by Robert Kent
He was dead.
Had to be.
The bearded right side of his face was the same as ever, but the left half ended in ragged patches of skin and hair where the flesh from his cheek to his ear had been torn away along with a good chunk of forehead and scalp.
There were spongy layers of skin covering his skull, but I could see parts of it as well as the bottom curve of his eyeball, which must've rolled back in its socket. It was milky white from beginning to end.
Mr. Goodwin turned toward me.
I swore and leapt to my feet.
Mr. Goodwin's mouth opened and I could see what was left of his facial muscles working.
"I'll get help," I said.
He planted his hands on either side of himself and pushed, sliding his back up the lockers.
I meant to run, but then there was screaming and a crash to my right.
Molly Hale, sophomore, slut. I guess you shouldn't call someone a slut in her obituary, but she and I dated for two weeks last April and the whole time she was making out with Kyle Farris behind my back.
We only made out once, but it was my first time making out with anyone and now I know I was probably tasting Kyle the whole time. She cheated on him with Shane Trips, and last I heard she was dating some senior from Brownsborough.
Now that I think about it, maybe Kyle, Shane, and I should be grateful she was willing to make out with so many of us. Otherwise, we might not have gotten to make out with anyone. How's that for a memorial?
Thank you Molly Hale and sluts everywhere for your years of public service.
Teresa Gilreath, sophomore, flute player, honor roll student. Teresa was in marching band and she must've been good as she had a letter on her jacket and a bunch of ribbons pinned on it.
A classroom door banged open and Molly and Teresa came into the hall at the same time, fighting. Teresa had hold of Molly's hair and was attempting to bite her.
Molly tried to get away and they collapsed to the floor, Teresa looking as though she were the newest to suck face with Molly, except Molly was screaming.
I would've gone to help—I think I would've, but before I could react, Mr. Goodwin was standing.
He gripped my arm, and his fingers were like steel. They pinched with the pressure of a shark's bite.
He snarled and dove his head, jaw first, toward my shoulder.
27
BEN TOBIN, SOPHOMORE, THE GREATEST first baseman in Harrington High history and my best friend since the third grade. I don't have the words to tell you about Ben.
We were in Little League together and his dad worked at Kirkman's, so we've known each other our whole lives.
In third grade, my mother went through a religious phase and dragged Chuck and me to church every Sunday for a year. Everywhere she drove us, we listened to gospel music like "What a Friend We Have in Jesus," "Where No One Stands Alone," and "All Together Now."
Then she got in a fight with the minister's wife and we stopped going.
Anyway, every summer the church sponsored kids for church camp and the summer my mother found religion, I got to go for a week.
We had to memorize a bunch of Bible verses and listen to stories about Jesus, and it seemed like we never stopped praying. But in between all that we went on hikes, played games, practiced archery, had camp fires, and slept in tents.
It was a good time.
Most activities required a partner, and Ben and I were the only two third-graders from Harrington Christian Church, so we did most everything together.
The last day of camp we went canoeing and ours flipped over. That's not quite accurate. I was bent over waving my butt at a canoe of girls and I tripped and capsized our canoe.
We were in a shallow creek. It's not like the counselors took third-graders into whitewater. But I plunged in and the water went above my head, which was unfortunate as I caught my foot in the marsh below.
I was probably only under about 30 seconds, if that, but 30 seconds is a lifetime for a third-grader.
In those 30 seconds I knew I was going to die.
I didn't imagine any bright white light filled with floating angels leading me to a paradise where the streets were paved gold like the Land of Oz.
I knew I wasn't going to be reunited with Grandpa Zack and Jesus wasn't going to be there to thank me for all the songs I sang about Him that week.
The world would keep on going the same as ever, just no me.
Even though Ben could barely swim, he kept one hand on our canoe and pulled me up by my shirt with his other hand. If he hadn't, the counselors who were already swimming toward us would've saved me, but they didn't get there. Ben did.
That night we said a special prayer thanking God for giving Ben the courage to save my life. And the last day of camp when they gave out the camper awards, Ben received the Moses award for "parting the waters and leading me to safety."
Ben and I've been best friends ever since.
Seven years later in the halls of Harrington High School, Ben saved me again.
28
I SAW MR. GOODWIN INTENDED to bite my shoulder before he tried.
Never mind he was a teacher.
Never mind adults, whether they're teachers or not, aren't allowed to bite students.
Never mind Mr. Goodwin was missing half his face and should've been dead or on his way to the hospital.
I jammed my left palm against the portion of Mr. Goodwin's forehead that still had skin and pushed.
He forgot my shoulder and tried to bite my wrist.
I grabbed his hair with my right hand. It was slick and sticky and smelled of blood.
With both hands I held him back, but it did no good.
Zombies are slow and stiff, but they're as strong as they were in life. Stronger, in a way, because they have no second thoughts or moral qualms, and no concern for themselves.
Looking into Mr. Goodwin's milky white eyes, I knew they didn't see me, Ricky Genaro, the kid from his 10th-grade social studies class. Those eyes saw only what they wanted: meat.
He charged.
I could no more hold him at bay than I could've held a grizzly bear. I was driven backward against the lockers.
I did the only thing I could: I let my legs go limp and dropped.
Mr. Goodwin banged his head on a locker door, but appeared not to notice. Instead he reached down as I was crawling away and grabbed my ankle.
He snarled. There was nothing of Mr. Goodwin in that sound.
I tried to yank my leg away, but he held me in place as easily as an owner holds an excited pet.
He lifted my calf and bent to bite my heel.
I kicked at his face with my free leg hard enough to peel back more skin.
That was when a group of students came running around the corner. They were running away from something, and they kept running, dodging me and Mr. Goodwin.
Mr. Goodwin glanced at them, but he already had me.
The last student to come into the hall was Ben Tobin. At first I thought he'd keep going.
"Ben!" I screamed. "Help me!"
Ben didn't stop moving, but swung as hard as he could and punched Mr. Goodwin in the face.
Mr. Goodwin's head snapped left, but the impact never registered in his expression. He dropped my ankle and reached for Ben.
I crawled until I was out of his reach, then stood.
Mr. Goodwin looked at Ben, to his right, and me, to his left, as though uncertain which of us to attack first.
"Run," Ben said.
I nodded like I understood, but stayed right where I was.
Ben took off, skirting around Teresa, who was starting to stand. At her feet, Molly Hale, the first girl I ever French kissed, lay still. The blood from her throat pooled around her, soaking her hair.
Mr. Goodwin took a lurching step after Ben, swinging an arm for balance.
"Ben!" I yelled. That was just dumb of me, but you have to remember I'd never seen a zombie or even heard of one until that day. I was learni
ng the rules as I went.
Mr. Goodwin turned back and the expression on his face told me he'd forgotten I was there until that moment.
Behind him, Molly sat up, her damp brown hair dripping blood. More blood spilled from her opened throat.
When she turned to look at me I saw her eyes were all white.
That got me running.
I ran to the end of the hall where Ben had stopped.
"What's wrong?" I asked. Then I saw what was waiting for us at the end of the next hall.
29
SURPRISE, IT WAS ZOMBIES. THE next hall was full of them. I didn't know they were zombies then, but I could tell by their all-white eyes and jerky movements that I didn't want to get close to any of them.
At the end of the hall were two floor-to-ceiling soda machines with the Kirkman's logo across their fronts glowing neon green and pink.
Angie DeLaRosa, senior, editor for the school web site, member of the band. She had glasses with lenses as thick as magnifying glasses and short mousy hair that curled under her jaw.
I was hoping to join the web staff next year (only juniors and seniors can join), so I attended some of their info meetings and Angie was always nice to me.
She was in the center of five other students, none of whom I recognized and all of whom had white eyes. They were on their knees reaching into Angie, feeding. Her stomach had been ripped from its base to just below her breasts.
She was splayed open on the hall floor like a patient on an operating table, except Angie was awake and screaming.
Jason Leach, junior, AV club. I don't know a whole lot about Jason, and what I know isn't good. He used to bully underclassmen and he had one of the worst cases of acne in the whole school. His face looked as though it had been chewed. And he smelled.
All I can say is you probably can't judge someone based on who they were in high school. For all I knew, Jason might've gone onto college and his face might've cleared up, and he might've purchased deodorant.
He might've grown up to be all right. But we'll never know.
Robin McKelvey, freshman, gamer. Robin was way into video games. Or at least, I assume she was. She was always wearing hoodies and T-shirts with Mario on them.
Robin had hold of both Jason's shoulders and was trying to bite his chest. Jason took a step back and tripped, landing with Robin straddling him.
Robin lost her grip momentarily, then slapped Jason so hard some of his zits burst, spraying pus. Jason screamed and she bit the other side of his face.
I don't want to think where that pus went.
In every classroom down the hall I heard human screams, and everywhere that awful low monotone moaning punctuated with inhuman snarls.
The students not already eating Angie or flocking to Jason to finish him off turned toward Ben and me.
"We'll never get out this way," I said. "The gym!"
I turned and ran. Ben followed.
30
TODAY IS DAY TWO OF living on Ernie's roof and the dead surrounding the station don't seem to have tired of our little game yet.
Michelle and I hide in the center and they moan below us, seeming to lose interest. One of us goes to use the bathroom and gets too close to the roof's edge where some of the zombies can see, and they all start snarling.
Michelle pretending to shoot them didn't help any. I was writing this afternoon and Michelle sang:
"See the zombies going by, every zombie, it must die. Aim your gun, it takes some skill. How many zombies will I kill: One, two, three, four." As she counted she aimed her pistol at zombies below.
For one terrible moment, I was sure she was going to pull the trigger. But she didn't. She only aimed. "...five, six, seven, eight—"
"What are you doing?"
Michelle was lying on her stomach in the corner of the roof, both hands holding her gun out in front so she could aim. She was low, but by the way the snarling intensified below, I knew some of them could see her.
Michelle shrugged. "It's a jump rope rhyme. You know, 'Cinderella, dressed in green, went upstairs to eat ice cream. How many spoonfuls did she eat: one, two...'"
She frowned. "Didn't you ever play jump rope?"
"I'm a boy."
"Sucks for you."
"Get away from the edge," I said.
Michelle glared at me, but I just stared right back at her.
Slowly she rolled away from the edge and sprawled on her back. She put her hands on her face. "I'm so bored."
"Can you be bored quietly?"
I turned away and went back to writing.
Michelle grumbled a bit, but finally she took Destiny Takes a Lover from her pack and settled in to read.
The sun will be going down before long, and then I'm going to stop writing. I'm worn out. I'll tell you the whole story, but not tonight.
Tonight I have only a little more to tell.
31
THE GYM WAS CLEAR. THERE were basketballs in the center of the court, one still rolling, so I knew there'd recently been people here. There appeared to be no one here now.
But I didn't look that closely.
My eyes were searching for the big blue barrels beside the bleachers. I ran to them and by the time Ben asked, "What are you doing?" I'd tipped them over
We didn't have time to dig through them.
Basketballs, red balls, soccer balls—they all spilled out across the floor along with rackets and other sports paraphernalia. But what I wanted were the baseball bats at the bottom of the barrel.
I took my favorite: a steel bat with a black grip, a familiar dent in its tip.
It was my lucky bat, not the one I used in games—that was in the coach's closet with the other game gear—but I'd hit more than a few good pitches in practice with the bat. It's the same bat that's lying on the roof beside me as I write this.
I tossed another bat to Ben. I considered a golf club, but decided I'd need both hands to swing the bat... if it came to it.
Even then, I knew it would.
"Up here!"
Amber, freshman. I don't know Amber's last name. I don't even know if she died. She might've gotten out. I suppose I don't know enough to write her memorial and thanks to the zombies, I guess I won't ever know, so I'll just say she had spectacular red hair.
There were bleachers along the walls on either side of the gymnasium. During the week they were folded against the wall to give the gym classes maximum floor space.
There were the bottom bleachers, an aisle, and then the top bleachers. All the bleachers were pressed in too tightly to sit on, but Amber was standing in the aisle with four other freshmen.
"They can't climb," Amber called down to us. "They already tried."
She didn't have to define "they."
The rear gymnasium doors banged open and four students staggered in, more behind them, all with white eyes, all moaning.
"Let's go!" Ben said. He grabbed onto the bleachers and began to climb, which we never would've been allowed to do under normal circumstances.
"No!" I said. "We'll be trapped!"
"Hurry!" Amber screamed.
I looked back. The zombies were already halfway across the gym. Four students had become 12. They weren't running, but their eyes were focused on us and they were walking in jerky steps as fast as their stiff legs would allow.
Ben looked at me, considering, and then climbed back down.
"Outside!" I pointed at the double doors with the word EXIT printed above them in green. They led out to the football field, and beyond that, the baseball diamond.
Ben nodded and we ran.
A dead girl lurched from the side of the bleachers, blocking our path to the exit. A flap of skin had been peeled back from above her right eye to the top of her skull. The flesh of her stomach and side from her armpit to her jeans had been ripped away. She moaned and reached for us.
Ben gave her a wide berth, but he couldn't reach the exit door without touching her.
The snarling behind us grew lou
der, closer.
"Please move," I said.
The girl cocked her head and stepped toward me, her lips drawing back to expose her teeth, and I knew she didn't understand. She was beyond understanding
"Move," I said, flinching.
I glanced back at the approaching corpses and did what I had to. I swung my bat into the girl's face as hard as I could.
She fell over with a screeching thump on the glazed hardwood floor.
"I'm sorry."
The left side of her face was now mangled and bleeding where I'd struck her, but the girl started to stand again anyway.
"I'm so sorry." My hands were trembling so badly it's a wonder I didn't drop my bat.
"Come on!" Ben said, opening the exit doors.
I ran around the girl without looking back.
By the time the fire alarm sounded, we were outside, the gym doors closed behind us.
32
JUST UNDER THE HIGH RINGING of the fire alarm was the low wailing of weather sirens in the distance. Usually these could only be heard for two minutes on Friday mornings during their weekly test or when conditions were suitable for a tornado.
The sky above was light blue and the sun was bright.
On the baseball diamond, a gym class was milling around, listening to the sirens. They'd been playing ball the whole time. They didn't yet know how many of their friends and teachers were either dead or ought to be.
"What—" Ben said and stopped. He tried to speak again and choked.
Tears dripped from the corners of his eyes and he slapped them away as though beating them out.
I shook my head. I didn't feel like crying.
I didn't feel anything. I was numb.
Something disgusting bubbled up from my guts to my throat, but I swallowed it before it got past my teeth.
It was a pleasant summer day. If not for the alarms, we might've heard birds chirping.
Ben was wearing a Star Wars shirt. A red smear marred Yoda's forehead.