The Monster Apocalypse

by Brian Rowe

  “Oh no,” he said. “That’s right. We killed him before he could commit any more murders. So to you… and to everyone else… the man never existed!”

  “Ash, come on!” Brin shouted. “What are you waiting for?”

  Mr. Barker climbed the steps toward the basement exit, and Dylan and Anaya followed. Anaya looked back at Brin, with a knowing, dour expression on her face. Brin just nodded.

  Anaya put her hand out. “Take my hand, Brin. I’ll help you to the top.”

  Brin batted her hand away. “I’m fine. I really am. It’s not as bad as it looks.”

  “You were bitten by a zombie, goddammit! Grab my hand!”

  Brin did as Anaya said, and they all charged up to one of the many Grisly High hallways. Mr. Barker opened the door, gripped his gun tight, and re-entered the main floor of the school. Dylan followed behind him, so close it looked like he was checking out the teacher’s butt. Anaya pulled Brin into the hall, and both girls looked to their left to see Mr. Barker headed toward the middle of the school, instead of the exit door behind them.

  “Mr. Barker!” Brin shouted. “Where are you going? Shouldn’t we leave through the back?”

  She turned around and nearly knocked her bleeding elbow right against Crispin’s face. Ash followed behind the boy, but she stepped past both of them, to look outside the door. There weren’t any more zombies in the hall, but there were certainly tons outside.

  Brin saw at least two dozen zombies, not walking toward them and the door, but toward the cavalry of policemen in the parking lot; the authority figures were whipping out their guns and firing uncontrollably at the flesh-hungry creatures. Brin watched a young male zombie fall to the ground, a woman zombie’s head explode, a child zombie’s rotting body get split in two.

  She brought her hands to her mouth, disgusted and devastated. “The zombies are here to stay. Oh God, it’s the end of the world!”

  Mr. Barker grabbed her by her good arm and started running, making sure she followed close behind, as they ran past the science classrooms and made a left at the center of the school. “Brin, you’re going to be a zombie any minute now if I don’t get you some help!”

  “Shouldn’t you be taking me to an emergency room?” she asked.

  “There’s nothing a doctor will be able to do for you now. I’m the only one who can help you.”

  “What the hell will you be able to do about it—”

  A zombie jumped out of the administration’s office and lunged for Brin’s feet, but Mr. Barker was ready. He turned and fired his weapon, the gauntly zombie’s head exploding like a watermelon.

  “Holy shit,” Dylan said. “Mr. Barker, what kind of a gun is that?”

  “The kind that kills these things,” he said. “You can never be too prepared.”

  “You just keep that in your classroom? Around other students? Are you nuts?” Anaya added.

  Mr. Barker shook his head and continued pushing Brin toward the Film classroom at the end of the hallway. “I’ll explain it you all in a bit,” he said. “Right now? We need to save Brin’s life.”

  Chapter Six

  The Film teacher, now certified action hero, kicked open the door to classroom 220, at the end of the English wing of Grisly High, and dragged Brin inside. The room was pretty bare, void of Mr. Barker’s books on films and endless supply of DVDs—he had been fired from his job a few days ago, after all—but at least the framed film posters were still all up around the room. The first one Brin saw was the one in the back, the Psycho poster. She immediately thought of Ash, and she turned to him, as both he and Mr. Barker helped Brin up onto the long wooden desk at the front of the classroom.

  But as Brin slammed her back against it, her thoughts wandered back to her fired teacher.

  “Wait a second,” she said. “Mr. Barker, if you were let go, what are you doing back at Grisly High?”

  He opened the office door, to reveal a room cluttered with papers and boxes, as well as a strange and soft green glow.

  “The truth is,” he said, rummaging through a drawer to his right, “I never really left.”

  “Never really left?” Ash asked, with a chuckle. “You went back 130 years! You went from the beginning of Back to the Future 2 and ended up in Back to the Future 3! How can you say that?”

  “Ash, help me,” he said. “I need you to hold this.”

  Brin tried to see what the two men were doing in the adjacent office, but she couldn’t crane her head far enough to the left. Dylan held down her left arm and Anaya held down her right.

  “I feel like you guys are trying to force a demon out of me,” Brin said.

  “Well, in all honesty, Brin,” Anaya said, “we kind of are.”

  “This isn’t The Exorcist. I’m not Linda Blair. I’ll be fine—”

  “A zombie bit you. There’s not a moment to lose.”

  “But it was my dad. Doesn’t that account for anything? Maybe I won’t change at all—”

  “That was your dad down there?” Dylan asked, making a face that suggested he wanted to wretch all over the floor. “That’s disgusting.”

  “Disgusting? Try downright wrong,” Anaya said. “For all the zombies to corner you in a dark hallway. My God, Brin—”

  “What happened to you guys?” Brin asked, wanting to change the subject. “When we split up, I mean. Did you find shelter? Did Mr. Barker save you?”

  “Kind of, yeah,” Anaya said. “Actually it was really weird. I hid in one of the science classrooms, and I tried to hide under a bed on the second story. A zombie found me and tried to attack me, but as soon as I thought it was over, Ash and Mr. Barker broke into the classroom and shot the zombie dead. It fell back and knocked this skeleton down against a bunch of desks. They saved me. In the nick of time.”

  “Same thing happened to me,” Dylan said. “I went down to the journalism room, but it didn’t do much good. I watched Britney and Danielle get torn to shreds, but Mr. Barker and Ash shot the three zombies at the door, just in time, to save me, and the sports editor Brent, the dreamy sports editor Brent.” Ash stopped his rambling, and sighed, happily.

  “Really?” Brin asked.

  Dylan shrugged. “What?”

  She looked past Dylan and finally caught a glimpse of Ash and Mr. Barker. They stood on the opposite side of the office, Ash holding a tall cabinet still as Mr. Barker stirred a spoon around some kind of white liquid.

  “I’m sorry, Brin,” Dylan said, “but I won’t let the zombie apocalypse keep me from day-dreaming about hot guys!”

  “Dylan, shut up,” Anaya said, stepping a foot closer to Brin’s side. She clamped her hands against Brin’s and leaned down toward her. “But the weird thing is, Mr. Barker and Ash saved me, saved Dylan, saved you, and that boy you were with. It’s like they knew where we all were, like they had psychic powers, or had gone back in time a few minutes, enough time to figure out where we all were and save our lives.”

  “Back in time?” Brin asked. “That’s exactly what Ash said—” She stopped. One second her mind was on Ash time traveling Marty McFly style, and the next, a portrait of a young, pale fellow entered her mind.

  “What is it?” Anaya asked. “You don’t actually believe Ash time traveled, do you?”

  “Wait a second,” Brin said.

  She looked at Dylan, then at Anaya, then at Crispin, who stood scared and wide-eyed at the side of the room. Then she looked again, at the backs of Mr. Barker and Ash, who looked to be almost done with their mysterious concoction. Everyone was accounted for. Everyone except—

  “Where’s Paul?” Brin asked.

  “What?” Anaya looked at Dylan, then back at Brin.

  “You all are safe. Where’s Paul? Was he with you guys?”

  Dylan and Anaya just looked at each other, bewildered. “I don’t know,” Anaya said. “Last time I saw him was when we split up.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Dylan turned away, while Anaya sat up against the desk and held Brin’s ha
nd in a tighter grip. “I don’t know, Brin,” she said. “He might still be around here somewhere. He’s probably fine.”

  “Well, where is he? If he got separated from the rest of you, maybe he—”

  “Dylan, grab her hand, hold her down,” Ash said, as he re-entered the classroom. Mr. Barker followed close behind, with a big white syringe that looked the size of a bong.

  “Oh crap,” Anaya said, stepping away from Brin. “What is that thing?”

  “You’re not going to stick me with that, are you?” Brin asked, immediately sitting up and trying to escape. But Anaya grabbed her hand, pushed against her chest, and slammed her back down against the desk. Dylan had one hand, and Anaya had the other, and Ash slowly, reluctantly, grabbed hold of her feet.

  “Calm down,” Mr. Barker said, stopping at the left of the desk, tapping his index finger twice against the syringe. “This will all be over in a second.”

  “What’s going on?” Brin asked. She started tearing up; her whole face turned white. She looked past Mr. Barker, toward Ash. “Ash, you’re not going to let him stick me with that—”

  “Brin, it’s the only way.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I trust him.”

  “We’ve only known him for two weeks…”

  “Brin.” He gripped her feet hard and pulled her an inch toward him. “Do you want to turn into a zombie?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then sit back and relax. Let’s get this over with.”

  “It should only take a second,” Mr. Barker added, bringing the giant syringe to his side and pressing his fingers down on Brin’s chest, trying to find the right spot.

  “Have you done this before?” Brin asked.

  “Yes,” her teacher said.

  “No you haven’t.”

  “Brin. Trust me.”

  Brin tried to control her breathing; she tried to keep her tears from falling. She looked up at all of her friends. She knew they wouldn’t let anything happen to her. She calmed down, closed her eyes, and waited.

  “OK,” she said. “Do it.”

  “You’re going to feel a little pain,” Mr. Barker said.

  Brin opened one eye.

  He stopped his fingers at the top of her chest. He had found the spot.

  Brin opened both of her eyes. “You’re not serious,” she said.

  “Ready?” her teacher asked. “I’m going to count to three.”

  “Oh my God,” Brin said, her breathing intensifying again, and her heart beating so fast she thought it had a mind of its own. She looked at Ash. “What is this, Ash? Pulp Fiction?”

  “Pretty much,” he said.

  “OK, one,” Mr. Barker said.

  “I’m not a cocaine addict!” Brin shouted.

  “Two,” the teacher said.

  “Ash, please,” she said.

  He nodded at her with a forced smile, then closed his eyes. “It’s going to be OK,” he whispered.

  “No it’s not—”

  “THREE!”

  Mr. Barker slammed the syringe into Brin’s heart.

  Chapter Seven

  Every molecule of oxygen escaped through Brin’s mouth as her eyes bulged out of their sockets and two tears shot up toward the ceiling. Her shoulders clenched; both her feet shot up against Ash’s hands. The pain was severe. She saw her life pass before her eyes in less than a second.

  Then all went black.

  “Brin? Brin? Are you all right?” Ash’s voice sounded far away, like he was talking to her from behind a closed door across a mile-long hallway. “Brin, answer me.”

  The light returned, and the image of Ash’s face came into focus. His hands were pressed against her cheeks, and his legs were shoved up against her hips. When he slapped her lightly, only once, she immediately sat up and started to cough. She was shaking, sweating. She looked ill, like a bad flu bug had ravaged her body.

  “She’s OK,” Mr. Barker whispered, tapping on her chest a few times, then exiting the room to dispose of the syringe.

  “Is she hurt?” Anaya asked, now from the other side of the room. She stood with Dylan and Crispin, looking on in morbid fascination. “That took a whole lot longer than one second, Mr. Barker!”

  Their teacher returned to the room, and to Brin’s side. He wiped some sweat from his face—he was perspiring even more than she—then leaned over to look into her eyes. “She was out longer than I expected,” he said. “The wound had caused too much damage. She was so close to turning, I don’t even want to think about it. There wasn’t anything we would have been able to do.”

  Brin was still coughing. She couldn’t stop. “Am I…” she tried to get out. “Am I… still… alive…”

  “Brin, look at me,” Mr. Barker said.

  “I can’t…”

  “Look at me!” He turned her toward him. She stopped shaking, and the coughing finally ceased. Now all she started to do was breathe.

  “Mr. Barker?”

  “It’s me. How do you feel?”

  She gripped her chest, then pushed her hand against her arm, against the wound. It had been bandaged up, with no more sign of blood or distress.

  “My head hurts. My stomach’s killing me.”

  “Yes. Anything else?”

  “And… uhh… I’m feeling… a little sleepy…”

  Mr. Barker smiled. He waved the others over, and he helped Brin off the desk. She was weak and had trouble standing up. But as ten seconds became thirty, and as the others assisted her toward the main door, Brin started to become her normal self again.

  “You’re all right,” Ash said. “Thank God. That was so close. So very close.”

  Brin turned to Ash, a warm grin on her face. “I don’t know how I can ever thank you.”

  He smiled. “It was nothing.”

  She hugged her friend tight. Then she kissed him on the cheek. “I love you, Ash. You know that, right?”

  He didn’t say anything. He stood in shock for a moment. “You love… umm… I mean…” He brought his hand up to his cheek and smiled. “I love you, too, Brin.”

  She smiled back and turned around. “And thank you, Mr. Barker,” she said, giving him more of a half hug. “You’ve officially become my favorite teacher.”

  He chuckled and patted her on the back. “I’m glad.”

  “Even if you do like horror movies way too much.”

  “Who needs horror movies anymore?” Mr. Barker said. “We’re practically living in one.”

  “You’ve got that right,” Brin said. “What do we do now?”

  “It’s a good question,” Mr. Barker said, taking a quick look at all the scared students in front of him—Brin, Ash, Dylan, Anaya, plus that middle school kid he didn’t really know. “But here’s your answer.”

  He stepped past them all and pushed the Film classroom door open. The students all remained standing, waiting to hear what the only adult in the room had to say.

  “Next up?” Mr. Barker waved the group on. “We get the hell out of Grisly High.”

  The teacher pulled the gun out of his pocket and waved it in front of him, on the look-out for more potential zombies hiding in classrooms or air vents or tight, unsuspecting corridors.

  The group ran down the hallway toward the center of the school, Mr. Barker out in front, Brin and Ash and Crispin and Dylan close behind, Anaya the only one lagging in the back.

  “Where are we going?” Anaya asked.

  “Follow me,” Mr. Barker said. “I just need to look and see if it’s safe outside—”

  A zombie burst through a math class window and grabbed at Mr. Barker’s face. He ducked down, slammed his back against the marble tile, and shot a bullet through the zombie’s forehead. It stopped reaching, and it stopped yelling—it just dropped down and bashed its destroyed head against the wall, like a wet noodle. Dead.

  “Why do I feel like I’m in Resident Evil?” Ash asked.

  “Which one?” asked Mr. Barker, jumping back up and
stepping fast toward the front doors of the school. “One, two, three, four, or five?”

  “There’s a fifth one?” Brin asked.

  “Actually, I was referring to the video games,” Ash said. He was met with strange glances, as they all continued to follow Mr. Barker. “Hey!” he shouted. “I’m not just a movie nerd. I have other interests, too, you know.”

  He angrily sighed and followed the others as they ran up to Mr. Barker. The man stood cool and collected, in front of the Grisly High entrance doors, looking out the windows at the massive parking lot. It was jam-packed for a Sunday, complete with all sorts of vehicles, big and small, and none of them parked appropriately between the white lines. The parking lot was filled with police and ambulances and fire trucks, and at least fifty zombies charging from every end of the school, out toward the policemen, who were all firing their assault rifles like there was no tomorrow.

  “I’m starting to wonder if there’ll actually be a tomorrow,” Brin said.

  “Stop it,” Mr. Barker said. “Stop talking like that, Brin. We’re going to get out of here. We’re all going to be fine. We just need to get away from this school. Far, far away.”

  “But how are we supposed to do that?” Anaya asked, crossing her arms. “We’re surrounded by zombies. And even if we get past them, those policemen will probably shoot us dead anyway, thinking we’re one of them. It’ll be that last scene of Night of the Living Dead, for each and every one of us.”

  Mr. Barker nodded, and said, “Thank you for paying attention in class, Anaya.”

  She shook her head. “Oh, shut up. I don’t have to suck up to you anymore. Weren’t you fired a few days ago?”

  “Hey!” Brin said, pushing past her teacher. “Don’t talk to him like that! He just saved our lives!”

  “As far as I can tell, he hasn’t saved any of us. We’re still in this godforsaken school, with no plan of escape.”

  “You got any bright ideas?” Dylan asked Anaya.

  “Sure do,” she said, turning away from Brin and roaming over, without warning, to the administration office.

  “Anaya!” Brin shouted. “Damn it, what are you doing?”

  “I’m going to see if the phones are working! Maybe I can dial 9-1-1!”