The Zombie Playground

by Brian Rowe

  “Shit,” she whispered, and started roaming the small space again in search of a weapon. She pushed past a few computer monitors and smiled when she found it. Four lead pipes rested behind what appeared to be some kind of water drain.

  She picked up the longest pipe of the bunch and lifted it up high over her shoulders.

  “All right, buddy,” she whispered. “You’re going down.”

  She took a few steps forward and turned to her left. The creature looked familiar from the backside, but she couldn’t place him. She shook her head in bewilderment, amazed that today’s events had come to the point of her recognizing zombies, but she tried to let the thought slip from her mind. Brin stepped into the hallway and tiptoed toward the creature, holding the heavy lead pipe in her hands like a baseball bat.

  When the zombie turned to the right, Brin heard Crispin scream.

  “No,” she said. “No! Get away from him!”

  She ran into the room and swung hard at the creature’s back. He fell against the wall and revealed his almost unrecognizable face.

  He was angry. He was hungry. He was a zombie.

  And he was Colin.

  “Oh no,” she said.

  “Colin,” Crispin said, his eyes welling up with tears. “Colin, it’s me…”

  “Crispin! Get back!”

  Brin held the pipe up high again. If the zombie had been anyone else, she would have by now smashed his face into brain goo. But she couldn’t force herself to swing again.

  “Don’t hurt him,” Crispin said as he crept closer to his older brother. “Please… please don’t… he’s the only family I’ve got…”

  The boy continued to cry as he scooted toward Colin. He reached his hand out.

  “Crispin, stop!” Brin said. “Don’t get any closer!”

  He wouldn’t listen. “Colin,” Crispin said, brushing his hand against his brother’s green golf shirt. “Colin, please don’t leave me.”

  “It’s not your brother! Goddammit, get out of the—”

  The creature, once the handsome Colin, now nothing more than a slimy, flesh-hungry zombie, lunged for Crispin with his arms outstretched and his mouth agape, a terrible moan emanating from his chapped yellow lips.

  But he didn’t move fast enough. Brin stepped forward, brought the lead pipe up high, and swung it hard against Colin’s forehead, slamming him back against the wall.

  She hit him in the forehead again. And again. And again.

  Crispin watched in horror as Brin banged the pipe against Colin’s head until everything from the neck up turned into chunks of yellow mush.

  She finally dropped the pipe and stumbled forward, as Colin’s lifeless body slumped to the ground. She looked like she was going to faint, or puke.

  Instead, Brin started crying.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, falling down to her knees. “I’m so sorry.”

  She thought he might push her away or start screaming at her. But he didn’t. He wrapped his arms around her and started weeping against her shoulder.

  “What a horrible day,” he said.

  “What a horrible month,” Brin said.

  She wiped her tears away and held Crispin close. She didn’t realize it until now, but her entire mission today hadn’t been to save herself, or her friends; her mission had been to save this little boy.

  “What happens now?” he said, finally coming up for air.

  “I don’t know.” Brin turned around. She thought she heard more footsteps. But she couldn’t tell for sure.

  “Are we gonna be safe?”

  “Yes.” She didn’t know if she believed it, but she had to say it. “Whatever happens, I’m not gonna let anything happen to you. You understand me? I’m gonna keep you safe.”

  The boy nodded. “OK. I trust you.”

  “Good.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry I had to kill your brother. But you have to know… that person… that thing… it wasn’t him. Your brother died on the golf course. Whatever that was I just killed… it was something else.”

  Crispin nodded. “I know.”

  Brin thought she heard more footsteps. Again, she assumed the sound to be a figment of her imagination.

  “We can’t let our attachment to these people… to our friends… to our family… prevent what has to be done. When they’re these creatures… they’re not our family and friends, they’re our enemies, do you understand me?”

  Another nod. “Yes.”

  Footsteps entered the hallway. Brin knew another one of the creatures was coming.

  “OK,” she said, leaning down to grab the lead pipe.

  She squatted at the back of the room and Crispin wrapped his hands around her left arm.

  “Is it another—”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you gonna kill it?”

  “Yes,” Brin said. “Just watch. I’ll show you how it’s done.”

  The fancy black shoes appeared first, then the slacks, and the suit. She saw the dirtied tie, and the yellow muddy face, and the shaved black hair.

  “No,” Brin said.

  “What is it?” Crispin said.

  The creature stepped into the room and stared down with quiet intensity at Brin. A big smile appeared on the creature’s face.

  “No,” Brin repeated. “No, no, noooooooo.”

  “MMMMM,” the zombie said.

  Brin held the pipe in her hands but didn’t budge. The tears returned as she started shaking her head.

  “Daddy?”

  The creature didn’t stop to chat. He marched forward, his arms out, his mouth open, ready to eat his precious daughter from end to end.

  “Kill him!” Crispin shouted. “What are you doing? You have to kill him!”

  Plump tears trickled down her cheeks as she kept the lead pipe up high. Her father was five steps away.

  “Kill him now, Brin!”

  “I can’t, I can’t!” Brin said, tears streaming down her face uncontrollably. Then she whispered, “It’s my father.”

  “MMMMM, BRINNNNN,” the zombie said, grabbing onto her shirt and darting his sharp yellow teeth straight toward her face.

  “Daddy!” Brin shouted, trying to push him away but failing, his teeth grinding up against her eyes, her forehead, her mouth, her nose. “Daddy! Daddy, noooooooo—”

  Chapter Forty

  Ash tapped his feet against the hardwood floor, his right palm shoved up against his chin, his eyes focused on the poster of Night of the Living Dead across the room.

  He was in the Intro to Film classroom, all by himself, the doors locked, the classroom quiet enough to put him to sleep.

  He’d been in the room for half an hour, and not a single zombie had tried to bust in.

  “Bored now,” he said to himself, yawning loudly. “How come none of the zombies chased after me? Am I too skinny? Not enough meat on my bones?”

  He kept his focus on the poster of George Romero’s 1968 masterpiece. He grinned.

  “I wish I could be watching a movie right now,” Ash continued. “It doesn’t even have to be a horror movie. I’d be willing to watch anything.”

  He stood up from the desk and walked to the back of the classroom. He passed the main door, where he could peer through the window and see, thankfully, no zombies in the hall. He passed the stupid telephone, which wouldn’t dial out. He made his way to the back of the room to see the giant framed poster in the center of the wall.

  “But what I’d love to watch the most… is some Alfred Hitchcock.”

  He stared at the poster of Psycho, arguably Hitchcock’s most famous movie, but, to Ash, not even in the director’s top five, not even close to masterpieces like The Lady Vanishes, Notorious, and Strangers on a Train. He brought his hand out and stroked his fingers across Janet Leigh’s exposed body.

  “I’m tired of the zombies,” he said with a disappointed frown. “And I’m tired of the vampires.” He slammed his fist against the wall. “And I’m really tired of Paul!” He crossed his arms and bit
down on his tongue. “I just want a day of Hitchcock. I just want a simple, quiet day… just me… and Hitch…”

  A loud noise erupted from the other side of the classroom, making Ash jump. He turned around to see Mr. Barker’s office door mysteriously open, all the way, as if a ghost had kicked it when he wasn’t looking.

  “Uhh… hello? Is someone there?”

  He didn’t get an answer. He stood still for another minute. The door didn’t move. He didn’t hear anything out of the ordinary.

  As Ash stepped forward, past the chairs and the desks, he could hear the sounds of sirens in the distance. He didn’t know if a cavalcade of cop cars was making the trek toward Grisly High, or if someone in a home nearby had merely suffered a heart attack, but he hoped help was on the way.

  He pressed forward. He waited for the door to move again, but it didn’t. He stepped inside Mr. Barker’s office. He hadn’t thought about it in a while, but he wondered again just what had happened to their beloved Film teacher. The man had stepped into the office that depressing Friday when he announced his resignation… and then disappeared.

  “Hello?” The office was cluttered and quiet. Nothing was out of the ordinary. “If someone’s in here, please don’t jump out at me. I’ve had enough scares for one day.”

  Ash took another step forward. He wanted to make sure no human, or creature, was in his presence. When he reached the back of the office, the door slammed shut behind him.

  “Hey, what—” He ran back to the door and grabbed the knob. He pulled hard. Nothing. It wouldn’t budge. “What the… Oh, come on! This isn’t happening!”

  He kept pulling. He gripped it tight with both his hands and jerked the knob every which way.

  “This door isn’t locked! It was wide open! The door was—”

  Ash pulled the knob clean off the door and fell back against the marble tiled floor, his right shoulder colliding with a box of old VHS tapes. He shook his head in frustration.

  “Jesus Christ,” he said. “This day can’t get any worse…”

  He stared up at the ceiling. He could’ve sworn it had been white before. But now, a green glow was bouncing off of it.

  Ash blinked. “…or weirder.”

  A voice echoed behind him. “Help meeeeeeeee.”

  Ash recognized the voice right away. “Oh my God, Mr. Barker?” Ash sat up and turned to his right. “Mr. Barker? Are you in here?”

  “Help me pleeeeeease!”

  The voice was faint but noticeably that of his teacher’s. He jumped to his feet and started pushing past the endless boxes in the corner of the room. Some were light, and some were heavy. But Ash managed to shove past all of them, as he continued wading toward the back.

  A large pile of boxes was stacked all the way up to the ceiling, and these were the heaviest of all. He didn’t care about breaking anything. He needed to know the source of the voice, and the green glow. He pushed the boxes behind him, one at a time. He heard items breaking, shattering. He didn’t care, and he didn’t look back.

  He peered down. One more box covered the source of the green glow. He gritted his teeth and pushed the heavy box away. He nearly tripped, then gave the box one last kick.

  Ash turned around. He was almost blinded by the bright green glow. He blocked the light from his eyes with his left arm and took a step closer.

  “What the hell is this—”

  “Help me! Somebody!” Mr. Barker shouted.

  “Mr. Barker! It’s Ash! It’s Ash Gorman!”

  “Someone come get me! Please, if anyone can hear me, you need to come get me!”

  Mr. Barker couldn’t hear him, but Ash knew he had to help him. He knelt down in front of the corner of the office and peered down. Below him was a large circular hole that was glowing a harsh green light all the way up to the ceiling.

  “What…”

  Ash couldn’t speak he was so in awe. He had no idea what this hole could be.

  But it was time to find out.

  Ash planted his hands against the cold hardwood floor, dunked his head down into the hole, and looked at all the freaky sights below him.

  “Oh my God,” he said. “Oh… my… freaking… God.”

  He pushed himself back up out of the hole and tried to catch his breath. He stared up at the ceiling, then back down again.

  “I don’t believe it,” Ash said. “It’s… a time portal.”

  He heard a figure break into the classroom behind him, but he wasn’t about to run from his destiny now.

  He shrugged. “Here goes nothing. Brin… I hope you’re safe.” He silently prayed, then shook his head in excitement, anticipation, and absolute sheer terror. “Mr. Barker, here I come!”

  Ash jumped into the time portal, disappearing from Grisly High, northern Nevada, and all of the United States.

  In a blink… he was gone.

  TO BE CONTINUED

  # # #

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

  Brian Rowe is a writing fiend, book devotee, film fanatic, and constant dreamer. He's written nine novels, dozens of short stories, five feature-length screenplays, and hundreds of film articles and essays. He is one half of the blog Story Carnivores, where he reviews the latest in books and film. He is currently pursuing his MA in English at the University of Nevada, Reno, and is hard at work on his next novel.

  ALSO BY BRIAN ROWE

  Teen Fiction

  Happy Birthday to Me

  Happy Birthday to Me Again

  Happy Birthday to You

  The Vampire Underground

  The Monster Apocalypse

  Over the Rainbow

  Adult Fiction

  Slate

  Townhouse

  Short Fiction

  Human: A Ghost Story

  New Year’s Kiss

  Six Scary Stories

  CONNECT WITH BRIAN ONLINE

  Brian’s Web Site: http://brianrowebooks.com

  Facebook: http://facebook.com/brianroweauthor

  Goodreads: http://bit.ly/HcXZoE

  Twitter: http://twitter.com/mrbrianrowe

  SIGN UP FOR BRIAN’S NEWSLETTER!

  I’ll let you know when I have a new book!

  http://bit.ly/YkV9e8