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Tabitha's Zombies: Part 1

Page 3

by Carla Rossetti


  “My mom too,” I agreed. “And there’s like three hundred students in this school, some of them with crazier parents than we have.”

  Billy grinned. “I wouldn’t bet on it.”

  “What do you think it means? Are they—?”

  “Now who’s being the sourpuss?” He paused. “If they are, um, you know, then there isn’t much use going home. But that’s exactly where I’m going when we get out of here. You hear?”

  “Maybe you’re right, maybe you’re wrong. We can’t be the only ones who survived, though. Finding others is what we should be doing.”

  “What others? Have you seen any others?”

  “No.” An image of Tiffany flashed. She and I might’ve been together if it hadn’t been for Ms. Collins.

  “Me neither,” Billy said, frowning, “so let’s act like it’s just us, and nothing matters now more than our families.”

  “Easy for you to say,” I blurted. You don’t have a brother who pelts you with chewed-up sunflower seeds. You don’t have a father who drinks himself into a stupor during football, then runs around town naked if his team wins. And you don’t have a mother who treats you like the afterbirth of your dead sister.

  But, what do I know? He says his dad’s crazy. There’s probably no love lost between them, like me with my own folks.

  I saw Billy staring at me with interest as I went through my internal dialogue. On occasions like that, I usually get a screwy expression of heavy thought, and it tends to be unnerving for some people.

  “Maybe you’re right, maybe you’re wrong,” he parroted me with his mocking squawk.

  “Look, we can scour the earth for the rents if you want, but we still have the immediate problem of getting out of this building.” I glanced through the window and saw the flesh-eaters by the club house. “They’d be sure to discover us if we left from here, and that won’t do.”

  “You’re right,” he agreed, and then seemed to ponder something a few seconds.

  “What?”

  “You know what this means?”

  I felt like smacking him between the eyes. I knew what he was getting at, and it was inconceivable. Utterly abhorrent. But, ultimately, it made the most sense. We had to wait till nightfall. The cover of darkness would be our best chance.

  Then I remembered something.

  “Uh, wait, Mr. Brilliant, see those?” My finger popped his nose and guided his sight to the next letdown. It was easy to discount the outside lamp posts surrounding the school; they were new. They were also on an automatic timer. After a summer break full of spray-paint vandalism (some of it rather good, if I do say so myself) the administration saw fit to erect those luminescent giants, denying the perimeter of shady dealings.

  “Oh, jackrabbits!” Billy spat way too loud. There was a shuffle near the club house that made me think the monsters heard him. False alarm. A stray cat shot past the wide side of the structure, hissing ugly and with its tawny hair puffed.

  “Whew,” I let out. “You’ve got to be more careful.”

  “Sorry,” Billy peeped.

  “Don’t be sorry, be careful.”

  “Careful, careful, careful. How long can we be careful in this place? It’s only a matter of time ‘fore they find us. We can’t leave. We can’t stay. And,” he rubbed his belly ruefully, “we can’t eat.”

  As if cued, my stomach rumbled. Surging with adrenaline for so long, I hadn’t realized how hungry I was getting.

  “Wait here.” I walked towards Ms. Zio’s desk and started raiding the drawers. Billy groaned like I was desecrating a tomb.

  “Relax,” I said, “she won’t care.” I had the manners not to explain why. It was obvious Billy really liked Ms. Zio. Everyone liked Ms. Zio, and she liked everyone. And food. She absolutely adored food, as evidenced by her curvy thighs and healthy-sized bottom. Not that she appeared fat or anything. She was one of those people who could pull it off. That made her particularly popular with the boys, who were already having difficulty reconciling themselves to an emerging interest in the opposite sex.

  “I’m sure there’s candy in here,” I muttered.

  “What makes you say that?” Billy asked defensively.

  “Because grown women can’t operate without chocolate in a space of three hours,” I replied with a cheeky lick of my lips. “It’s a natural law, no less real than gravity, or plants needing water to live and grow.”

  Billy glared at me, but he held his stomach in clear discomfort. Umbrage would have to concede to the pressing needs of human physiology. Unfortunately, I was striking out. Only paper, pencils, and a cheap paperback with a tall blonde man pictured on front. He had long hair, chiseled abs, and a massive chest—boobs bigger than Ms. Zio’s (which is no trivial feat). I did find a bottle of antacids in the form of those colorful chalk tablets. The bottle was half empty, and they were mostly crumbled to dust.

  “Well, then, Billy, you should be thrilled. We shant partake in Ms. Zio’s victuals, because there aren’t any.”

  True to his quandary, Billy’s reaction was mixed. He groaned again, and also nodded, reassured of his loyalty. It made me angry, but I was ready to forgive Watergate for a doughnut.

  “Any thoughts?” I threw the ball back at him.

  With the inkling of yet another dreadful idea, he gulped before saying, “There’s one place we’ll definitely find food.”

  “Gosh darnit, Billy.”

  “What? You asked, I answered.”

  “I think I’d rather starve. Anyways, how would we get there? You gonna call up Scotty and have us teleported? If so, we might as well materialize outside this bloody mess of a place.”

  “Now, now.” He wagged his finger. “You’ve got a smart mouth. It’s no wonder you don’t have any—”

  He checked himself, but it was too late.

  “Friends? Is that what you were about to say?”

  “Uh, sorry, that was wrong of me.”

  “For more than one reason,” I growled. “The worst kind of hypocrisy. You aren’t exactly doing so hot in the friend department. Moreover, I do have friends.”

  Billy’s eyes grabbed the ground for emotional footing. He knew what he said was out of line. He also knew I was right about him. And now his shame became mine, with me feeling guilty for striking back, as he was clearly more sensitive about the subject.

  “Okay, fine, you’re right, I don’t have any friends. I’m a difficult person. It’s probably my lot in life to die alone.”

  “Don’t say that. You’re not difficult. You can actually be very likeable.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Whatever.”

  “No, serious. I’ve always thought you were nice. Anyone would be lucky to have you as a—”

  “Stop there, buster, while you’re still ahead.”

  “Least I’m not behind,” he said lightheartedly. I returned the jest by sticking out my tongue. Little did I realized, the levity was much needed. Hunger, threat of death, and teenage boy-girl dynamics combined to create a cocktail of tension and anxiety.

  “You might have a point about the cafeteria,” I admitted. “But it’s too dangerous. Those things could see us.”

  “I don’t even know why they’re still here. If you’re right about them, and they eat people, then what more do they have to do?”

  “Where did they take all the bodies?”

  “They took the bodies?”

  “Look,” I said, pointing towards the door to the hallway. Billy walked over and peeked out. He gasped when he saw the streaks of blood. Everything became real again.

  After he pulled himself back, he closed his eyes and breathed deeply. “You were right, my idea was dumb.”

  I giggled. “Hey, that’s no way to impress a lady.”

  “There’s no chance I’m going out there now. Not after . . . that.”

  “No, you were on the right track before. Going anywhere during the day is asinine. Way better for us to wait till dark. We can sneak towards the cafeteria then.”
r />   “And what makes you think they won’t turn on the inside lights? Don’t they need to see too?”

  “To be honest,” I shrugged, “I haven’t a clue. Can zombies see in the dark? That’s vampires, right?”

  “I thought you were the expert.”

  Scratching my head, I walked back to the window. From there, I examined the buggers near the club house, a few of them milling around in a circular pattern. Some idly stared at the ground, and others, who moved more swiftly and had keener faces, looked around with intent.

  “It’s hard to tell how smart they are. I know they can count to zero.” Billy wrinkled his brow, but I went on. “They seem to talk to one another, though the language is nothing I’ve ever heard.”

  Billy came over and looked outside with me. “There might be a range of intelligence. Those two by the spigot probably couldn’t find their noses if they tried. However, the one by the trellis . . .”

  We both shuddered. This specimen was singular in that he wore a suit, neat and clean, and had a new haircut. Yet the hair possessed that greasy, flattened quality that reminded me of Susy’s radical new style. Worst of all were the eyes, sharply-set and alert.

  “He almost looks normal,” Billy observed.

  “No joke. He could pass for a lawyer or something.”

  Billy snorted in amusement.

  “This is interesting,” I offered, “because, if I’d thought he were human—really human—then I’d say he was nothing more than a sleazy-looking person. Very sleazy-looking.”

  “Hm,” was the only thing Billy could give back.

  “Understand what I’m saying? A few of them can pass as people. It might explain how they went unnoticed till today.”

  “Holy cow!”

  I nodded solemnly. “If they’re smart enough to mimic humans and not get caught, then why couldn’t they flip a simple light switch?”

  “Great,” Billy said, “you really let the air out of that balloon.”

  “Light or no light, we need to go where they aren’t. And, right now, from here, that can’t be done. Either we gamble the kitchen, or linger and starve to death.”

  “You said you’d prefer that to the risk, though, remember?”

  I gave him an icy look.

  “Okay, then. But let’s be practical, it takes a long time to starve to death.” Billy mused. “Might we give it a couple of days?”

  My hand hit my face and pulled the skin under my eyes. A childish gesture, but I didn’t have words to say—not nice ones. It made sense to hold tight, on the surface of things. But Billy was grimly quiet afterwards. Neither of us really liked the idea of staying.

  Then there was that agonizing worry that they would never leave.

  FIVE

  Three days.

  We had water from the lab sinks, and protection from sight in our respective hideouts. Fear quickly became boredom. Despite the temptation to pass time with card games or lively chitchat, we didn’t dare distract ourselves. Vigilance was necessary. At all times, one of us was looking through a window, at the school grounds, and the other stayed next to the door, grounding an ear.

  Hall monitors, as reviled as their kiddie predecessors, came down the seventh-grade wing, once for every day of our confinement. Billy and I secreted ourselves and waited. The first two times, they simply bumped into the door and fumbled with the handle, and quickly gave up any notion of coming into the classroom. The third time, they managed the door fine, but had trouble avoiding furniture. The metal-on-floor squeal of chair legs made me clench my teeth. It only lasted a few minutes. (Long minutes, mind you.) Growing tired of running into things, they grunted at each other for retreat.

  I came out of the cupboard and scowled at Billy. There wasn’t really a good reason for this, but I had to blame someone for my misery, and he stood five feet away.

  “Thrilling, isn’t this?” I spoke jaggedly. “Glad we decided to wait them out. In a few days, I’ll be a wonderful candidate for Save the Children.”

  “Who’s gonna be your sponsor? It’s a fair bet everyone’s dead.”

  This last fact we conceded the day before. Without sign of wailing or sirens or gunshots, it was safe to say zombie rule would go unchallenged. For the town, definitely. Who knew about elsewhere? Bottom line was: no parents, no police, and, therefore, no law and order. Except the law and order of natural selection—survival of the fittest. So far, it appeared Billy and I were the fittest; otherwise, if not the fittest, the stealthiest. But I was getting fed up. Billy too was restless, as revealed by his nasty habit of taking a deep breath and sighing real big. I kept telling him to stop, and each time he would apologize and go back to staring outside. Thirty minutes later, like clockwork, a gigantic exhalation.

  “Billy!” I yelled—in a whisper, of course (if such a thing is possible). “Stop it.”

  A few dozen times of this, he eventually started to ignore me. It was frustrating living in a single room, with nothing to eat, having to pee over a sink while the other person awkwardly looked away. We were sick of each other. Basic human decency withered away, ergo my third-day explosion.

  “Sponsor? Hmm, let’s see, how ‘bout you, Billy? Yeah, that sounds grand. I’d like four burgers, a pound of fries, and twelve Dr. Peppers. Hop to it!”

  “What the blazes do you want from me?” Billy shot back. “Do you want to eat and be eaten? There’s no either-or in this situation.”

  “I can certainly not eat and be eaten. Sound any better?”

  “No.”

  “Right, so while you’re rotting in this prison, which smells like Einstein’s sweaty foot—I never liked Ms. Zio’s chemistry class, by the way . . .”

  Billy bristled.

  “While you’re here, I’m gonna eat so much that, hopefully, I slip into a food coma.”

  “Then maybe your death will be painless after all. Lucky you.”

  He had me up to knees in vitriol. I looked around the room for something hazardous to throw. All I could see were clipboards and binders, and a three-hole puncher made of stainless steel. The last I grabbed and nearly made good on the threat. My arm was cocked back and ready to launch, but we heard that high-frequency screech again, and the ground shook so hard the blood in my legs climbed into my chest.

  “Hold it,” I said, “something’s happening.”

  Billy walked to the window. “One of them is going inside the club house.”

  “What?” I crept over next to him.

  “What I said: One of them went inside the—wait!”

  I startled.

  “No, I mean look.”

  There was no mistake about it. People. They walked out through the doorway of the club house. Some were obviously injured or severely weakened, moving as badly as the more gimpy zombies.

  “Hostages,” I said.

  “I thought you said they ate people.”

  “They do. I saw Susy Collins eat Tiffany Clarence. And I already told you about the soup-slurping aficionado.”

  “Ms. Collins is a zombie?”

  “Was a zombie,” I said gravely. “I found her dining in a restroom, eighth-grade wing. That’s where I was when everyone died.”

  Billy still looked confused. “Okay, sure. But, if what you say is true, then why did they keep this group alive?”

  “Can’t you see? Look. It’s right in front of you.”

  Again, Billy had that bemused expression, the bane of his existence. “Silly Billy,” or “Possum Lawsome,” many kids called him. But he wasn’t as stupid as that.

  “Adults. There’re all adults,” he finally uttered.

  “Yeah, and they look like faculty. There’s the janitor, Mr. Houston, and there’s Mrs. Aron, and Mrs. Tamber, and Mr. Bostwick. Oh, shoot, I really like him.” He was my English teacher in sixth grade. On most days, he’d let me shirk off class, and he almost never assigned homework.

  Billy pricked up. “And there . . . there’s Ms. Zio.”

  With half her skirt torn, and her brown hair t
ousled, the busty woman limped barefoot behind Mr. Bostwick. She held a hand on his shoulder for balance.

  “Don’t get any ideas, Billy.”

  “I won’t. We wouldn’t stand a chance. There’s too many.”

  And the number only grew. A whole cavalcade of new faces came marching from the school toward the club house. One or two had the fierce-looking intelligence of the “lawyer zombie” we saw before. The rest were a wobbly mess, except they tended to look the ugliest and most scary. The humans cringed from their collective grumble, the sound of a giant stomach eager for sustenance.

  They walked in the direction of the front parking lot.

  “This might be our chance,” I said. “Looks like most of them are out there. We can sneak our way to the cafeteria. In the kitchen is an emergency backdoor they sometimes use for deliveries. It’s closer to the woods than most other parts of the main building.”

  “It’s also connected to the driveway, next to the parking lot. You can see the problem with that, right?”

  “Moot. Our number-one priority is food anyway, and it’s there.”

  “Correction,” Billy blurted, “your number-one priority is food. Mine is keeping my skin puncture-free. More than that, we can’t be completely certain all the zombies are out there.”

  “We can’t be completely certain we’ll get another opportunity like this either. They’ve been here for three days. Obviously, they like it here.”

  “Or they could be relocating. Why else are they moving everybody? I say we wait and see. If they go, then we have the whole place to ourselves, and you can raid the pantry all day long.”

  For a split second, I considered giving in. There was some logic to Billy’s suggestion, but I was beginning to feel that optimism like his was ill-gotten in a situation fraught with misfortune. Whereas my plan was driven by the sheer determination to continue with a clear head, and an increased chance of outrunning—and outwitting—the enemy, should that time come. Neither was possible if we kept going hungry.

  I shook my head. “Be honest: How woozy have you gotten the last twenty-four hours? How much more tired than normal? How many times have we nearly killed each other? We’re so tightly wound, and it’s made worse by starvation.”

 

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