by Bryan Mosier
“Son of a bitch” are the only words that Alex can form as they roll off his lips with the ease and familiarity of being said innumerable times before but usually with less surprise and more malice and bile.
“And look back there. That’s Mark Warnock!” says Bryan adding a muttered“Fat bastard”.
“You knew those guys?” asks Darla.
“Yeah, we knew them. We knew every freaking one of them” replies Bryan with a malicious tone that gives Darla more information than her question had intended.
“So I take it you didn’t get along with these guys.”
Giving her a quick look with an expression that could, if verbalized would most definitely sound something like“Duh!” Bryan turns back to the windows and continues to point and name the various animated corpses that were once their social nemesis.
“Nick Patterson…cocksucker”
“Pete Johnson…cocksucker”
“Jake Rose…mother fucking cocksucker”
Seeing Bryan starting to spiral down into a state of anger and despair at the memories brought on by seeing the dead embodiments of said memories, Alex interjects“Okay, I think we get the idea, they’re all cocksuckers.” Lookingat the girls with embarrassment for his language he manages a quick“Sorry”
Suddenly, from the back of the lobby comes“They are cocksuckers. Mother fucking dead ass, pieces of shit…cocksuckers.” Turning towards the source of the verbal barrage the group sees Justin standing there, Helga at his side looking at him with a concern acknowledging the barely contained rage emanating from every fiber of his being.
“Dude…you all right?” asks Alex.
Forgetting his own rage for a moment, Bryan echoesthe question in a more succinct fashion. “Dude?”
Walking slowly towards the gym doors with a starkcalmness, Justin makes his way to the door where the zombie that was Marshall Henderson is still clawing and gnashing its yellow teeth trying to get at them through the glass. Putting his face right up to the glass and returning the zombie’s dead gaze with a coldness of his own, Justin quietly declares,“I am going in there”.
“Um, excuse me” starts Bryan. “Uh, what did you just say?”
Calmly turning to Bryan Justin repeats his declaration,“I am going in there.”
“Uh, no you’re not” say Alex.
Turning to Alex Justin gives a slight smile and says“Oh yes I am. And I am gonna give those dead ass pieces of shit what they deserve.”
“What do you mean? What they deserve? They’re dead!” asks Darla
“Yeah” adds Bryan,“Sure they were all pieces of shit when they were alive but they’re dead now. They got what they deserved.”
“That’s a little harsh don’t you think” cautions Darla. “I mean I don’t know your history with those…those guys? Things?…whatever…but surely didn’t deserve this?”
“Yeah, I mean what could they have done that was so bad?” asks Carla.
Watery eyes widening with an ever increasing sense of rage Justin turns onthe girls and begins“What did they do? What was so bad you ask? How about making life a living hell for us and every other kid like us for the last four years. Those worthless pieces of shit in there treated everybody that wasn’t like them like they were less than human. Like we were all put on this earth for their own amusement. Wedgies. Swirlies. Random shuckings, verbal insults and daily ridicule. They made life miserable for us.”
Trying to diffuse the situation Darla asks “But couldn’t you just go to a teacher or the principal? I mean they take bullying pretty serious, don’t they?”
“The teachers? The principal?” Eyes ablaze with blistering anger and rage Justin, his face a deep shade of crimsoncontinues his tirade“They’re the jocks. The golden boys. The teachers loved them. Practically every teacher in the school let them get by with whatever they wanted. And if one of the few teachers that didn’t take their bullshit tried to send them to the office, hunh, the principal would just say don’t do that again and send them back to class. Nothing ever…got…done!”
Looking to Bryan then Alex for help, Darla finds herself at a loss for any words that might sooth the festering hurt that is feeding the rage boiling from the usually calm and rational Justin. Giving Alex a begging look for any words that might appease Justin and bring him back to his normal self, Darla is shocked to hear him say“He’s right”.
“What?” comes the surprised response from Darla, relieved when her question is unexpectedly echoed by Bryan.
“What d’yamean he’s right?” asks Bryan directing the question at Alex.
“He’s right” repeats Alex. “He’s right…those guys made our lives a living hell for the last four years and they deserve…. this…this and a whole lotmore.”
“More? What more? They’re dead!” pleads Bryan.
“But they’re still up and moving around. They can still cause pain for other people. In a way, this is the perfect world for them now. They get to hurt and cause pain and make people suffer butnow…now there’s no one to question them. They’re zombies. That’s just what they do.”
“But…” starts Bryan, suddenly realizes that he can’t find the words to form a believable argument .
“We can’t let them keep hurting people” says Alex.
“But they’re locked in there. They can’t get to anybody now.”
“But what about the next people that come here. What if they’re so desperate that they think that there might be something in there they need.”
“Then…then let them deal with it” pleads Darla, placing her hand on Alex’s arm.
Walking over to Justin and laying a hand on his shoulder he says“You’re right. We gotta put those bastards down.” Justin, eyes watering as tears of anger trail down his face gives a slight nod of agreement and says“Let’s do this.”
Chapter 24
“Let’s head back to the lobby so we can get our gear” says Alex, with a calm resignation that belies the fear and doubt beginning to well up in his gut.
“Yeah, if we’re gonnado this we’re gonnaneed to go in heavy” adds Bryan.
“Let’sgo then” says Alex. “Um, could you girls stay here and watch the doors so that none of those…things get out.”
“Yeah” says Darla, the doubt in her voice clearly evident, clearly conveyingher misgivings about the task that the boys are about to undertake. “We’ll be right here.”
Walking back down the darkened corridor of the school the boys are uncharacteristically quiet, each lost in his own thoughts. As each thought of what terrible things could happen to them starts to creep into their minds they are quickly forced out by the memories of the terrors that those undead athletes now trapped in the gymnasium did to them when they were alive. The ironydoesn’t elude any of them that now, in their undead, zombie state, those boys are probably less insidious than they were when they were alive. Now they just react on some base instinct to feed. When they were alive they tormented people for amusement and didn’t care what kind of horrible mental scars they were forming on their victims’ psyche.
Arriving back at the lobby the boys start unpacking their zombie survival gear. Pulling out their collection of weapons and protective gear from their bags its Bryan who speaks first, trying to ease the tension of the moment.
“You know what we need right now?” he asks.
“A montage?” replies Justin.
“That would be awesome, wouldn’t it? I mean it’d be all like tighten the head band BAM! close up. Velcro the wrist strap– BAM! close up. Cinch the boot laces Ba BaBAM! close up. Then the grand finale– adjust the crotch Ba da Ba da BAAAM! Zoom in to extreme close up!And all the while the best music ever would be playing.”
“Pour some sugar on me?” asks Justin.
“Nah, Sweet Child O’Mine, dude. GNR forever man” corrects Alex.
“You two are so lame. There is only one song that can inspire a man to do great things in the face of overwhelming odds. Only one song that can raise
a man’s spirits to achievements beyond that of ordinary men.”
“Oh yeah, I think I know where you’re going with this” says Alex.
With a knowing nod to Justin, Bryan smiles and the trio bursts out in unison
“YOU GOT THE TOUCH, unh, YOU GOT THE POWER! AFTER ALL IS SAID AND DONE, YOU NEVER WALked, you never run, daa da daada..” and with that their chorus disintegrates into a low drone as each member of the group realizes they don’t know the lyrics beyond the first few lines of the song.
“Dude, that was so awesome. I am so pumped to kill me some jock head zombie mother f’ers” says Bryan.
“Yeah, let’s do this” says Alex, slamming a hand down hard on Bryan’s shoulder.
“Ouch! Dude, what the hell. That freakinhurt”
“Sorry man. I just thought that was what you did to get pumped up for action.”
With the buckle of the last shin guard and a quick, and somewhat awkward, adjustment of a certain athletic protector, the boys stand ready to make their assault on the gymnasium full of undead high school athletes. Justin, double checking the air pressure on his two hand held air nailers, feeling confident in their ability to apply lethal damage to any would be zombie attacker. Bryan, carefully unwrapping the head of his floor scraper, screws it back onto the metal aluminum handle and whispers a quick“and now the two become one once more.” Grabbing the foam grip he gives his weapon a quick spin and then mimes a forward thrust at an invisible foe. Alex retrieves a baseball bat, its hitting end laden with large metal spikes.
“Hey, where did you find Lizzy? I thought I left her at the house.”
“This isn’t Lizzy” says Alex, the absurdity of the name given to Bryan’s long lost weapon of death and destruction. “I found this behind the counter at the hardware store and decided to make a new one. Brutal in its simplicity, the bat, with its large, sixteen gauge nails protruding out at all angles seems like it could do the most damage in a close quarters situation.
“What are you gonnacall her” asks Bryan, a tone of renewed sadness in his voice at the loss of his weapon.
“I don’t know yet but I’m sure one will come to me. C’mon, let’s go.”
Looking over his comrades in arms, Alex gives a quick nod of approval and motions them forward. Walking back down the dark hallway of the school towards the ever dwindling light of the lobby where they can see the shapes of the girls standing guard over the entrance of the gym, the boys are each suddenly struck with the gravity of the situation. Again, feeling the need to lighten the mood of the moment, Bryan belts out“YOU GOT THE TOUCH! UNGH! YOU GOT THE POWER! Da da daaa da da daa da da daaa da dumUNGH! If they ever make a movie about our lives, that song is definitely going on the sound track.”
“What’s taking them so long?” asks Carla.
“Who knows?” says Darla“Oh, here they come”
Looking down the hall the girls see the silhouettes of the three boys walking towards them, their shapes outlined by the dim light trickling in through the windows of the doors at the far end of the hallway.
“Are they…” startsCarla“…slow walking?”
“I think…yep…. they’re walking very, very slow.”
“Like in…slow motion?”
“Yepand I think they’re…yep, they’re singing”
As the trio enter the lobby of the gymnasium the girls give them an ever more puzzled look. “Um, where did you all get that stuff?” asks Darla.
“Our zombie plan survival packs” replies Bryan with complete sincerity as if the statement was as normal as asking for the time.
“Zombie plan survival packs?” asks Carla, the confusion clearly showing on her face.
“Yeah, you all have a zombie plan, right?”
“Not really, I mean who plans for something like this?” adds Carla.
“Who doesn’t?” asks Bryan. “I mean, we got a plan for everything”
“Really?” says Darla, her incredulous tone not going unnoticed.
“Oh yeah” adds Alex,“We got a zombie plan, an alien invasion plan, a plan for the eventual robot uprising, the primate uprising…
“Primate uprising?” asks Darla
“Oh yeah” interjects Bryan,“Never trust a lemur. Those big eyed little buggers are up to something. I just know it.”
“Don’t forget asteroid impacts, global pandemics, giant mutant arachnids and an attack of technologically advanced subterranean lizard people…” continues Alex.
“…and demon possessed Midwestern children with oddly creepy biblical names carrying an assortment of sharpened farm implements and, perhaps most horrific, the collapse of the international monetary fund and the entire global commerce system” adds Justin.
Feeling confused and seeing the same expression on her sister’s faces, it is Carla who speaks for them all,“Really?”
“Why do you look so surprised? I mean didn’t you say your parents were like all about survival and stuff?” asks Bryan.
“Survival, yes. Zombies, um, no. They wanted us to be ready for real world stuff like the government falling or natural disasters and stuff.” Pointing at the zombie Marshal Henderson, still gnashing its teeth at the glass in a feeble attempt to get at what it sees as a buffet of warm fleshy morsels, Bryan simply replies“Well is that real world enough for ya?”
Feeling her face turning red with anger from Bryan’s words, Carla catches a glimpse of his unique form of protective gear and asks“Are you wearing a cup?”
Seeing the smirk forming on her face and finding a similar reaction with Darla and even Helga, Bryan suddenly feels his face getting warm with embarrassment and can only say“Are we gonna do this or not?”
“Yeah, we’re gonnado this” says Alex as he walks over to the door with the chain tied around the handles, minus the lock.
Grabbing the chain and pulling the last loops of metal links through the handle of the metal door Alex drops the chain to the floor with a clatter.
Looking at Justin and then Bryan he asks them one last time“Are we really gonna do this” and is immediately answered with a nod from the two boys. “Well, if we’re gonnado this…if we’re going into battle, we need a suitable battle cry.”
How about“Tonight we dine in hell!” suggests Justin.
“Um, maybe something a little more optimistic” suggests Alex.
“How about you just say a little prayer, you know for safety or something” suggests Darla.
“Seeing as how we’re getting ready to go in there and slaughter a bunch of undead assholes out of sheer revenge hate, a prayer might seem a little hypocritical” concedes Alex.
“Fellas, fellas, fellas. If we are about to enter into an epic battle, one that will be sung by bards and maidens alike much as the epic tales of heroes of yore like Arthur, Gilgamesh and Westley, there is but only one name we can invoke that is suitable in this moment.” Stepping forward, putting his back to the door, allowing his weight to depress the metal bar handle. Hearing the metallic sound of the door latch disengage Bryan looks to Alex and then to Justin and yells“LEEEEEEEEEROOOOOOOOOY JAAAAANNNNNNNKKKKKKIIIINNNNNSSS” and with that steps back into the gymnasium to meet his undead enemy in battle.
With a nod of approval Alex and Justin follow Bryan through the door.
Chapter 25
Justin’s war journal…entry number one…Marshall Henderson
Freshman year. A time when everything is new and exciting and for the nerd or awkward at heart, scary as hell. Coming from the middle school you had been at the top of the pecking order. Even if you were not the cool kid with all the popular friends and stuff, you were still one of the older kids in the school. You had seniority. Even the teachers would cut you some slack, like when Mrs. Poundstone loaned you a pencil and did not even ask for collateral. Now, you are a freshman in high school and you have to start all over again…at the bottom. I started from the bottom now I amhere…unh…oh, sorry where was I. That meant you were by default in for a lot of harassing from the older kids. Sen
iors were the worst but the juniors and even sophomores knew how to dole out some serious psychological trauma as well. What I did not anticipate was the level of hostility that I would have to endure from my fellow freshmen or“fresh meat” as we were called by the older kids.
I knew it was going be a rough year when on the first day of school, the principal welcomed us as a class to the high school, and to his delight the entire gymnasium burst into a loud, raucous chorus of boos. Even the teachers were getting into it, laughing at our humiliation. I already knew most of the other freshmen having dealt with them in middle school but coming from a fairly large county with schools spread out over a large geographic area, there are always some new faces that show up in the halls and you are never really sure what kind of person they are until you have been around them for a bit. Well, that is how it usually is.
Marshall Henderson was an exception to that rule. Standing a good six inches taller than me and already growing into a muscular build that would set him on the track to high school athletic stardom he emanated arrogance. With his blond hair, narrow set, ice blue eyes, pointy nose and square jaw he could have been the poster boy for a Riefenstahl film. And he had the personality to match. Cruelty seemed to be his natural state of homeostasis. Like a lion preying on an injured gazelle, Marshall walked through the halls of the school, scouring the crowd for any potential victims of his next assault. Verbal berating, physical abuse, or maybe both, you never really knew what you were in store for with him. It really just depended on what kind of mood he was in that day. The best thing you could do when you saw him walking down the hallway with his posse of likeminded sociopaths was to look the other way because if you made eye contact, well, that was how it all started. With a single look he could detect fear and weakness. Like the lion picking out which of its potential prey was just a little slower or a little weaker than the others, he could sniff out the slightest hint of fear and when he did, he would pounce.