Zombie High (5 page)

Pushing the dangerous end of the shotgun into
your cheek, the old man asks, “Are you sassing me? I
won’t take no lip from a snot nose kid. When I was your
age, I was already serving this country in the Army, and
little know-it-alls like you were the first to get shot.”

“No, Sir. I’m sorry,” you begin, “I just wanted to
use the phone, please.”
Squinting his eyes at you suspiciously, the old man
tilts his head a bit and says, “I don’t think I trust you. Why
don’t you go to the Andersons next door and use their
phone?”
“Please, Sir. It will only take a minute. I hurt my
ankle coming over here, and I’m afraid one of the zombies
will get me.”
“Well, I guess you shouldn’t have climbed my fence
then. Now go!”

The worst part about hiding was the screaming, the
screaming and dying of everyone around you mixed with
the desperate moans of the zombie and all those who
quickly reanimated. One by one, the students in the back
of the room with you have been plucked from the group
like fruit picked from a tree, and with each victim, you feel
a range of emotions from gratefulness that it wasn’t you
to crippling guilt that someone else just died while you sit
here cowering.

Zombie outbreaks in the movies always move
quickly through a population, and now you realize why.
With each new victim the zombie takes, its desperate
hunger seems to grow rather than be abated. Its swollen
abdomen, filled with the pieces of flesh it ripped off your
friends and teacher, continues to expand as it greedily
consumes yet another person. This latest person was
Debbie, a new transfer student from somewhere in Texas
or someplace south like that. The girl had always been
one of those attention seeking girls who presented their
assets to everyone in hopes it would get them further in
life, but like in all horror movies, she was almost
guaranteed to die as soon as the zombie stepped in the
room.

Shutting your eyes, you pray for salvation and for
those already taken, but you also can’t stand to watch any
more as the zombie digs its hands into Debbie’s abdomen
and pulls out long ropy looking organs. Her screams echo
through your brain, and you know somewhere inside you
that they will stay with you for the rest of your life, no
matter how short it may turn out to be.

With your prayers over, you hardly have the
courage to peek out and see if the zombie has finished
with Debbie. All you want to do is make it through the
day in one piece, preferably without soiling yourself.
From somewhere outside the room, you hear even more
unpleasant sounds, but your biggest concern is that the
sick, wet slurping sound the zombie was making has just
stopped. Before you can find the mental and moral
strength to open your eyes you hear the shuffling sound
of the zombie and its unmistakable groan of
unquenchable hunger.

You curl yourself up in the fetal position in the
corner of the room, hoping for a rescue that will never
come, and waiting for the inevitable.
Your wait,
however, doesn’t last long as you suddenly feel the thick
fat fingers of Miss Millstone wrap around your exposed
arm and her teeth sinking into your flesh.

Your stomach turns as you look to the front of the
room where Miss Millstone is currently providing an allyou-can-eat buffet to the disgusting zombie who attacked
her after she opened the door, and you figure now might
be your only chance. Sure, you feel bad for Miss
Millstone, but honestly she’s a goner by now, and you
might as well use these precious moments while the
zombie is busy to escape before it turns its nasty yellow
teeth on you. This means abandoning the rest of the kids
who are huddled up in the back corner of the classroom,
but with zombies on the loose, it’s all about survival.

Averting your eyes from the growing puddle of
blood which is spreading out from your teacher’s body
across the tile floor, you begin to inch your way forward
while keeping your back pressed firmly to the wall, as you
proceed with both eyes fixed on the zombie, just in case it
decides she isn’t enough to satisfy his hunger. It takes
what seems like an hour to make it to the door, but
eventually your foot crosses the threshold out into the
corridor. Looking left and right, it appears the hallway is
clear so you decide to close the classroom door behind
you to put at least something between you and the
zombie.

At first, the zombie is far too busy eating to take
note of you, but when you close the door and the latch
clicks into place, you see the zombie’s head snap up and
look for the source of the sound. Transfixed with horror,
you get your first really good look at the zombie’s face,
and as its mouth opens to emit the moan of never-ending
hunger pains, you spot the pieces of gristle and sinew
hanging from its teeth, the sight of which makes you want
to purge your hastily eaten breakfast from earlier that
morning.

As the zombie gets up and makes its way to the
door, you realize that you have no proof that it can’t
somehow open the door for itself and come after you
despite what all of the comic books and movies say.
Quickly, you decide you have to do something.

If you want to fight the zombie, turn to page ………..
55
If you stay & taunt the zombie, turn to page ..………
57
If you run and look for help, turn to page ……….……..
59

Deciding that the two years your parents had you
take karate back in elementary school along with the
multitude of fight scenes you’ve watched on TV shows like
Walker, Texas Ranger
somehow make you the next Chuck
Norris, you decide to fight the zombie mano-a-mano, or
man-to-undead walking corpse, whatever.

Watching the zombie advance, you time your move
precisely and open the door just in time to deliver a
devastating punch directly to the zombie’s nose. As your
fist makes contact, you register that your knuckles are
sinking into the zombie’s greying flesh, and the cartilage
beneath your fist is more pliable than it should be. Even
so, the zombie’s head rocks back on its neck, and you are
filled with a righteous feeling of victory. That’s when
everything goes wrong.

With what seems like lightning quick speed, the
zombie rights itself as if your punch was no more effective
than a fly farting in its face, and it counterattacks, sinking
its teeth into your still outreaching fist. The pain is worse
than it should be and is accompanied by a fiery sensation
which feels like it’s crawling up your arm, and you scream
as you pull free, leaving pieces of your own flesh in the
zombie’s mouth.

Behind you, another door bursts open and three
more zombies come rushing out, all drawn to the sound of
your scream and stumbling over one another to be the
first to reach you.

Hugging your bitten hand to your chest, you
attempt to flee but the pain and fear are clouding your
thoughts, and you have no idea where to go. By the time
you turn around, they are already too close, and you only
make it a few steps before they’re on you, dragging you to
the ground like a pack of lions bringing down a wild
antelope, each one clawing and biting at whatever part of
you they can reach.

It only takes a few moments before you are
consumed by their frenzied hungry mouths, and the last
thoughts you have are, ‘
Never fight a zombie without a
weapon.
’

With the door closed, you watch through the small
wire mesh lined glass window of the door as the zombie
slams its body against it repeatedly trying to get to you.
After the third time, you see that the zombie has no idea
how to use the handle, and are emboldened by the idea
that it can’t reach you. Tentatively at first, you stretch
your hand out towards the glass and watch as the zombie
scrabbles its hands across the glass pane trying to grab
you, too stupid to just turn the handle.

Knowing now that the zombies must be the dumb
variety as described in Mark Tufo’s first book, Zombie
Fallout, you decide to use this moment to tease the
undead monster, something you wish you saw more of in
movies, books, and TV shows. Cockily, you step right up
to the door and press the flat of your palm against the
glass, and watch as the zombie insanely attempts to bite
you by thrusting its face into the door. Black blood oozes
out of several open breaks in its skin from this, and two of
its front teeth break against the metal frame around the
window.

Confident beyond reason, you decide to go further
with your taunting and do something no one has ever
done before in any zombie situation. Turning around, you
unhook your belt buckle, drop your pants, and bend over
to moon the zombie. Whether he understands what
you’re doing and is offended by it or if it is simply the sight
of more of your flesh exposed, it drives him over the edge
and his previous attempts to get at you become pale in
comparison with his current exertions which have grown
to a new frantic desperation.

As you look back over your shoulder laughing at the
zombie, you fail to notice the door across the hall slowly
creak open. The zombie stuck in the classroom continues
to make more noise as he watches his meal, you, being
closed in upon by a pack of three other zombies who have
literally caught you with your pants down. By the time
you look forward and notice that you’re being
surrounded, it’s too late and as you scramble to get away,
you trip over your own clothes landing face first into the
floor allowing the closest zombie to sink its teeth into your
exposed behind while your last thoughts are, ‘Never take
time out to moon a zombie.’

Leaving the zombie safely behind the closed door,
you turn left and begin heading up the hall quickly and
quietly, searching for signs of life from someone who
might be able to help. Along the way, you pass by student
murals and display cases with student projects from
earlier in the year, but nothing notable catches your eye
as useful. Looking into several classrooms though the
window in their doors, you find that the carnage you just
witnessed is everywhere. Thinking for a moment you
might be able to call someone for help, you pass by the
school library only to find that most of the books lay
scattered on the floor and the computers look like they
were thrown at zombies. There are several bodies on the
ground, but since you can’t tell if they are alive, dead, or
something in between, you decide to leave the library
doors closed and continue on.

Further up the hall, as you pass a door, you notice a
slight flutter in the curtain covering the small door
window. Stopping, you realize that this is the teachers’
lounge. The curtain, obviously meant to give teachers a
place of privacy away from students during their lunches
and planning periods, now seems like it might hold a place
of refuge for you, too. The curtain definitely won’t hold
back a zombie, but somewhere in your memory you think
you remember hearing from another student that there
was a phone in the room, and you figure if it’s working
you might be able to call for help. After a quick look left
and right to make sure no zombies are nearby, you
approach the door cautiously and try to look inside along
the edges of the window in hopes of being able to see if
the coast is clear or not. It’s at this point that you hear a
whispered voice from inside.

Figuring that where there are voices there must be
living people, you reach out and try to turn the doorknob
to enter, but find that it’s locked. In a whispered voice
you speak into the frame of the door, “Hey, let me in.”

From within the room, two voices softly murmur to
each other and while one seems sympathetic in its tone,
the other, a male voice, sounds harsh and threatening.
Trying again, you turn the doorknob back and forth a few
times and say, “Come on, let me in. Clearly I’m not a
zombie. I’m talking to you and working the doorknob.”

After a moment, the door opens a crack, and you
find yourself looking down into eyes of a freshman girl.
You’ve seen her around but can’t remember her name off
the top of your head. The bigger concern to you,
however, is that the door is only open about an inch,
leaving no way for you to get inside. In a whispered voice,
the girl asks, “You get bit?”

“No, I’m clean,” you say as you gesture down at
yourself for her to look. “Now let me in.”
“What do you got?” asks the girl.
“What do you mean, what do I got?” you ask. “I
just escaped from Miss Millstone’s class as a zombie
attacked her.”
“Sorry, I can’t let you in if you ain’t got anything
useful. We only have enough supplies for ourselves,” says
the girl.

Pissed off that safety and a phone call are so close
and yet this little girl won’t let you in, you say, “Screw
this,” and step forward, putting your body weight into the
door to force your way in. As you move, however, the girl
seems to realize what you’re doing and what your intent
is and steps back just before your shoulder makes contact
with the wood.

You barely register her scream before your eyes
lock onto the gleaming metal surface of a softball bat
being swung at your head from the left. You feebly
attempt to raise your hands out of an instinctual need to
protect yourself, but it’s too late and the bat smashes into
your cheek, shattering the bone beneath and dislodging
more than one tooth. Lucky for you, you are unconscious
before the real pain sets in, and you drop backwards into
the hall.