hide it, but he gets tongue-tied like a thirteen-year-old with a crush when she shoots him that little smile, and I'm no better.

That's a lie. I'm definitely worse.

"Meg should come, too," says Ditzy, and I'm pretty sure my brain tries to protect me from that statement, because I process it in retrospect five seconds later. Which is dumb, because I went into this assuming we'd all be going, and being offered an alternative isn't usually enough to sway me. Not when I'd be passing up a chance to watch Ditzy being awesome, and also Ditzy being gorgeous while being awesome, which tend to go together.

Speaking of tongue-tied, I don't answer for long enough that it's Patrick who seals my fate.

"Fine, then, I'm coming, too," he says, and looks just committed enough to cancel out any excuse I might have drawn from his reluctance. "But I'm not going anywhere near the Sleeper."

"I'm pretty sure Ditz has already claimed that job," says Calico J, side-eyeing her. Ditzy is staring into space now, her hands still drumming, wearing a too-sweet smile that's terrifying to anyone who knows her. She's probably fantasizing about opening another Sleeper's cranium.

Anyway, all that is how I find myself standing guard with Patrick outside the wall that rings Ditzy's family's house—the very next day, because that is how we roll when Ditzy and Calico J both have ADHD and therefore two time settings: right now or never. The wall is an honest-to-god eight-foot stone fortification, complete with barbed wire on top. If this were a zombie apocalypse of the normal kind, I'd have campaigned to camp out here. But this is not a normal zombie apocalypse. And I'm pretty sure that ranks among the top ten things I never thought I'd think to myself in any serious capacity, but hey, there's a first time for everything.

"They're taking a long time," says Patrick, with a glance over his shoulder. There's only wall behind him; we're at the side of the house, watching for threats from both the street out front and the woods behind. Ditzy and Calico J went in the front gate half an hour ago.

"They're probably looking for the book," I say. That's enough to get a nod from Patrick, though the worry lines on his copper-tan forehead indicate he can imagine as many alternatives as I can. To be honest, it's plausible—likely, even—that Ditzy is doing more than just looking for her brother's Morse code manual. She hates her family for many reasons, and they're all Sleeping. I live in hope that she'll stick to the job, and that dismantling her little brother's room will prove a vindictive enough satisfaction that she doesn't feel the need to inflict further damage on her family or their house.

It's another ten minutes before a shout snaps my attention to the road. Ditzy waves to us from the far end of the wall. She's got a tin can in one hand and her baseball bat plus a book in the other, all of which she pumps in the air in victory, shouting something about provoking Sleepers. Calico J behind her sighs visibly.

"Let's go," I say, and take the lead when Patrick proves disinclined to leave our watch post. "Let's get this over with."

We join the others and trek back through town together. All too soon, Ditzy hound-dog-points at a lawn up ahead. There's a young woman Sleeping on it, facedown. We just passed the school.

"Let's go!" says Ditzy, and braces to run.

"Wait," says Patrick in consternation. "Where will the rest of us hide?"

"Ditz, stop," says Calico J. "Two-minute countdown until you try it. Start your phone."

Ditzy pouts. "I want to try now."

"Phone."

She pulls out her phone with a long-suffering sigh and sets a timer. Calico J sets his for the same time, then says, "C'mon," to the rest of us. Patrick narrowly refrains from running as we make for a yard with a fence just past the Sleeper. The gaps between fence panels look wide enough to see through. This assessment proves correct when we reach it, so we shut the gate behind us and take our not-quite-front-row seats with a full minute to spare.

Ditzy stands over the Sleeper, bat in hand, vibrating in anticipation. She memorized the girl's name in Morse code on our way here, and drums on the can in her hand with a clear struggle not to break her silence early. At last, her phone timer rings. She grins.

"Moment of truth," says Calico J, as Ditzy taps the Sleeper's name.

Like this chapter if you think a live test was a bad idea!

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