Text copyright © 2014 by Howard Whitehouse
Published in Canada by Tundra Books, a division of Random House of Canada Limited, One Toronto Street, Suite 300, Toronto, Ontario M5C 2V6
Published in the United States by Tundra Books of Northern New York, P.O. Box 1030, Plattsburgh, New York 12901
Library of Congress Control Number: 2013953682
All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, or stored in a retrieval system, without the prior written consent of the publisher—or, in case of photocopying or other reprographic copying, a licence from the Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency—is an infringement of the copyright law.
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Whitehouse, Howard, 1958–, author
Zombie Elementary: The Real Story / by Howard Whitehouse.
ISBN 978-1-77049-608-8 (bound).—ISBN 978-1-77049-610-1 (epub)
I. Title.
PZ7.W5376Zom 2014 j813’.6 C2013-906920-8
C2013-906921-6
Edited by Samantha Swenson
Designed by Andrew Roberts.
www.tundrabooks.com
v3.1
I’d like to dedicate this fine piece of literature to my dad, George Whitehouse, for all the stories he made up while we walked to school—this was years ago, as you’ll understand—and to my father in law, Lee H. Knight, for his support and care over the years.
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Larry and Kyle’s Acknowledgments
Howard’s Acknowledgments
Prologue
KYLE: Larry, just tell us how it all began. For Zombie Elementary: The Real Story.
LARRY: Huh?
KYLE: You know, all the trouble we had with zombies last school year. This will be our true account of what happened.
LARRY: Right from the beginning?
KYLE: Right from the start.
LARRY: We won’t get in trouble for telling, will we?
KYLE: Don’t worry about that. Just tell us about being a zombie hunter.
Like it was all happening today.
LARRY: But it was, like, weeks ago.
KYLE: Work with me, Larry.
1
Okay, here we go.
I go to Brooks Elementary School here in Acorn Falls. I just finished fifth grade. There was a zombie outbreak at my school a while ago. I’m pretty sure it was the first time we ever had zombies.
Last year I was in the fourth grade, and we didn’t have zombies. Mrs. Wimberley wouldn’t stand for zombies in her class. She’d have sent them to the office.
Third grade, no. That was the year Michael Murphy wet his pants in assembly and had to sit for nearly an hour in those same wet pants. Not a zombie to be seen.
There might have been some in second grade, but I don’t know. We only moved here that summer.
Anyhow, my school got zombies, and it was a real problem.
My name’s Larry Mullet, and I’m a zombie hunter. So’s my best friend, Jermaine Holden, and so’s Francine Brabansky, when her mom lets her out of the house. Her folks are pretty strict. Plus she has cheerleading practice after school most days. Or she did, before all the cheerleaders turned into flesh-eating ghouls. Tell you about that later.
I’m ten-and-a-half years old.
My sister Honor wants to be a zombie hunter too, but I think she’s too young. She’s in third grade. We have a dog called Mr. Snuffles. He wants to be a zombie hunter as well. I think it’s something to do with the bones.
I sorta hope the whole zombie thing is over, after what happened.
My mom and dad didn’t know about it. My zombie hunting, I mean. They thought I was going to the library, or to Little League practice. Acorn Falls is a small town, so kids can walk or ride their bikes to the ballpark, or anywhere around town. That’s one of the reasons my mom says we moved here, ’cause it’s what she calls “a safe environment to raise children.”
I guess that doesn’t include having a zombie outbreak at the elementary school. (I think “outbreak” is the right word. I looked it up on Wikipedia.)
ZOMBIE TIP
(by Kyle, editor, aged ten)
“Outbreak” is the correct technical term for the first sighting of zombies in an area. “Infestation” is used when the zombies take over a whole zone or region. Not that that will ever happen. Please remain calm.
Actually, my mom and dad didn’t seem to understand about the zombies at all. Or maybe they did, but just didn’t talk about it to us kids. It’s like the time I asked my dad how much he weighs. I never got a straight answer, but I could tell it was something I wasn’t supposed to be talking about. Same as when I asked my mom how much money she makes at her job. Heck, how am I supposed to know what I should do when I grow up if she won’t tell me stuff like that? Does a certified accountant make as much as a shortstop for the New York Mets? I need to know these things if I am to choose a career. Aside from the whole zombie fighting thing, I mean.
So I think maybe the grown-ups knew about the zombies but didn’t wanna talk about it around us kids. You know, like we’d be scared. I don’t know, though. Having the walking dead staggering around the hallways was pretty darn scary whether we talked about it or not.
ZOMBIE TIP
If the living dead are in your hallway, do not try and squeeze past them. They are not like regular kids. They will detect your presence and attempt to bite you. I mean it.
I mean, they bite people and turn kids you know from gym class into drooling mindless creatures. (Although some of them are pretty much that way to begin with.)
KYLE: So, why you? Why are you the one who gets to fight zombies? I mean, there’re bigger kids than you.
LARRY: It’s like in baseball. You have the designated hitter. I’m the designated zombie hunter.
2
Like I said, for the longest time there were no zombies at all at Brooks Elementary School.
Then one day, there were. Just one to begin with. Alex Bates from Mr. Womack’s class. It was after lunch. I was taking a message to the office when I saw him coming down the hallway. He was shambling in a weird way, with his arms extended out like he was playing blindman’s bluff. Without the mask, of course.
So I said, “Hey, Ale
x! What’s up?”
And he said, “NNGAARRRGGGGHHH!!!!”
Which was a pretty strange thing to say, I think you’d agree.
Just when I was wondering what to say next—maybe something about baseball tryouts—he came right at me. He had his arms outstretched, like I told you, and his fingers were sorta grasping at something. At me.
“Hey! No grabbing!” I yelled at him.
I know that sounds kinda dumb. Honest, I had no idea he was a zombie. I’d never seen one before. Not even in movies. My mom says I’m not old enough to watch scary movies. I guess that’s a shame, really, cause I’d missed out on the educational part.
I could see he was pale and a bit green, like he was gonna throw up. I just figured it was the meatloaf we had for lunch. I mean, the meat was gray. Gray meat? I wouldn’t eat it, and I can eat anything. Almost.
ZOMBIE TIP
If you see someone who appears to be ill, with signs of nausea or similar, do NOT stay to see if they actually barf vomit. Leave the scene immediately. Do not approach the victim or tell any of your friends to do so. No dares!
“No grabbing!” I yelled again. He kept lurching toward me and groaning that terrible noise, “NNGARRGGGGHHH!!!!” And then he moaned something like “BRAINNNSSSS!”
Which I thought was real weird, as nobody calls me that. Pretty much the opposite, most of the time.
Just then one of the ladies from the office stepped into the hallway. (I gotta say, the staff at Brooks Elementary doesn’t put up with too much garbage from students, and yelling and moaning while class is going on just doesn’t cut it. “Not tolerated,” as they say.) It was Mrs. Burnett-Cole, who is mostly pretty nice. Anyway, soon as she called out, “Alex Bates! What is the meaning of this?” (just like the principal says it), he turned around and just went for her. Like a big dog or something. Not like jumping up to play, either. Like a savage dog. She flailed around at him, but suddenly he was trying to bite her and she was screaming at him. Something about the principal not liking this at all. And then just screaming.
I ran like crazy, just to get away.
I’m kinda embarrassed about that now.
ZOMBIE TIP
Do not be tempted to avoid possible humiliation by showing how brave you are in front of zombies. The undead are not impressed by a display of courage. Your friends will already have run like heck.
KYLE: So you ran back to class?
LARRY: Yeah. Took me about seven seconds to get down the hall, I think.
KYLE: Did you say anything to the teacher?
LARRY: Nuh-uh.
KYLE: Why not?
LARRY (shrugs): What could I say? She’d have thought I was nuts.
3
A bit later, when we were taking a math test in class, there came this noise. Sorta like scraping at the classroom door. I looked up from my paper—it was long division, and I was trying to divide 187 by 17, which was hard—and saw it was Mrs. Burnett-Cole from the office. Maybe she’d brought something for our teacher, Miss Scoffle. I was glad to see she was okay, after all the trouble with Alex.
Except she wasn’t okay. She didn’t seem able to work the door handle, so she just scratched and kicked away at the bottom. And she had her face pressed up against the little window, rubbing her cheek against the glass. She was mouthing something; I couldn’t hear it, of course, but I’m pretty sure it was “BRAIINNNSSS!!!!”
“Stop staring around, Barry Mallet!” yelled Miss Scoffle. She’s about three hundred years old and super grouchy. She taught my friend Jermaine’s father when he was a kid, and Jermaine’s dad is pretty old himself.
Jermaine says Miss Scoffle taught George Washington too, but I don’t believe him.
I pointed toward the door, where Mrs. Burnett-Cole was baring her teeth and pounding with her knuckles. Miss Scoffle just frowned at me and shouted, “No time for questions, Harry Gullet! Just do the best you can. You’ll find out what you got right when I grade your papers.”
I put my head down and figured out that 187 divided by 17 equals 13. That took me a good long while, and when I raised my head again, Mrs. Burnett-Cole was gone.
The bell rang. I noticed there was a red smear on the glass as I left the classroom. I was pretty anxious to go home, but there was a big sign to stop us from going down the hall past the main office. It said, “Alert! Do Not Enter! Chicken Pox!”
I’d never seen a sign like that before. A bunch of kids had measles last year, but nobody put up any signs.
I caught the bus.
ZOMBIE TIP
If adults in charge start acting weird, look for signs of a zombie outbreak. Might be nothing, but you can’t be too sure!
At home I asked my mom if she’d ever seen a kid with chicken pox go nuts and attack a grown-up. I made the same noise that Alex had, best I could, but she just shook her head and gave me that smile that grown-ups make when they don’t want to hurt a kid’s feelings.
“I’m so lucky to have a child with a vivid imagination!” was what she said. I wanted to answer that I hadn’t imagined anything, but she turned away to finish making dinner. Sloppy joes and Tater Tots, one of my nine top-favorite meals. (I like to make lists.)
Dad came home, and I asked him about chicken pox too. I did a real good impression of how Alex had acted, including the part about “BRAIINNNSSS!!!!” I staggered around, screaming, “NNGAAARRRGGHH!!!!” and knocked a lamp over. I could tell my sister Honor thought it was good, but Dad just poured a drink and told me to ask Mom, which I’d already done. Then he said something about the lamp and my allowance.
I watched TV for a while and went to bed. That part’s pretty ordinary.
KYLE: So, you knew something was up, but you didn’t know what?
LARRY: I had chicken pox when I was five. I never attacked anyone. I just had a rash.
KYLE: Me too. And it itched.
LARRY: Yeah. A whole lot. But I never went crazy in the hallway or nothing.
4
Next day at school, nobody said nothing.
Sorry, nobody said anything. The sign about the chicken pox was gone, and the hallway outside the office was, like, super-clean. Like the janitor had worked extra hard on it, which was weird because she’s very old, and I don’t think she likes to work too hard. I looked into the office for Mrs. Burnett-Cole. Ms. Hoag, who sits at the front desk, spotted me.
“Can I help you, Larry Mullet?”
They always call you by both names. I don’t know why.
What could I say? I wanted to see how Mrs. Burnett-Cole was after she was attacked by Alex Bates yesterday? I didn’t think so. I shook my head.
“Well, run along then. Shoo!” She smiled when she said it and made a shooing motion, like I was a pet or something.
I didn’t think Mrs. Burnett-Cole was at work, but her desk was in a corner, and I couldn’t see past Ms. Hoag. Not without climbing on top of the counter, anyway, and I figured that would lead to trouble. My friend Jermaine could explain away stuff like that, but not me.
I went to class. At recess I said something to a group of kids while we drank juice. “Hey, anybody know what happened to Alex yesterday?”
“Alex Fellowes?” said one kid.
“No, Alex Bates.”
“Alex Fellowes got punched by a third grader. It was funny,” the kid went on. “Alex cried and wanted his mom. He had snot all down his shirt afterward. The little kid called him a wuss.”
“No, not him. Alex Bates,” I said again.
But they all wanted to talk about this other Alex who’d been knocked down by some eight-year-old at the bus stop. I guess that was interesting enough, on another day. You know, a day when there wasn’t a zombie loose in the halls.
ZOMBIE TIP
At the start of an outbreak, many people will be unwilling to accept that members of the community have become zombified. Experts call this the denial stage. As the presence of zombies becomes clear to everyone, you may expect people to move beyond denial into sheer, babbling t
error. This is far healthier.
I still didn’t know that, of course, but I knew something was going on. Something bad.
And to make matters worse, it was spaghetti for lunch. We get spaghetti on Fridays because the lunch crew gives us meatloaf on Thursdays and pretty much nobody eats it. It’s disgusting. I think I told you that already. So they make it into meatballs and serve it with noodles the day after. I just eat the spaghetti and leave the meatballs. Okay, I usually try one, just to see if they get any better. They never do. They looked worse than usual that day. I’m not kidding. I didn’t even bother trying one. I just poked it with my fork a couple of times.
Still, it was Friday afternoon by then, and the weekend, and what could be better? Except, I dunno, I had a weird feeling.
KYLE: It was like a premonition, then?
LARRY: A what? Are we talking about the meatballs?
KYLE: Premonition. Like a harbinger of ill-omen. Forget the meatballs. P-R-E-M—
LARRY: Whaaaat?
KYLE: You knew something bad was happening.
LARRY: Right. Yeah. Why didn’t you say that?
KYLE: I read a lot of books.
LARRY: Books are bad for your eyes, my grandma says.
KYLE (rolling eyes): Okay, then. You said something bad—
5
I didn’t know how bad until I got on the bus to go home.
I had just settled down in my seat. It was near the back, but not all the way back. My buddies Luke and Jonathan Torres were there, two rows in front of me. The back row was all sixth graders, and they don’t let anyone else sit there. I was just thinking, you know. Not about Alex or Mrs. Burnett-Cole or chicken pox. I was thinking about getting a new bat for the season. I really needed one ’cause I’d grown three inches and it makes a difference.
My sister Honor was close to the front, with all her little third-grade friends. It’s not cool to sit with her.
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