The Dead Rise

by David Thompson

  "Who are you, and why are you barging into my workshop uninvited?" Mr. Gorsky was not known for his patience or charm.

  "They...I can't..." The poor student, already out of breath and clearly distressed, had obviously not been prepared for an encounter with the swarthy, vicious teacher. Then again, nobody was ever really prepared for an encounter with Mr. Gorsky.

  "Get the hell out of my workshop, and don't come back until you're on my attendance list!"

  The student held up his hands, still gasping for breath, pointed towards the door, and waved his hands in a "time out" gesture. His pleas fell upon deaf ears, however, as Mr. Gorsky grabbed the student's left arm and pulled the door wide open. The student screamed as the door swung open to reveal a horrifying sight. A tall, gaunt man occupied the doorway - at least, the remains of what once was a man. A torn and tattered tuxedo covered in dirt and grime hung from his frame; his skull was sunken, eye sockets completely empty, and large pieces of skin and flesh had fallen away from his cheekbones. Despite being obviously, thoroughly, and completely dead (indeed, long dead), the corpse stood on its own remarkably well - too well, in fact. The creature took a slow, clumsy step towards Mr. Gorsky, decayed mouth wide open. Mr. Gorsky moved quickly, shoving the terrified freshman behind him and out of harm's way, and wrapped his massive hands around the corpse's neck. The fact that the undead creature would not need to breathe didn't seem to enter the shop teacher's mind as he held tight and shook the creature with all his might. As hard as Mr. Gorsky fought to take down the zombie, his efforts were in vain. The unstoppable creature took advantage of the proximity of the shop teacher's meaty arms and bit down on them with amazing force; even from the opposite side of the shop, Jeremy could hear the ripping of flesh as the creature's head jerked to the side and tore part of Mr. Gorsky's arm away from the bone. He screamed in pain, releasing his grip on the creature, and pulled back to slam the door behind him as hard as he could. The door rattled and shook behind Mr. Gorsky as the undead creature pounded against it, but it held firm. The injured teacher cradled his arm and dashed towards the nearest first aid kit. He said nothing about what had just happened as he pulled out disinfectant and gauze. As if unable to believe what just happened, most of the students in the class stared on in disbelief.

  "What the fuck," Adam muttered, "was that...was it actually..."

  "It was a goddamned zombie," Jeremy said. His voice was distant and dreamy. The thumping of his heart in his chest sounded like a mighty bass drum to him, so loud that he could swear everyone else could hear it. As soon as the creature behind the door had been revealed, adrenaline had started flowing, and a powerful pressure began to build behind his forehead. His head was already pounding, far worse than it ever had before. Whatever was about to happen, he knew it was going to be epic. This seemed like the moment that he had been born for. He’d just seen a zombie - an honest-to-god walking corpse that had torn a chunk of flesh out of their shop teacher. For the first time in his life, it felt like an action movie was unfolding before his eyes, and he was the superhero.

  "I told you the movie was real," Jason pouted. He seemed shaken at what he'd just witnessed, but being proven right about the video he'd shown his friends the day before seemed more important to him than being concerned about what was happening right in front of his eyes.

  "What should we do?" Adam was looking around, desperate to find anything that could be used as a weapon. He settled on a screwdriver - an odd choice, given the shop's extensive selection of steel pipes, hammers, and the extensive selection of homemade weapons locked in Mr. Gorsky's office. Mr. Gorsky was not oblivious to this fact, however, as he tossed his key ring at the nearest student and gestured towards the locked chest where he stored the "forbidden" projects that he'd confiscated from students. Catching on immediately, the student dashed into Mr. Gorsky's office, pushed the chest into the shop, and fumbled with the keys until he found one that popped the chest open. Inside was a veritable treasure trove of student-made weapons: nunchucks, brass knuckles, knives, swords, baseball bats, and more. High school students left to work on their own projects in Shop class seemed inevitably to gravitate towards the same sorts of forbidden labours, and there was nobody better and remaining vigilant and catching the weapons before they could leave the confines of the shop than Mr. Gorsky.

  “Guys," Jeremy said, staggering forward under the pressure that he felt building up uncontrollably in his mind, "I've...I've got something you need to see. It’s important."

  "I think it can wait," Jason said, finally cluing in that he should join the mob of students rushing towards the weapons cache to desperately arm themselves.

  "No, it really can't," Jeremy's voice dropped an octave as he unleashed the force building inside of himself. He operated on pure instinct, reaching out with a dozen delicate tendrils of force towards the chest. The unseen appendages grasped weapon after weapon, lifting them into the air where they waved menacingly. Jeremy laughed loudly, and all eyes were upon him.

  "What the fuck," Chris Johnson sprang towards Jeremy. "Are you doing this, you fucking freak?" He planted a hand on Jeremy's chest, ready to shove the smaller boy backwards. Another tendril of force burst out of Jeremy's chest, knocking Chris backwards into the air. Jeremy laughed harder, giddy with glee at the incredible power he suddenly wielded. He had slipped into a mental zone which didn’t question, didn’t attempt to subvert the reality of what was happening, but which simply accepted it and acted within it. The control and power he felt was amazing, and addictive.

  "Open the door," he said as his laughter tapered off. The students in the room stood still, rooted to the spot. They looked at each other, nobody quite sure what was going on. Jeremy’s eyes flashed with a brilliant silvery inner light as he repeated the command slowly. "Open. The. Door."

  By now, the door was shaking under the pounding of far more than the one set of hands that had been on it when it slammed shut. Without a window to peer through, Jeremy could only estimate that there had to be at least a dozen zombies mindlessly thrashing against the locked door. Adam stepped in front of Jeremy, looking him up and down carefully.

  "Are you sure about this?" He asked. He had never seen Jeremy so brazen, so confident. "We've both seen enough zombie movies to know that this isn't going to end well unless you've got more than this crazy parlour trick up your sleeve."

  Jeremy didn't respond. He only smiled at his friend, the calmness in his eyes saying everything that needed to be said. Adam skittered to the door, carefully ducking under and around the array of floating weaponry. He looked back at Jeremy, waiting for a signal. Jeremy nodded, and Adam flicked the lock open, pulled the doors open wide, and ran as quickly as he could from the crowd of zombies which forced its way inside. Time seemed to slow down for Jeremy until it was only a crawl; he looked into the faces of each of the creatures which was barging into the room, and saw only long-dead eyes. The weapons which he held in mid-air sprang to life, moving with unnatural swiftness and silence, propelled with all the force of a hand grenade. The flashing wall of steel tore into the attackers; knives tore through skulls and torsoes, homemade swords slashed through atrophied muscle and bone, and crude brass knuckles struck harder than a professional boxer, snapping limbs and grinding tissue to dust. In a flash, all but one of the zombies had fallen lifeless - some dropped to the ground from their injuries, while others were impaled and flung out of the room into the hallway beyond. The remaining zombie made a beeline towards Jeremy, but the young man stood his ground. Time slowed down once again as the zombie stumbled in slow-motion towards his intended victim, arms outstretched. A small smile crinkled the edges of Jeremy's mouth as he waited until the creature was nearly within arm's reach of him. At that instant, he unleashed all of the rage he'd suppressed through years of bullying and torment, after a lifetime of being knocked around for being too small and weak. He screamed louder than he thought possible, and the dozens of phantom appendages which had wielded the weaponry against the other zombies all
combined into a single massive invisible hand. This hand grasped the zombie and yanked, treating him like a baseball leaving a pitcher's hand. The zombie crashed upward into the roof hard enough that the cracking sound of bones being destroyed could be heard, before being slammed down into the floor three times with incredible force. When Jeremy finally released his telekinetic grip on the creature, little more was left than a small pile of dust and bones in the middle of the shop floor. At the same time, Jeremy dropped to his knees shivering with exhaustion and the unshakeable numbing cold that had spread through his body as he fought. Despite not having moved a muscle, he was breathing hard and struggling to remain conscious. His friends rushed to his sides and held his arms, gently lowering him to the ground.

  For what felt like an eternity, nobody spoke. Jeremy slowly regained his breath, and with Adam's assistance was able to rise to his feet again. All eyes were on him in a mixture of admiration, fear, and confusion - although there was more of the latter in the mixture than either of the former two. Jeremy gently cleared his throat, feeling that he should at least say something.

  "So...that was.." His voice trailed off. He wasn't quite sure what had happened himself, to be honest. The silence in the room carried the sound of far-off growls from the hallway beyond the classroom, followed by an ear-piercing scream of horror. "I know this seems a little hard to believe, but it looks like it's hard to deny what's going on. Those things - those rotting creatures that attacked us - those are zombies. And I wish I could tell you what it was that I just did, I really do. I wish I could explain it, but I can't. I assume that there's some sort of causal relationship between the presence of supernatural monsters and me suddenly becoming telekinetic, but I can't say that with any certainty. What we do know is that there are almost certainly more where those things came from, and that means that everyone in this school is in danger, and we may be the only ones able to help them."

  "This is bullshit," Chris shouted. His face was red, and a vein bulged out of his forehead. "I don't know what the hell is going on, but you seriously expect us to believe that those are zombies? Did you put something in the water?"

  "Shut up, you little brat," Mr. Gorsky's voice boomed. Considering how severe his injury was, he seemed remarkably vibrant. "There's no sense in arguing over what happened. Whatever it was that took a bite out of me, it wasn't a normal person, and I know I wasn't drugged or imagining things. From the sounds of it, whatever those things are, there are more of them out there. We can debate what they are when we know that everyone is safe. Everybody grab something you can defend yourself with, and follow me. I think that Mr. Bearson has earned the right to choose his weapon first."

  Glancing around the room, Jeremy tried to decide what would work best. He was recovering quickly, and could already feel the welcome pressure building up throughout his entire body, focused behind his forehead. It seemed safe to assume that he'd be able to wield his telekinetic ability again, and if this time had been any indication, he'd be able to do so with more finesse and power than before. Whatever was happening to his body, it was certainly becoming adjusted to the foreign power that surged through his veins. This realization cued a smile on his face as a bucket on the wall caught his attention.

  "I'll take that," he said as he gestured towards the bucket.

  "Ball bearings?" Mr. Gorsky seemed confused momentarily, then shared Jeremy's smile as he realized what the teen planned. He placed his good hand on one of the shop's garbage pails - a massive blue plastic drum set on wheels. It was filled with debris from countless classes, but the powerful teacher was able to upend it with a single hand, dumping its contents onto the floor. He pointed at Chris. "Pick that up and make sure it's empty. Then fill it with whatever Jeremy wants."

  Although he seemed to resent being turned into an errand-boy for the teen that he normally preferred to bully, Chris listened to Mr. Gorsky's commands, and did as he asked. Jeremy pointed at several buckets of shop supplies. Within minutes, the massive drum was nearly full of ball bearings, nails and screws of varying sizes, heavy nuts, and washers. Chris was sweating profusely - he had been moving quickly, and the drum's contents weighed several hundred pounds. Even set on wheels, it was not an easy load to move.

  "What good is all that garbage going to do?" Chris seemed genuinely interested and mildly humbled for the first time. He didn’t like Jeremy, but there was certainly a fascination about the events unfolding around them.

  Jeremy waved his hand towards the drum full of odds and ends. A single ball bearing rose up from the pile, hovering silently in midair. With a flick of his wrist, he propelled the projectile towards the wall of the shop. Although the bearing moved too quickly to be seen, the thundering thump it made as it slammed into and embedded itself inside the far wall of the shop could not be mistaken. Chris nodded silently as he realized just how potent the makeshift weaponry could be. Jeremy nudged the heavy drum with an unseen hand, and it jerked forwards. It took him several seconds to gain proper control over it, but he was quickly able to move and steer the drum with virtually no physical effort. By the time he had it under control, he saw that his classmates had all found some sort of weapon that they could use.

  "We may not be movie heroes," he said to Adam, "but I think it's safe to say that we're going to kick some zombie ass."

  All Adam could manage was a weak grin. He held a three foot long piece of pipe in his hands, and it was all that he could do to hold it steady as his eyes remained fixed on the zombie corpses that littered the room's doorway.

  With everyone apparently prepared to proceed beyond the relative safety of the shop, Mr. Gorsky took the lead, wielding a vicious-looking student-made short sword in his good hand. He gestured for everyone to follow him, but all of the other students were frozen in place until Jeremy took up a position behind the shop teacher. Mr. Gorsky furtively glanced around the corner and then strode into the hallway, beckoning for everyone to follow him quietly. Jeremy strode confidently into the corridor, his drum full of shrapnel following behind him, and did a double-take in horror. Although there was no sign of movement in the hallway, it was apparent that the zombies they had destroyed had taken several students by surprise. The warm, coppery smell of blood hung in the air, and only a dozen feet down the hallway a pair of bodies lay in small pieces. The skulls had been crushed, and their brains apparently feasted upon, and large pieces of flesh were missing from the bodies. The group was silent as they passed this first pair of bodies; although nobody dared to say anything, they all recognized what little was left of the faces as those of two popular athletes. Acknowledging who they were would only lend credence to the fairly obvious conclusion that their entire world was rapidly crumbling around them.

  The school's shop was located in an isolated wing of the school, where only two other classrooms were located - one was a woodworking shop, which was empty at this time of day, while the other was the school's graphic arts studio, which should have been bustling with a senior class. With Mr. Gorsky in the lead, the group slowly approached the studio, trying to move as quietly as possible. The door to the graphic arts studio was partially ajar, but no sound could be heard from within. Mr. Gorsky paused, looked back at the students in his charge, and motioned for them to stay still. With his good hand, he cautiously pushed the door to the studio open wide. He froze in place, unable to move. The only students within eyesight of the studio were Jeremy and Chris; Chris took one look at the scene inside the room and promptly dropped to his hands and knees and vomited. Jeremy stared in morbid fascination. When nobody else seemed able to summon up the courage to step inside, he did so, followed by his drum of shrapnel.

  Although they had thought that the hallway was a terrifying sight, it paled in comparison to the slaughter that could be seen in the studio. Over two dozen students could be seen in various stages of dismemberment throughout the room. The entire floor was covered in a thick pool of rapidly congealing blood. As Jeremy gingerly stepped into the room, he heard a soft squishing soun
d underneath the sole of his shoe; he glanced down to see that he'd stepped on a dismembered finger. He grimaced and kicked the grisly object aside. Mr. Poole, the ever-friendly graphics teacher, had apparently been caught off guard, and was slumped over his desk, his neck stripped of skin, muscle, and nerves, down to the bone. His head had been struck repeatedly, and a crack in the top of his skull still slowly oozed a blackish-red liquid. The smell of blood and gore was thick in the air, and Jeremy had to hold his breath to keep from choking on it. The utter silence of the room was shattered by pounding on a closet door. Jeremy startled, slipped and fell into the pool of blood on the floor. As the closet door rattled, he struggled to regain his footing, trying not to think about the thick, slimy coating of blood that now covered most of his clothes. He reached out mentally to his drum, lifting nearly a dozen small pieces of metal out of the container and holding them in mid-air. He gestured with his left hand and pushed aside the desks in the room, clearing a path between himself and the closet door, then allowed the bits of shrapnel to position themselves directly in front of him, providing a simple and clear line of fire. Prepared for the worst when the door sprang open, he grasped the door knob with a mental tendril. The strain of manipulating an object more than a few feet away from his body was far worse than he had expected, and his entire body shivered and trembled from the mind-numbing cold and exhaustion that enveloped him as he twisted the knob and pulled the door open wide. He was prepared to unleash his volley upon what he imagined must be yet another zombie hiding behind that door, when a terrified girl fell to the floor. She had been pounding on the door when it was opened, and her momentum carried her far enough into the room that when she fell, she was face to face with a disembodied head laying on its side in the vast pool of blood. She screamed, and quickly scrambled into a corner. Jeremy released his mental grip on the shrapnel, satisfied that the terrified girl was actually alive, not another mindless undead creature. The shrapnel clattered to the floor and several of his companions rushed into the room to see who had screamed. None of them were capable of Jeremy's detached curiosity at the scene, and recoiled in revulsion. Nonetheless, while Jeremy steadied himself on a desk, trying to regain his breath and sense of composure, his repulsed companions carefully picked their way through the horrifying mess of the room towards the girl. Chris, who Jeremy had to give credit for braving the scene more readily than the others, seemed to recognize the girl. He called out to her as he approached.