“We aren’t starving yet. It takes—”
“A long time. Yes, yes, I know. But we won’t die from lack of food, we’ll die because lack of food made us do something stupid.”
“Like go to the cafeteria when it’s clearly too dangerous?”
“No, like me throwing a crappy three-hole puncher at your head, making enough noise to tip off the greaseballs.”
“Greaseballs? That’s offensive, you know.”
“See? I want to kill you again.”
Billy smirked. He took another look outside, where the horde moved slowly from view. Many of the women cried. Everyone’s head hung low, with eyes never daring to rise from the ground.
“All right,” Billy agreed, “we’ll do it your way.”
“Then we need a couple things.”
“What?”
I held up my weapon of choice. “This.”
“A three-hole puncher? To pinch them to death?”
“No,” I said defensively. “I thought this would be a decent bludgeon. ‘Hulk smash!’ You know?”
“If it were me, I wouldn’t get that close.”
“Fresh out of AK47s, I’m afraid. But, hey, do you have some ninja-type throwing stars handy? Then you might be able to keep your distance. Yet, somehow, I think, the metal detectors would have caught you out on that.” A silly idea came to me. “Hey, if we ever get out of here, we should create zombie detectors. We’d make a killing, so to speak.”
Billy’s face was placid.
“Getting used my nonsense, eh?”
“You could say that. I know why you do it, but Lord help me understand how you muster up the will.”
“Unique to the core, that’s me.” I flashed him a cocky wink. “Now, seriously, grab something big and heavy and let’s get out of here.”
He walked around the room, inspecting the drawers and cupboards, eventually falling upon “no man’s land,” Ms. Zio’s desk. After taking a deep breath, he dug in. He flinched suddenly when he saw the risqué novel I found earlier. That made me snicker. Four minutes of achingly respectful examination, he decided on a letter opener about eight inches long. The end was sharp, but the edges left much to be desired.
“Are you sure?” I asked. “Big and heavy: These things ring a bell?”
“Don’t zombies bleed?”
“Yes, they bleed. Susy dumped a gallon before calling it quits.”
Billy’s shoulders slumped.
“Yes,” I confessed, “she’s dead—I killed her.”
“You had no choice. Hopefully, we don’t have to kill anyone else we know.”
“Yeah.”
Dream on.
SIX
The door creaked, and Billy winced.
“Take it easy,” I whispered. “We aren’t ghosts. Sound is bound to happen.”
“Just go.”
I nodded and went forward.
As all doors accessible to the school’s hallways, this one was tucked in three feet from the face of the lockers lining the walls. I had ample room to maneuver without popping into the open. Crouched behind me, Billy let the door gently shut, his hand twisting the nob with the delicate precision of safe cracker.
I craned my neck forward and let my face inch over the plane of exposure. My eyes surveyed the length of walkway. Nothing there. The only noticeable change from days before was the blood, which had gone from dark red to fecal brown. It flaked under the scrape of my shoes and made an uncomfortable crackle, like sand pressed against concrete.
Looking back at Billy, I could tell he wasn’t well. His face had become porcelain and his freckles more pronounced. I patted his arm, but he didn’t to react. He was in another dimension. To pull him back to reality, I vised the spot above his elbow.
“Ouch!”
“Sorry,” I said, making it obvious I was not sorry.
“It’s okay. I’ll be fine.”
“Really?”
Without saying more, he looked through me and into the distance. He wasn’t fine, but he’d already taken the first step. He might not take it again if we went back. The initiative was mine. I walked forward, wading into an intangible river of fear and aguish, left behind by all those ruined lives. Billy followed, his movements a mixture of pickpocket and stalking cat. In his expression, however, was the sense we were violating sacred ground. This feeling came to me as well. Though, what we did now was done for no other reason than our own continuance—and pizza, if there was any left from last Friday.
Knowing better than to stay in the open, from one door to the next, I made my way, hiding briefly, using the cavities like a castle’s battlements. I peeked out each time and made sure there weren’t enemies, then relocated, with Billy close behind. It went quick, considering we had to scurry about fifteen different times.
After reaching the hall intersection, I carefully looked down sixth-grade wing, to the office. Through the windows and opened blinds, I could tell it was empty. In the opposite direction, down eighth-grade wing, where the cafeteria lay, there was silence, and cleanliness. The floor was spotless. I had to remind myself of seeing this before, post-rumble with Susy. Even Billy commented on it.
“Beats me,” I said with a shrug. “Maybe nobody was there when things happened.”
Possible, as the killings had begun early in the day, and lunch shifts didn’t start till eleven-thirty. Yet something about that unblemished floor made it seem more profane than the rest, like a deceitful trail to disaster. Despite my unease, I charged forward, and we went unseen to the cafeteria entrance.
Long fold-up tables bordered the perimeter of the room, which was only large enough for fifty students at a time, hence the lunch shifts. Round seats sprung from each table by stainless steel pipes. The walls were white-painted cinder block. One side had the mural of a bear, light-brown hair amidst green backdrop, the school colors. But the animal was more than a mascot. Legend had it a famous trapper from the area befriended the beast, and the two hunted together bountifully till the Sanpoil River flooded and drowned them both. The bear’s name was Bonami (pronounced by the locals as “bau-nah-mai”).
The cafeteria too was spotless. Although, my shoes stuck to the floor in places. But that was from spilt juice and soda, which, as usual, the custodians found well enough to leave alone.
The whole time during our trek, the florescent lights were shut off. Adding to our fortuitous subterfuge was a lack of windows in the halls. Not so here, where a large translucent sunroof, shaped like a deflated pyramid, pierced into the sky. I felt naked. Billy glowered up at the ceiling, as if it were a long-time friend stabbing him in the back.
“Never mind that,” I told him. “We need to get to the kitchen.”
Not waiting for acknowledgement, I continued onward. Then the boom finally fell, and we had to duck—fast!
It was a scream more than a cry. Blood-curdling. A young girl, almost certainly our age. And it ended as quickly as it had begun. Billy and I crumpled ourselves between the tables. Because of how they were arranged, we could see the center of the cafeteria, which, unfortunately, meant we could be seen as well. The scream itself happened behind us, so I expected it, whatever was responsible, to come from there. Rather, a gigantic water balloon emerged from the kitchen. It was another zombie, but five times larger than any person I’d ever seen, and holding a butcher knife the size of a flat-screen TV. It was a blessing that its intent on the sound was too great to look around. Billy and I were petrified enough we probably wouldn’t have run if discovered.
“What was that?”
“I guess zombies have an obesity problem too. Really is a tough break.”
Billy poked me in the kidney.
“Yikes! Guess I deserved that.”
“No dip.” His mouth trembled. “Now what are we going to do? You brought us into this mess.”
“I’m not going back the way we came. Running into that blubber bloat is the last thing I wanna do.”
Billy nodded. “Not arguing with you there.�
�
“That leaves one choice. The sooner we get into the kitchen, the sooner we can use the back door and make for the woods. Because to heck with fighting that monstrosity over school meatloaf.”
“Thus, the hunger subsides. How convenient.”
I stuck my tongue out, wanting to make a spray of it, but one decibel above a pin dropping might bring back Humpty Dumpty. And—NOPE!—that was not going to happen.
SEVEN
“The safest place is here,
To fight away the fear,
The fear that lurks so near;
So let us have good cheer.”
“Let us have good cheer?” Billy looks concerned. “What’s there to be cheerful about?”
I AM HERE. On the floor, hands and knees sopping up dirt and grime, nose irritated, getting ready to commit an insane act. And Billy wants to deny me the last mantra of calm I keep from early childhood. Its magic is dying.
“Move!” I say forcefully. “And do me a favor and shut your mouth.”
He abides, and we skulk to the kitchen door, which, at my push, swings gracefully on well-oiled hinges. It all seems like gravy till we enter and hit a wall. Not a physical wall, though it’s as solid as the gaseous planets, with the festering appearance of Neptune. My body feels like it’s becoming less mine as I inhale the all-encompassing haze. Billy too is absorbed. He vanishes before my eyes. Actually, everything vanishes except for the bluish violet.
“Tabatha!”
“Billy!”
Too loud, I think at once. But then I think it isn’t loud enough.
“BILLY!”
I thrust my arms in front of me and use them for guidance. My knee bangs against the corner of a stool. The yelp is definitely audible. They’ll be upon us in no time.
“Billy, we got to get outta here!”
I try to go from memory to find the outside door. A long time ago, in galaxy far, far away, I got in trouble on two or three—maybe six—different occasions. Cafeteria work is the best kind of detention, because Mrs. Price lets you lick cookie dough off the whisks, so I have a fair mental map of the place.
“Billy, I’m gonna open the door. Maybe that will let this crud out and we can see better.”
No answer.
Three steps forward, and two to the right, round the metal shelves, where all the oven sheets are stacked. Another two steps forward, and a diagonal three-step lunge, and my hand should land on the door knob. Instead, a faucet juts out to meet me. I misjudged my direction. Or maybe my spacing was off. Whatever it was, salvation remains a good distance away.
I call out again, “Billy, where are you?”
“Right here.” He touches my shoulder and I scream.
“It’s just me,” he says.
“Jeez Louise. Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”
“Hey, my name ain’t Louise.”
“And I’m not Jimmie Hendrix, yet, somehow, I’m in one of his psychedelic dreams.”
“No kidding. What is this stuff?”
“Who cares? Would you rather conduct a scientific test, or live to see tomorrow?”
“I’d rather see.”
“Me too,” I agree. “But there’s something else. Something’s wrong. I feel like I’m swimming through the air, not walking really. Do you get that?”
“Have you had any weird ideas?” Billy asks.
“For a second or two, I wanted to go back to the cafeteria. I still do.”
Everything’s motionless, but for the billowing around us. And it’s quiet. We’ve been standing idly for several minutes and nothing has come to overtake us, not even “The Blob.”
“Hold my hand,” I tell Billy, “and don’t think to make a move on me, or I’ll shin you good.”
We link and make a wide band with our stretched arms, using them to skim the room. Things are different. Objects stand out of place, walls are positioned oddly. All this is strange considering my last cookie-tasting took place two weeks ago.
Billy accidently runs into a group of pots and pans strewn about the floor. I quicken the pace after that. We soon run into the large, walk-in freezer, its door open, food left to spoil and emit an overpowering smell. Casseroles and cheese-filled breadsticks, salty ham and vegetables (or what passes for veggies on a school budget). The rats already feasted on the offerings. Their droppings litter the floor and look like the pellets one feeds animals at a petting zoo.
“I don’t think I’m hungry anymore,” Billy admits.
There isn’t much to say to that. I don’t even feel like joking about it, I’m too repulsed.
Gripping his hand tighter, I pull him along. The freezer is a terrific landmark. The door to the loading zone is ten feet away.
One-two-three-four-five-six-seven-eight-WHAT?!
“Where are we going?” Billy asks.
I’m about to speak, then the earthquake happens.
Not an actual earthquake. A seismic event. But the catalyst is less geological and more . . . biological. The product of a reproductive calamity. Between what and what, only God knows.
“Go!”
Billy’s already moving. He drives me under a prep table. It’s a terrible hiding place. The table’s surface is too high. No matter. We’re dead. Despite the haze, we can see its shadow, the dread outline like a distant volcano behind clouds. The Blob has returned. It burps and farts every step. Surprisingly, no scent. I expected the foulest of the foul.
As it passes us, Billy nudges me and nods at its legs, knotty and calloused, bleeding black and green. In the cracks of its putrid skin I can see light breaking through, but I would hesitate to call it illuminating. It has that eerie quality of black light, the kind used for glow-in-the-dark stuff.
Something is tossed on the table. It burns my nostrils with its pungent stink, an ode to pretty-girl aroma, oversold and overused.
Another burp—a roar really, coming from an ocean of stomach acid. I quiver at the swift sharpening of a long blade. Billy too. We know what’s about to happen. The loud chop sends shockwaves down the table’s legs, to the floor, and up our bodies. Blood trickles over the edge. Some of the spatter lands next to me.
I want to scream. Billy senses this, and he puts his hand over my mouth, gently but firmly, and I feel the strength of his arm. The chop, chop, chop keeps on. Each strike is precise, determined and malevolent. No need to guess the fare. Even so, I go along with the delusion it’s something normal, as in beef or pork, or a big hunk of tuna. The more I tell myself this lie, the better it gets; till a human hand falls over, thin and delicate, its nails painted hot pink. A young girl’s.
Billy releases me, and we both get ready to sprint. Any direction into the abyss, it doesn’t matter. As long as I’m a million miles away from this abattoir, I’ll happily dig myself into Hades.
The Blob kicks the hand across the room, where it skids out of sight, leaving a wake of blood.
Scraps? Or the big jerk can’t bend over, he’s so freakin’ fat.
For the first time during my closeup with this beast, I smile. Billy sees me and shakes his head in disbelief, probably thinking I lost it. It’s not craziness, it’s tiredness, physical and mental. The kind of tiredness brought by constant fear. I’m so tired, in fact, that I seriously consider stomping on The Blob’s toes. Thankfully, common sense wins out. This is not a flailing husk of a woman. Nor with our combined strength would Billy and I have a chance at killing it, not with a hole puncher and letter opener. Still, the waiting is putting me into a desperate seizure of hatred, and I have to act, to do something.
My eyes reach for Billy’s. He can tell I’m getting skittish, and he moves his lips, making the words, “Be patient. It’s okay.”
The final chop is made. The Blob grunts and swipes from the table the remaining blood, skin, and suet. Everything unceremoniously hits the ground. Again, spatter invades my space, and I flinch from it. Billy looks at the castoff. Sadness comes to his face, but not fear or disgust. That time is over. This is our new reality,
and he’s made peace with it.
When the monster walks away, to where, I assume, he keeps the rest of the stock, Billy and I look at each other for confirmation. It has to be now or never. With slight nods, we make agreement, and begin to slink away.
Slink . . . slink. . . slink . . .
“Where do you think you’re going?”
SHOOT!
Its voice is so rich and deep it suffocates my skin.
“You’re not dashing away so soon, I hope? Not before I’ve had a chance to show you dessert? There’s a nice pancreas over here. Sweetest thing you’ve tasted, I promise.”
The haze engulfs us still. We’re next to a large storeroom, where chips and crackers are kept.
Billy whispers, “How does he see us?”
“I see you just fine,” The Blob says. “I’ve seen you better than the hawk sees the field mouse. Yes, that’s what you are: little mice, pitter-pattering to another hole, where you think you’ll be safe and sound. What’s the matter? My kitchen not discreet enough for you?”
I want to say something back, but I’m not sure it really knows where we are. Billy stands silent, his ear cocked like he’s trying to pinpoint its voice.
“Sorry for my mess. I’m not used to company. Not your kind of company. I normally don’t have time to entertain children before they stop breathing.”
That’s it!
“I suppose it’s pointless to resist, uh? You obviously have our number. Why didn’t you kill us before?”
“Why? Ha-ha-ha! You’re not going anywhere. This place is special. This place is mine. And nothing goes anywhere without my permission.”
I tap Billy. “I’ve got a bad feeling he’s talking about his farts.” At that, the room rumbles with another laugh.
“Close enough,” The Blob says back. “There isn’t much reason to explain. You’d probably purge yourselves. Oh!—I do hope you had a chance to gorge. It’s always best when meat is marbled.”
Now Billy chimes in. “Afraid we’re the fast-metabolism types. You wouldn’t get much from our skinny bodies. Might as well show us the way out.”
Tabitha's Zombies: Part 1 Page 4