Zombie School

by Aaron Jenkins

expression.

  “You’re the most clueless zombie I’ve ever met, I swear. It’s something girls do every month. They bleed.” She motioned with her eyes. “Down there.”

  I looked sidelong in the direction she was indicating. “That’s disgusting.”

  She slapped me hard across the chest.

  I shoved her arm aside. “This isn’t good. The Stiffs will be all over us.”

  “Give me some more fabric,” she instructed.

  “They’ll still smell it,” I said.

  “I’d still rather not be bleeding all over myself, thanks,” she replied.

  I tore some more fabric from the shirt under my safety gear and handed it to her. I crossed my arms over my chest and watched her expectantly.

  “Can you give me some privacy please?” she said harshly, putting her hands on her hips.

  I rolled my eyes. “Is this really the time for modesty?”

  She pointed with her finger ahead of me. Throwing my arms up, I turned and stepped away to the edge of the clearing. I waited a few minutes until she gave me the okay and I returned as she was re-belting her pants. “The flow isn’t that bad,” she said.

  “You’re a walking Stiff magnet,” I said. “Your crotch is an advertisement for good eats.”

  She slapped me hard across the chest again.

  “Seriously though. They’re going to keep following us. The smell isn’t that bad right now, so they’ve only got a vague sense of it. But if it gets worse, they’re going to come after us.”

  “I’ll have to keep it clean.”

  “That’s a waste of water.”

  “Not if it keeps us alive. Come on, let’s go.”

  I returned the feed and water containers to my backpack and we started again, returning to the dried out gully. We traveled most of the day, stopping every hour or so for Morgan to check and clean herself if necessary. Stiffs started following us as we passed, like we were the grand marshals of a zombie parade. We managed to keep them away, though, and Morgan’s scent wasn’t strong enough to incite them into full attack. In the evening Morgan had me give her a new piece of cloth and tossed the other one. We stopped to rest and she had some more feed and water, and I had another morsel of brain. I was going through them much faster than I wanted to.

  We decided to rest until night, when the Stiffs would start to become dormant again. Only a few of the fresher ones would stay on their feet, and their senses wouldn’t be as strong as during the day.

  When darkness fell we started again. The number of Stiffs had gradually receded and we were left relatively undisturbed as we made our way through the forest that second night.

  “When will it stop?” I whispered to her as we crept through the brush and between trees.

  “Maybe a week. Hopefully less,” she said.

  “That long? Every month? Sounds like hell.”

  She gave me an agitated look.

  “Makes me glad to be dead,” I answered her unspoken retort.

  “You’re a guy so you never had to worry about it even when you were alive,” she said. “Don’t they teach you anything about humans?”

  “They might have taught Trevor since he’s training to be a breeder. I’m not required to take any human biology classes,” I said.

  “You sound pretty ignorant.”

  “I don’t know a lot about humans,” I admitted. “But I never really needed to know either. The only humans I ever saw were at Mrs. Kushner’s farm and I wasn’t allowed to speak to them. I would just feed them sometimes for Trevor. Most Wakes go their whole lives without ever seeing a real human face to face.”

  “I guess that makes it easier.”

  “What?”

  “To be a zombie. They keep humans away from you so you don’t question what you were or what you’ve become. They only show you what you are, the world you have. You know what they say: Ignorance is bliss. Sounds like the zombie motto.”

  “You don’t know anything,” I shot back. “They keep humans away from us because they’re manipulative. They’ll say anything to get free, then they’ll kill you without even thinking twice.”

  “Is that what you think I’m doing?”

  “I don’t know. But I don’t really have a choice. I’m outcast from Revenant. This is the only chance I have to survive.”

  “Is that what they teach you? That it’s better to be alive no matter what?”

  “No,” I said. “They don’t teach that. I came to that conclusion myself.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’ve seen Stiffs. I see what they are. And I never want to become that again. And that’s death. It’s wandering, aimless. No control. When I’m a Wake I have control. I can make my own choices. When you’re dead there is no choice. You’re just empty. I won’t let myself become that. Not if I can help it.”

  “There are worse things.”

  “Like what?”

  “Maybe you’ll find out one day,” Morgan replied. “For a zombie you’re very sheltered, Zellner. Maybe you’re lucky. But if you had seen half the things I have, you’d know that there are worse things than death.”

  “I can’t believe that.”

  She pulled on my arm and I stopped walking. “What?” I turned to look back at her.

  She pointed ahead a few feet into the forest. A body lay crumpled on the ground before a tall, gnarled beech tree, its arm thrown lifelessly over its head.

  “It’s just a Stiff,” I said.

  “Wait,” she hissed. “Maybe he’s alive.”

  “Nobody’s alive out here,” I said.

  She pulled away, but I held her wrist tightly. “Let go!” she commanded.

  “No,” I said. “Come on. We don’t have time for this.”

  “Let go!” she cried again, shrilly and loudly.

  “Hey, shut up!” I barked at her.

  “I think that’s my dad!”

  She pulled to break free again and I relented, releasing her arm. She ran to the tree and bent down over the body. She shook it. “Dad?” she said.

  I stepped up behind her, watching carefully.

  She gingerly lifted his arm away from his head, revealing a long face with a small nose and strong chin. “Dad!” she cried.

  His eyes were closed and his head was tilted to the side, buried in the ground.

  She shook him again. “Dad, get up! Dad!”

  I touched the back of her shoulder. “He’s dead.”

  “No,” she shook her head. Tears were trickling down her cheeks. “Please. Dad, wake up! Wake up!” She shook his body again, hard.

  “Morgan, stop,” I said sternly. “He’s gone. You’re drawing attention to us.”

  “Please!” she begged, shaking his shoulder with as much force as she could muster. She fell on top of his body, arms clutching his shoulders and head pressed to them. “Please don’t die,” she whispered, hugging him close.

  His eyes opened drowsily. They turned toward Morgan, fixing on her. She sat up, gazing down at him. “Dad?”

  A light gasp escaped his lips.

  “Dad!” She wrapped her arms around his shoulder and hugged him tight. “You’re alive! You’re alive!”

  He turned his face toward her and lifted his hand to brush it through her hair. She touched the side of his face lightly, feeling his pale skin. Then he clenched his hand around the back of her head. Morgan scrunched her face. “Ow. Dad, you’re hurting me. Dad. Dad!”

  He began forcing her head toward him, and he turned his head to face her straight on. The half of his face that had been buried in the dirt was missing, nothing but skull, blood, and shredded skin masking it. Her father’s jaw fell open and he gurgled voraciously as he slowly lifted his mouth toward her to devour her brain.

  28. LOSSES

  “He’s a Stiff!” I called, and lunged for Morgan.

  I grabbed her shoulder with one hand and caught the Stiff’s hand that was wrapped around her head with the other. I peeled it off, freeing her, and tossed Morgan behin
d me. She fell in a heap of dried leaves, twigs, and dirt. The Stiff, becoming fully reanimated, jerked toward me, throwing its upper body forward. I leaped away but found myself being drawn back. The Stiff was clenching my hand. It had secured it with a fierce grip when I had pried it off of Morgan’s head. I tugged to break free, but the Stiff held fast. Garbled groans and grunts were beginning to rumble through the foliage. The Stiffs were being drawn by the noise.

  “Morgan, get out of here!” I cried back to her.

  She slowly brought herself to her feet, stumbling as she did.

  “They’re coming!” I called. “Hurry! Go!”

  Morgan gazed forward at me as I struggled with the Stiff that had been her father for a few moments. She sprinted toward us and stopped as she came to the Stiff. It was slowly climbing onto its knees, pulling itself erect.

  She looked to me. “Please kill him,” she said airily. “Don’t let him stay like this.”

  I nodded once, firmly.

  Then she looked to the Stiff, its eyes fixated on me as it attempted to rise.

  “Goodbye, daddy,” she said, blinking a trickle of tears from her eyes. Then she sprinted out of the clearing and into the brush away from us.

  Once she had disappeared, I turned my attention to the Stiff. It towered over me, reaching with its free hand toward my chest. I pulled back my free hand and struck it in the face as hard as I could. The Stiff sprawled back, but didn’t release my hand. Its upper body bent back at a weird angle and it stumbled, using my weight to help hold itself up. It slowly straightened itself, and I could see that my punch had dislocated its jaw. It hung off to the side, making it difficult for the Stiff to open and close its mouth. It moved toward me again.

  This time I swung the arm of the hand it held behind me so that I thrust the Stiff