Forget the past, I told myself. Take care of your future.
And my future was through that door. I walked to it and leaned forward, making a small crack to see if the coast was clear. The only direction visible was on its way to the cafeteria. The office, my target, was the other way. An authority figure would’ve taken care of everything; even though, in my humble opinion, Principle Jessup was a complete dunce.
Barren as a desert. I almost fancied a tumbleweed whisking by the lockers. But I knew something wasn’t right, because I could hear a rhythmic clicking. One of the locker doors was being rattled, and its bouncing lock kept time as well as a metronome. My mind went to the reasonable explanation that it was mechanical. Perhaps a student left on a toy or some such device, and it was butting the locker door from the inside. That was my hope, but on this day of rare events, I was ready for the worst. The worst was outside, where, for fear, I could only guess at things. In the end, my apprehension gave way to an absolute refusal to spend another minute in Gruesomeville.
The door swung wide at my push, and I walked through and let it close behind me. My posture was straight and my muscles tight. When my head turned to face the unknown, the shock of it cooled my body a hundred degrees, and my extremities seemed trapped in blocks of ice.
Dead on the floor. Scattered like trash, tossed and unappreciated like . . . like . . . leftovers. Blood everywhere. There was a precision to the carnage that belied the true nature of the killers, who would be no different from Susy. Throats were torn, faces lacerated and pinched into permanent creases of terror, and all were young. I couldn’t see a single adult.
The click, click, click continued and I walked forward. If someone was alive, or barely alive, the least I could’ve done was give them the comfort of a friend. But I would have gladly done all I could to ensure their survival. I had a feeling allies would be in short supply.
Click, click, click . . .
It was coming from the seventh-grade wing, perpendicular to wings dedicated to sixth- and eighth-grade students. We called these kids “sevies,” but he wasn’t a one of them; he was in sixth grade, a “baby.”
Lids open, I could see his pupils were rolled into the back of his head, probably looking to a pleasant past, when nobody was trying to turn him into an entrée. His arm twitched to the tune of an inaudible song, moderately measured, steady and enduring. The sharp split in his head told me all I needed to know. Even if he were alive, he’d be a vegetable, like the others soaking in IV at the hospital.
Needless to say, my heart sank. The sound was merely his arm banging against the locker nearest him. It started driving me nuts. To create quiet, I dragged him into the center of the hall. The twitching remained, but the grisly metronome was gone, and that gave me peace, if only for a few seconds. Loads of bodies were in this part of the school as well. To repeat, all kids, no adults.
It was amazing the killing spree had happened so quickly, and without me hearing any of it from the restroom. Susy successfully diverted a lot of my attention; much as the whole world could have exploded, and I would’ve been keenly concerned with the chomp of her mandibles.
And, what’s more, the alarm wasn’t pulled. Fire or no fire, the decent thing would’ve been to make sure everyone knew of the catastrophe unfolding.
Well, my phone can do that!
But it was in eighth-grade wing, turned off and stowed away in my locker. School policy. Kids weren’t allowed to carry cells during class hours. Should I go for it? I looked around at the dead and, in my mind, the distance to my locker grew. Perhaps that isn’t such a good idea. Besides, I knew those who could’ve run away already had, and they were alerting the entire town. Trying for the phone wouldn’t be necessary, and nowhere near worth the risks involved. Instead, the door at the end of the hall beckoned me with its bright green EXIT sign propped above. From there, I planned to run across the track, through the football field, and into the trees, edging the wilderness to the main driveway. There wasn’t more than half a mile of nothingness before the corner gas station at the intersection. That’s the first landmark before town.
I figured the police had been called by now and they were cordoning off the area, ready to implement a quarantine. It was best I get through that line before they consider me a “carrier.”
That could take a while, I realized. They’d first brush this off as a prank. I barely believe what’s going on, and I’m in the thick of it.
I wasn’t about to test the theory. My zombie-fighting days were over. Resolved on this, I pumped my legs like pistons, past the dead, past the open doors to classrooms; where desks and chairs were overturned; and backpacks, lunchboxes, and reams of paper lay abandoned. Crashing into the push bar with maximum impact, my head tilted forward and bounced off the door.
THREE
You know how they say a person sees stars when she gets knocked out? That’s about right. Big white flashes that burst across a night’s sky. And there’s a charming, low-pitched ringing, reminiscent of those analogue televisions as they’re switched off.
I came to. Swiftly, I hoped. But how to know? Minutes might have passed, or hours.
My eyelids fluttered. I tried lifting my head from the floor. The slurping stopped me. Bad as a four-year-old with soup. A few feet away, the sound grew louder. I stayed as motionless as possible. I knew what I knew before I actually knew it.
It was a zombie, and it was feeding. The idea of it feeding wasn’t, by itself, as disconcerting as its proximity. Being prone made me feel all the more vulnerable. I was easy pickings, on the plate and ready to eat. But it hadn’t started on me yet; I would have known in an instant; no one sleeps through that type of violation.
Escape wouldn’t have been easy since the exit was locked. The door didn’t so much as budge, and my head felt like it took the brunt of cruise missile. There was probably blood too, and, no doubt, I’d given myself a concussion. That might have been just as well. I looked dead, which was better than looking alive when you’ve got a nightmare’s creature near you.
The slurping began to taper off. Another sound came nearer. Steps. Dragging steps. It wasn’t the zombie next to me. A new one had arrived, and it growled with an open mouth, letting spittle fly through the air. Some of the stuff landed on my face. It took the patience of Buddha not to desperately wipe it away.
They both seemed to exchange words, though corrupt and unintelligible. One was obviously peeved at the other. A sudden thump indicated a push, or something dropped, and then I could hear the squeak of shoes dragging across the floor, becoming fainter and fainter, till I sensed solitude. My eyes opened, and I saw the ceiling. The late afternoon sunset toasted the paneling a golden red.
Then it’s been hours, I concluded.
Turning slowly to the right, I saw a streak of blood lead from a puddle. I turned to the left and saw another streak and another puddle. The bodies were being moved, and away from the exit, that much was clear. If I kept laying there, I would be next.
I tilted my head back and saw nothing and nobody. They, whoever they were, had done a thorough job. The floor looked like a giant canvas struck with crimson calligraphy. I truly was the last one, and they’d soon be back.
After sitting up, I touched my forehead to feel the size of the bump. A flood of dizziness. Frightened I’d become unconscious again, I hurried myself to my feet and wobbled to the lockers against the wall, being careful not to step in blood. Tracks were the last thing I needed.
One of classrooms was a few feet away. The door was closed and lights off. I gripped the nob and twisted. It moved easily, and the door swung into the room with a tiny creak. I again looked down the hall behind me to make sure I hadn’t stirred a hornet’s nest. Reasonably sure I wasn’t detected, I entered.
Seeing desks well-ordered, and not the slightest trace of a student’s belongings, I recalled Ms. Zio taught chemistry in there, and third period was her free hour. She must have been in the faculty breakroom during the massacre. With everythi
ng in its rightful place, I was comforted. It was like viewing the past in a glass ball, surreal and unobtainable. Touching anything gave me the notion of trespass. I let out a sigh and thanked God for reprieve, which would definitely end within minutes, when the ghoulish porters returned to find me missing.
My prediction was confirmed, as I heard echoes roll down the hall and bounce off the classroom door. They were coming, and this place would be the first place searched. I had to hide.
In one part of the room stood three islands with dark-blue countertops, each with a sink, and cupboards filled with beakers, Bunsen burners, eye protection, and all the other paraphernalia one would expect in a lab. Remembering the cupboards had high shelves and weren’t stocked to capacity, I quickly made my choice. Yes, the windows were there, but, in the rush, I didn’t bother with them. My suspicion was whoever locked the hall exit had locked them as well. Besides that, they were small, strange contraptions, and opened horizontally in three different places; most assuredly to dissuade students from using them as shortcuts to the pick-up zone.
I opened a cupboard door in the center island and pushed aside enough items to fit myself without feeling too scrunched. The gurgle-gurgle I heard said that the zombies finally made it outside the classroom. One of them slipped on blood and fell to the floor. No laughter from the other.
My titanic wit won’t stay their violent urges. Darn! And I was saving that as a Hail Mary.
The classroom door shook. I supposed one of them pushed into it and was looking through the rectangular window above the handle.
That’s right, fella, nothing to see here. Move on.
Hearing the creak brought my spirits low. They weren’t so stupid after all.
Their feet slowly scraped the floor as they split up. One rummaged near the teacher’s desk, the other weaved through the islands, his clumsy legs banging the cupboard doors. To ready myself for a fight to the death, I grasped in the dark and found a set of metal calipers. The battle was approaching quickly, I could tell.
Then a grunt and the island-hopper stopped. A sound, shrill and piercing, reverberated throughout the room, coming from elsewhere, far away. The two zombies froze a full minute while the shriek cut the air. When it finished, chairs and student desks were thrown aside. The door opened and slammed closed hard.
I was alone again, shrinking in the blackness of my cubby hole, head bump throbbing to the beat of my heart. It was going to get dark outside in an hour or two, and my parents would really begin to worry.
Everyone’s parents would worry. The lot would fill with cars, all honking into an unbearable cacophony. And then one annoyed mother or father would tramp to the office and discover . . .
Discover what? A bite to the throat, that’s what. Count one more body among the hundreds taken somewhere to languish and fester, perhaps to transform and further populate these unholy demons. At least then the rest of the town would know. It didn’t seem likely anybody knew yet, or else I’d be hearing sirens and bullhorns.
[“Come out with your hands up! We’ve got you surrounded.”]
That would’ve been a laugh, seeing a bunch of zombies walk into a firing squad, turned into Swiss cheese.
But they weren’t that foolish, were they? The idea these things moved around without purpose held little water. They had a decent memory. Those other two must have known they were one body short.
And the hall exit was another thing. Who locked it? It was never locked from the inside. Fire hazard. That had to be intentional.
The windows, though, needed further investigation. A few bruises—so be it! Getting out here was paramount.
EEEEEEEEEEEEKKKKKKKKKK!!!
Another bout of shrillness. Then it stopped. I listened carefully for dragging footsteps in case Holmes and Watson came back to finish their investigation. But they were on to different things, it appeared.
Collecting myself, I left the cupboard. The room had mellowed to a dusky shade. The last rays of sunshine were already behind the nearby trees. Time was running out. I wanted to make the woods before night, otherwise it would’ve been a slog to the gas station, with me possibly getting injured; or eaten by one among a large number of other predators. Wolves have been a problem in this area for years.
FOUR
The windows had silver locks that, after much overuse and accumulation of rust, were enormously difficult to operate. I spent the better part of five minutes inching one of these around.
“Pssst.”
I whipped back from the window and ducked for cover.
“PSSSST!”
“Who’s there?” I asked the room.
“Come here,” a voice answered.
“Where’s here?”
“Other side.”
The voice was telling me the other side of the third island, closest to the windows overlooking the tennis court. I crept around the corner and made sure the classroom door was closed. A conversation can carry a long way in a mausoleum.
“Where are you?” I called out.
“Here.” The palm of a hand, covered in dust, waved at me from between the opening of a cupboard door.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“Billy.” He opened the door a little wider, showing his face, spotted with red freckles and tiny pimples. It was Billy Lawsome, an eighth-grader with the hapless distinction of being best flutist in band. He had red hair to go along with his red freckles, and braces that made him look like a shark.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“What do you think?” he fired back. “I’m hiding.”
“Okay, fine, but what are still doing in school?”
“Haven’t you tried the back exit?” he said. “It’s locked.”
“I know it is. I used my head as a battering ram.”
“Yeah, I think I heard you. You mumbled for a minute or two before going quiet. I thought you died. Those brutes came down this part of school after you made the commotion.”
“Well, they didn’t bite me, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
He gave me a puzzled look.
“They’re zombies.” I explained. “They eat people. One of them was having at it with a student right next to me while I was knocked out.”
“Zombies?” he said, the word retaking its mythic quality with the tone of his disbelief.
“Yes, doofus, zombies. Didn’t you see anything?”
He dropped his head. “I saw some.”
“And?”
“I saw them when they came down the hall. I was in here, studying before class. Ms. Zio lets me come in while she’s gone.” He gulped. “And I could see through the door window,” he pointed, “the others were trying to bust through the exit. They couldn’t. Then the things came up behind them and—”
“All right, all right, I get the picture. I guess you just decided to tuck away?”
He nodded.
“And none of the other kids tried to come in here to do the same?”
“One or two tried. I don’t really know how far they got. By that time, I was already hidden. The sound—it sounded like they were forced back into the hall. They screamed the entire time. It was quick, I think.”
“You mean you hope.”
“Yeah,” he replied. “I hope.”
I sighed and looked back up at the window. It was almost open, and it was time to end this.
“Help me,” I told him. “We’ve got to get out of here.”
“The window?” Billy returned in a daze.
“Behold,” I stood and gestured, “I give you freedom. Why didn’t you try to leave through here?”
He shrugged. “With the exit, you know, I thought the same thing with the windows.”
“You mean you think all this was arranged?”
“You don’t? Heck, even my cell signal is out.” He whips out a small smart phone and points to a blank space on the screen. “That’s where bars should be.”
“How come a goody-goody like yourself carries a
phone on campus during school hours? The faculty would’ve had your head if they found it.”
“Meh,” he waves me off. “If circumstances like this are anything to go on, some rules are made to be broken.”
I smiled. He wasn’t hopeless after all. And I’d heard some unkind rumors about him. He only looked stupid, poor lad. It’s those listless eyes, making people assume the worst.
“Well, the windows aren’t locked after all. Only they’re a pain in the butt to open. I could really use your help.”
At that, he brightened and started to leave his sanctuary, warily checking the room as he did so. After concluding everything was fine, he walked to the window and examined the task at hand.
“It looks awful. You barely have it half way.”
“Thanks, Billy, for that sensitive evaluation of my torque power.”
“Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “I didn’t mean it like that. These things are like a hundred-years-old or something. It would be amazing if we got it open at all.”
“Don’t talk like that,” I snapped.
His mouth contorted into a wry smile as he commenced with the lock, which easily followed the direction of his touch. Damn boys!
He stopped short of pulling the window pane out and darted against the wall. “Get away!” he cried, snatching my sleeve and drawing me to him. I complied with an indignant huff, till I realized what he was getting at: Something was outside.
“Where is it?” I asked.
“By the club house. Several of them.”
Opposite the court, the club house was where most student athletes spent their free time before practice, or regular students before gym class. I wondered if anyone was there when the attack came. If so, they had a better chance of getting away than everyone else. That means someone could have escaped, and help was on the way.
On the other hand . . .
I whispered into Billy’s ear, “Strange there aren’t any police or firefighters, right?”
“Yeah, strange. It’s almost five. My father should be hunting me with a spiked club by now.”
Tabitha's Zombies: Part 1 Page 2